by Annie Harper
“Judgment, honestly. I don’t have any basis for comparison.” Despite the goose bumps and the nerves, Logan gives in, places his arms tentatively on Dave’s shoulders and lets himself fall. Dave’s lips are soft and sure, and he kisses with his whole body, his arm behind Logan’s back, pressing them together.
From the moment he noticed Dave’s stage presence, Logan was captivated by how physical he is—on a stage, when he swims, in a canoe, when he dances. And now he feels it when they kiss. It’s sexy—not a vague concept like the fantasy of 1D’s Liam Payne shirtless is sexy, but a real-life, not-a-kid-anymore sexy that Logan feels all over his body. His heart races, and he is breathless, but who needs breathing when there is kissing? Kissing is incredible.
“This is amazing,” Dave says during a pause, and Logan chases his mouth again. Kissing Dave is incredible.
When staff curfew has them half-running, panting and giggling, back to their cabins, they end the date with a silly smack of the lips outside Dave’s cabin and promises of Let’s do this again and I want this and Yes. Then Logan is left to jog to his own cabin, compose himself and practice the art of nonchalance as he enters his den of swim boys. He’s not suspect. No one would ever expect that he had been making out with the dapper head of canoe beneath the evening stars.
Least of all himself.
* * *
Logan has to admit that some of his deeply held beliefs have been challenged since Dave duetted into his life three weeks ago. Dave’s mere existence during Logan’s blissful summer escape had already caused cognitive dissonance and apparently rendered his summer of gay-irrelevance impossible. And just when he thought he had achieved what he must admit was a happy equilibrium of being out but not defined by gay, not “the gay kid,” he finds his fiercely independent, high school romance is beneath me self consumed by thoughts of starlit canoe rides and making out and wanting and wanting and wanting. He wants to play it cool, maintain his composure, but he also wants to sing from the rooftops. And trying to process all of his own emotions is only further complicated by the fact that the object of his desire is Dave Westin.
The thing about trying to figure out whatever your tenuous relationship is with Dave Westin is that everybody loves Dave Westin. Somehow, Dave manages to navigate that elusive space of talented-dorky-cool and make everyone—gender, age and sexuality totally immaterial—swoon. Picture it: Dave leading a canoe trip. He teaches, he’s patient, he’s supportive. Great stroke, Hayley! You told me you couldn’t canoe, Jonah! He builds the campfire and remembers the marshmallows, and, when the kids are asleep, he plays guitar for the staff, taking requests and bursting into spontaneous harmonies. And the thing about Dave being that guy, is that that guy’s love life is a hot topic. Everybody loves Dave, so everybody wants to know who Dave loves. Or likes. Or makes out with by the water’s edge. Or whatever. Logan’s crazy about him, he definitely is. But honestly, Dave Westin can be exhausting. And this is particularly true when Logan has absolutely no idea exactly what is going on.
Somehow, though, Logan manages what he considers to be three triumphs: maintaining a casual openness, sustaining his independence and yes, making out with the really quite beautiful head of canoe when nobody else is looking.
Unsurprisingly, Logan had limited sleep the night of the canoe ride, a reasonable sacrifice to the adrenaline racing through his body and the feeling of Dave’s stubble still tingling around his mouth. His game face is apparently so flawless that the guys accepted his almost-late–for-curfew arrival back at the cabin with barely a shrug, no questions asked, leaving him to stare at the ceiling for most of the night, inwardly smiling from ear to ear. The amount of stir he doesn’t cause is almost disappointing despite his disdain for his own secret desire to sing it from the rooftops.
But morning arrives without fanfare or a Goodyear blimp proclaiming that he was kissing Dave Westin by the lake, and Logan is up, perfectly dressed and walking casually to the dining hall with Matt as if nothing has changed. Dave will join them for breakfast and pass the waffles, and perhaps that is the best approach. Nothing happened. Everything is the same. Fever dream.
