Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It’s far easier than I expected to leave the world behind, especially in the Pacific Northwest. Pockets of state parks are littered all around Seattle, offering something for everyone seeking a getaway to nature.
On the first day of our trip, Eric and I pack up his truck and trailer and hit the highway. Morning marine layer fog makes the drive a cloudy, gloomy affair, but Eric assures me it should clear up before midday. I fire off a quick text to my dad to give him an update before I forget.
Me
Just wanted to let you know we’re on our way to the campground. I’ll try to send you some pictures.
Dad
Don’t worry about that! Just be in the moment and have a good time with Eric. Send me the album after you’re back.
Have fun and stay safe.
While Eric drives, I handle the playlist. Synthwave beats and instrumental saxophone solos fill the truck.
Many of the songs have romantic lyrics, and it’s hard not to fall under their sway.
It doesn’t help that he’s dressed like he belongs inside a romance novel: checkered flannel, jeans, hiking boots, and his favorite pair of aviators.
The scene in the car couldn’t be any more mundane between Eric and I, but this is the start of our adventure.
How can I be calm about this? I’m about to spend a week, alone, with Eric out in the wilderness, sharing a confined space night after night. I agreed to this, well-aware of the effect close proximity to Eric could have on me.
This is a retreat. A getaway. A vacation inside a vacation.
Nothing more.
By the time we reach the campgrounds just before noon, the marine layer fog has dissipated, and the sun has come out in full force.
Our campsite is situated not far from a large, beautiful lake with glimmering waters.
Tall trees and craggy rock formations offer a degree of privacy, making our campsite our own slice of heaven.
The temperature is mild and pleasant when we step out of the truck, and a gentle breeze rustles through our hair.
“Home sweet home for the next week,” Eric says, his voice full of reverence.
“It’s amazing.”
“Wait till you see the view from atop the falls. Just miles upon miles of wilderness.”
We spend the bulk of the first day preparing our campsite, dividing up the work (though I suspect Eric has taken on the majority of it). He handles detaching and setting up the trailer while I make the trek to the campground office to check in and pick up firewood.
Even this early into the summer season, the campground buzzes with activity.
Families, couples, and even a few campers who intend to brave the wilderness on their own have come to this park.
Other campers are friendly, greeting me with a warm hello as we pass each other.
Even the campground manager on duty offers a gregarious welcome.
She encourages Eric and I to come to scheduled events at the communal site in the heart of the campground.
I never went to summer camp as a kid, but I have to imagine the experience must have been something close to this.
When I return to camp with our paperwork and freshly cut firewood, Eric’s finished leveling the trailer and moved on to setting up other comforts around the site.
A mat covers the ground in front of the trailer door to keep out dirt, and an awning shades the entrance.
A pair of foldable camping chairs are situated around a firepit.
Eric’s already pulled out the barbeque in anticipation of dinner.
I’m struck by Eric’s efficiency and handiness. If I were the one managing all this, it might have taken me hours. Eric’s done in far less time, making it look so effortless. He’s doing all this for me, ensuring the trip goes smoothly.
“Hey! Welcome back,” Eric says, greeting me with a broad smile. He crosses the campsite to take the firewood and drops it beside the pit for later. “Feeling up for some frisbee?”
“I haven’t done that since I was a kid.” And it was with the family dog.
“Afraid you’re a little rusty, Harrison?” Eric teases with a wink.
I snort. “Not at all.”
“First person to miss a catch loses, then?”
Eric and I are both naturally competitive, so if he poses a challenge, then I have no choice but to answer.
“You’re on.”
We change into more comfortable athletic wear and then set up in an open grassy section of our camp.
We take turns throwing a neon green frisbee back and forth to each other, trying our best to make the other miss a catch.
Frisbee isn’t a high adrenaline, high stakes activity by any means, but we each arch our throws higher or wider to make the other guy work for the save.
During a lull between tosses, Eric lifts up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, and my eyes drift down to the exposed skin of his stomach.
If only I could touch those muscles, if only I could feel how solid and firm they were beneath my palm.
