Sam shook his head. “I’ve kissed two men. And, um, kind of fooled around with one.” “Fooled around with,” he decided, sounded better than “was attacked by.” “But nothing like this. Not ever.”
“Seriously?” Anthony’s eyes widened. He didn’t sound scornful or dismissive, thank God. Just surprised.
“I always thought I was straight. I had girlfriends in high school and college, and then I was married, briefly. And then my wife died.” The young man made a murmur of sympathy, and Sam continued. “I was by myself, and I just—well, I guess I started to figure it out. Belatedly.”
Anthony’s expression hovered somewhere between amusement and disbelief, but his voice was gentle. “How?” he asked.
“How what?”
“How did you figure it out? Did you walk down the street and trip and fall on someone’s dick?”
Sam was startled into laughter. “Do you really want to know?”
“I really do,” Anthony said, and he sounded sincere. So Sam told him the story about fan fiction, and Drarry, and the hobbits, and how that had led him to gay pornography, which had led him to Grindr, which had led him to Tim, and the club, and the terrible parking garage hookup, and then to P-town and, finally, here, to this beach, with Anthony in his arms.
Anthony listened attentively. “Better late than never, I guess.” Any sting the words might have carried was negated when Anthony snuggled closer to Sam, kissing his cheek, then nipping at his neck. “I’m glad I was your first,” he whispered.
“I’m glad you were, too,” Sam whispered back. He wanted to tell Anthony that what had happened had been a revelation, the best thing that had ever happened to him, a million times better than anything he could have ever imagined. What came out of his mouth was, “Can I see you again?”
As soon as he’d spoken, he realized he didn’t know anything about Anthony, including whether or not he was a professional, a sex worker who trawled the clubs of Provincetown, looking for bewildered, terrified men to seduce.
Anthony rolled away from Sam and sat up straight, pulling his knees up against his bare chest. Sam waited, terrified, anticipating rejection until Anthony said, “I would like to see you. I’d like that a lot. Only it’s a little bit complicated,” he said.
“Are you with someone?” Sam asked, feeling jealousy pulse through him. He told himself he was being ridiculous. It was insane to feel his heart breaking at the thought of Anthony being taken. Sam had absolutely no claim on this man. He shouldn’t feel devastated that someone else had a right to kiss that beautiful mouth and draw moans and shudders from between those lips.
Anthony shook his head. “No. I am completely single.”
Sam felt a little faint with relief.
“But—”
An icy hand seized Sam’s heart. “But what?”
The boy looked at him, then ducked his head. Sam lowered his voice.
“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” he said. “You can tell me.” Sam brushed the hair away from Anthony’s brow. He pulled him close, and Anthony came easily, his body warm and pliant. I love you, Sam thought, which was insane. He didn’t know this young man; didn’t know a single thing about him, not where he lived or what he did there; not how old he was or where he’d grown up. He didn’t know anything, except how Anthony felt in his arms, how he tasted when Sam kissed him, how he sounded when he came.
Anthony settled himself against Sam’s chest. “I just broke up with someone. Or, I guess, she broke up with me.”
Sam’s heart lifted, exultant. Anthony was single! Then he frowned. “Wait. Did you say ‘she’？”
“I’m bi,” said Anthony, the same way he might have said that he was a vegetarian, or left-handed. Kids today, Sam marveled.
“Oh,” Sam said, because he felt like he had to say something, and couldn’t think of what that might be.
Anthony reached for Sam’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad I was your first. I feel honored.”
Sam pulled him close. Come home with me, he was thinking. Spend the night in my bed. Show me everything. Stay with me forever. Instead of saying any of that, he said, “How long are you here for?”
“A week. How about you?”
“Five days.” Sam gathered his courage. “Can I—that is, would you want to…？” Can you feel this? he thought. Am I imagining it, or do you feel it, too? There was just enough silence for Sam to feel the first thorny prickling of regret, the initial burn of shame. Then Anthony took his hand.