Page 7 of Free Fall

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 guysdon’ttake 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?”