“Springfield,” a speaker announces. “Arriving now, on Platform Two.”
Stepping forward to the yellow line, I nudge my sneaker across it.
Lines are there for a reason.
Lines keep us safe.
I drag my shoe back again.
I’m fighting it.
Fighting to resist the memory of Porter's naked body.
How could I possibly forget?
The subtle bounce of his cock as he walked past.
The way I wanted to touch him so bad.
The way I want him to touch me.
Hopping off the train at Virginia station, I catch bus 306 to Nudgee Beach.
It’s the closest beach to the city, or so I was told.
Lovely for bird watching, said the librarian.
She didn't seem like the sort of woman who sunbathes.
But I don’t have a car, and I’ve spent all morning thinking about dicks.
So an afternoon trip is all I have time for.
Would people laugh if they knew that it’s my first time seeing a beach?
My very first glimpse of the ocean?
“The edge of a continent,” I whisper.
It sounds so magical.
Any moment now, I’ll see it.
I think about the first beach picture I saw when I was a kid.
Golden sand.
Turquoise waves.
Now I’m living the dream.
We made it, Little Mark.
We made it.
Shame about the weather.
Those dark clouds are looming.
