Pitching Tents: A Summer Fling...
I've only got one more weekend of leading camping trips into the wilderness... and that means only one more weekend with Cole. One more chance to let my charming, handsome friend know how I feel. I've tried to before, but the time was never right. And besides, Cole is straight. At least, that's what he's always claimed...
When no one shows and we decide to go camping together anyway, I realize this could be my very last chance before college separates us for good. I've never really been with a guy before, and I'm still discovering the ins and outs... but with a guy like Cole on the line, I've got to take my chances.
“We’re here,” I dump my pack against a fallen tree trunk and slump down next to it, emptying water from my canteen over my baking head.
“Save some for me,” he sighs, slumping down next to me, heat coming off of him in waves. We’ve been rained on and sweat over and scratched and bruised along the path, but now we’re here and it’s worth it. Even if this is as close as we get all weekend, his arm sweating on my arm, I’ll take it and live off the fantasies later.
“What a great spot,” I sigh, handing him the canteen. He takes off his cap and puts it over one dirty knee, drizzling water over his closely shorn scalp where it beads and drizzles like rain on a freshly waxed car hood.
“Isn’t it, though?” he asks, sounding soft and excited, a harsh contrast to his usual macho demeanor with the rich kids. “I’ve been wanting to come here ever since summer started.”
“Really?” I ask. “I thought this was just a summer course to you, a way to get a jump on your sophomore year.”
He shrugs. “That’s how it started,” he says, handing me back the canteen. I go to take it and he holds it in place. “But then you came along.”
His eyes are dark and earnest, his lips full and moist from the fresh spring water. “Bullshit,” I blurt, calling his bluff and standing quickly.
He remains seated, looking wounded, but cheers up when I strip off my shirt and march toward the mouth of the clear spring at the cliff’s edge. “You’re letting the heat run your mouth,” I grumble, leaning against a wet rock to untie my shoes before kicking them off.
“Maybe so,” he admits, standing and following my lead. “Maybe this is just another elective to you.”
“I didn’t say that.” I strip off my socks and then turn, slightly, my back to him as I yank off my sopping cargo pants. “Not exactly.”