And that is how it starts. Logan sits down with the swim guys as usual. Dave and Jake walk over as usual, carrying the breakfast tray. It’s not waffles, though. It’s French toast. The boys grumble out their usual morning pleasantries and Dave greets everyone with a little more sunshine and sits down. Dave’s eyes linger on Logan’s for just a beat longer. Logan detects an extra smile. But he can’t be sure. Dave sits across from him, as he often does, and the chitchat at the table can only be described as ordinary. Logan so wants to be cool about this—everybody has hook ups at camp—but he finds that, despite his stoic game face, he is buzzed and he doesn’t know what to do with it. So he says very little.
Then Dave’s foot knocks Logan’s under the table and Dave rests his calf against Logan’s leg. It is the tiniest of movements. It could have happened by accident yesterday. But today it’s not an accident. Especially not given the way Dave is crinkle-smiling at him right now.
And if Dave can’t stop grinning and is looking at him like that, then he figures it’s okay for him to be a little bit buzzed.
* * *
“Why did Stuart ask me before lunch if you were meeting us here?” Logan asks as they walk into the dining hall later. “Aren’t you the inseparable twosome?”
Dave looks at Logan, his eyebrows raised in a slightly sheepish come on face. “He asked you because I told him.” Dave shrugs.
“You told him? That we spent the evening making out instead of being social participants in the staff softball game?”
Dave laughs, “Not exactly. I think it was more like I told him that I’ve liked you for a while and told you last night and that we’re hopefully going to try things out?” God, why does Dave have to be so sensible? “Unless I’m way off base, here?” Dave suddenly goes from cool as a cucumber to vulnerable.
“Mmm,” Logan hums, “I think that’s pretty accurate.” He runs his finger along Dave’s arm. This time, Dave gets goose bumps. Achievement. Logan still isn’t sure what trying things out means, but for now he figures it’s camp jargon for spending time together and more kissing. And he can live with that.
* * *
The thing that surprises him is, it’s easy. Dave makes it easy. Logan teaches swim; Dave teaches canoe. Logan still has his late afternoon power-walk with Sarah. Dave still throws the ball around with the guys. They eat together but don’t always sit together. Dave leads the sing-along around the campfire. Logan directs the s’more-making activity and sits with the junior girls, who are slowly becoming his favorite swim class, believe it or not—nothing like a little no-bullshit, yes you can attitude from a swim teacher—and Justin.
But when the campers are tucked in, and the campfire and marshmallows are left to the staff, Dave sits down behind Logan and pulls him close with an arm around his waist. Sarah is still in deep thought about the woes of her and Logan’s talent show duet, Matt holds her hand and nods his head, and Logan could argue but really just wants to lean back into Dave.
This is a thing. His first ever thing. It isn’t everything. But it definitely makes him warm all over—it’s not just the fire.
Even the scrutiny caused by dating Mr. Man About Camp isn’t that bad. The swim guys are awesome, actually, mostly for not doing or saying anything at all. Dave sometimes holds his hand, and they don’t wince, they don’t look or not look; they don’t care. It’s bliss. And Stuart, well, Stuart told him that he’s never seen Dave so happy. Logan admits, that is saying something. Dave is kind of a ray of sunshine.
His junior girls’ swim class is another story. They figured it out as a class when Dave walked by, whispered some nothing in Logan’s ear and squeezed his hand. It was Leanne who announced it: “Oh my God, there is something happening here, isn’t there? You and Dave? Oh my God.” He didn’t deny it.
And the junior girls are enamored of the idea of Mr. Tripper
McHotPants—their name, honestly—being “all romantic” with The Marble Angel. They like to make up names. He got “marble” because he’s tough in swim class, yet always proudly fashionable, and “angel” because they like him after all and Dave says he sings like one. They’d had a detailed discussion about whether he would sing for them one day during treading water. When Dave happened to walk by, he said, “Make sure he does, girls. Logan sings like an angel.” Logan was ready to pull him into the water right then and there for inciting the masses.
These girls are sweet, intelligent, political and well-intentioned, but they are eleven years old. They read Teen magazine with appropriate disdain, and sneak in Cosmo and talk about sex without having any idea what they’re talking about. He doesn’t have any idea. Who is he kidding? But man, are they excited that Dave has found a guy! And that it’s him. They want to talk about it pretty much non-stop.
