The Beach Houste, thread 2

[IDreamaboutMen]

Hi again! This story is growing, so I deciced to create a new thread to make the scrolling easier. As always, you can read the story on my substack.

— Yeah, I think we did. We really did.

He smiled, leaned in, kissed me on the cheek, then pulled in the plaids, drained the last of his wine and tucked himself in like this was camping, and something he’d done all his life.

— This’ll keep us warm. Lean back so I can lean on your chest, will you?

I downed what was left in my glass, set it in the sand and shifted position so he could get comfortable. His head landed just below my collarbone, and those hairy legs of his tangled into mine without asking for permission.

Of course they fit.

The sand dune was surprisingly comfortable.
Or maybe it was just the company—maybe just about anywhere would’ve done.
But yeah, it was comfortable.
And hearing Mats’ breath slow down, not quite asleep but drifting, resting so close to me, well… I said to myself that some days really are impossible to forecast.

With the sound of his slow breath, the gentle roll of the waves as the tide of that enormous ocean drifted away—and the scent of his hair—even I, the selfless guardian of pale abs and redheads without sunscreen, drifted away too.

And just before sleep took me, I saw Peter Rabbit squeezing under Mr. McGregor’s garden gate again. His little blue jacket flapped behind him. He looked back at me, flashed that cheeky smile, and whispered:

— Don’t worry. I’ll bring you a carrot.

Then he vanished into the lettuce.

I wasn’t worried at all. I’d already found mine.

Falling asleep on the sand dunes had been really, really nice. Waking up, though? Well… not so much.

First, I felt this sharp pain in my stomach that a) shocked me, and b) sent me into a whimsy state of alert in no time.

I opened my eyes and saw the back of Mats’ head — and his broad back — as he tried to get up.

The pain? That came from his hand using me as a handle.

I could tell he was in a hurry. He almost stumbled up, mumbling:

— Fuuuuck… what time is it? He quickly looked all around. What is this? How the fuck can I explain this to Anna?

I rose, resting on my elbows, watching him stroke his hair rapidly, taking a few short steps around like he was trying to orient himself.



He was nude as hell, and watching his body from my angle wasn’t bad at all.

No sir.

I’ve heard that all the fashion shoots of hot bodies are done in the early morning, when the body’s at its tightest. And if I’d had a camera then, I’d have taken some seriously hot pictures of him.

His abs moved like waves under pale skin, rising and falling with each movement. His tight ass tensed and released as he stepped around, and those thighs… I hadn’t known there were that many muscles involved in just moving.

But hey, I’ve always been an eager learner.

And then his dick. That dingly-dangly masterpiece, bouncing with every step, gently framed by a tight patch of short, dark brown pubes.

This whimsy state of alert did have its benefits.

— What time is it?

I realized he was asking me, and after a few seconds of trying to figure out what he meant, I said:

— Ooooh...

I started searching for my phone, the one I’d left somewhere near the bottle of wine last night. Had to dig through the sand a bit, but after a few sweeps I felt the cold metal case next to the blanket I was still half-wrapped in.

— It’s not even six, Mats — there’s nooo way Anna is awake just yet.

— And where are the clothes? I have to find my clothes.

He started lifting the plaids, scanning the beach gear the girls had left for us to collect the day before.

— I can’t find them. Fuck!

— Mats, hey! Cool down. You dropped yours when you were running, remember? They’ll be there. Just... cool it.

— Cool it? How the fuck can I be cool it when I should be in bed next to Anna right now?

And right about then, he seemed to remember he was completely naked, because he quickly grabbed the plaid we’d used as a blanket and wrapped it around himself in one swift motion.

I figured I should at least try to be helpful, so I got up and walked over to him.

— Mats, seriously. Chill. Just head back to the house and get into bed. You’ll even get a couple more hours of sleep. And if Anna asks anything — which I doubt — just say we were out drinking on the beach and that you’re hungover. Not exactly a first, is it?

He turned his head and looked at me for the first time that morning — and he didn’t look happy.

— I’ll get your clothes, I said, trying to calm him down. — Sush. Sashay away. I can’t stand you being this stressed.

He gave me a wary look, then tightened the blanket around himself like it was armor.

— You’ll get my clothes?

— Yes, I’ll get your clothes. Now go. If you’re so stressed, just go.

— OK, he muttered, and started off towards the house in what could only be described as a slightly frantic sashay. A called after him:

— I’d raise the plaid a bit if I were you. Tight dresses aren’t ideal for moving fast, now are they?

He didn’t answer, but I saw him hitch it up just enough to pick up speed — over the last dune, along the narrow planked path, and up the stairs to the house like a man trying very hard not to think about the reasons for this walk of shame.

Now it was my turn to get a little weary, standing there stark naked among all the beach debris like a confused castaway. I started tracing patterns in the sand with my toe. A short gust of chilled breeze reminded me of my lack of clothing.

With the breeze came a shift in scent. Still ocean, sure, but now with a top note of sun-warmed seaweed. Some of it alive and kicking. Some of it very, very dead.

Nature’s own little reminder that the party was over.

I turned around and for the first time noticed the beach at low tide. Where there had been water just hours ago, there was now a stretch of rippled sand and flat, glistening rocks.

Naturally, my eyes started scanning the sand for the place where we’d fucked in the water—but there were no obvious marks. No gaping holes, no grooves in the sand after the weight of two young men being impressively carnal.

Nature, with all its talents for sculpting masterpieces, also seems to have a strange inability to recognize what truly deserves to be memorialized.

I was, I admit, a little disappointed.

The tube was still there next to me, though. Faithful as ever.
I sighed, picked it up.

— Guess I’d better get you back to your family. And get Mats’s stuff back as well.

I had to take a few steps along the old shoreline before I remembered the whole nude part.
I looked around for something to cover myself with, but there wasn’t much—just the thick blanket and two beach parasols.

A parasol would definitely bring some pazazz, no doubt. But the blanket had a slight edge in, well… coverage.

But, then again, did I really need to hide? I mean, honestly? There didn’t seem to be anyone around. And I could already spot a yellow dot not too far away—that had to be Mats’ shorts, so mine had to be somewhere close by.

And anyway, I was dead tired. The idea of crawling into a proper bed for an hour or two was really growing on me.

Yes, I noticed the pun. And apparently, so did my dick.

I stood there, stark naked, feeling myself get hard again.

My brain, helpful as always, began cueing up reruns from last night: Mats jerking off in front of me, his hard cock in my mouth, the feeling of him pushing inside me, his moans in my ear when we finally fucked...

Turns out I can get rock hard in absolutely no time.

But losing the erection though? Not quite fast enough, as I soon realized.

— Bonjour Monsieur, c’est un bon matin, n’est-ce pas?

I heard a voice, but I couldn’t understand where it came from, until I turned and an elderly lady strolling along the beach towards me with an equally elderly man.

My grip around my dick shifted from a slow, and very nice jerk to full-blown damage control. My hands flew in, smashing my cock down between my thighs like I was trying to shove it out of existence.

— Oh… salut, Madame… et Monsieur... eeeh, Oui, c’est un très bon matin.

I nodded, grinning wide—somewhere between charming and mortified—hoping my smile would be enough to redirect their gaze north. Let’s just say that never before has the phrase “My eyes are up here” felt more desperately needed.

The pair stopped. Smiled. Clearly enjoying the situation far more than I did.

— J’ai cru que le temps était un peu trop froid, the woman said, eyes twinkling. Mais évidemment, vous avez une bonne vigueur… très dûr…

I stood there, frozen. Literally and figuratively. My French was just good enough to understand that she was complimenting my vigueur. Possibly all of it. (Should I be flattered?)
But, still – my dignity packed a tiny suitcase and started walking toward the horizon.

And, you know, adding French to a brain that was already exploding… well, that didn’t go great.

I started walking backwards toward the plaid. Slowly. Carefully. Like my dignity depended on it, and…well, it did. And I swore to myself, if I made it there alive, I’d never complain or stress about anything ever again.

— Eee… oui… merci, I guess. Je ne fais pas… des choses comme ça, normalement… J’ai des vêtements… des clothes, usually. J’aime les bons matins… happy mornings on the beach… la plage… and ohlalala…

The smile I managed to pull off was, at least from the inside, a groundbreaking innovation in facial expression—somewhere between almost crying and almost screaming.

Happy porcelain have nothing on me.

Their smiles only widened.

— Avez-vous pêché pour les huîtres peut-être? C’est un bon temps pour ça maintenant.

I kept inching backwards, step by awkward step. Oysters? Aaah—of course. This place must be filled with them. Why wouldn’t it be?

— Ah oui, les huîtres… I said, nodding like I’d just remembered my life’s passion. — Bien sûr. Beaucoup d’huîtres ici, right?

My toe frantically searched for the blanket behind me, hoping that a miracle would make me find it, so I could drag it forward without looking like I was doing exactly that.

The french are all about style, you know?

The friendly couple made no move to help. None. They just stood there, beaming like I was their favorite morning show.

— Mais oui, les huîtres d’ici sont les meilleures de toute la côte, she said, turning to the man. N’est-ce pas ?

He nodded solemnly, gaze lingering a little too long.

— Oui, les fruits de mer — délicieux. Et vous… vous avez la vigueur, la fermeté… le corps d’un vrai pêcheur.

Her glasses slid down her nose as she inspected me more thoroughly. There I was: hands frantically trying to cover my crotch (pretty sure my balls had retreated completely into hiding), and one foot dragging patterns in the sand like a confused stork. Or a ballerina halfway through Swan Lake.

She leaned in slightly, smiling.

— Oui… et peut-être aussi les bons outils…

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.

— La raideur d’un grand pêcheur. C’est impressionant, ça.

Then they both laughed.

I was just about to share their laugh, saying something clever about the importance of having great tools—maybe throw in a nudge-nudge for good measure—when the wording hit me.

Oh fuck. They are talking about my dick.

I did let out a laugh. Not a confident, sexy laugh, mind you. No, this was full-on Bridget Jones realising she'd just shouted "Frits Pervert!" across a quiet dinner party kind of laugh.

–Aaah, oui eh, les bons outils…hahaha – C’est very funny that… trés, très funny.

And then—praise be—I felt the edge of the plaid under my foot.

Without breaking eye contact, I bent down in what I hoped was a graceful motion, grabbed the corner of the plaid, and slowly pulled it up to my waist.

— Aha! I said, like I’d just solved world peace. Saved by the plaid.

I attempted what I hoped to be the most charming smile ever offered in post-nudity history while trying to drape the fabric around me with as much dignity as one can manage when still semi-erect in front of an audience.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t broadcasting the full outline of my genitals to strangers on a beach.

That’s progress.

I saw how the couple’s eyes followed the plaid’s movement upwards, clearly intrigued by my desperate attempt to get it around my waist while covering the front.

And I couldn’t help thinking—why hadn’t the girls brought a normal towel? This thick plaid was useless. Sure, I could hold it in front of me, but trying to secure it around my waist? No chance.

Which, I’m quite sure, the couple had already realized.

Because just when I thought I’d finally managed to wrap myself up with some decency, the man smiled and said:

— Jeune pêcheur, nous vous souhaitons une bonne journée.

Young fisherman. Right.

And with that, they both reached out to shake my hand. Very polite, very civilised. The only issue? I had to let go of the plaid for a moment—and yes, of course it slipped.

So there I was again. Still covering my dick, technically, but my thighs, my ass… all the rest was back on display for the world to enjoy.

And in that moment, I just thought: Fine. I surrender.
The world clearly wants me nude.

So, I smiled again, nodded politely, and shook their hands as they both gave me one last full-body inspection, top to bottom. And what could I do but stand there, being politely audited.

Then, with a final approving nod, they turned and began walking away down the beach.

In my head, I let out the biggest sigh of my life. Stress levels dropped like a rock in the ocean. Just seeing their backs was like passing my driving test—I wanted to cheer, cry and call my parents.

But of course, no ordinary French couple would leave without being extra polite.

The woman turned back, calling out from a few meters away:

— Et bien sûr, je souhaite ta fille aussi. J’espère qu’elle aime les fruits de mer.

Yes, if there had been a girl involved, I’m sure that seafood would have been her greatest love.

