Cruising

This was written by one of the incredible men inside Revealed 2022. He came out to his family as queer during the program.

Thirty-five minutes.

Thirty-five minutes of uncivilized adrenaline, lightly veiled yet all-consuming. Thrilling, in the way that both excitement and terror comingle for a heightened state of awareness. 

I walked behind a sandy slope, cruising casually along a packed, dirt trail surrounded by waist-high desert shrubs. All around, men meandered aimlessly, seemingly deep in their own thoughts. Tall, dense trees one-hundred feet off the path shaded shady activity, providing just enough cover for bare minimum discretion. A glance here, a muffled cough there, the distant sound of waves pounding the sand of the Spanish shoreline.

Earlier in the afternoon, a moment came when the mood on the beach shifted. Primal instinct took over–dark sunglasses and thin layers of SPF 15 offered little protection against penetrative stares. 

Body language became the primary means of communication: chests puffed, sandy legs crept open, fleeting eye contact lingered, and the sweat of bare bodies glistened in the heat of the sun. 

Feet bare, a consciously measured pace on hard ground; Two bodies, one subtle touch, a gentle grazing of hands passing by, wordlessly crystal clear.

The smells of must, stale breath, and sweat.

Flitting shadows among the trees; averted, beady eyes, but eager greedy glances.

The sound of breathy whispers, “Te lo chupo” [I suck you], he repeated, followed by, “Ayyee que rico” [Mmmm how delicious].

The taste of recently digested onions on his tongue; on mine, dryness, a veritable desert nearly absent of moisture, saved only by the oasis of feverishly chewed gum, mildly minty with a hint of ocean breeze.

The touch…hungry, desperate, alarming and pleasurable, feasting now for fear of future famine.

Release, regret, false promises of return followed by thousands of miles of ocean, never to be seen again. 

Que será, será [What will be will be].