Willard squeezes my hand with such force, my knuckles crack. He was trembling in anticipation as we leaned in closer…and closer until our lips were just a centimeter apart. We hadn’t even declared we were boyfriends at this point, just two young men that had grown close over a summer holiday in the Hamptons. His mother came from old Chicago money, my father owned a hospital in Indianapolis. 3 hours apart at home, but 3 streets away here. There were so many single college kids at the Hamptons over break, but I was attracted to his boyish charm, down to earth nature, and his obsession with identifying every single bird at the feeder. As the days drifted on we slowly pulled away from loud, drunken parties and bored rich girls, spending more and more time with each-other. His parents didn’t approve of “his gay experiment”, so we spent most of the time at my house.
The movie we were watching had just ended and we were talking over cream sodas when he caught my gaze in a particular way, and I knew he wanted to know what it was like to kiss with a man for the first time. I sought out his hand and he clung to it like a life preserver as we moved towards each-other. The kiss was a shy, sweet affair, just a little pressure with no tongue. I titled my head a bit for a better angle and we held the intimacy for a long moment before withdrawing for air. I marveled at how hard he was blushing. We nuzzle a little, cheek to cheek, to seal in the memory.
“So…not bad?” I asked after a bit.
“…Nice,” he answers, “Your lips are really soft…”
I give him a little peck and he nips me back.
“I like kissing you more than the girl my parents want me to date back home."
"Well, kissing boys isn’t all that different. It only really detours once you hit second base and third base.”
“Aaaand you know about these things?”
The corner of my mouth slides up into a crooked smile. “I do. Never been to homeplate though.”
He bites his own lip and looks at me, contemplating this perverted version of a baseball game. “Hey I just noticed something…”
“Hm?”
“You’re gay and your shirt…it says Ball on it.”
“What?” I burst into laughter at the complete 180° change in topic, “It’s a University! It’s where I go to school!”
He still hasn’t let go of my hand. “Yeah but… it’s funny! You know, because…because of balls!”
Hearing such a profane word come out of his virgin mouth causes me to lose it. He sputters, trying to save face as he watches me dissolve into hysterics. “It’s not that funny!”
I’m laughing too hard to reply in a proper fashion, “It IS funny! It’s not a school named after testicles, it’s named after the Ball Brothers-”
This sets him off and now both of us are acting like we’re on nitrous oxide. After a couple minutes of laughing like hyenas, we regain composure. Willard wipes the tears out of his eyes. I’m surprised when he’s brave and kisses me again, but I cannot help but spoil the moment. In my lowest, huskiest voice, I whisper, “Balls,” and it sends us writhing on the sofa, grasping our sides again.