I wanted to say something general, something clever, but the words that came out…

— Ah, mais c’est pas une fille, c’est un garçon. All of this…

I added a very French gesture—wide, inclusive—the debris around me, the lack of clothing, the sea, the sky. All of it – is because of a guy.

— Tout cela dépend d’un garçon.

The couple looked at each other, surprised for a moment, then chuckled.

— Un garçon, hein?

I shrugged, gave them a small nod.

— Oui. Un bon garçon. He’s a nice one.

They kept chuckling, eyes still on me, shrugging their shoulders as if some universal truth had just been confirmed.

— Toujours les garçons, toujours…

And then, just before turning away, the man gave me a little bow.

— Alors, nous souhaitons à ton garçon aussi… et bonne chance pêchant!

Luck with the fishing? I couldn’t help smiling – for real this time and gave myself a mental pat on the shoulder. Yeah. I’d had some.

— Merci, I said, trying to get my useless brain fluid in a totally absent French vocabulary. — Et à vous… bonne… happy walking! Bonne marché!

They gave me a qick wave and I heard their giggles trailing behind them as they walked away.

Yeah. Wishing someone a nice marketplace probably is pretty funny.

So there I was, clutching the plaid like Leonardo DiCaprio on a sinking ship, watching the couple disappear into the morning mist.

I needed to retrieve our clothes. Also, the tube needed to be returned—somewhere vaguely near where it had come from. I had no idea where that was, of course, but I shrugged. What’s another hundred meters back or forth in the grand scheme of things?

And then there was the matter of my nakedness.
The blanket—let’s be honest—wasn’t made for walking. It worked fine on a bed, or to make a sand dune feel less like a sand dune. But as clothing? No way, José.

And honestly, what could possibly be more embarrassing than what I’d already been through? Not much. If I could sprint like a gazelle last night, I could damn well do it again.

So after one last careful glance down the empty coastline, I dropped the plaid and started running.

It had been a while since I was this focused. A nuclear explosion could’ve gone off and I wouldn’t have flinched.

All my brain could register was the tiny yellow dot in the distance and the chilled, hard sand under my feet.

Oh—and my dick, flapping around like it had its own mission. If I ever needed a solid reason to invent shorts, this was it.

Thankfully, the yellow dot was Mats’s shorts—and close by, I found the rest of our clothes scattered across the sand.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of joy putting on pants.

And after adjusting the precious packet so it could rest comfortably in its pouch, I could meet the world with conficence and pride. Well, maybe pride is pushing it. The memory from what just had happened still too strong to be neglected.

But I was dressed, and that, in itself, was a victory.

I jogged back and started gathering the stuff scattered across the beach. Thankfully, the girls had left a basket big enough to fit most of the smaller items. I rolled up the plaid with the parasols and slung it over my shoulder, balancing both the bundle and the basket as I made my way back to the house.

The veranda doors were wide open, the table still set, and the mess from crisps and drinks in the kitchen clearly untouched.

That’s when the lack of sleep hit me like a sledgehammer. My body and soul ached for the bed – just any bed really, but if we wanted to avoid the girls asking too many questions about what Mats and I had been doing all night… then this had to be dealt with. Now.

Thankfully, the sun was up and the morning breeze had settled, letting the temperature climb to that perfect, blissful level.

Life—messy and nice at the same time.

So, with what I’d like to call admirable focus (again), I got to work. Bit by bit, I started sorting things out. Glasses, plates, random trinkets scattered around—I loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, the dinner table, swiped the floors, and cleaned up the battlefield.

All while enjoying the faint, floral scent of those overly exotic French detergents. La Douce France might not solve your problems, but it knows how to perfume them.

And when I was finally done, having looked around the place thinking yeah, I’ve actually done a really good job, I could let the tiredness that I had pushed aside, sink in properly.

A bed. A clean blanket. The soft hum of the AC working quietly in the corner. That would be my reward for everything I’d been through. Or as Milla Jovovich put it: Parce que je le vaux bien. I am so fucking worth it.

That was when a voice cut through the silence.

— Erik! Are you also a morning person? That is so nice! You want some coffee… or tea? Mats is sleeping like a rock downstairs. Woke me up with his snoring—God, that is one of the most annoying things ever. Anyways, so nice that you’re up.

To be continued...

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

And here is the continuation...

Anna came bouncing over and greeted me with a big hug—full of energy, full of joy. She grabbed my shoulders and gave me a good once-over. (What is it with women auditing me today??)

— Have you been out jogging already? Excercising? That is so impressive. And seriously—you’ve become so fit! I don’t know how you do it. I honestly don’t know how anyone does it. I’m way too much of a wine-’em and dine-’em kind of girl—you know what I mean?

She beamed at me, absolutely radiant.

— I just know this will be a great day.

I smiled back and whished I could’ve agreed with her.

–Yeah, it probably will… I ran my fingers through my hair and gave the place a once-over. It probably will…

Anna took my hand and led me to the hammock, where she put me at one end, adjusting the cushions around me to be fluffy and comfortable.

—Wait here and I’ll bring you the tea, because it is tea, right?

From the kitchen, I heard her rummaging around. The kettle started humming, seagulls squawked somewhere above, and the air, now a few degrees warmer, began mixing the ocean’s salt with softer, sweeter scents.

The pillows must’ve been freshly washed—there was that unmistakable white-lilies-and-softener thing going on.

I won’t fall asleep if I just close my eyes for a second. Just a little.

I mean, I am a young man of principle.

I heard the seagulls, the clinking of porcelain and—

—And then something had happened to my face.

The first thing I noticed was the blur. My vision was gone—replaced by this swirling red-orange haze, like I was inside a fire.

My back ached.

And the heat… I was damp. Sweaty.

It felt like a hangover, but that couldn’t be right. No way.

I reached up to touch my face—but to my horror it was dry, pointy, unrecognizable. I couldn’t feel my skin, like it had turned into some grotesque mask.

For fuck’s sake.

I tried to sit up, but the world tilted, and I nearly toppled over. The movement cleared the haze for a second—then the light hit. Brutal, sharp, everywhere. Everything around me was swaying like a fever dream. And to top it off, a cold breeze snuck into every damp seam of my clothes.

—Don’t fall over, dear. It’ll be messy.

—What?

I blinked, blinded by the sudden light, grabbing onto the cool, sharp edges of whatever was in front of me.

I knew the voice, but… the red-orange haze had shifted into a blinding white glare. Slowly, outlines began to form around me.

—Have you tried water? Might do you some good right now.

Something cool and cylindrical was pressed into my hand. As my eyes adjusted, I began piecing together this new world I’d apparently been dropped into.

It felt like a glass of water. It behaved like a glass of water—especially when I misjudged where my mouth was and drooled it down my cheek. But that was due to the world swinging, of course.

So yes, it was a glass of water. A scientific mindset never fails.

The sharp shape in front of me started to look more and more like the coffee table. My legs were still with me—which is always reassuring—and they looked mostly as expected. The rocking eased as soon as I stopped shifting around on whatever I was sitting on. Which, more and more, began to resemble a hammock.

And there, beside me: a bright pink sun hat.

The world is full of surprises.

Yeah. Water would probably help. And I downed it as if a life depended on it.

My life.

The voice next to me came from a body on a sun chair. She turned and looked at me over her sunglasses.

—So, you and Mats drank all night while Anna and I were trying to cope with pain?

I looked around but there was no-one else there, so she must be talking to me (it was a she voice and I began to recognice it).

—Drinking? Us? No way, José.

Sussi lowered her sunglasses, giving me a long, stern look.

—It wasn’t, I told her. How could it be, after you and Anna had your crisp-frenzy in the kitchen?

Her look didn’t shange.

—So, it was us drinking all the wine, was it?

—Look, I’m not judging, you needed the drugs… I get it. Rough childhood and all that.

—For fuck’s sake, Erik.

I sighed and took a deep breath. Boy did I need more water.

—I was just trying to be funny. And no, there wasn’t any more wine—just that bottle still on the table after you two left.

—So what did you do all night? Talk?

—I guess so. Would that be so strange?

She gave me a disapproving look, then opened the magazine resting in her lap.

—If you say so. Would’ve been a first, wouldn’t it?

I drained the last sip in my glass.

—What, us talking?

—No, not you. We all know you talk. I meant Mats. If there is one more boring man alive, I don’t know who that could be.

—I don’t know if boring is the right word.

—What is then… dull?

I slowly rose to my feet, trying balance as if it was for the first time.

—Naah, dull isn’t really there either.

—There’s water in the kitchen if you want more. And just so you know: Anna and Mats are in La Rochelle. We can meet them there if we want to.

I passed her, getting more and more comfortable with walking.

—And… do we?

—Well, waiting for you to resurrect hasn’t exactly been thrilling, so yeah. A trip to the city might just save the day.

—Even if it means hanging out with boring old Mats?

She sighed and flipped another page.

—Anna’s fun. As for Mats—you can do whatever you want with him.

Well, I thought, while pouring myself some of that blessed water, we might just see about that.

After a couple of litres of that cold, sparkling miracle, my body seemed to reboot and even my brain kicked back in. Yeah, I probably could make it through another day.

—So, when are we leaving?

—I’d suggest right after you take a shower. Wash off that lovely layer of day-old booze and do something about your face.

I caught my reflection in the kitchen window and had to admit that she had a point. This was not the Erik who’d been sprinting over sand dunes chasing Mats. A shave and a cold shower sounded like the best things since aspirin. Also, getting the last of the sand out of my butt crack might not be the worst idea either.

—

—So, this is La Rochelle, I said, looking out over a small harbour tucked beside a picturesque old tower.

The ocean was ever-present, but this time its vast, unbroken horizon was framed by sailboats and timeworn buildings. The air carried that familiar saltiness, laced now with the sting of diesel and the warmth of sunbaked asphalt.

—Mmm, looks like it.

Sussi was busy looking for something in her backpack.

—Not what I had expected.

—Isn’t it? Why?

—Well, I know this’ll sound stupid, but I read all these war stories when I was young. There was so much about La Rochelle—Nazis building massive concrete bunkers, hiding submarines and… being all secretive and stuff.

I waved vaguely toward the quaint tower and the harbour, with its small houses clustered around it—windows brimming with geraniums, ground floors turned into picturesque shops and restaurants.

—All this looks… so very French.

Sussi turned to me with the expression of someone trying make sense out of nonsense.

—La Rochelle was your idea, you know that, right?

—Yeah, but…

—And you built this thing with us going here on nothing more than… childhood memories from war novels?

—Action novels. And there was literary value there. Sort of.

She gave me a long look.

—Says the guy who knows Vogue by heart.

—Hey—Vogue is art!

She sighed and pulled out her phone to check the map.

—Yeah, right. And the seven dwarfs were just friends.

She scrolled, humming to herself.

—OK, just got a message from Anna. They’ve found a nice place to eat near the town’s food hall... Looks like a ten-minute walk, tops.

I scratched my neck, silently wondering why we couldn’t just find something closer to the harbour.

—Come on, It’s not like you don’t get a sea view at the house, right?

—I know, but… seems like a bit of a waste not to get the full-on ocean experience, now that we’re actually next to one.

—Well, some might say it’s a bit of a waste not to get the full-on “quaint little seaside town” experience, now that we’re actually in one.

—I guess you have a point there.

—And also, I’d like to do some shopping while we’re here. It’s fun to see what they’re offering in this place.

—Really? What on earth do you think you’d want to buy here?

—I don’t know. Maybe a quaint little sun hat. Or some quaint little sunglasses. Or… a quaint little summer dress. Who knows? That’s the point. The adventure. And French fashion.

—Yeah, right… I’m sure you’ll find loads of French fashion here. You just have to dig past the t-shirts and inflatable dolphins.

She turned to give me a stern look. Again.

—Oh, don’t worry about me, I said, all reassurance. It’ll be quaint. I’m sure.

The walk made me think of the theory of relativity, which I decided to mention.

—You know, Sussi, isn’t it funny how a ten-minute walk can suddenly turn into a thirty-minute one? Just like that? It’s like time decided to just quit and leave saying #fuck this shit”. Or, like the Doppler effect—you know, when the sound changes as something passes by really fast? Like, this time - imagine a car driving past us really slowly. So slowly, in fact, that the sound doesn’t shift at all. Not even a little.

