“Randy,” he says, looking straight into me, making new stars appear just with his eyes. “I do want you to be you. So, I know what I’ve said is … not, like, what you thought I meant. But … I like your version better. So … that’s what I believe now.” He shrugs. “You made me believe what you thought I believed this whole time. You’re special. I think maybe … we’re special.”
Stars are born from explosions, and a thousand stars are born in me as he pulls my face close to his and kisses me.
When we pause, I pull back. “You want …” I swallow. “I mean, are we just picking back up where we left off, like nothing happened?”
“We are … trying,” he says, and kisses me again. “But there’s something I want you to do to me.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice a little breathier than I mean for it to be.
He scoots back over to his stuff and goes into his bag and pulls something out, then comes back over to me and shows it to me—nail polish. It’s a deep purple color with dark blue glitter.
“Paint my nails?” he asks a little loudly.
I laugh. “Where did you even get this?”
“You’re welcome, darling!” I hear George’s voice shout through the rain.
“They set up their tent near ours,” Hudson says with a sheepish smile. “George said I could use the nail polish as long as I let him know when it was happening so he could take credit.”
Brad’s voice comes in loud for a moment, over the rain, “Now can we—” The rain gets heavy again, cutting them off. Hudson and I laugh.
“So, will you paint my nails?” Hudson asks.
I nod, shaking the bottle. Hudson spreads his hands in front of me. I’ve held those hands a hundred times, linked my fingers through his, but I’ve never really looked at them before. They’re delicate, more than I thought. They could use some moisturizer—they’re a little rough—but the fingers are slender and graceful, and his nails, though short, are smooth. I take the brush and carefully spread it over his nails, trying to leave an even coat.
“I love this color,” Hudson says. “It’s so …”
“Regal?” I say.
“Yeah. Exactly. I’m like a king wearing this.”
I smile, focusing on painting carefully, not dripping onto his skin or the tent. I go slowly, even though part of me wants to rush. Part of me knows what will happen next, when his nails are dry and his newly colored hands run down my body. I’m ready for it. I want it.
But also, I think, finishing his first hand, maybe this is stupid. I said I wanted Hudson in nail polish, and I’m getting him, but what does that even mean? How can this work when he’s just coming out of his shell and I’ve only shown him part of me? Is that enough? Is one week left of camp enough?
I finish his second hand and blow on his nails.
“Shake your hands so it dries and I can do a second coat if you want.”
“Can I do yours?”
I show off my hands. My nails are cropped short, and bright pink metallic polish dots every finger. “Just painted them last night. But you can paint over them, if you want.”
He nods, happy. “It’ll be a cool effect,” he says, starting to paint. He’s a natural, too. All those years practicing on his grandma must have taught him well. He glides the brush in quick, precise strokes. He finishes faster than I did.
“I haven’t done that in so long,” he says. “It felt … nice.” He looks up. “Thank you. I’m glad it was you.”
I smile and blow on my nails and shake them in the air, wishing they would dry faster. He leans forward and kisses me again on the lips, then the neck.
“Stop,” I say, “my nails are still wet.”
“So you’d better not touch me,” he says. “But mine are dry ….” He puts his hand on my chest, then runs it down my stomach, and then he pauses, waiting for me to say something. I don’t, and his hands go farther down in my sleeping bag. I gasp as he starts stroking me. I’m already hard—I have been since the moment I heard him take off his shorts.
“This is okay?” he whispers. I nod and kiss him again, then stop to frantically blow on my nails. “Relax,” he says. “They’ll dry.” He unzips my sleeping bag and starts kissing down my neck onto my stomach until his mouth finds what it’s looking for and … oh.
First blow job. That’s happening now.
I look down and just the sight of Hudson doing what he’s doing is enough to almost make me involuntarily end it prematurely, so I look away. I always thought it would be a bit like what I do in the shower when the cabin is empty, but it’s very different from that. Much better. Should I do something, though? Do I put my hand on his head, or does that mean I want him to go deeper? I don’t want him to do anything he doesn’t want to do, so I carefully lay my hand on his head, like I’m patting a dog. No … this is not how it happens in porn. I grab his hair with both my hands.
“Ow,” he says, stopping.
“Sorry.”
He smiles and goes back to it. I let my hands rest in his hair and try to lie back and just enjoy it. And it feels … amazing is a cheap word for these sensations. I need some new word that makes me arch my back and makes my whole body feel like electricity is shooting through it—like my skeleton can feel things now.
I lose track of time, but also I’m aware of every moment of this. It’s just that moments have no meaning, time wise, until I can feel that I need to stop him or else ask him if he’s a spitter or a swallower.
“Wait,” I say, panting. “I’m … not yet.”
He lifts his mouth to mine and kisses me. “Your nails are probably dry by now,” he says.
I laugh and touch one of them. Totally dry. I wrap my arms around him and kiss him, my body pushing against his sleeping bag, which I hastily unzip. He smiles and the space between us closes, our bodies knitting together, legs between legs, arms wrapped around bodies, hands running up and down. I pull away, enjoying myself too much.
“Do you want to?” He looks down at his own body.
I nod. “I’ve never.” What do I do? I know no teeth. But is it like a lollipop scenario, or more of an ice cream cone?
“Just do what you think you’d like,” he says, maybe seeing my panic. Which sounds well and good, but I just experienced it for the first time, so how do I know exactly what I like?
I’m not super sure how to do this, so I just open my mouth as wide as I can and go as far as I can. I must look like a fish. So sexy, Randy. I’m surprised by the taste. I thought it would be dirt-tasting and with an uncomfortable smell, but it tastes and smells like the crook of his neck. I use my tongue and lips and I smile when I hear him moan. I’m doing it, and doing it well enough—my first time giving a blow job. I try a few things, twisting my mouth, using my hands, going as far down as I can, which results in a very unsexy coughing fit that I try to hide and makes us both laugh. He starts giving me instructions, and that makes it easier.
“Like that. Slower. Don’t press your lips together so hard.”
He runs his hands through my hair and I stop for a minute to take a breath.