The D Spot

I still vividly remember the last time I saw him.
We were standing down by the river, at the little dock where we’d spent most of the summer. It was late August and the sun was still high, but there was a chill in the air where it brushed my neck. Or maybe it was just the words he spoke that gave me goosebumps.
“You know I have to leave soon, right?” He said, looking into my eyes.
I felt his hands, large and warm on my shoulders. His breath smelled of clove cigarettes and the stolen beer we’d shared.
“Yeah,” I said, willing the tears to stay back. I didn’t want to ruin what felt like an important moment.
He sighed, and looked off behind my right shoulder. I looked at my feet, red toenail polish chipped and worn.
“It was a good summer,” he said, almost absently.
This time, it was I who sighed. He drew me against him and I lay my cheek on his chest. His heart beat steady and I timed my breathing to his. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the scent of him. Warm and salty. My arms wrapped around his waist.
I didn’t ever want the moment to end, but at some point, he pulled away. I looked up into his eyes.
I wanted to say something profound. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me…his friendship, his support. I wanted him to know how important he was to me, and how my feelings had evolved and changed over the last few weeks.
Oh how I wanted to kiss him.
But instead, I just smiled at him. “Any more beer left?” I asked, reaching compulsively for the safety of ‘just friends.’ I wanted to shout from the dock and out across the water how much I felt for him, how deeply I needed him….but yet, I didn’t want to risk losing him. His friendship was what he offered and I accepted. To ask for more would have been greedy.
We sat on the dock and watched the sun set, sharing a beer and talking of the inconsequentials.
Before long the mosquitoes came out and the frogs began their nightly chanting. “I should get going,” he said, standing up and offering me his hand. “Nice day today. I’m glad we came out here.”
I tried so hard not to read into his words. It had been a nice day. I wouldn’t let myself ruin it by getting serious and emotional. Later, I would cry myself to sleep with longing for him. Now, however, I would be the friend-buddy-pal that had become my role in this lopsided relationship.
He walked me to my car. We held hands as we navigated the trail back up from the dock. Did he feel the shock and thrill that I did when our hands met? He walked a little ahead of me and I studied his shoulders as he moved, the muscles just beneath the skin of his back. I wanted to touch them, to rub my palms across the flat of his back and rake my nails down his spine. I wondered what his skin tasted like.
Instead, I got my carkeys out of my front pocket and hit the automatic unlock button on the remote. “Here we are,” I said. “Got any plans for tomorrow?” I asked, praying I sounded casual. Maybe I’d tell him tomorrow.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”
I shrugged. “Ok then, maybe I’ll talk to you then.”
I got in my car and started it up. “Drive careful,” he said.
“I always do,” I replied.
I saw him from my rearview window. He had turned and was looking back over across the river. Eventually he got smaller in the distance until I couldn’t distinguish him anymore.
I drove home slowly, the windows down to let in the damp August air.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. I would tell him tomorrow once and for all how I felt about him.