We’d stopped outside a small shop with racks of “summer wear” spilling onto the pavement. Sussi was inspecting each flowery item of clothing with forensic focus.

—And do you know why the sound wouldn’t shift? Well, that would be because the car is barely moving. Just like us. My guess – or analysis if you want to call it that—is that in fact, it is because of the sound having no speed at all. Absolutely no speed —just like us. And that would kill it—out of sadness mabye. Going all buuurn buurn, but so slow that no one would hear it, and that would make it die, fall to the ground, never to be heard of again. Possibly just like us if this keeps on going much longer.

—Somehow, I think you managed to misunderstand both Einstein and Doppler in one sweeping monologue, Erik. That’s some kind of achievement, I guess.

She held up a pink-orange floral blouse with puff sleeves.

—Now hush. What do you think—charming or tragic?

I wanted to show disinterest, just to get going, but the blouse was, in fact, quite nice.

—Hmm, I said with a bit of surprice, It looks quite good, actually. I have to admit that.

She held it out in front of her, examining it again.

—You mean you like it?

—Yeah, I do. It’s got that “let’s-have-drinks-on-a-veranda-overlooking-the-ocean” kind of vibe.

She gave me a disapproving look, then glanced back at the blouse.

—Come on, Sussi. Are you going to put it back just because I liked it?

—Well, Erik… It’s not like I can trust you on these things, is it?

—You can’t trust me? I gave out a laugh of disbelief. I mean, if there’s anyone you can trust, it’s me. I am Mr Trusty. You know that.

—Yeah, like that time you brought me that black dress with plastic flowers on the sleeves?

—That was fashion sweetie. And it was super cool.

—Super cool as dressing up in candy, you mean?

—I don’t see how that comparison is relevant in any way. But compared to most of what we’ve seen today, at least candy is likeable.

—So… she held the blouse like a question mark, you think I should take this one, then?

—Yes. Please do. Not just because I’m starving, but because it’s actually nice. You’ll look good in it. It’ll look good on you. You’ll make such a nice couple. And so on. Bladibladi blah.

—OK, she said and brought it to a small counter tucked between the street stands. I heard her discussing the price with the attendant.

—Wait, I said, walking up and whispering in her ear. Are you haggling the price?

—Hush. Of course. That’s what you do here.

—Sweetie, that’s what you do in Tehran. Not France. This is a shop, not a flea market.

—You’re such a coward, Erik. C’mon… it’ll be fun.

—Fun, you say? Well… I gave the attendant a stiff smile and whispered back, you’re on your own with this one.

I slowly turned away, showing a sudden interested in ladies’ underwear, while I couldn’t help overhearing the rest.

—Madame (I couldn’t help smiling at that), zis iz ze price. I am not ze owner.

—I’m sure you can give me a discount. This is clearly overpriced.

—Madame, if you want ze blouse, vous must pay ze price. It is very simpol.

—But Monsieur, I’m sure a good man like you can offer me a much better price. I’ll be a returning customer.

—Madame, you are a visitor, no? So, vous will not be a returning customer.

Sussi sighed, scanning for fresh arguments—then spotted a rack of baby sunglasses next to the counter.

—OK, I’ll take it if you throw these in.

She picked up a pair with bright red, heart-shaped frames. The man stared at her, puzzled.

—Vous want zese?

—Yes. That is correct. I want them. And if you add them, I’ll take the blouse.

Even with my back turned, I could feel her determination radiating outward. I could also sense the man’s growing frustration.

—But… zese are for children?

—I happen to like them. And you happen to sell overpriced clothing. We both know ziss. So, add the sunglasses and we’re even.

He blinked, watching her wave the tiny heart-shaped glasses in the air like a trophy.

—Zose cost one euro, Madame… not more.

—Great. Then I’m sure there’s no problem adding them.

He raised both hands like he was shielding himself from whatever was unfolding on the other side of the counter. Then, surprisingly, he called out to me.

—Monsieur, can you help? Ze madame has no money to pay for ze blouse.

—I’m sorry, monsieur, I can’t help you with ze madame. I’m just paid to keep her from killing people. This is actually much nicer than she usually is.

I shrugged and tried to look innocent.

—Mon dieu, he muttered, turning the card reader toward Sussi. Take ze damn glasses.

Sussi beamed as she tapped her card with flair.

The man stuffed the blouse into a paper bag with a dramatic sigh, while Sussi leaned over the counter, holding the glasses aloft.

—No need for a bag for these, monsieur. I can take them as they are.

—Good, madame. We don’t have special bags for one-euro glasses for ze children.

—Well, maybe you should Monsieur. Cood customer service is important.

And with that, I gave him an apologetic smile, grabbed her hand, and dragged her back out onto the street.

—Was that really necessary?

—C’mon Erik, don’t be such a killjoy. It was fun! And—she waved the glasses triumphantly—we got these!

—We? Sussi, no. No, no, no. There is absolutely no we in this. This was you, you, you. All you.

—Aaah, don’t be such a bore...

She paused by a shop window, using the reflection to slide the heart-shaped glasses into her hair.

—Look, I’ve got a new tiara.

—And the plastic flowers were too much?

She shrugged as she walked past me.

—You planning to stand there all day? I thought we had a lunch to catch.



To be continued...

 

[PouletAuPoivre]

Hey!

A lot of that stuff wasn't there when you posted this episode on Substack a couple weeks ago!

But I see you've left in all your torture of poor Erik. Maybe even added some.

 

[PouletAuPoivre]

And I see that you've continued torturing poor Erik in the second post ...

At least the mockery of Sussi helps make up for it.

- - - - - - - - - -

What on earth did those two see in each other?

(Well, Erik saw a nice closet, I suppose ...)

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

Hey!

A lot of that stuff wasn't there when you posted this episode on Substack a couple weeks ago!

But I see you've left in all your torture of poor Erik. Maybe even added some.

Yeah, He had it too easy before

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

And I see that you've continued torturing poor Erik in the second post ...

At least the mockery of Sussi helps make up for it.

- - - - - - - - - -

What on earth did those two see in each other?

(Well, Erik saw a nice closet, I suppose ...)

Yup, he is doing his best, but Sussi is not. Things will evolve though, I can tell you that much.

 

[fmbttm]

And here is the continuation...

Anna came bouncing over and greeted me with a big hug—full of energy, full of joy. She grabbed my shoulders and gave me a good once-over. (What is it with women auditing me today??)

— Have you been out jogging already? Excercising? That is so impressive. And seriously—you’ve become so fit! I don’t know how you do it. I honestly don’t know how anyone does it. I’m way too much of a wine-’em and dine-’em kind of girl—you know what I mean?

She beamed at me, absolutely radiant.

— I just know this will be a great day.

I smiled back and whished I could’ve agreed with her.

–Yeah, it probably will… I ran my fingers through my hair and gave the place a once-over. It probably will…

Anna took my hand and led me to the hammock, where she put me at one end, adjusting the cushions around me to be fluffy and comfortable.

—Wait here and I’ll bring you the tea, because it is tea, right?

From the kitchen, I heard her rummaging around. The kettle started humming, seagulls squawked somewhere above, and the air, now a few degrees warmer, began mixing the ocean’s salt with softer, sweeter scents.

The pillows must’ve been freshly washed—there was that unmistakable white-lilies-and-softener thing going on.

I won’t fall asleep if I just close my eyes for a second. Just a little.

I mean, I am a young man of principle.

I heard the seagulls, the clinking of porcelain and—

—And then something had happened to my face.

The first thing I noticed was the blur. My vision was gone—replaced by this swirling red-orange haze, like I was inside a fire.

My back ached.

And the heat… I was damp. Sweaty.

It felt like a hangover, but that couldn’t be right. No way.

I reached up to touch my face—but to my horror it was dry, pointy, unrecognizable. I couldn’t feel my skin, like it had turned into some grotesque mask.

For fuck’s sake.

I tried to sit up, but the world tilted, and I nearly toppled over. The movement cleared the haze for a second—then the light hit. Brutal, sharp, everywhere. Everything around me was swaying like a fever dream. And to top it off, a cold breeze snuck into every damp seam of my clothes.

—Don’t fall over, dear. It’ll be messy.

—What?

I blinked, blinded by the sudden light, grabbing onto the cool, sharp edges of whatever was in front of me.

I knew the voice, but… the red-orange haze had shifted into a blinding white glare. Slowly, outlines began to form around me.

—Have you tried water? Might do you some good right now.

Something cool and cylindrical was pressed into my hand. As my eyes adjusted, I began piecing together this new world I’d apparently been dropped into.

It felt like a glass of water. It behaved like a glass of water—especially when I misjudged where my mouth was and drooled it down my cheek. But that was due to the world swinging, of course.

So yes, it was a glass of water. A scientific mindset never fails.

The sharp shape in front of me started to look more and more like the coffee table. My legs were still with me—which is always reassuring—and they looked mostly as expected. The rocking eased as soon as I stopped shifting around on whatever I was sitting on. Which, more and more, began to resemble a hammock.

And there, beside me: a bright pink sun hat.

The world is full of surprises.

Yeah. Water would probably help. And I downed it as if a life depended on it.

My life.

The voice next to me came from a body on a sun chair. She turned and looked at me over her sunglasses.

—So, you and Mats drank all night while Anna and I were trying to cope with pain?

I looked around but there was no-one else there, so she must be talking to me (it was a she voice and I began to recognice it).

—Drinking? Us? No way, José.

Sussi lowered her sunglasses, giving me a long, stern look.

—It wasn’t, I told her. How could it be, after you and Anna had your crisp-frenzy in the kitchen?

Her look didn’t shange.

—So, it was us drinking all the wine, was it?

—Look, I’m not judging, you needed the drugs… I get it. Rough childhood and all that.

—For fuck’s sake, Erik.

I sighed and took a deep breath. Boy did I need more water.

—I was just trying to be funny. And no, there wasn’t any more wine—just that bottle still on the table after you two left.

—So what did you do all night? Talk?

—I guess so. Would that be so strange?

She gave me a disapproving look, then opened the magazine resting in her lap.

—If you say so. Would’ve been a first, wouldn’t it?

I drained the last sip in my glass.

—What, us talking?

—No, not you. We all know you talk. I meant Mats. If there is one more boring man alive, I don’t know who that could be.

—I don’t know if boring is the right word.

—What is then… dull?

I slowly rose to my feet, trying balance as if it was for the first time.

—Naah, dull isn’t really there either.

—There’s water in the kitchen if you want more. And just so you know: Anna and Mats are in La Rochelle. We can meet them there if we want to.

I passed her, getting more and more comfortable with walking.

—And… do we?

—Well, waiting for you to resurrect hasn’t exactly been thrilling, so yeah. A trip to the city might just save the day.

—Even if it means hanging out with boring old Mats?

She sighed and flipped another page.

—Anna’s fun. As for Mats—you can do whatever you want with him.

Well, I thought, while pouring myself some of that blessed water, we might just see about that.

After a couple of litres of that cold, sparkling miracle, my body seemed to reboot and even my brain kicked back in. Yeah, I probably could make it through another day.

—So, when are we leaving?

—I’d suggest right after you take a shower. Wash off that lovely layer of day-old booze and do something about your face.

I caught my reflection in the kitchen window and had to admit that she had a point. This was not the Erik who’d been sprinting over sand dunes chasing Mats. A shave and a cold shower sounded like the best things since aspirin. Also, getting the last of the sand out of my butt crack might not be the worst idea either.

—

—So, this is La Rochelle, I said, looking out over a small harbour tucked beside a picturesque old tower.

The ocean was ever-present, but this time its vast, unbroken horizon was framed by sailboats and timeworn buildings. The air carried that familiar saltiness, laced now with the sting of diesel and the warmth of sunbaked asphalt.

—Mmm, looks like it.

Sussi was busy looking for something in her backpack.

—Not what I had expected.

—Isn’t it? Why?

—Well, I know this’ll sound stupid, but I read all these war stories when I was young. There was so much about La Rochelle—Nazis building massive concrete bunkers, hiding submarines and… being all secretive and stuff.

I waved vaguely toward the quaint tower and the harbour, with its small houses clustered around it—windows brimming with geraniums, ground floors turned into picturesque shops and restaurants.

—All this looks… so very French.

Sussi turned to me with the expression of someone trying make sense out of nonsense.

—La Rochelle was your idea, you know that, right?

