Surf City

Beach day.

Beach days are extensive. They require provisions and equipment. Some mode of transportation. Sun screen. A will to persist with grit in one’s teeth.

But this time I got to flirt with the cutest boy. Kevin. The perfect curly brown hair. The most darling smile Maybe 26. Super sweet. 100% gay.

He was the best sport. We talked baseball and god…I don’t even know…but he was funny. He spoke in Russian. I think he was trying to show off.

I don’t remember the last time I flirted. Everyone I hang out with I’ve known for a crone’s age and I don’t happen to run into a lot of cute, witty strangers.

Alfie’s friend F (pronounce Feral but I don’t know how it was spelled) was so intriguing. They moved to rural Indiana to organize a community. I had a million logistical questions and the conversation was riveting.

Alfie was a sweetie pie and in top form.

The jokes kept flying. So many callbacks. And my favorite jokes…the kind that has one person snickering because they get the reference but they’re trying to play it cool.

I had people in stitches. I was caddy. I was the me I get to be around very few people.

We walked back to the car singing all the wrong words to The New Radicals’ “You Get What You Give.”

And I didn’t get sunburned.

I’m celebrating my victory, freshly bathed, swathed in elfen onesie pajamas and lying next to the sexiest…chicken over rice with extra white sauce.

Alfie and Kevin in the water:

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