Diego and I were lying on our blanket on the beach yesterday, Gabriel near some sand pyramids, and some other man sitting between my legs, his hand on my crotch. It was Diego's birthday. We had woken up early in his bed, the sky a bright blue, and decided to try again for the beach, our earlier plans the day before ruined by a bad forecast. And so we biked there from Canarsie, gathering Gabriel along the way. The sky was lovely as we biked along the bay toward the beach, was unobstructed by buildings, the smells of trees, flowers, and honeysuckle were particularly strong, and our bodies were in motion. The beach, Riis beach, wasn't crowded at all. We spread out our purple blanket, smoked some weed, drank some beer, and watched a man give another man a blowjob behind us. It was this man, giver of the blowjob, an Eric if I remember correctly, who was the man then sitting on the blanket with Diego and I, rubbing my crotch.
He asked me how I knew Diego. A day earlier we had just discussed language and terms, the boyfriend term. I answered this man's question haltingly. "Um, well, we are sort of boyfriends. Boyfriends. No, we're boyfriends." I had to correct myself and get rid of that modifying "sort of." It was the first time I had described him or us that way and it felt really weird, having normally described him as this boy that I am sleeping with, but which is a bit impersonal and definitely a bit weird to still be saying after sleeping with this person for seven months now. I looked over at Diego, who was smiling really big and who then kissed me, making me feel much more at ease. His eyes and expression said everything I wanted him to.
The person, possibly an Eric, started to take his hand off my crotch. Diego said that we weren't like that, that we weren't those type of people, that we were open. He continued to touch my crotch. My dick came out, Diego's did, a couple of other people's also did and our little purple beach blanket was filled with lots of dick sucking on this nearly empty beach, the Atlantic in front of us, sand dunes behind us. And it's all a matter of perspective, like I could say that the ocean, expansive thing, was ahead of us, and that the dunes were behind us, but were I to turn my head, the inverse would be true, that the ocean would be behind us, perhaps making neither true, that it's all just there. I look behind me probably as often as I dream of what lies ahead, the forms of those dreams, an imagined future, often using as models those of the past, of that person, this person, or that thing, and in this person, this boy, Diego, things realized that were almost then, and the happiness he creates in me is about so many other things, about this life, this little planet, the presence of the ocean and the dunes.