—Yeah, but…

—And you built this thing with us going here on nothing more than… childhood memories from war novels?

—Action novels. And there was literary value there. Sort of.

She gave me a long look.

—Says the guy who knows Vogue by heart.

—Hey—Vogue is art!

She sighed and pulled out her phone to check the map.

—Yeah, right. And the seven dwarfs were just friends.

She scrolled, humming to herself.

—OK, just got a message from Anna. They’ve found a nice place to eat near the town’s food hall... Looks like a ten-minute walk, tops.

I scratched my neck, silently wondering why we couldn’t just find something closer to the harbour.

—Come on, It’s not like you don’t get a sea view at the house, right?

—I know, but… seems like a bit of a waste not to get the full-on ocean experience, now that we’re actually next to one.

—Well, some might say it’s a bit of a waste not to get the full-on “quaint little seaside town” experience, now that we’re actually in one.

—I guess you have a point there.

—And also, I’d like to do some shopping while we’re here. It’s fun to see what they’re offering in this place.

—Really? What on earth do you think you’d want to buy here?

—I don’t know. Maybe a quaint little sun hat. Or some quaint little sunglasses. Or… a quaint little summer dress. Who knows? That’s the point. The adventure. And French fashion.

—Yeah, right… I’m sure you’ll find loads of French fashion here. You just have to dig past the t-shirts and inflatable dolphins.

She turned to give me a stern look. Again.

—Oh, don’t worry about me, I said, all reassurance. It’ll be quaint. I’m sure.

The walk made me think of the theory of relativity, which I decided to mention.

—You know, Sussi, isn’t it funny how a ten-minute walk can suddenly turn into a thirty-minute one? Just like that? It’s like time decided to just quit and leave saying #fuck this shit”. Or, like the Doppler effect—you know, when the sound changes as something passes by really fast? Like, this time - imagine a car driving past us really slowly. So slowly, in fact, that the sound doesn’t shift at all. Not even a little.

We’d stopped outside a small shop with racks of “summer wear” spilling onto the pavement. Sussi was inspecting each flowery item of clothing with forensic focus.

—And do you know why the sound wouldn’t shift? Well, that would be because the car is barely moving. Just like us. My guess – or analysis if you want to call it that—is that in fact, it is because of the sound having no speed at all. Absolutely no speed —just like us. And that would kill it—out of sadness mabye. Going all buuurn buurn, but so slow that no one would hear it, and that would make it die, fall to the ground, never to be heard of again. Possibly just like us if this keeps on going much longer.

—Somehow, I think you managed to misunderstand both Einstein and Doppler in one sweeping monologue, Erik. That’s some kind of achievement, I guess.

She held up a pink-orange floral blouse with puff sleeves.

—Now hush. What do you think—charming or tragic?

I wanted to show disinterest, just to get going, but the blouse was, in fact, quite nice.

—Hmm, I said with a bit of surprice, It looks quite good, actually. I have to admit that.

She held it out in front of her, examining it again.

—You mean you like it?

—Yeah, I do. It’s got that “let’s-have-drinks-on-a-veranda-overlooking-the-ocean” kind of vibe.

She gave me a disapproving look, then glanced back at the blouse.

—Come on, Sussi. Are you going to put it back just because I liked it?

—Well, Erik… It’s not like I can trust you on these things, is it?

—You can’t trust me? I gave out a laugh of disbelief. I mean, if there’s anyone you can trust, it’s me. I am Mr Trusty. You know that.

—Yeah, like that time you brought me that black dress with plastic flowers on the sleeves?

—That was fashion sweetie. And it was super cool.

—Super cool as dressing up in candy, you mean?

—I don’t see how that comparison is relevant in any way. But compared to most of what we’ve seen today, at least candy is likeable.

—So… she held the blouse like a question mark, you think I should take this one, then?

—Yes. Please do. Not just because I’m starving, but because it’s actually nice. You’ll look good in it. It’ll look good on you. You’ll make such a nice couple. And so on. Bladibladi blah.

—OK, she said and brought it to a small counter tucked between the street stands. I heard her discussing the price with the attendant.

—Wait, I said, walking up and whispering in her ear. Are you haggling the price?

—Hush. Of course. That’s what you do here.

—Sweetie, that’s what you do in Tehran. Not France. This is a shop, not a flea market.

—You’re such a coward, Erik. C’mon… it’ll be fun.

—Fun, you say? Well… I gave the attendant a stiff smile and whispered back, you’re on your own with this one.

I slowly turned away, showing a sudden interested in ladies’ underwear, while I couldn’t help overhearing the rest.

—Madame (I couldn’t help smiling at that), zis iz ze price. I am not ze owner.

—I’m sure you can give me a discount. This is clearly overpriced.

—Madame, if you want ze blouse, vous must pay ze price. It is very simpol.

—But Monsieur, I’m sure a good man like you can offer me a much better price. I’ll be a returning customer.

—Madame, you are a visitor, no? So, vous will not be a returning customer.

Sussi sighed, scanning for fresh arguments—then spotted a rack of baby sunglasses next to the counter.

—OK, I’ll take it if you throw these in.

She picked up a pair with bright red, heart-shaped frames. The man stared at her, puzzled.

—Vous want zese?

—Yes. That is correct. I want them. And if you add them, I’ll take the blouse.

Even with my back turned, I could feel her determination radiating outward. I could also sense the man’s growing frustration.

—But… zese are for children?

—I happen to like them. And you happen to sell overpriced clothing. We both know ziss. So, add the sunglasses and we’re even.

He blinked, watching her wave the tiny heart-shaped glasses in the air like a trophy.

—Zose cost one euro, Madame… not more.

—Great. Then I’m sure there’s no problem adding them.

He raised both hands like he was shielding himself from whatever was unfolding on the other side of the counter. Then, surprisingly, he called out to me.

—Monsieur, can you help? Ze madame has no money to pay for ze blouse.

—I’m sorry, monsieur, I can’t help you with ze madame. I’m just paid to keep her from killing people. This is actually much nicer than she usually is.

I shrugged and tried to look innocent.

—Mon dieu, he muttered, turning the card reader toward Sussi. Take ze damn glasses.

Sussi beamed as she tapped her card with flair.

The man stuffed the blouse into a paper bag with a dramatic sigh, while Sussi leaned over the counter, holding the glasses aloft.

—No need for a bag for these, monsieur. I can take them as they are.

—Good, madame. We don’t have special bags for one-euro glasses for ze children.

—Well, maybe you should Monsieur. Cood customer service is important.

And with that, I gave him an apologetic smile, grabbed her hand, and dragged her back out onto the street.

—Was that really necessary?

—C’mon Erik, don’t be such a killjoy. It was fun! And—she waved the glasses triumphantly—we got these!

—We? Sussi, no. No, no, no. There is absolutely no we in this. This was you, you, you. All you.

—Aaah, don’t be such a bore...

She paused by a shop window, using the reflection to slide the heart-shaped glasses into her hair.

—Look, I’ve got a new tiara.

—And the plastic flowers were too much?

She shrugged as she walked past me.

—You planning to stand there all day? I thought we had a lunch to catch.



To be continued...

“Look, I’m not judging, you needed the drugs… I get it. Rough childhood and all that.”

So funny! Love his quick wit and the back and forth! However something tells me it’s not all joking between them. There is an undertone of truth, and slight disdain… dislike… Not sure, but I feel like there’s something there.

Excellent writing! Need more!

 

[PouletAuPoivre]

Yes, indeed. When Erik decides he wants to be witty, he is very, very good at it.

(Which means, I suppose, that his creator is very good at it, too.)

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

“Look, I’m not judging, you needed the drugs… I get it. Rough childhood and all that.”

So funny! Love his quick wit and the back and forth! However something tells me it’s not all joking between them. There is an undertone of truth, and slight disdain… dislike… Not sure, but I feel like there’s something there.

Excellent writing! Need more!

Thank you sooo much! This makes me smile big time - so happy you enjoyed it... and you might be on to something. There will be more...

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

Yes, indeed. When Erik decides he wants to be witty, he is very, very good at it.

(Which means, I suppose, that his creator is very good at it, too.)

Aaaaah — both Erik and I are blushing happily now.

 

[michaelnola]

Awesome thanks

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

Awesome thanks

 

[PouletAuPoivre]

Anna came bouncing over and greeted me with a big hug—full of energy, full of joy. [...]

She beamed at me, absolutely radiant.

— I just know this will be a great day.

Well, well! Maybe Anna and Sussi really did spend the night scissoring!

 

[PouletAuPoivre]

Guys, the latest installment has just appeared on Chris's Substack and should be here soon.

There will be quite the conversation at the lunch table.

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

Guys, the latest installment has just appeared on Chris's Substack and should be here soon.

There will be quite the conversation at the lunch table.

…and dinner is aproaching.

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

And here is the following part of The Beach House, part 2. As always, you can read it in full (well, it is a work in progress, so...) at my Substack.

The original time schedule proved accurate—we reached the restaurant in almost no time. I could see why Lotta had chosen this place. The building looked medieval, but the large windows facing the street gave it a modern, open feel. The lush outdoor seating area was decked out with parasols and white furniture that looked like it had been hijacked straight from St. Tropez.

We heard Lotta’s voice from a distance, waving wildly as soon as we entered.

—Yohoo! We’re over here—we’ve got seats for you!

I waved back, smiling. She had the same vibrant energy as this morning, as if nothing could dim her enthusiasm.

—Come, sit here! And look—nice view, right? This place is fabulous. You have to try their spritz—it’s rhubarb or raspberry or something, but it’s delicious. Isn’t it, Mats?

I had almost missed Mats sitting next to her, hunched over the menu like he took care of the bells of Notre Dame.

—Yeah. It’s nice. You should try it.

—“Nice”? Mats, you said you loved it.

She turned to us, mouthing “someone didn’t sleep well” and made a subtle pointing gesture towards him.

Sussi mouthed back “someone can’t hold their liqueur”—and made no attempt to hide that she was pointing directly at me.

—And still, you’re the one wearing baby sunglasses..

—Shush babe, she said, waving me off. It’s fashion. Now let’s sit and have some of that lovely bubbly, shall we?

She slid into the seat across from Anna, which placed me opposite Mats, who was still hovering over the menu like he had a job ringing the bells of Notre Dame.

Anna raised her glass with flair.

The waiter—who must’ve been waiting for his cue—appeared immediately and filled our glasses with practiced ease.

—So, daaahlings, let’s have our first proper toast of this gorgeous trip.

She beamed at all of us, then turned to me.

—And a special toast to you, Erik, for making this all happen!

I looked at her, caught off guard, unsure if she was being serious.

—Wow... I said, blinking. Gosh—thank you, Anna.

—Thank you! From all of us.

She held up her glass, inviting us all to join the toast.

Sussi rolled her eyes.

—Yeah, yeah, she muttered, but clinked her glass anyway.

Mats joined in last, lifting his glass with a quiet nod.

We had a sip, eyes meeting, small nods exchanged across the table.

Sussi gave me one with a nonchalant smirk, eyebrows raised.

Mats didn’t look at me at all—his gaze was fixed on Anna.

When we sat down again, Mats leaned in and rested his arm along the back of Anna’s chair while gently stroking her shoulder, eyes focused on something on her neck.

—So, any plans for the week? Anything we should put on a list? Anna asked. What about you Sussi?

Sussi shrugged.

—Nothing special, really. I mean, some beach time is always nice, but that’ll get boring if we don’t mix in some small adventures.

—True that, and you, Erik? Anything you’ve been longing to do?

—Well… honestly, just being this close to the Atlantic—that was the dream for me. I love the scent of the sea here, the breeze...

I glanced around the group.

—And, as I told my loving girlfriend, there are supposedly lots of majestic old Nazi bunkers I’d love to see.

A few eyebrows lifted in disbelief.

—And then again… the markets are probably amazing too, so… I’d love to do some cooking. That’d be fun, don’t you think?

I turned to Mats.

—You said Anna wanted to visit some vineyards, right?

—Oh, I’d love that! Anna made a little seated happy dance in her chair. I’ve never been to a proper one, and wouldn’t it be fun to bring back some small-farm wine?

—That would be so nice! —Sussi mimicked Anna’s little chair dance and took another sip from her glass. —So what’s the thing in this area—bubbly or white? Red?

