Even at midmorning, it was already hot and sticky. The slight breeze off the water lent little relief to what promised to be an uncomfortable combination of hazy, hot, and humid that was common for Cape Cod in July. Nonetheless, the street was already busy with that unique combination of young families and gay men found in no other vacation spot he had ever been to. Joey had hoped the stroll through town would provide him a little “me” time to just wander, watch, and listen to the bustle and drama of those around him without having to interact with any of them. With each passing year, he found his inclination to party the nights away further diminished. He hadn’t come back to Bear Week under any illusion it would be a quiet time of contemplation on isolated dunes or solitary bike rides through the marshes. Still, he had at least wanted to get a better feel for the place during daylight hours.
He had come to P-town by himself for that reason—so he could explore on his own without having to keep to anyone else’s schedule. And though it had at times felt a bit lonely in the couple of days since he’d arrived, he had enjoyed his mornings wandering down Commercial Street with no particular purpose other than to eventually find a decent cup of coffee and a bagel. The views of hot guys along the way were a bonus. The present morning proved no exception in that regard. Lots of guys were out and about, many in gaggles heading to brunch or the beach, others on their own like him. Some meandered and socialized. Others were clearly focused on their destination, each step carefully placed, eyes squinting against the sunshine, last night’s outfit reassembled for a modicum of protection from the bright rays and glaring stares of their gay comrades, who were all too familiar with that shuffle of shame.
On this trip, Joey had chosen to stay at a small B&B on the far West End. He enjoyed the relative quiet and tranquility the location provided, but an added bonus was that everything in town was in one direction; no matter where he was going, he walked east to get there and west to get back home. This morning’s journey took him past the high-end galleries on the east end before he reversed course. Only a quarter of the way back, he stumbled upon a coffee shop he hadn’t noticed before, tucked as it was at the back of a flagstone patio. Scattered around it were what could only be described as nautically-themed homoerotic sculptures. He never would have spotted the coffee shop had the artwork not piqued his curiosity.
He had just been handed his coffee and breakfast sandwich from a cute young cub behind the counter when a loud, high-pitched shriek nearly caused him to dump them all over himself. He recovered his grasp on his purchase and swiveled around to see two miserable twin babies in a stroller, their mother frantically dabbing at a white liquid that had somehow drenched them both. Another mom had jumped up to retrieve an empty, lidless baby bottle from the floor—a likely suspect in the mishap—while a big bear in a tight HRC tank top, fur sprouting out from all sides, grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter and began tearing off squares for the mom. It was a wonderfully P-town scene, and the sight brought smiles and chuckles to more than a few of the patrons squeezed into the tight space. For Joey, though, it was a bit too jarring an interruption to his otherwise calm and relaxing morning. So he darted past the commotion and wandered back into the pedestrian traffic of Commercial Street, munching & sipping as he resumed his westward journey.
He took a large bite of his sandwich. He instantly felt the splat of gooey cheese mixed with assorted condiments against his chest, at once scorching and cool as its disparate components seeped through his t-shirt. It was at that moment, of course, that he saw a familiar—and very handsome—face walking towards him. It was the guy from the bar the night before, the one he’d hoped to get a chance to say hi to, but who had hooked up with someone else while he caught up with his old boyfriend Kevin on the front porch of the bar. He’d run into him just a few minutes after he’d helped a drunk guy who’d emptied the entire contents of his wallet on the floor. He and Kevin had dated nearly a decade before while in college. Still, they hadn’t kept in touch for a variety of excellent reasons—the huge argument about politics that had led to their breakup among them—but it had nevertheless been fun to catch up with the guy and meet the friends (and new boyfriend) he was vacationing with. But the reminiscing had taken up a good portion of the evening. So he’d never had the chance to scout out the cute blond who smiled at him after he’d retrieved Ms. Mess’s financial portfolio from the floor. So when the guy popped out the front door and looked straight at him, he’d been thrilled he hadn’t missed him. But then, he saw he was being led from the bar by a beefy redhead, whose expression made clear he would countenance no distractions.
He’d been that guy on many an evening, leading some cute, sexy guy away from his friends so they could go back to his place. He had no interest in challenging him based on nothing more than a smile and good vibes. Redhead had won the guy fair and square, and Joey wouldn’t get in the way. But it had left him feeling a bit more dejected than the situation seemed to warrant. He’d been blown off by nearly as many guys in bars over the years as he’d blown off himself. While it didn’t feel great, it was what it was, and there was usually another sexy (enough) dude waiting around the next corner. But the way the blond guy had practically beamed at him—genuine, kind, seemingly more as a response to what he’d done for Ms. Mess than as a signal he wanted to get into his pants—made him feel great, and that was something he didn’t encounter very often at the bars, especially lately.
And here he was again, walking down the street towards Joey in what he was pretty sure was the same shirt he’d been wearing at the bar the night before, trying his best to maneuver through the chaotic jumble of pedestrians flowing down the street. Clearly, he wasn’t feeling at his prime, as his downward gaze and focused steps suggested. That and the large dollop of melted Muenster, mayonnaise, and hot sauce—a truly stylish combination—running down the front of his own t-shirt argued against the current moment as the right time for proper introductions. But as small as P-town could be, there was no guarantee he’d run into the guy again, so he weaved his way through the dozen people between them and ungraciously stepped in his path.