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Tonight had been perfect, a word I was finding myself using a lot lately in relation to Evan. Something meaningful was unfolding, and he sensed it too. Something bigger than sex, bigger than him testing out what being with a man felt like. I hadn’t cared about reaching orgasm, knowing my time would come, and sooner rather than later if I continued entertaining thoughts like these, by my own hand.
As I wriggled around on my uncle’s lumpy old mattress, snapshots of our evening replayed through my head, keeping me hard. Not only of Evan’s flushed face when he came, but of fingers folded around mine as we kissed in the dark shadow of the truck. Even sharing rice from a fork as he held it up to my mouth, awkward as fuck but doing it anyhow. Don’t get me wrong—I’d kid myself if I believed a painful desire for more sex wasn’t an essential component. But I’d walked away feeling our conversations had only barely started, that we were exploring the opening chapter of a book I wanted to read right until the end.
I invited Evan over to the farm on Sunday afternoon. A surprise late frost this morning left the day with a sunny but brisk spring in its step, my favourite type of weather and excellent for showing off my land. Evan had asked for a tour, arriving armed with a rucksack of picnic food. Moreover, and without preamble, he greeted me with a kiss, so already, I’d chalked the date up as my most romantic ever.
We stood in the farmyard, grinning stupidly at each other for a few minutes before I remembered I was supposed to be taking him for a stroll. As we set off through a stile at the north end, Zeus trailed after us; I didn’t have the heart to point out three was a crowd. Instead, I indicated to a raised hillock of sparse woodland ahead.
“I’ll take you around the periphery of Fearnley Field, and then we’ll head over to the highest ridge, and you’ll get your bearings better.”
Gallantly, but not entirely altruistically, I offered to carry the picnic. Like a fool, Evan allowed me to take it from him. Then pulled a face, when, within a hundred yards of the farmyard, Zeus wandered through a mucky puddle, concluded our stroll was going to be a little longer than anticipated but couldn’t be arsed to walk back, and began a pitiful, attention-seeking limp.
“You knew he’d do that, didn’t you?” Evan accused me.
I gave him my best innocent look, and he laughed, before scooping Zeus into his arms and giving him a cuddle. If I hadn’t had enough proof already, this guy was an absolute keeper. Bringing the dog along had been an excellent idea; I now had a perfect excuse to tease Evan out of his formerly pristine jacket and shirt. “You can tell your master he is a very naughty man, Zeus.” He nuzzled the smelly fur.
A little later, as we stood together at the highest point of my land, Evan asked, “Do you think you’ll stay here forever, Rob?” Which was to say not very high, because our county was one of the flattest in England. With the rucksack at my feet and Zeus wandering a few metres away, his hand had already slipped into mine.
“Yes, I’ll stay, for as long as the Avery family owns the estate, anyhow. And I reckon that’s going to carry on long after I’m dead and buried in the Rossingley graveyard.”
“Did you ever wish you could have done something else?”
I surveyed the countryside with a critical eye and pointed out a few landmarks. In one direction, the small town of Allenmouth rose up in the distance, with the grand Rossingley estate house sprawling to our east. Between the two, a patchwork quilt of fields rolled in every direction, some belonging to me, sub rented out to an arable farmer. From this distance, my farm buildings and cows looked like children’s toys; I imagined a giant hand reaching down and rearranging them.
Usually around four a.m. in January, a month with seemingly double the number of days than any other, alternative careers involving sitting behind a desk in a nice warm office held a certain appeal. And then on days like today, the bright sun and the gods of farming flirted shamelessly with each other, and Mother Nature went about her quiet business of soothing our souls. Evan was watching me, waiting.
“Nah. Best job in the world.”
We chose a sheltered spot for our picnic, a patch of the ridge with woodland on three sides and the open end facing back down towards my farm. My mum often told me my dad used to bring her ‘courting’ up here, like he was shyly presenting her with bunches of carnations instead of squeezing in a quick shag between milking and mowing the back fifty acres. Hopefully, Evan fancied a spot of courting later too.
“Are there no public rights of way around here?” He brushed himself down. Thanks to Zeus, the shirt was possibly beyond saving, not that he seemed bothered. “We haven’t seen a single soul.”
I shook out the blanket and settled myself down onto it. Knackered from all that cosseting, Zeus curled up a few feet away, his old head flopping onto his paws. With a pang of sadness, I wondered how many more sunny afternoons like this one he had left to enjoy, and why dogs' lives were too short. It was their only fault, really.
“Not over this side, no. It’s very private. Just you, me, and the dog.”
So as not to crush the strawberries, Evan removed the punnet from the top of his rucksack, placing it between us as he made himself comfortable. “In that case,” his mouth curved into a slow smile, “it’s high time we did this.” Leaning over, he pressed a firm kiss against my lips, followed by another, slower one, before popping a strawberry into his mouth. “Mmm, gorgeous.” He swept his tongue over his lips.
“What? Me or the strawberry?”
“Both. You’re even juicier.”
Who knew a simple picnic could be this sublime? A scenic spot, plenty of grub, (probably all vegan, but never mind), enough sun not to need a coat, and lounging on a woollen blanket next to an adorable human being. And lashings of flirtatious silliness. With my arms pillowing the back of my head, I opened my mouth expectantly.
“So not only am I providing the picnic, but I’m feeding it to you as well, am I?” Evan teased. He stretched out, propped on an elbow alongside me, his cheeks boasting more colour than normal from the exertion of carrying my dog up the hill. A stray leaf had attached itself to his usually neat and now windswept dark hair, and I decided it could stay there. Rumpled Evan was a rather attractive sight.
Plucking a plump strawberry from the punnet, Evan examined it between finger and thumb, then offered it up an inch from my mouth. Like an idiot, I lifted my head and stuck my tongue out, only for him to snatch it away.
“That’s for tricking me into carrying Zeus.”
With a wicked smile, he traced the tender red flesh around the line of my lower lip, painting it with cold, sticky juice. Pleased with his handiwork, he did the same across my upper lip, before finally dropping it into my mouth. His gaze held mine as I savoured it.
“I like the way this is going.” His thumb followed the path of the strawberry across my lower lip. “You and me. Working each other out.”
I nibbled his thumb. “So do I.”
Sugary, cool lips replaced his thumb. Our tongues met greedily. This time, our kisses were long and deep, the strawberries and the rest of the picnic forgotten. He tasted of my innocent youth, of sunshine, dusty haylofts, the caramel sweetness of ripe fruit, and the rich earth of my land. As his cool palm found its way under my shirt, I tugged him closer, smoothing my hand over the soft hairs curling at the nape of his neck. He made a hungry sound in his throat.
“Absolutely no public rights of way across your land?” His fingers closed around my belt buckle. A low and pleasant hum warmed my blood as the leather strap slithered through the loop. He popped the buttons on my jeans, letting them fall open.