—I think it’s mostly whites and lighter reds around here —I said, trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about. —I don’t think La Rochelle is exactly famous for its wine, but hey—it doesn’t take the fun out of trying them, right?

—It sure doesn’t! —Anna raised her glass with a grin and took a generous sip.

Then she turned to Mats.

—And you? What are your dreams for the week?

—Nothing much… Like you said, some wine could be fun. And if there’s a chance to surf, that would be awesome. The waves are supposed to be magic around here.

—Well, there’s definitely wind for it, —Anna said. —I think that’s what burned us yesterday—the wind takes the edge off the heat, so you forget the sun’s still brutal.

Sussi cut in before I could say anything.

—See? It wasn’t the lack of sun screen. It was the wind.

—Yeright… the wind. Speaking of that, —I said. —How’s your back today? Any better? Anna?

—Much better, thankfully. God, yesterday was awful. But thanks to paracetamol and soothing lotion I slept through the worst of it. How’s yours, Sussi?

—Getting there. I’m still a bit careful with leaning back, but it’s way better than yesterday. And no thanks to you, Erik, who showed zero concern for your girlfriend’s well-being.

—But Sussi… yeah, sorry about that. I haven’t exactly been running at full capacity today. And no —I cut her off before she could say it——it’s not because of too much wine.

—Hmm. If you say so, —Sussi said, unconvinced.

—Then what’s the problem? —Anna asked, her voice laced with concern.

—I guess I just didn’t sleep well. Woke up way too early. I always have trouble sleeping the first night in a new place.

—Well, Mats didn’t sleep that well either, did you, Mats?

Mats looked up from the neck watching, taken slightly off guard.

—I slept alright… didn’t I? Was there a problem?

—No, no, nothing major, —Anna said, waving it off a bit too quickly. —It’s just… you were snoring like crazy, which you almost never do. And I don’t know… you’ve just felt a bit off today.

—I'm alright. Slept through the night, as far as I remember.

I couldn’t help watching him as he spoke, trying to read what was going on behind that calm surface.

This wasn’t the upright, flirty, cocky Mats who’d pressed against me just yesterday. This was someone else entirely—closed off, folded neatly back into himself.

More like his usual, introverted self.

—Well, I’m glad you slept well, Mats. That’s what matters most, I said.

He glanced at me but didn’t offer anything back. No confirmation, no warmth. Just a quiet nod.

—Thanks, Erik. Yeah... I guess I just need some rest.

—Maybe a few hours on a board would do you good, I offered.

—Yeah, it probably would. Some alone time.

Anna raised an eyebrow and set down her glass.

—Alone time? Seriously, Mats? Now that we’ve finally made it here? Are you for real?

She sighed.

—Fine, hop on that board of yours if you want to. Sussi and I will go on some wine adventures by ourselves—if we have to.

—We sure will!

The two girls clinked their glasses and waved at the waiter for a refill. The same waiter as before returned, topped up our glasses and asked:

—Are you ready to order?

Anna scanned the table.

—Are we? Any suggestions, Erik? You know French the best.

—Oh, well... I haven’t read the menu yet. But Mats, you’ve been looking at it for a while, maybe you can tell us?

He raised his head and looked around like he’d just been pulled out of a dream.

—Sorry, I was thinking about something else.

He didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Anna on the cheek.

—Ooookay, I said and turned to the girls. Well… why not start with some oysters? From what I’ve heard, this area has the best seafood on the coast.

—Really? Sussi sounded skeptical. Where did you hear that?

—An old lady told me. This morning.

—An old lady? This morning? She looked confused.

—Yeah, Anna jumped in. He went out jogging early. You’re such a champ, Erik—was that when you met her?

—Well… I was kind of jogging, at least. But yeah, that’s when I met her. She was taking a morning stroll along the beach with a male friend. They were… very friendly.

—Wow, making new acquaintances already? That must be some kind of record, Sussi said, taking another sip of her wine. —All the things you do instead of caring for your girlfriend. And why are you blushing?

—You were sleeping, Sussi. What kind of care did you need then? And I’m not blushing.

—A little tenderness wouldn’t have killed you. And yes, you are. Maybe you had a quickie with the lady, huh?

She leaned over towards Anna.

—I’d always suspected he’d go for them older ladies.

I rolled my eyes.

—Sussi, really? Well, I shrugged, that would explain our relationship, I guess.

—I’m not older!

—Really? Yeah, right sorry about that—must be only your looks then.

—Fuck you too, Erik.

—Well, anything to get a fuck around here. Wouldn’t you say Mats?

He looked up, startled, still resting against Anna.

—What?

—The conversations seems to have veered into the ”fucking older women” territory. Anything you’d like to contribute?

Anna laughed.

—You wouldn’t dare, Mats! Thread very lightly here.

Even Mats smiled for a second. And yes, there was definitely a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

—You really think I’m stupid enough to walk into that trap? Oh no. I can spot a sinking ship, and I have no intention of jumping on board.

—Ah, come on, Mats. Don’t be such a wuss, Anna said, rolling her eyes. Spill the dirt on those older ladies you’ve satisfied.

Mats tilted his head, mock offended.

—Darling, you know you’re the only one for me. Always have been. Always will.

—Aaaaah, cutie pie, Anna said, leaning into him. I know that’s a lie, but it’s adorable.

They shared a quick kiss. Then Anna turned to me.

—But you, Erik—come on, spill. Sussi, I know that you’re a good girl, but Erik—what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done?

—The dirtiest… to a girl? Hmm... let me think...

I couldn’t help glancing at Mats, who met my eyes for not more than a second.

—Whooooa! So… not only girls, huh?

—Anna, you need to be specific. I thought you amied broader. I mean, we had cats…

Anna burst out laughing, and Mats smiled with clear relief.

—Oh, that poor cat of yours. This explains so much.

—Well, to be fair, it was Sussi who brought the cat. That’s all I’m saying.

—Here we go again. Now I’m the sick one?

—Darling, you are always the sick one.

Anna raised her glass.

—And that’s why we love you. Chin chin!

The waiter stood by, gently clearing his throat.

—Oh, pardon, monsieur… I said, a bit flustered. Je pense que… nous voudrions des huîtres, merci. And since I can never resist trying to be at least a little funny, I added: Parce qu’elles sont les meilleures de toute la côte, n’est-ce pas ?

The waiter gave me a professional smile.

—Mais oui, monsieur. Vous connaissez les huîtres.

Trying my best Michael Palin impression—confident as a lumberjack—I replied in a terrible mock French-American accent:

—Aaah oui, je les connais bien, nudge nudge.

No one laughed—either because they didn’t get the reference, or worse, because they did. Just an awkward shuffle and a few concerned glances. So, I had to reclaim some dignity.

—Okaaay… How many do we want? Five each?

They all nodded.

—Alors, vingt huîtres et une bouteille de Sancerre, merci.

The waiter poured the last of the bottle we’d been working on and disappeared.

Sussi threw up her hands, radiating pure non-comprehension.

—What was that?

—Okay, it didn’t exactly fly, I said. But I was just trying to be funny, sweetie. You know, add some charm.

—And how do you think that went?

I sighed.

—It wasn’t Oscar material. I’ll give you that, but… I turned to the others, raised my glass and added: but hey—we’ll get our oysters. And we all know what they are, right?

—The best in France!

I turned to Anna, meeting her cheer with a big smile. She gleamed with happiness—like a child at a birthday party, all joy and sparkle, the effortless center of attention. I truly appreciated how she tried to have my back, how she did everything she could to make her delight contagious.

But despite all that light pouring out of her… it was a challenge to ignore Mats, sitting right beside her in silence.

It was impossible not to watch him.

The way his hair shifted when he turned his head. The sudden explosion of stars in his eyes when he smiled—and the jolt it sent through my chest every single time.

How could I possibly not constantly think of having the weight of his body on top of mine—holding me so tight, the power in his hips as he so determinedly thrust his dick deep inside me... and that godforsaken, almost overwhelmingly intense joy I felt when he finally kissed me?

What if she knew that?

What if?

And the worst part? We were in another country and I was the one with the car… I couldn’t even get drunk.

Normally, that would’ve been my fix—getting absolutely wasted. Pour enough wine into myself to blur the lines, shift the mood, crack a few jokes, flirt just enough, and steer the spotlight away from me.

Just a couple of weeks ago, someone showed me a few videos from a night out. That was me, all over the place.

I’d never seen myself like that before.

But that guy—dancing his way through the night—I suddenly knew exactly what he was up to. That was a young man who’d do anything to keep anyone from catching even a glimpse of what was actually going on.

It explained so much. The energy, the effort, the focus… the endless stream of words and actions, getting more and more stupid by the hour.

But all that hard work of hiding didn’t help. It never eased the pain in my stomach. The one that came from constantly blocking every feeling that I felt was truly mine. From trying to control every move, every turn, smile and comment just to make sure that no-one, absolutely no-one, would ever really know me.

And it never silenced that growing sense of loss.

The feeling that I was quietly dying, wasting my life, watching it spiral down the drain with every word I said and every bottle I emptied.

But that’s’ life, eh? And that was then. This is now.

Here I was, having the time of my life with my best friend’s radiant gem of friendly charm-girlfriend across the table, my perpetually semi-annoyed girlfriend to my right, and… him, doing everything he could not to let me in on whatever was playing out behind those eyes.

Because it fucking was him. It was, I knew that now.

I hated how clear it was. I hated having him so close, hated how deliberately he avoided every chance of interaction.

Why the fuck did this have to happen? Why the fuck was he so beautiful, and charming, and playful, and boring, and introverted, and funny, and sexy, and wise, and witty, and muscular, and dressed, and naked, and…

…and why had he acted like he wanted me? Why the fucking why?

I wish I’d known about this sooner. Then none of this would’ve happened.

Well, you can only play the cards you’re dealt. And if I couldn’t drink myself into oblivion, I sure as hell could make themdo it for me.

So, I summoned that party boy I’d perfected over the years and surprised myself with how easily the smile came, even in a moment like this.

—Ladies and gentleman, isn’t this the perfect moment to raise a toast—for what must, in all probability, be considered the best trip ever? We’ve travelled 240 kilometers to get here. We’ve stayed at a, let’s call it “picturesque”, Gasthaus in Hamburg—jaaa?—had crêpes in, dare I say it, gay Paris, and after all that hard work, we’re now breathing in the Atlantic, hearing its magnificent waves roll onto mile-long beaches, and very soon we’ll be tasting oysters that are…

—The best in France!

They all joined in. And I took that deep breath—the one I didn’t think I’d be capable of, just seconds ago.

—Yes! I echoed. The best in France—with the best in France!

Four glasses met across the table. Four glasses, each filled with a slightly different mix of anxiety, excitement, quiet irritation, and pain.

I gave my car keys a little shake as the others went back to sipping their wine.

—To avoid any further debate about how we’re getting back to the house—and my apparent inability to hold liquor—may I present your driver for the evening? According to some, he is stubborn, inattentive, and a genuine bore. But—and this is an important but—he will stay sober and he knows the way home.

Anna beamed at me. Sussi rolled her eyes. Mats looked down at his glass. But he smiled.

—Cheers to the driver, Anna said.

And honestly, I could only agree. Cheers to the driver.

The oysters arrived almost immediately after that—along with the next bottle of wine. I took it upon myself to pour for the others, while quietly mixing my water with a few drops of it—just to have a taste of the party.

—Seriously, these are good oysters. Erik—you’ve done it again.

—Don’t thank me Anna, thank the old ladies sashaying along the beach in the mornings. Don’t know what we’d do without them.

Even Sussi raised her glass now.

—To them ladies!

We all clinked glasses and enjoyed another round of the salty, nutty, creamy-strange taste hidden in nature’s own jello.

Anna interrupted the slurping.

—I agree, these oysters are yummy, but seriously, Erik—why were you out jogging? You can’t have had much sleep.

—You know I’m a bad sleeper. And the first night in any new place sucks. I’m used to it.

I gave a small shrug.

—And also, it’s the feeling of the Atlantic. I’ve been longing for it for so long. I don’t want to miss a minute of it while we’re here.

—You’ve got such stamina, Anna said, sounding genuinely impressed. And Mats, you must’ve longed for the ocean too? Is that why you’re so grumpy today—because you haven’t had the chance to surf yet?

