2.7 A Closet Valentino With Nordic Looks
Steve took off his shirt and his pants. He was tall and thin and tan, full of that same naked bravado I had seen in the hot tub only a week before. He was wearing a cross on a chain.
“You’re a closet Valentino, despite your cool Nordic looks,” I said, touching the cross. The right side of his mouth curled up. Then his face became serious again.
He took off the pink thermal shirt I was wearing. I didn’t resist. After all, it was his. Then he moved me back onto the bed. I put the exposed and dangling cross in my mouth and kept it there as he was leaning over me, kissing me. He was like a slippery elegant fish, an eel, with a penis as long slender and oddly bent as his conservative views. Oddly bent in a way that seemed to touch something inside of me perfectly. I could not account for it. Was it Alaska? Was it just chance, that out of all the people to end up in a kayak with, I ended up with one who seemed to know exactly what to do? And the odd curve of him knew it over and again, for as long as we remained together in that part of the world. I’ll never know exactly what brought me to that prone position and that decision , if it was the rushing streams, the dense lush foliage, the spawning salmon, or just that we were total and absolute strangers in a far away land. I didn’t think we agreed on anything. But we did.