Would Eric tremble from the graze of my fingers?
Would he let me explore his body, or would he stop my advances and take control, turning the tables on me instead?
A hurtling green disc barrels towards me, so I snap out of the daydream just in time to make a hasty save.
“Feeling a little caught off-guard, Harrison?” Eric asks with a toothy grin.
“You wish!”
Our campsite transforms into a competitive frisbee arena.
If anyone strolled past, they would stumble upon two grown men taking the game of frisbee ultra-seriously.
There’s little pause between our tosses to keep each other on our toes.
Tracking and catching a frisbee poses little challenge to either of us when we’re used to working with a three inch diameter hockey puck bouncing off boards and bodies.
We’re both hungry for the win, pushing each other as if there’s more than playful bragging rights on the line.
When a gust of wind causes the frisbee to warble mid-flight and arch wide, Eric has to dive for the catch. He barely misses and lands on his stomach in the grass. The frisbee’s just out of reach. I come to his side, trying and failing to suppress my laughter.
“You totally beefed that,” I say, offering a hand.
Instead of taking the humble peace offering, Eric yoinks me down to the ground beside him.
Before I can process what’s happening, I’m on my back with Eric above me, his face inches away from mine and his hand pinning mine above my head.
My breath catches in my throat, and everything beyond Eric fades away—the breeze, the smell of pine, the friction of the grass against my bare skin.
His eyes flash down to my parted lips, and I fear my chest might burst from how hard my heart’s thudding.
My body can’t help but react, yearning to give in to a scenario I’ve imagined countless times—being held down by Eric’s weight, my legs spread to make room for him, cradling him close, our shafts pressed together, my entire being at his mercy, his for the taking.
I won our little frisbee tournament; he should be my victory spoils.
When Eric shifts his weight ever so to inch closer, his clothed cock brushes against mine, and I gasp, taking in a lungful of him: musk and sweat—and speaking of, a sinful bead slides along the contour of his face, and what I wouldn’t give to lick it away, to taste the salt on his skin—
At least until the sound of a barking dog and an owner calling its name dispels the illusion. Eric rolls off of me, and I push off the ground and sit up, shaking my head to get any strands of grass out of my hair.
A large husky pads over to our frisbee laying on the grass, puts it in its mouth, and presents it as if it’s recovered it for us.
Eric takes the frisbee and scratches the dog behind its ears, earning many happy tail thumps. “Thanks buddy.”
“I’m so sorry!” the dog’s owner, a young woman, calls out as she approaches. She bends down to pick up the discarded leash and ruffles her dog’s fur. “Lucy’s favorite color is green. She saw your frisbee on our walk and bolted before I could stop her.”
“It’s alright,” Eric says with a warm smile. “She’s a sweetheart.”
Eric makes polite conversation with the other camper, but I can’t bring myself to partake, too lost in my own head. I stare out across the campsite, unable to shake the possibility Eric was seconds away from kissing me.
I try not to let the frisbee fluke (as I’ve decided to call it) ruin my mood.
Ever since my arrival in Seattle, Eric has gone out of his way to make sure I’m having a great time.
This camping trip epitomizes his efforts to distract me from the problems waiting for me back in Chicago.
To let what amounted to nothing upset me would be a disservice to Eric’s efforts.
But a few inches… that’s all that separated us. I could have leaned up and claimed his lips… and potentially torched our relationship in the same breath if I had misread him.
By dinner, I offer to help Eric, but as always, he turns me down.
While he grills dinner on the barbeque, I sit by the fire and try to dive into the book Eric purchased for me.
Every few paragraphs, however, I realize I haven’t been following the story at all.
The words keep blurring on the page, my mind drifting back to the grassy clearing where Eric was perched above me, his body pressing down into mine, our panted breaths mingling, the sun framing his face like a halo.
I tell myself over and over Eric was just being playful.
Pulling me down to the ground after I teased him for missing his catch was harmless.
Hell, if roughhousing were an indication of sexual chemistry, then the majority of what I’ve seen around a dressing room could be construed as bordering on homoerotic.