That Weekend on Nags Head

The small white cottage stood amid a long row of look-alikes on the long slender barrier island off North Carolina. The mainland is clearly visible to the west. Nearby, one could rent a sailboat or a jet sky, some of which were on the water when we arrived.

I had just turned 19 over Memorial Day weekend and this mini vacation was my way of celebrating. The time was approaching 10 o'clock when I arrived at the rental cottage with my mom, a 47 year old blond with green eyes.

She parked the 10 year old blue Toyota just a few feet in front of the house. The intense heat felt like a sauna, a far cry from the airconditioed car in which we had sat for over two hours. For the next few days custom-fit window covers will shield the car from the sun's rays.

Mom and I enjoy the same activities: playing cards, watching the same TV shows, basking in the sun, listening to the same music. Minutes after we came inside the cottage she emerged from the bathroom wearing her navy-blue one-piece scoopback scoop-neckline swimsuit with adjustible cross back straps.

While she was changing I changed just outside into blue trunks.

After chatting with my mom for a couple of minutes, I stood up.

"Going for a walk," she queried.

The swell was small. The breakers rustled softly. The gulls wre gliding over the water, their shrill cries racing through the air.

I gave a silent nod then started on my way toward a destination to be determined. As I walked my eyes shifted looking east at the watercraft_some fast moving, others moving slowly under sail_ then southward at gulls and beachgoers.

I'd gone only a few yards when I happened to notice a strikingly handsome guy walking toward me. He appeared to be my height, 5' 7. Light-brown hair, blue eyes and full lips reminded me of someone from high school days.

Is that Michael Swanson?

Back in the day we did not hang out together. In fact, we barely spoke, though I had no bad feelings toward him. The distance between us closed to an arm length.

"As I live and breathe it's Steven Willis."

"It's me," I replied.

"Talk to me. Did you just get here?"

"Yah," I said. "What about you?"

"I'm here for a week staying at my parent's cottage."

I nodded then replied. "My mom and I are renting for three days til Monday."

"Where's your dad?"

"They're divorced since I was ten."

"Let's walk and talk get reacquainted."

"OK," I said.

I continued in the direction that I was going. He turned around.

We talked about everything and nothing: school days, teachers we had common, sports, people we knew.

"What have you been up to lately," I inquired.

"Going to UNC at Chapel Hill. Major is Biomedical engineering."

Very intellegent.

"I'm a Business major. I like marketing."

"What school," he inquired.

"Chapel Hill," I replied.

"We've never run into each other."

"It's a big campus."

"Do you feel like renting a sailboat or a jet ski?"

"Umm yeah," I replied. "I need to go back to the cottage for my wallet."

I gestured toward the cottage roughly a hundred yards away.

"I'll wait."

Several machines were parked outside the jet ski rental office. Inside a girl with long dark hair and brown eyes conducted the transaction.

Within minutes two jet skis were racing over the waves, their wakes extending several yards. We had passed each other a few times going in opposite directions.

"That was fun," I said as we returned to the shore.

He agreed with a silent nod.

Shortly afterward we came to the cottage where he was staying.

"I'll get the frisbee," he suggested.

I waited a very short while just outside the front door. He reappeared with a pink disk that we tossed to each other, at times accurately, at other times wide. The activity moved gradually closer to the surf until each toss landed in the breakers.

A friendship was blossoming between us and it felt good. He was a jock who hung out with jocks. I was, and still am, into music, though I was never in the school band.

"I brought my guitar."

"I didn't realize that you play."

"I started when I was 7 and took lessons for 10 years."

"Who's your favorite player?"

"Stevie Ray Vaughn, BB King," I said.

"You're into Blues," he replied.

"One of my friends played drums. Another friend played keyboard and Jane Nile was the singer. I didn't have a lot of time for it when I started college."

"Did you live on campus?"

My one word answer was "Yup".

On a campus having 46 buildings I knew that there was little chance that we lived in the same one.

"Which building?"

"I lived in Ehringhaus."

"Hinton James," he replied.

"I have cold beer, Let's have a brew."

I followed him inside and we settled into the sofa with Budweiser in bottle. The airconditioner hummed cooling the room.

He finished his beverage then leaned toward me putting a kiss on my lips.

"It's terrifying and sweet at the same time. I didn't know I could feel this way about a guy."

"I knew you could," said Michael.

His story held my attention. "I've known since puberty that I like boys. I hid my desire so I could fit in. Being gay on the football team wasn't cool. Then you came along and I saw the way you looked at me."

How do I deal with these feelings?

He answered my unspoken question.

"We can take it as slow as you need to. You know where to find me."

Monday morning, the last day at the rented cottage, dawned cloudy when I when I woke up. The plan was pack, stop some place for a light breakfast then start out for home. My mom was still asleep, having stayed up late socializing.

I put a pair of cutoffs on and sat outside in a beach chair staring at the Atlantic Ocean enjoying the cries of gulls and the soft rustle of surf. Michael Swanson made me want to reamin here or bring him home with me.

My mother came outside while I was thinking.

"We can always come back."

Her words hung in the air between us.

By 9 o'clock we were on the road. Michael was living in my head.

After driving a few miles I broke the silence.

"Funny how life happens," I remarked.

"In what way?"

"All through high school Michael and I hardly spoke to each other."



"That happens."

"Mom he and I are more than friends"

She said nothing for a couple of seconds.

"When you were in high school that girl (Jane Nile) in your band was crushing on you. You were blowing her off. I stayed out of it because it wasn't my place to play Cupid."

"I think I always knew on a deep level that I like boys. I just wasn't acting on those feelings back then." Jane was considered very attractive, as having "killer boobs."

"I figured you might be gay and I'm OK with it. I waited for you to tell me. Michael seems like a nice young man."

Mike and I had not yet indulged in sex but a bedroom scene had played in my head Sunday night makng me masturbate. More than anything in the world I wanted him penetrating me. The sensation of a stiff dick sliding in and out making me grunt would make my day.

"He grew up two blocks away from us."

"Steven it makes me feel good to see you happy."