What He Didn’t Say

I met him on a plain Tuesday. Mark had set it up. He had said he wanted me to meet someone. I should have known. He knew the kind of guys I liked, all too well. Slim, gentle smile, a kind of effortless beauty that doesn’t know it’s beautiful. That was Ryan.

Mark introduced us at a little café near campus. I remember the way Ryan’s eyes lit up when he heard I was into photography.

“Really? That’s amazing,” he said, smiling brightly to me. “I’ve been thinking about modelling. Just for fun! Maybe more? Who knows?”

And that’s the only thing he said about modelling, or photography. But, nonetheless, he kept the conversation around me. Were Mark to talk about his classes, Ryan would ask about mine. Were Mark to talk about his wild last Saturday, Ryan would ask what I did. You get the point, right?

He wasn’t flirting – not exactly. Or was he? But there was a warmth in the way he laughed at my awkward jokes, the way his hand brushed mine as he passed the sugar. It wasn’t what he said that made me hope.

We exchanged numbers before we left. I didn’t think he’d call. I never think they will.

But two days later, he did.

*****

Our first outing alone was at another coffee shop. Smaller. Quieter. He talked a lot – thank goodness! – but, this time too, he always circled back to me. He might have asked about my photos and what I liked to shoot. But that was brief. He asked about my past, my love life, and other things. He told me about his.

When he spoke, he touched my knee with his. Casually, I think, but often. When I made a point he agreed with, his hand would land on my thigh. Squeezing it, some times, caressing it, some others.

His body talked too loudly, making hearing what his mouth said a challenge. Focusing on his lips didn’t help much.

But that was all. And that was all.

We met another two times like that. Same café, same routine. Not all routines are boring, you know. On that third time, though, when we said goodbye, he hugged me longer than ever before. Much longer. No complaints! His hands, softly, running down and up my back. His face close enough I could feel his breath. Smiling. Giggling, and, then trying to hold it, only to giggle again moments later. My eyes scanning every millimetre of his face, as I couldn’t focus on his, no matter how much I wanted to. My mind screaming, “I want to kiss you!” I didn’t. Of course.

Maybe he wanted to say something. I think he tried to a couple of times, but he hesitated. Maybe I was wrong, but asked, “What?” regardless.

He smiled. “You should take photos of me sometime.”

Take a guess: did I agree?

*****

So next weekend, I went to his place with my camera and two lenses, trying to act as if I wasn’t looking forward to it more than him. His apartment small, as expected, but not too personalised, maybe. The necessary furniture and no decorations. One big window flooding the room with light, as the sun was going west, but not in a hurry. May’s evening sunlight is good. Lasts long enough, and it isn’t too hot. And that’s probably the last thought my mind made while still maintaining some clarity.

He sat on the bed and invited me to join him. I sat next to him. Maybe ten centimetres away from him? Okay! Five. He made them zero right away. His arm slipped around my waist, as if it belonged there. We chatted a little. But we got to the photo-shooting soon enough.

He started posing in the clothes he was wearing. But after a while, he decided to change his top. “It’s better if I pose in a variety of clothes,” he said. And he took off his t-shirt, right in front of me. That took me by surprise, and I didn’t have the time to pretend I was not starring at him.

He noticed, and he smiled joyfully.

Then he decided to change again. This time, he reckoned, his jeans should be changed, too. And he did. Once again, where I could see everything. I pretended to adjust the settings of my camera, but I am not a good actor, I admit.

A few photos later, “I think, underwear photos are a must, for a book, don’t you think?”

I agreed, but he was already in his boxers only. And just a pair of boxers, or only boxers, are not enough for a book, right? So he changed his underwear a couple of times. Yes. In front of me. I couldn’t even pretend I was doing something else.

The first time he smiled, maybe playfully. The second, he let me feast my eyes for a little longer. Then he put on a jockstrap. Asses like his are what these things are made for, I tell you!

Then he took that off, and, naked, he asked, “You like what you see?”

“Yeah,” I said. Quietly. Truthfully.

“Want to shoot a few like this?” No hint of embarrassment.

We did.

More than a few. And he seemed to enjoy this part more than the previous ones.

Later, when we were done – his decision, not mine – he wanted to have a quick check at the unedited photos. I sat at his computer, he stood behind me, still naked, his hands on my shoulders as we scrolled through the shots. He’d lean down now and then, kiss the top of my head when we hit one he really liked. I thought, this is it.

When we had checked them all, I couldn’t wait for what was to come. But instead!

“Oh shit! Look at the time! I’ve got to leave!”

Just like that, the moment cracked. He threw on some clothes and walked me out.

*****

I went home floating. Even though nothing had happened, I was as happy as if everything had. I mean… since we reached where we did, next time we meet, it can’t not happen!

That night, I stayed up editing his photos, ignoring my coursework. I wanted to make them perfect, as soon as possible. I pulled out the best ones – his favourites – and got them printed professionally, the next day. It cost more than I could afford, but who gives a shit!

I didn’t call him to tell him I finished editing his photos. I didn’t want him to think I did a half-assed job. I only kept on checking my phone three times a minute to make sure I hadn’t missed his call. He didn’t call.

The next day? He didn’t call.

“So sweet of him! He tries to not make me feel pressured,” I told myself.

The next day, I texted him to tell him his photos were ready.

“Really? You are amazing! Unfortunately, today I have too much to do. Maybe we meet tomorrow?”

“Sure! What time?”

“I’m not sure, right now. We’ll see tomorrow.”

Not only that tomorrow, but quite a few passed with a “too busy”, or a “too much to do”, always accompanied by a “maybe tomorrow”. A week passed before he let me come by.

When I handed him the prints, he lit up.

“These are amazing, Nate! Seriously!!! I can’t believe I can look that good! Thank you!”

His excitement over the top, but no hug. No touch.

We sat next to each other and looked over the edits on his computer. He liked them. He praised me. “You have a real talent,” he said. I smiled, watching his face more than the pictures. I leaned a little closer. Not too much. Just enough that he’d know he could pull me the rest of the way, if he wanted.

He didn’t.

He turned to me and said, “I think you’ve misunderstood me. I’m in a relationship.”

No apology. No explanation for everything he’d done. Just that.

I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry! My mistake. I’m happy for you.”

Yeah, no!

We haven’t met since.