First*

For David Abrot

I remember the longing.

I was watching him swim through my goggles –his lanky body pale, the green bubbles rising around his limbs when he pointed at the silver flashes of fish (there were still fish, then), his big blue eyes behind his goggles, and our beaming smiles, safe inside our swim masks. 

He pointed at a tubular creature hidden in the sandy bottom and we darted towards it. We were explorers, adventurers, and I didn’t want him to know I was scared of the dark algae, the unknown that lurked there. As we came close to the bottom creature, our arms touched. His was bony and soft, but it was an electric shock between my legs. Suddenly, there was no fear –only the ache to be closer. I kissed his shoulder. It was salty.

At sunset, we walked up the hill from the beach to our neighboring homes. Our big sisters chattered about Flashdance, which we’d all seen three or four times already. At times they broke into song (She’s a maniac, mayyyyy-nee-ac, on the floor …) and moves they’d been rehearsing all summer on the promenade while he and I hunted for pine nuts. They couldn’t wait to go back to school just so they could start the modern jazz classes they’d signed up for in the Fall. He and I were unusually quiet. We didn’t know what to say. Or maybe nothing needed to be said. 

He took my hand in his. They were salty and sweaty. Again, the jolt somewhere in my body. The lump in the throat. His freckles. The smell of dried lavender and pine trees starting to release the sunshine they’d caught in their needles. In front of us, our sisters danced, facing the dark blue sea and the purple horizon. Gently, he pulled me to the side of the road. The spiky bushes scratched at our thighs and the sticky pine needles pierced through our flip-flops, but we didn’t mind. I leaned against a coarse little tree and he leaned in. His lips were soft and tan like an apricot. His eyelids closed, a perfect row of long eyelashes, and the freckles on his pink nose filled my entire field of vision. My knees felt weak. He leaned in closer and our perfectly flat, bare chests touched –sticky from the salt and sunscreen both. Our arms knew to wrap themselves around each other. My hands searched where to land on his beautiful plump butt. 

The next day, his sister told mine that I had turned my tongue too fast. It hurt my feelings, but we agreed to take the rest of the summer to find the perfect pace. 

With our two beach towels on the pine needles, he insisted on lying down under me, so I wouldn’t get stung.

This piece popped up during my last Yoga & Creative Writing Retreat in France last August, 2026, in response to a wonderful prompt from my dear writer friend Melissa Faber. She had us roll on the floor with racoon blindfolds on for a while, feeling into our animal bodies. Then she asked us to remember our first stirrings of sexuality or love. This is what happened.