Page 3 of Free Fall #1

Dan

I might not be into love, but I’m definitely into sex.

So, after I’ve washed off in Peggy Jo’s shower and driven my van back to the campground near Yosemite Valley where I’ve been parking the last few weeks, I climb into my very cozy bed wedged into the back and pull out my phone to peruse the local ass on offer.

There isn’t much. Mariposa County is pretty rural, and I quickly grow frustrated.

Hooking up isn’t going to be as easy as it had been when I was staying closer to Vegas.

Most of the guys on the app are okay, a few are even borderline hot, but too many of them also seem to be operating on the DL.

One even has a photo of himself in a bathing suit, flanked by his wife and kids, their faces covered by emojis. Who does that? This guy apparently.

I almost resign myself to spending quality time with my hand and a porn site when I swipe to another profile that catches my attention.

Young guy, but not too young—probably my age, so 25-ish—with long, black hair, skin the color of ocean-kissed sand, and a brilliant smile.

Shirtless, yes, and looking sexy as hell with his finely honed, slim arms, and dark nipples.

Most guys on these apps pose topless or otherwise show off their sex appeal, but most don’t smile in the photos they upload. Or if they do, not like this .

This guy’s smile is so pretty. The way his eyes curve up at the bottom, nearly eclipsing his dark irises, turns them into happy, upside-down half-moons.

And then there are his teeth—so bright and shiny, and yet imperfect with a slight overlap between his front two.

It’s…what word would my third foster mother, Edith, have used? Charming. His smile is charming.

And I am charmed.

Charmed enough to want to see him naked and bent over my bed, at least. Would he object to me grabbing hold of his hair as I plow into him?

I click to the messenger side of the app, hoping I’ll get to find out. If not tonight, then soon. He’s not online according to the notification at the top of the screen, but I send a tentative message to feel him out. I’m not in any big rush. I’ll be here all season.

Sup?

It’s my go-to opener. Non-committal. Common.

I’ve gotten it from other guys on apps when they’re trying to pick me up, so I figure it’s a safe and inoffensive way to get a guy’s attention.

I wait a few seconds to see if he’s got notifs turned on, but his status doesn’t change, so I put the phone aside and do some hang-boarding over the sliding door of the van.

I face outward, my feet lifted away from the ground as I work my arms. The night is pleasant, with woodsmoke in the air from neighboring campfires and the sky thickening with dusk. A breeze ruffles my hair, and I can hear the rustle of the aspen leaves and a squirrel scurrying nearby.

Ping.

I drop to my feet again, get back in the van, and collapse on my bed, phone in hand.

New in town?

I type out my response. Climber. Seasonal. How ’bout you?

I’ve been ‘just passing through’ for about a year and a half, so I guess I live here now.

Cool.

I don’t really want to chat or get to know him. I’m more interested in seeing that smile in person and then getting naked, but I don’t want to be rude or run him off. This is always the hardest part for me. Luckily, he takes the next step.

You have a place to hook up?

I let out a long breath. Yup. It’s not much. Just my van. But it has a bed.

A bed’s good but not necessary

I laugh under my breath. So he’s like that, is he?

Perfect. I like a guy who’s willing to get a little dirty in unconventional places.

Not that I’ll be hooking up more than once with—I glance at his username—SJWV?

Okay, boring, but whatever. But then again…

maybe I will. This is a sparse area. I’ll be here for a few months.

No reason to count him out when the pickings are so slim.

How do you want to do this? I ask.

I’m vers and willing to meet you wherever. I have a car, but no privacy, so…

My van’s private, and I’m vers too.

Cool. What are you up for tonight? Do I need to bring supplies?

I’ve got condoms and lube.

So you want to fuck?

If you’re cool with it, but hjs or bjs are fine too. Whatever. I just want to get off.

I’m dtf for sure. Been a while

What are you in the mood for?

I’d love to get plowed if you’re up for that, but if you’d rather bottom, I can do that too.

I lick my lips, thinking of that long hair and imagining it wrapped around my fist as I fuck into what must be a decent-looking ass given the rest of this guy’s body.

Topping sounds good.

Address?

I shoot him the location of the campground and give him the details on my van.

Great. Give me forty-five. I’ll be in a green Versa.

See you then.