“So, do you and Dave, like, spend hours talking to each other after we go to sleep?”
“He’s a good kisser, right? He is totally a good kisser. I know he is. You have kissed, right?”
Logan just side-eyes the camper and tells her to go get her towel.
“I think it is so great that two guys can find each other here and be open and in love. It just makes me so happy.” Slow down there, Tiger. We kissed five nights ago.
“You guys are just so cute together. So cute. Oh my God.”
“I know we bug you,” Leanne says to him at the end of one class. “But seriously, we’re happy for you guys.”
That’s true. So he lets the scrutiny and the overzealousness about his love life roll right off his back because he is happy for himself, too.
* * *
Finding time to be alone is difficult. They are both busy with their own jobs and like to participate in staff evening programs (softball notwithstanding), and Logan absolutely refuses to be that guy who only spends time with one person. He power-walks with Sarah, plays volleyball with the guys, and assists with the junior camper play—Grease. Justin is a fantastic Kenickie. And Leanne is Rizzo. So Logan notices with some amusement and quiet appreciation that Dave tries to make the time they do have together as romantic as a camp filled with rambunctious children will allow.
Like their two-week anniversary.
“Will you come to my cabin? I set up a little something for our anniversary.” Dave beams, hands in his pockets, and rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Anniversary?” Logan side-eyes him. Dave insists on celebrating, but at least he doesn’t purchase a mass-produced poem written on a Hallmark card.
“It’s been two weeks since we, you know, started this.” Dave is shameless. And even though Logan still really isn’t sure about the two weeks thing, and is even less sure about what exactly “this” is, he is willing to indulge him.
Logan steps inside a cabin lit by about twenty little battery-operated tea lights and two plastic champagne glasses filled with Dave’s mocktail: sparkling water and grapefruit and orange juice, garnished with freshly cut strawberries and blueberries.
On the bed, they cross their legs with their knees touching, sip their drinks and talk about their day: about the Matt and Sarah dynamic, that despite how opposite they are, they do seem to really like each other; and about the junior girls and their newfound interest in Logan’s love life. Dave thinks it’s adorable. Logan just rolls his eyes.
“But you did tell them that I’m a good kisser, right?” Dave says after Logan recounts some of the many boundary-crossing comments.
“Ha, no,” Logan says, “I told her to go get her towel. There are just some secrets I like to keep to myself.”
“Mmm.” Dave puts his glass down and takes Logan’s out of his hand so he can lean over and kiss him.
“Wait,” Logan says, breaking the kiss. “How come they never ask you these things?”
Dave laughs. “Actually, they do,” he admits as he kisses down Logan’s neck.
“Wait, what?” Logan gently pushes him away.
“Junior girls’ canoe trip three days ago.” Dave shrugs. “They wanted to know everything. How we got together, is it the same as with a guy and a girl—”
“Oh my God, who said that?”
“Oh-so-young but well-intentioned Hayley.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t have to say anything. Leanne jumped in with a sassy ‘Love is love, Hayley. It feels the same for anyone.’”
“Mmm, smart kid.” Logan hums.
“Not that—you know—she just meant—I mean—”
“It’s okay.” Logan laughs, and pulls Dave down to kiss him again. He really does not need confessions of undying love, but some uninterrupted private kissing would be nice.
They haven’t had this chance before—to be alone, on a bed, with time—and Logan, while not being sure exactly where this is going, is sure that he wants it. The strawberries and blueberries and citrus mix with the summer heat and he wants to feel Dave everywhere—fruit-tinged lips on his lips, on his neck, Dave’s sun-kissed and camp-tanned body close and hot. The what of it all is a little fuzzy, but he figures Dave knows, and he is definitely interested in finding out. Not that, of course not. It’s only been two weeks, even on camp time, and he’s not in a rush. Just having Dave’s body flush against his, and kissing and kissing and kissing is overwhelming.