—Naaah, sweetie, it’s OK. I’ve just had… a lot on my mind. And I didn’t sleep well. Maybe I’m turning into Erik?

He smiled faintly without looking at me.

—The surfing’s cool—I’ll get plenty of that later. And besides, all of this is… an adventure, like you said. Then he sighed… one big adventure.

—It is, isn’t it? Anna looked at us with wide eyes. Imagine—all of us here… who would’ve thought, back when we sat freezing in January?

—This is sooo much better than January, Sussi said and reached for another oyster while taking a generous sip of her wine.

—So much better. I love it. The house is gorgeous, the food is amazing… in two weeks I’ll be back studying, but for now… yaii!

—Oh yeah—poor you. Uni never ends, does it.

—It fucking never does, Anna. It never does. I should’ve picked something fun instead of law.

—Well, sweetie, HR wasn’t exactly a dream either, I can tell you that.

Anna leaned in slightly.

—But you know—you just take it day by day, and suddenly, Sussi, you’re free! You’ve got a nice job, buying nice clothes, kissing your hot boyfriend…

Sussi turned her head, mock-looking around in excitement.

—Hot boyfriend? Where?

Anna laughed and rolled her eyes at me.

—She takes patience, right?

I glanced at my girlfriend.

—Oh yes, she does. And a lot of it.

—Oh, shush, Erik. I’m fun—and that’s why you love me.

—Yeah, you’re fun. I’ll give you that.

We leaned in and kissed. And… it felt nice.

Her lips were nice. Soft, with that subtle taste expensive lipsticks always seem to have.

—Aaah, you two are so funny—let’s drink to that!

We raised our glasses again, and for the first time, I noticed Mats watching me.

It wasn’t for long, and he didn’t smile.

But he watched me.

And his eyes… they’re amazing, even when there’s nothing but a hollow darkness in them.

To be continued...

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

—Cheers, mate, I said, raising my glass toward him. I hope your week here will be amazing—filled with stuff that’ll make you happy.

He slowly raised his glass.

—Cheers. Yeah, I hope so.

—So, what will it be? Alone with the waves tomorrow morning? Becoming one with the ocean’s soul?

—Yeah, maybe. I didn’t think about the tide when I pictured this, though. Thought the sea would be accessible all the time.

—There’s a tide? Sussi turned to us, eyes still wide open.

—Yeah, Mats said, the ocean was all gone this morning.

—This morning? You were up this morning?

Anna’s question seemed to catch him off guard, so I jumped in.

—Naah, he wasn’t. But the tide went out while we sat on the beach.

I smirked.

—And he’s a surfer—so, you know, lean and strong, sure… but timing’s never really been his thing.

I tried to shift their focus.

—After all, aren’t we all just happy, and slightly surprised, he manages to keep his job?

Anna gave me a wide, loving smile, then turned to Mats.

—Yeah, that’s right. You’re really bad at keeping appointments, but I love you anyway.

Anna leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, while his eyes stayed locked on the plate in front of him.

I was getting so tired of that plate.

— Well, we have to be nice to people with disabilities, right?

—We sure do.

After that, Anna turned her focus back to me.

—So, you decided—after what… two hours of not sleeping?—to go back to the beach for a jog?

—Eeh, well, it might’ve been something like that.

—That’s so strange. I mean, no one would ever get me out like that. Even without the sunburn and all that wine.

—I think you two actually had way more wine than we did. At least I did. Mats, well… he can pour it down when he wants to, can’t he?

—Oh, Mats, I can’t remember the last time I saw you tipsy. Not even New Year’s. Sussi, you should be happy to have a man who enjoys the occasional party.

—Occasional? You gotta be kidding me. Erik would party every day if the world would allow it. And despite the manic hangovers, he always drinks himself into oblivion.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her.

—Oblivion is pushing it, don’t you think?

—Well, wasted then. Absolutely wasted.

—Just drowning my sorrows, sweetie. Maybe you should try it? And then, maybe, we’d do rehab together?

—Well, I’d come visit you, Anna said reassuringly, then added in a whisper:—I’d bring you some wine. I have this idea that rehab is the best party place. The best!

—It probably is, Anna. It probably is. And I, for one, can’t wait to see you explain this line of thinking to your kid’s teachers, when you have them.

I turned to Mats.

—So, what about you and your surfer crew? You never really talk about partying. What’s up with that?

—Uh… yeah. There really isn’t much of that.

Mats shifted in his seat.

—Takes too much time. Finding a spot to park, rinsing off the boards, dealing with gear... kinda kills the mood.

—Wait, seriously?

Sussi leaned forward, eyebrows raised.

—Four guys in their twenties, tanned, fit, walking around in barely-there wetsuits, stuck together for days—and noparties? Come on.

—Maybe they party with each other, Anna said with a grin, like she’d just lobbed a grenade into the conversation.

We all sighed.

—No but seriously, hear me out!

She looked around, eyes shining.

—What if Mats and his buddies are totally partying. Just… you know, together. Wouldn’t that explain everything?

—It definitely explains how your brain works, I said smiling.

—It does, doesn’t it? I just can’t believe four guys spend 24/7 together and there’s no sexual tension, Anna said, half-laughing, half-serious.

—Whoa, so we’re going straight from partying to sex now?

Mats tried to smile, while shifting in his seat, his jaw tightening.

Now Sussi joined in.

—The obvious line of thought. Now come on, Mats—spill the beans. Four hot guys in one van… when do you hook up? And who’s the hottest?

I cut in, trying to sound casual.

—Oh, come on, Sussi. What kind of question is that? Why not let the man finish his oysters before you dive into his sex life? And besides, how come you’re never that intrigued about what I do with my friends?

Sussi smirked.

—That’s because I know your friends, and I don’t want to see them in wetsuits. But Mats’s friends, on the other hand…

—Oh my God, Sussi—are you for real?

I shook my head in disbelief, while Anna was laughing like crazy, holding her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting out the wine.

I turned to Mats with an apologetic look.

—Sorry about this. Someone’s clearly lost it completely.

He gave me a faint smile and said:

—You mention wetsuits and this is what you get.

—Yeah, well, considering how this is going, I said, looking at Sussi, I might need one to save this relationship.

—But you already have one, remember? Mats said, his tone quiet but direct.

—I do?

I had no idea what he was talking about.

—Yeah. At the boat house. Back home. You brought it ages ago.

Then it hit me.

—Oh... that one. Yeah, I remember now. That was forever ago. Is it still there?

—Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?

—Well, I haven’t used it in years. I figured... it would’ve gotten lost. Or, you know, worn out.

Mats frowned slightly.

—Why would it get lost? I’ve looked after it.

—You have? That’s... nice. Why?

He shrugged, looking almost a little annoyed at the question.

—It’s yours. Why wouldn’t I?

He hesitated for a second, then added,

—You might come back to use it someday, and… I wanted it to be ready for you if you did.

—Wait, wait, wait...

Anna jumped in, sounding scandalised in the most cheerful way.

—Erik has a wetsuit at the boat house? How come you never told me that?

—Yeah. He does.

Mats turned back to me, eyes steady.

—It hangs to the right when you enter. It’s always hung there. Still does.

—So… you kept it. For me?

There was a pause. Just a breath.

—Of course I did, he said quietly. I hoped you’d come back.

I was a little taken aback by the sudden seriousness.

—Jesus... Well, why didn’t you say anything? Or ask me? You know I loved hanging out with you there.

I turned to the girls.

—Even back then, the skill gap between us was painfully obvious.

I laughed.

—I was clumsy like a goat in a canoe.

I glanced at Mats.

—And you… you just slid away, following the waves and the wind like it was the easiest thing in the world. Just totally carefree, focused… and happy.

—Oh, it sounds so nice when you put it like that, Anna said. Not at all like the endless hours of waiting on a windy beach, or on a small jetty with only a thermos as company.

—Naaah, poor you, Sussi said, reaching across the table to give Anna’s hand a quick, warm squeeze. Then she added, with a grin:

—But back to the important stuff: four young men in a van, and the sex.

Mats rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

—I’ve told you, that’s the thing—there is no sex. There have never been, and there will never be. Just four, sweaty guys, usually quite tired, quite cold, packing gear in and out.

Sussi tilted her head in disbelief.

—And you’re happy with that?

Mats watched her for a second before he replied.

—Yes, when it comes to surfing with my friends, I am happy with that.

Now it was time for Anna to join in.

—You know, Mats, I’d let you.

She looked at Sussi and me as if we would disaprove.

—Yes, I would! Hey, a man should experiment. At least once.

She leaned in on her boyfriend.

—Because I know you love me. And you are the most proper, well-behaved, caring, wonderful… and absolutely terrible at keeping appointments kind of boyfriend I could have. A little adventure would do you good.

And they kissed again, with closed eyes, like they ment it.

Which, at least, gave me the chance to finally grab the menu.

—Okaaay, I said, scanning the offerings. They’ve got the usual: moules frites—always nice—salmon, a few steaks, goose breasts… hamburgers…

—Oh, not hamburgers, Anna said, spreading her hands. Not when we’re in la France, right?

—Absolutely, said Sussi. Not a hamburger within ten miles of this table. Hamburgers are for sissies.

—Love your decisiveness, Sussi, I said. Now, why don’t you repeat that just a little louder, so the couple next to us—who are having burgers—can benefit from your wisdom.

Sussi turned hear head, looked at their plates and smiled apologetically.

—But yours look super! Cheers!

Then turned back to us with wide eyes, and whispered:

—That was close. But I think I handled it well, didn’t I?

—Social skills are so overrated, I said. Wel, at least no-one got killed. I think that is the most reasonable benchmark.

I went back to ogling the menu.

—Anywas, any thoughts besides no hamburgers?

—You can decide for me, Anna said. You know your food.

I searched for Mats respons

—Me too, he said, while gently stroking Anna’s arm. It’ll be good whatever.

—And you, Sussi?

—Okay.. you decide. If that’s what the world wants…

—Okidoki…. Personally, I love duck… They’ve got some duck confit with, you know, jummy potato thingies and a saucy little creamy sauce thingy… what do you think about that?

—Oh, I’ve never heard of anything better, Anna cheered. Creamy thingies—that is exactly what I’ve always dreamt of!

I couldn’t help but smile.

—Isn’t it? World peace, and creamy thingies…

It was like Anna red my mind, as she rasied her glass (again)

—For the creamy thingies!

We all joined in and the few drops of wine I had in my water felt almost festive.

—Anna, you’ve got to see what I found. It was this teeny-weeny shop by…

She waved a hand in the air.

—Somewhere.

She rummaged through the bag and finally pulled out the blouse, presenting it to Anna, who took a deep breath.

—Now, Sussi, that is stunning! Where did you find it, you said?

Sussi waved her hand again, like a small propeller without direction.

—Over there, somewhere… one of the streets. It wasn’t especially fancy…

—It sold clothes on racks on the street, I told Anna. That’s the level of fanciness.

Sussi, turned to me with a grim look.

—That’s what I said. Now hush, let the ladies discuss this.

And that they did.

Which left me to my own devices—watching Mats glance everywhere but at me. His fingers moved against the tablecloth like piano keys playing a Chopin étude.

—What do you think of the wine? I asked.

—What, the Sancerre?

I nodded. He lifted his glass, like he was seeing it for the first time.

—Nice, I guess. I mean… white is white. But sure, it’s a nice wine.

—Nice? Mats, you used to love this. I mean, it’s not the same brand we had back home, but…
You don’t like Sancerre anymore?

—Of course I like it. I told you—it’s a good wine.

He let the wine swirl in his hand.

—What does it say to you?

—Say? What do you mean?

—Well, the French say that good wine speaks to you. So, since this is a good French wine, I wondered… now that we’re on its home turf—does it say anything to you?

Mats gave me a puzzled look.

—Not really… more like: Hey, drink me. I’m white and nice.

—Okay, white, you say… Going a bit racist, are we?

He sighed and shook his head, muttering something like I can’t believe this.

I looked over my shoulder as if to check if we were followed, and then leaned in slightly.

—You should thank the Lord there isn’t a wine of colour around, giving him a serious look. I’m not sure I could protect you here. You know… with all the baguettes and oh là làs going on.