There isn’t much to do about the state of the van.

It’s already pretty minimalist, but there’s no denying it’s cramped, and there’s stuff everywhere.

At least it’s all strapped in with rope and cables so it won’t go flying while I’m driving.

Still, I go around tidying, and I sniff the bedding to make sure it’s not too gross.

It’s sort of fresh. I just went by the laundromat a few days ago, and I’ve been showering consistently at Peggy Jo’s house, the campground’s showers, or beneath the waterfall I like. They’re fine.

Especially for a quick hookup.

By the time headlights and the sound of spitting gravel alert me to the car that pulls in next to my van, I’ve been waiting and scrolling SuperTopo aimlessly for well on thirty minutes.

The LED string lights I have inside the van are all turned on so it doesn’t look quite so sketchy, but there’s no stopping my worry that this SJWhatever guy will take off once he gets a look at my digs.

Plenty of guys do. It’s just a little too weird for them sometimes, and I get it.

Of course, lots of guys don’t take off. I mean, a nut’s a nut, and sometimes a guy’s gotta get it, no matter the location.

When I throw open the sliding side door, the face that greets me isn’t quite as easy-going as his picture.

He looks a little skeptical, but when I hop out instead of immediately inviting him in, he relaxes some.

He’s gorgeous, dressed down in sweatpants, Birkenstocks, and a white t-shirt sporting the words “Red Velvet” in appropriate scarlet letters.

“Hi, I’m Sejin,” he says with a smile that’s about half the wattage of the one in his profile picture.

I wish I had the ability to increase that glow, but I’m often accidentally a dick and sort of “on the spectrum” according to an official diagnosis in my teens, for whatever that’s worth, so I doubt I’m gonna manage it, which is a shame.

“Like Seh Jin,” he emphasizes, clearly accustomed to having to clarify.

“Dan,” I say, nodding and shoving my hand out to shake like Edith taught me. “Like Daaaan,” I draw it out, trying to be funny, but Sejin doesn’t laugh. Which, again, is a shame, but I’m not surprised. My jokes often fall flat.

“I figured,” he says with a small twist to his lips. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or just wary.

“So, uh, look,” he says, glancing over his shoulder and then swiveling his head back around, trying to look past me into the depths of the van.

“I don’t know if this is like a fetish thing for you—” His accent is Appalachian and thicker than I’ve heard since I did some climbing out east. “—and I truly don’t care if it is, but—”

“A fetish thing? No, I live here.”

Sejin does smile then, but it’s nervous and still not as shiny as I’d hoped to see in real life. “No, I mean, me.”

“You?”

Sejin huffs out a strangled-sounding laugh. “Shit, sorry, I’m so bad at this sometimes. Out of practice, I guess. Small towns are hard to get laid in, yeah?”

“Sadly.”

Then he does laugh, a real one, and it’s like little bells ringing up my spine.

I nearly shudder from the delight it evokes in me, and that’s super weird.

I’m not used to liking anything about a person before I get to know them, much less two whole things.

But Sejin’s smile and laugh are pretty special, and even I have to admit that.

“It’s just…all right, so like… how I look—” He gestures at his face and then down his body.

“Some guys are into…aw, hell, it’s not like I even care.

I only brought it up because I thought you were making fun of how I said my name, but now I think I’m just making it awkward. You just want to fuck, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I agree, but now he’s got me curious. “But, uh, what are some guys into? I mean, maybe I am into it, and I just don’t know? I don’t want to cross any boundaries with you. I like to keep things neat. Consensual. I’m not into kink during a first hookup, but…”

Sejin flushes and runs a hand through his thick, long, black hair, and I wonder if it’s going to feel as smooth as it looks.

“I’m not averse to a little kink with the right partner, but yeah, not on a first hookup,” he agrees.

“And, uh, I just meant some guys think there’s going to be something special about fucking me because I’m… ” He gestures at his face again.

I blink. “Because you’re so pretty?” I’m baffled and really don’t know what he’s talking about.

He laughs again and, damn, I like it so much. “No, because I was born in Korea,” he says finally. “Some guys think Asian men are different in bed…”

He clears his throat, clearly embarrassed, especially because this is a conversation he’s brought on himself. I get it. I do dumb stuff like this all the time too. “We’re not. I’m not.”