Before this summer, simply meeting someone was beyond what he let himself think about. He admits, there were those couple of times when he slipped up with Sarah. Like last year, after she went on three dates with Michael Lucas and his curiosity got the better of him. “What’s it like to kiss a guy?” She was so happy that he wanted to talk about that with her, she grabbed his hands and said, “It’s like magic, Logan. Magic strawberry and chocolate perfection. When it’s your turn, you’re going to melt.” He had laughed and tried to hide the bitterness he wouldn’t let himself feel and told her that wouldn’t happen for a long time. And while he hates to admit when Sarah’s right, he did indulge her the morning after he and Dave kissed by saying, “More like raspberries and mint, with a rough tingle left over.” The shocked look on her face was totally worth it.
* * *
Logan has been a bit testy the last few days. Yes, perhaps he shouldn’t have snapped at Dave for finishing the milk at breakfast, and it isn’t Dave’s fault that the senior girls were late for his class because they canoed out too far during Dave’s lesson, but he can’t help it. He’s irritable. With less than two weeks of camp left, the inevitable end to his summer of bliss whispers in his ear at every turn. And despite at least three pretty steamy evenings in Dave’s cabin, Dave still doesn’t know that he, too, is a boxer briefs guy. He hasn’t even attempted to look. Logan would like him to, but time is running out and he doesn’t know how to ask.
“Are you seriously still mad about the swim class thing?” Dave raises his hands helplessly when they meet up after the campers are asleep.
Logan stops in his tracks, faces Dave with his hands on his hips and just blurts out. “Aren’t we on a countdown here? Like there are less than two weeks left, and I’d really like to have some kind of—” Logan pauses, takes a breath, and whispers, “more-than-just-making-out with you before this thing we have going is over?”
“What?” Dave’s jaw drops and he just looks at Logan. “What countdown? And you do—want that? Can we back up for a second here? First, who said this is ending?”
“I don’t know. I just figured that old adage rings true: ‘What happens at arts camp stays at arts camp.’” Logan pauses, feeling guilty because Dave is giving him a what on earth are you talking about look.
“Well, considering I’ve never heard that famous saying,” Dave says, crossing his now dark tan arms, “and we both live in Pennsylvania, I think I could handle having a boyfriend just a town away. I mean, I’ve come to Allentown to go to The Stonewall, of all places, and seeing you would be a far better excuse.”
“Wait—so you want
this to continue?”
“Yeah.” Dave nods. “And I was sort of counting on you feeling the same way?”
“Well.” Logan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and takes Dave’s hands in his. “How do you know I’m not more of a free spirit?” He is being coy and he knows Dave knows it, but he can’t let his guard down too easily.
Dave eyes him. “Well, I guess that I’ll just have to convince you.” And then they’re kissing. Which Logan admits is pretty convincing.
“I think it may be worth the drive from Allentown to Lancaster.”
“Well, thank you. Glad I’m worth ninety minutes and a quarter tank of gas.” Dave seems only slightly exasperated, but also warm. “So, um, what was that other part again?”
“You know what I said.”
“Maybe I just want to hear you say it again?” Dave is still in his space, still staring with those puppy eyes. “Or has that changed now that we’re Facebook official?”
“No. That hasn’t changed. I still want to—” Logan pauses. He already said it once. He really isn’t sure he can say it again.
“Get in my pants?”
“Dave.” He is so crass.
“Sorry.” But he isn’t. “Instead I could ask if you want to make mad passionate love to me?” His look is impossibly sweet and wicked.
“Oh my God, no.” Logan looks down, trying to control his blush and gather his wits. “Yes, please, Dave. I would like to get in your pants.” He bats his eyelashes.
“You’re such a romantic,” Dave says, batting his own long eyelashes right back. “But at the risk of ruining this moment of my incredibly hot boyfriend telling me out of nowhere that he wants to, you know—can we talk about it?”
“I didn’t mean I want to do it right now,” Logan says, indignant.
Dave laughs. “Well, yes, I figured you would want a slightly more ideal setting than a public beach. I know you didn’t mean now. But can we talk about it?”
Logan looks skeptical, as if he’s about to hold his nose and jump into a cesspool. “No better time than the present to learn the torrid details of your previous sex life compared to my nonexistent one.”