That made him smile. Slightly.

—Erik, I’m pretty sure this wine would say nothing more than that it loves everyone who sees wine, not colour and wants to drink it. Which I do. Cheers.

I raised my glass.

—Cheers mate!

We had our gulps, then Mats asked me.

—And... does it say anything to you?

—Hmm, good question…

Now it was my turn to swirl the wine.

—I think this is a tricky wine—mostly because mine is mostly water. But besides that minor obstacle… I’m wondering.

OK, here goes, I thought:

As this wine is an old favourite, a proper favourite, that has been with you for a long time, maybe this wine worries… that it has fallen out of favour… I wonder (and now I fake smelled the bouquet)… Is it a wine that thinks being in France is a fantastic adventure—one that sees and appreciates the joy, care, and… genuine love… it gets from some of the other wines it hangs with?

Or … is it a wine that feels the world’s become messier than it used to be? A wine that’s no longer happy with its crowd… and maybe, instead… is more embarrassed of it? Maybe even ashamed of some of its fellow wines—wishing it had chosen another shelf… in the cellar?

His dark eyes lingered on me.

—It seems like you drink a very complicated wine.

—Maybe… or maybe not. Maybe the wine isn’t so complicated… maybe it is the cutlery that needs rearranging. Or something.

—You mean the porcelain?

And just like that, tears welled up that I could barely hide. Fuck this shit!

—Maybe… yeah, the happy porcelain.

I forced a smile.

We both fell silent.

He stretched, yawned like he was trying to shake something off, then looked up at the blue sky above us. He rubbed his eyes, as if something had got stuck there, then glanced wearily around before he continued.

—Maybe the wine says… that sometimes, porcelain can be a real burden, he said slowly, thoughtfully. Maybe the wine knows for sure it’s a glass kind of wine. Maybe even a crystal kind of wine. And the wine has built its world around being that kind of wine. And the wine knows this—specifically.

And porcelain… maybe it feels that porcelain can be messy, demanding—a genuine hassle to deal with. Porcelain can overthink. Worry too much. Create havoc, when all the wine wants is peace.

I shrugged.

—Yeah, porcelain… what a mess, right? Better off without it, I’d say.

He, leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table with his hands tied in a knot.

—Yes… but no. Not at all. The thing is, maybe the porcelain isn’t the problem. Sometimes it’s the wine that’s the problem. Because… as a matter of fact, the porcelain is pretty amazing.

Maybe the wine thinks that porcelain can be the best thing ever. The. Best. Thing. Ever.
Maybe the wine knows that—and maybe it’s known it for a long time… somewhere deep down.

Maybe…

Mats raised his head and looked at me.

—…maybe the wine thinks that porcelain—well, not all porcelain, but this specific piece—is absolutely wonderful. That this piece of porcelain is pure magic, in ways the wine has never known before.

Maybe… it’s the wine that’s completely lost.

---

I almost didn’t dare to listen. I was so prepared to be dismissed—maybe even ridiculed—that it took a moment before the words actually sank in.

I looked at him, frowning, still not getting it.

—What? he said, clearly thrown.

—Nothing… it’s just that… I don’t understand.

He rolled the wine glass slowly between his palms, not looking at me.

—What’s there to understand? It’s just a wine… that maybe really likes this particular piece of porcelain.

I was still confused, and he saw it. His shoulders stiffened.

—But Erik—for God’s sake… do we really have to do this here?

—What?

Anna broke in.

—Are you two having a fight again?

She turned to Sussi.

—I don’t know what’s going on with them. It was the same yesterday.

—What do you mean?

—This weird energy. You don’t feel it?

She looked back at us with concern.

—Whatever it is, you guys need to kiss and make up. You can’t spend the whole trip like this. And Erik—She tilted her head at me. —You look like someone stole your surfboard.

I forced a grin.

—Naah, nothing gets to me, Anna. You know that.

Mats broke in, his voice calm but thoughtful.

—I don’t think Erik has anything to be sad about.

He paused.

—Well… I hope he doesn’t, anyway.

Then it dawned on me.

—Wait, wait, wait… you’re saying the wine loves—likes porcelain?

—Yeah, I did.

He swirled his glass again, but this time he looked straight at me.

—Not all porcelain maybe, but… you know.

He gave a small shrug.

—How can that come as a surprise? Considering.

—Come on, what are you talking about?

Anna sounded genuinely perplexed.

Mats turned to her and kissed her on the cheek.

—Nothing much. Just wine and porcelain.

—Wine and porcelain?

Anna raised an eyebrow.

—That’s a weird combo. Wine loves glass—everybody knows that.

She looked to Sussi for backup.

—Who even wants wine in porcelain?

Sussi shrugged, looking like she had absolutely no idea what was going on.

—No one?

—Exactly. No one.

Mats raised his eyebrows and lifted his glass slightly toward me.

—Well… maybe this wine does.

His voice was calm, but his eyes smiled. And I got goosebumps.

I was confused. And happy. Smiling, yet wondering. What was that, even?

I gazed into his eyes, trying to find some kind of explanation for what he’d said. A background. A foundation.

Because as my heart began beating like my life depended on it, the realization hit me—I knew that I knew it, because it was so obvious, so clear. And it all came back to me:
Yes, Mats was him.

The reason for my borderless loyalty.

The reason I couldn’t help smiling when he smiled.

The reason my whole body jolted when we touched.

The spin in my chest whenever he looked at me… I mean, it didn’t take more than that to send my heart flying.

It never had.

Was this… love?

Did I love Mats?

Like… really love him?

Not like. Not enjoy. Not agree with. Not… find pleasing. But… love?

My eyes followed a dark strand of hair trailing down his forehead in the soft breeze. I traced the contours of his eyebrows, the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the freckles scattered across his sharp cheekbones, the way his ears sat tight against his head—not wide and wobbly like I’ve always felt mine were.

The way the outline of his chest appeared under the fabric of his shirt as he leaned back in his chair. How his biceps moved beneath the skin as he gently touched the back of Anna’s neck.

How I knew the taste of his nipples, how they stiffened when my tongue played with them. The way the hair in the crease between his pecs led downward—thicker where it centered at the base of his shaved cock.

How his thighs tightened as he pushed deeper into my mouth. The coarse hair shifting beneath my hands as I held him, guiding his rhythm as he entered me.

The saltiness of his mouth when he kissed me.

The feel of his cock’s head as it found its way deep inside me.

His pubes tickling my skin as he went all the way in.

The weight of his body. The shine in his eyes.

My heart made wild loops. I was out of breath yet fully breathing—dizzy, losing eyesight, yet seeing every detail of him as if through a microscope.

I raised my glass to his, hoping my shaky hands went unnoticed.

Caressed by his arms. Strong arms. It had felt so right. So natural. Self-clear, even.

His head resting on my chest. His gentle strokes. Fingertips playing with the hair on my legs.

Our glasses clinked.

—To porcelain, he said.

—To wine, I replied.

To be continued...

 

[PouletAuPoivre]

The original time schedule proved accurate—we reached the restaurant in almost no time. I could see why Lotta had chosen this place.

You mean Anna, correct?

 

[michaelnola]

—Cheers, mate, I said, raising my glass toward him. I hope your week here will be amazing—filled with stuff that’ll make you happy.

He slowly raised his glass.

—Cheers. Yeah, I hope so.

—So, what will it be? Alone with the waves tomorrow morning? Becoming one with the ocean’s soul?

—Yeah, maybe. I didn’t think about the tide when I pictured this, though. Thought the sea would be accessible all the time.

—There’s a tide? Sussi turned to us, eyes still wide open.

—Yeah, Mats said, the ocean was all gone this morning.

—This morning? You were up this morning?

Anna’s question seemed to catch him off guard, so I jumped in.

—Naah, he wasn’t. But the tide went out while we sat on the beach.

I smirked.

—And he’s a surfer—so, you know, lean and strong, sure… but timing’s never really been his thing.

I tried to shift their focus.

—After all, aren’t we all just happy, and slightly surprised, he manages to keep his job?

Anna gave me a wide, loving smile, then turned to Mats.

—Yeah, that’s right. You’re really bad at keeping appointments, but I love you anyway.

Anna leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, while his eyes stayed locked on the plate in front of him.

I was getting so tired of that plate.

— Well, we have to be nice to people with disabilities, right?

—We sure do.

After that, Anna turned her focus back to me.

—So, you decided—after what… two hours of not sleeping?—to go back to the beach for a jog?

—Eeh, well, it might’ve been something like that.

—That’s so strange. I mean, no one would ever get me out like that. Even without the sunburn and all that wine.

—I think you two actually had way more wine than we did. At least I did. Mats, well… he can pour it down when he wants to, can’t he?

—Oh, Mats, I can’t remember the last time I saw you tipsy. Not even New Year’s. Sussi, you should be happy to have a man who enjoys the occasional party.

—Occasional? You gotta be kidding me. Erik would party every day if the world would allow it. And despite the manic hangovers, he always drinks himself into oblivion.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her.

—Oblivion is pushing it, don’t you think?

—Well, wasted then. Absolutely wasted.

—Just drowning my sorrows, sweetie. Maybe you should try it? And then, maybe, we’d do rehab together?

—Well, I’d come visit you, Anna said reassuringly, then added in a whisper:—I’d bring you some wine. I have this idea that rehab is the best party place. The best!

—It probably is, Anna. It probably is. And I, for one, can’t wait to see you explain this line of thinking to your kid’s teachers, when you have them.

I turned to Mats.

—So, what about you and your surfer crew? You never really talk about partying. What’s up with that?

—Uh… yeah. There really isn’t much of that.

Mats shifted in his seat.

—Takes too much time. Finding a spot to park, rinsing off the boards, dealing with gear... kinda kills the mood.

—Wait, seriously?

Sussi leaned forward, eyebrows raised.

—Four guys in their twenties, tanned, fit, walking around in barely-there wetsuits, stuck together for days—and noparties? Come on.

—Maybe they party with each other, Anna said with a grin, like she’d just lobbed a grenade into the conversation.

We all sighed.

—No but seriously, hear me out!

She looked around, eyes shining.

—What if Mats and his buddies are totally partying. Just… you know, together. Wouldn’t that explain everything?

—It definitely explains how your brain works, I said smiling.

—It does, doesn’t it? I just can’t believe four guys spend 24/7 together and there’s no sexual tension, Anna said, half-laughing, half-serious.

—Whoa, so we’re going straight from partying to sex now?

Mats tried to smile, while shifting in his seat, his jaw tightening.

Now Sussi joined in.

—The obvious line of thought. Now come on, Mats—spill the beans. Four hot guys in one van… when do you hook up? And who’s the hottest?

I cut in, trying to sound casual.

—Oh, come on, Sussi. What kind of question is that? Why not let the man finish his oysters before you dive into his sex life? And besides, how come you’re never that intrigued about what I do with my friends?

Sussi smirked.

—That’s because I know your friends, and I don’t want to see them in wetsuits. But Mats’s friends, on the other hand…

—Oh my God, Sussi—are you for real?

I shook my head in disbelief, while Anna was laughing like crazy, holding her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting out the wine.

I turned to Mats with an apologetic look.

—Sorry about this. Someone’s clearly lost it completely.

He gave me a faint smile and said:

—You mention wetsuits and this is what you get.

—Yeah, well, considering how this is going, I said, looking at Sussi, I might need one to save this relationship.

—But you already have one, remember? Mats said, his tone quiet but direct.

—I do?

I had no idea what he was talking about.

—Yeah. At the boat house. Back home. You brought it ages ago.

Then it hit me.

—Oh... that one. Yeah, I remember now. That was forever ago. Is it still there?

—Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?

—Well, I haven’t used it in years. I figured... it would’ve gotten lost. Or, you know, worn out.

Mats frowned slightly.

—Why would it get lost? I’ve looked after it.

—You have? That’s... nice. Why?

He shrugged, looking almost a little annoyed at the question.

—It’s yours. Why wouldn’t I?

He hesitated for a second, then added,

—You might come back to use it someday, and… I wanted it to be ready for you if you did.

—Wait, wait, wait...

Anna jumped in, sounding scandalised in the most cheerful way.

—Erik has a wetsuit at the boat house? How come you never told me that?

—Yeah. He does.

Mats turned back to me, eyes steady.

