Unknown man, 1941, Sweden.
I stand on the dock and watch him bring the boat up to the tie-off point. Other fishermen in the harbor are watching him navigate the old wooden boat, snickering in amusement.
“Boy why are you naked?” I ask.
“Decided to go for a swim out there, Sir. If I get dressed afterwards, my clothes always get damp after a swim and I hate damp clothes.
Fine warm day today, so there was really no need to put on clothes in my opinion.”
“You have quite an audience. It does not bother you?”
He squints at me in the sun, a smile on his tanned face. “It doesn’t bother the ocean, so it doesn’t bother me. I only care what you think of me naked Sir.”
I sigh softly. He knows I live for every moment he takes his clothes off and how my eyes linger when he changes. The only thing that gets me to bed on time at night is knowing he’s warm and bare under the covers.
“I think highly of your body, boy… you must know that.”
He ties the boat off. “Still pleases me to hear it.”
Another fisherman nearby speaks up. “James, tell your boy to put some clothes on. If you got yourself a misses, well we’d be havin’ another conversation,
No one else out here wants to look at another man’s bait n tackle! though” That makes the other people near the dock howl.
I shrug. “Well, I tried boys, but I think he’s staying naked.” That makes them laugh harder. I glance at the bucket in the boy’s boat. “Dinner?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good work. Let’s head in. I peeled the potatoes already.”
He groans. “Thank you Sir. Hate potatoes.”
I knew.
He throws his bundle of clothes to me and I help him out of the boat. We walk down the dock and then down the road that follows the coast. Our home is at the end of the road, up a gravel path on top of a bluff that overlooks the beach. We have a chat about the weather, the waves, how the fish were biting, if we should make a cake tonight. People gawk and gasp at him, and women giggle. It’s hard for my boy to keep a straight face, but I can tell he’s enjoying causing a stir. He doesn’t care, and I love him for it.
Finally when we get home, he sets the bucket of fish down on the deck and stretches. “I’ll get to guttin’ em.”
I have other ideas. I take him to the bedroom instead. The ocean has dried on his skin instead of his clothing, and every inch of skin tastes salty and fresh. He’s a furnace, all tanned skin under tight muscles. I felt embarrassed later at the vigor I had taking him. I wouldn’t have been able to eat dinner without getting that release though. He has a way of getting to me, this son of a poor dockworker that had charmed his way into my life.
He glances at me afterwards, all flushed, hair mussed. “Didn’t know gutting fish turned you on so much.”
I snort “It’s not gutting fish. It’s the bait n tackle.”
He grins at me. “Well, that bait worked. I did pull in a very big fish today.”
“Did you just call me a fish?”
“Well you should see your ‘o’ face… ack!” I hit him with a pillow and we dissolve into laughter as he reaches for his to hit me back.
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Captions are fictional.