—It hangs to the right when you enter. It’s always hung there. Still does.

—So… you kept it. For me?

There was a pause. Just a breath.

—Of course I did, he said quietly. I hoped you’d come back.

I was a little taken aback by the sudden seriousness.

—Jesus... Well, why didn’t you say anything? Or ask me? You know I loved hanging out with you there.

I turned to the girls.

—Even back then, the skill gap between us was painfully obvious.

I laughed.

—I was clumsy like a goat in a canoe.

I glanced at Mats.

—And you… you just slid away, following the waves and the wind like it was the easiest thing in the world. Just totally carefree, focused… and happy.

—Oh, it sounds so nice when you put it like that, Anna said. Not at all like the endless hours of waiting on a windy beach, or on a small jetty with only a thermos as company.

—Naaah, poor you, Sussi said, reaching across the table to give Anna’s hand a quick, warm squeeze. Then she added, with a grin:

—But back to the important stuff: four young men in a van, and the sex.

Mats rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

—I’ve told you, that’s the thing—there is no sex. There have never been, and there will never be. Just four, sweaty guys, usually quite tired, quite cold, packing gear in and out.

Sussi tilted her head in disbelief.

—And you’re happy with that?

Mats watched her for a second before he replied.

—Yes, when it comes to surfing with my friends, I am happy with that.

Now it was time for Anna to join in.

—You know, Mats, I’d let you.

She looked at Sussi and me as if we would disaprove.

—Yes, I would! Hey, a man should experiment. At least once.

She leaned in on her boyfriend.

—Because I know you love me. And you are the most proper, well-behaved, caring, wonderful… and absolutely terrible at keeping appointments kind of boyfriend I could have. A little adventure would do you good.

And they kissed again, with closed eyes, like they ment it.

Which, at least, gave me the chance to finally grab the menu.

—Okaaay, I said, scanning the offerings. They’ve got the usual: moules frites—always nice—salmon, a few steaks, goose breasts… hamburgers…

—Oh, not hamburgers, Anna said, spreading her hands. Not when we’re in la France, right?

—Absolutely, said Sussi. Not a hamburger within ten miles of this table. Hamburgers are for sissies.

—Love your decisiveness, Sussi, I said. Now, why don’t you repeat that just a little louder, so the couple next to us—who are having burgers—can benefit from your wisdom.

Sussi turned hear head, looked at their plates and smiled apologetically.

—But yours look super! Cheers!

Then turned back to us with wide eyes, and whispered:

—That was close. But I think I handled it well, didn’t I?

—Social skills are so overrated, I said. Wel, at least no-one got killed. I think that is the most reasonable benchmark.

I went back to ogling the menu.

—Anywas, any thoughts besides no hamburgers?

—You can decide for me, Anna said. You know your food.

I searched for Mats respons

—Me too, he said, while gently stroking Anna’s arm. It’ll be good whatever.

—And you, Sussi?

—Okay.. you decide. If that’s what the world wants…

—Okidoki…. Personally, I love duck… They’ve got some duck confit with, you know, jummy potato thingies and a saucy little creamy sauce thingy… what do you think about that?

—Oh, I’ve never heard of anything better, Anna cheered. Creamy thingies—that is exactly what I’ve always dreamt of!

I couldn’t help but smile.

—Isn’t it? World peace, and creamy thingies…

It was like Anna red my mind, as she rasied her glass (again)

—For the creamy thingies!

We all joined in and the few drops of wine I had in my water felt almost festive.

—Anna, you’ve got to see what I found. It was this teeny-weeny shop by…

She waved a hand in the air.

—Somewhere.

She rummaged through the bag and finally pulled out the blouse, presenting it to Anna, who took a deep breath.

—Now, Sussi, that is stunning! Where did you find it, you said?

Sussi waved her hand again, like a small propeller without direction.

—Over there, somewhere… one of the streets. It wasn’t especially fancy…

—It sold clothes on racks on the street, I told Anna. That’s the level of fanciness.

Sussi, turned to me with a grim look.

—That’s what I said. Now hush, let the ladies discuss this.

And that they did.

Which left me to my own devices—watching Mats glance everywhere but at me. His fingers moved against the tablecloth like piano keys playing a Chopin étude.

—What do you think of the wine? I asked.

—What, the Sancerre?

I nodded. He lifted his glass, like he was seeing it for the first time.

—Nice, I guess. I mean… white is white. But sure, it’s a nice wine.

—Nice? Mats, you used to love this. I mean, it’s not the same brand we had back home, but…
You don’t like Sancerre anymore?

—Of course I like it. I told you—it’s a good wine.

He let the wine swirl in his hand.

—What does it say to you?

—Say? What do you mean?

—Well, the French say that good wine speaks to you. So, since this is a good French wine, I wondered… now that we’re on its home turf—does it say anything to you?

Mats gave me a puzzled look.

—Not really… more like: Hey, drink me. I’m white and nice.

—Okay, white, you say… Going a bit racist, are we?

He sighed and shook his head, muttering something like I can’t believe this.

I looked over my shoulder as if to check if we were followed, and then leaned in slightly.

—You should thank the Lord there isn’t a wine of colour around, giving him a serious look. I’m not sure I could protect you here. You know… with all the baguettes and oh là làs going on.

That made him smile. Slightly.

—Erik, I’m pretty sure this wine would say nothing more than that it loves everyone who sees wine, not colour and wants to drink it. Which I do. Cheers.

I raised my glass.

—Cheers mate!

We had our gulps, then Mats asked me.

—And... does it say anything to you?

—Hmm, good question…

Now it was my turn to swirl the wine.

—I think this is a tricky wine—mostly because mine is mostly water. But besides that minor obstacle… I’m wondering.

OK, here goes, I thought:

As this wine is an old favourite, a proper favourite, that has been with you for a long time, maybe this wine worries… that it has fallen out of favour… I wonder (and now I fake smelled the bouquet)… Is it a wine that thinks being in France is a fantastic adventure—one that sees and appreciates the joy, care, and… genuine love… it gets from some of the other wines it hangs with?

Or … is it a wine that feels the world’s become messier than it used to be? A wine that’s no longer happy with its crowd… and maybe, instead… is more embarrassed of it? Maybe even ashamed of some of its fellow wines—wishing it had chosen another shelf… in the cellar?

His dark eyes lingered on me.

—It seems like you drink a very complicated wine.

—Maybe… or maybe not. Maybe the wine isn’t so complicated… maybe it is the cutlery that needs rearranging. Or something.

—You mean the porcelain?

And just like that, tears welled up that I could barely hide. Fuck this shit!

—Maybe… yeah, the happy porcelain.

I forced a smile.

We both fell silent.

He stretched, yawned like he was trying to shake something off, then looked up at the blue sky above us. He rubbed his eyes, as if something had got stuck there, then glanced wearily around before he continued.

—Maybe the wine says… that sometimes, porcelain can be a real burden, he said slowly, thoughtfully. Maybe the wine knows for sure it’s a glass kind of wine. Maybe even a crystal kind of wine. And the wine has built its world around being that kind of wine. And the wine knows this—specifically.

And porcelain… maybe it feels that porcelain can be messy, demanding—a genuine hassle to deal with. Porcelain can overthink. Worry too much. Create havoc, when all the wine wants is peace.

I shrugged.

—Yeah, porcelain… what a mess, right? Better off without it, I’d say.

He, leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table with his hands tied in a knot.

—Yes… but no. Not at all. The thing is, maybe the porcelain isn’t the problem. Sometimes it’s the wine that’s the problem. Because… as a matter of fact, the porcelain is pretty amazing.

Maybe the wine thinks that porcelain can be the best thing ever. The. Best. Thing. Ever.
Maybe the wine knows that—and maybe it’s known it for a long time… somewhere deep down.

Maybe…

Mats raised his head and looked at me.

—…maybe the wine thinks that porcelain—well, not all porcelain, but this specific piece—is absolutely wonderful. That this piece of porcelain is pure magic, in ways the wine has never known before.

Maybe… it’s the wine that’s completely lost.

---

I almost didn’t dare to listen. I was so prepared to be dismissed—maybe even ridiculed—that it took a moment before the words actually sank in.

I looked at him, frowning, still not getting it.

—What? he said, clearly thrown.

—Nothing… it’s just that… I don’t understand.

He rolled the wine glass slowly between his palms, not looking at me.

—What’s there to understand? It’s just a wine… that maybe really likes this particular piece of porcelain.

I was still confused, and he saw it. His shoulders stiffened.

—But Erik—for God’s sake… do we really have to do this here?

—What?

Anna broke in.

—Are you two having a fight again?

She turned to Sussi.

—I don’t know what’s going on with them. It was the same yesterday.

—What do you mean?

—This weird energy. You don’t feel it?

She looked back at us with concern.

—Whatever it is, you guys need to kiss and make up. You can’t spend the whole trip like this. And Erik—She tilted her head at me. —You look like someone stole your surfboard.

I forced a grin.

—Naah, nothing gets to me, Anna. You know that.

Mats broke in, his voice calm but thoughtful.

—I don’t think Erik has anything to be sad about.

He paused.

—Well… I hope he doesn’t, anyway.

Then it dawned on me.

—Wait, wait, wait… you’re saying the wine loves—likes porcelain?

—Yeah, I did.

He swirled his glass again, but this time he looked straight at me.

—Not all porcelain maybe, but… you know.

He gave a small shrug.

—How can that come as a surprise? Considering.

—Come on, what are you talking about?

Anna sounded genuinely perplexed.

Mats turned to her and kissed her on the cheek.

—Nothing much. Just wine and porcelain.

—Wine and porcelain?

Anna raised an eyebrow.

—That’s a weird combo. Wine loves glass—everybody knows that.

She looked to Sussi for backup.

—Who even wants wine in porcelain?

Sussi shrugged, looking like she had absolutely no idea what was going on.

—No one?

—Exactly. No one.

Mats raised his eyebrows and lifted his glass slightly toward me.

—Well… maybe this wine does.

His voice was calm, but his eyes smiled. And I got goosebumps.

I was confused. And happy. Smiling, yet wondering. What was that, even?

I gazed into his eyes, trying to find some kind of explanation for what he’d said. A background. A foundation.

Because as my heart began beating like my life depended on it, the realization hit me—I knew that I knew it, because it was so obvious, so clear. And it all came back to me:
Yes, Mats was him.

The reason for my borderless loyalty.

The reason I couldn’t help smiling when he smiled.

The reason my whole body jolted when we touched.

The spin in my chest whenever he looked at me… I mean, it didn’t take more than that to send my heart flying.

It never had.

Was this… love?

Did I love Mats?

Like… really love him?

Not like. Not enjoy. Not agree with. Not… find pleasing. But… love?

My eyes followed a dark strand of hair trailing down his forehead in the soft breeze. I traced the contours of his eyebrows, the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the freckles scattered across his sharp cheekbones, the way his ears sat tight against his head—not wide and wobbly like I’ve always felt mine were.

The way the outline of his chest appeared under the fabric of his shirt as he leaned back in his chair. How his biceps moved beneath the skin as he gently touched the back of Anna’s neck.

How I knew the taste of his nipples, how they stiffened when my tongue played with them. The way the hair in the crease between his pecs led downward—thicker where it centered at the base of his shaved cock.

How his thighs tightened as he pushed deeper into my mouth. The coarse hair shifting beneath my hands as I held him, guiding his rhythm as he entered me.

The saltiness of his mouth when he kissed me.

The feel of his cock’s head as it found its way deep inside me.

His pubes tickling my skin as he went all the way in.

The weight of his body. The shine in his eyes.

My heart made wild loops. I was out of breath yet fully breathing—dizzy, losing eyesight, yet seeing every detail of him as if through a microscope.

I raised my glass to his, hoping my shaky hands went unnoticed.

Caressed by his arms. Strong arms. It had felt so right. So natural. Self-clear, even.

His head resting on my chest. His gentle strokes. Fingertips playing with the hair on my legs.

Our glasses clinked.

—To porcelain, he said.

—To wine, I replied.

To be continued...

Awesome writing as always---amazing characters and interesting turns and twist. Excellent!!!

 

[IDreamaboutMen]

Awesome writing as always---amazing characters and interesting turns and twist. Excellent!!!

As always - so happy you enjoy the story, Michael!