Davo

by N.R. Walker

“There’s a spring in that seat you’re about to become real acquainted with,” she said with a laugh. Oh my god. She wasn’t wrong. By the time we drove onto a better-maintained road, I felt somewhat violated.

“Keep water with ya and stay outta the sun and you’ll be right,” she said, still smiling. She gave a nod to my hair. “Don’t think I need to tell you that.” Ah, yes. My hair. I would never escape people pointing it out as if I didn’t know. It was a rusty-red. An auburn-copper, even. I’d have thought it was a nice colour, but almost everyone just called me a redhead or a ginger. Or a carrot top.

I bit into my cake and glanced at the guy who’d just arrived . . . and almost forgot to chew. He had short, dark-blond hair and the body of an athlete: muscular and fit. He wore work boots like everyone else here, a too-tight white tee shirt, and a pink tiered skirt. My first thought was that it was a joke. That someone, somehow, had found out I was gay, and this was a terrible piss-take, a mockery, and I waited for the jokes. For the pointing and the laughing and the insults. But no one looked twice at him, except to say hello. Someone asked him about a drive shaft something or other. He ate his cake with grease-stained hands. He talked to someone else about the oil pressure of some machine, and he wiped his hands on a serviette and sipped his drink, engrossed in conversation. No one raised an eyebrow.

His eyes sparkled with humour, his gaze gripped onto me, refusing to let me go. You’re not here for this, Fergus. No personal relations with the people of your research report, Fergus. No matter how cute they are with a killer smile and pretty skirt, no matter how he looks at you. But then he cracked a crooked smile. Perfect teeth, perfect lips, perfectly uneven smile. He raised an eyebrow, a brief flicker of acknowledgement passing between us, from one gay man to another. And just like that my brain pulled on the handbrake and, along with my good judgement, went careening off the road.

I tried to get him out of my mind—the boots, the smirk, the tight shirt, the pretty skirt. God, the skirt. He had the body of a footballer, grease-stained hands, work boots, and a pretty skirt. It was an Achilles heel I didn’t know I had, apparently.

my legs are so white that NASA needs to be notified before I wear shorts for possible light reflection so bright it can disrupt the International Space Station.” Davo laughed. “You’re funny.” “It’s a defence mechanism often found in nature in most redheaded mammals. Deflect the inbound insults so the predator loses the advantage.” His smile faded and he nodded slowly. “I see. An effective defensive tactic without using violence. As a male of my species who likes to wear skirts, I’ve found removing the teeth of a wannabe predator with my fist just as effective.”

Would I go into his cabin with him if he’d asked? Did I want a quick physical encounter with him on my second day at camp? If you say no, Fergus, you’re a lying liar who lies. You know you would.

“Those are Bonamia rosea,” Davo said. “Not many things bloom out here in summer, but they will after decent summer rain.” “How?” I asked. “How does anything live in direct sun at these temperatures?” I mean, surely, it was forty-seven degrees today. “Some things thrive out here.” He watched the sunset, the brilliant display of colour across the sky. “They adapt and find a way.” I got the impression he wasn’t talking about the flowers, and I wondered what the purpose of this was. The conversation earlier about community, now showing me this, like he wanted me to see the beauty of this place.

Davo turned back to me. “If you don’t want—” “Oh, I want.” His grin was immediate. “Give me half an hour.” “I thought you said an hour.” “I was trying not to sound desperate.”

You need to feed the soul too.” I was smiling at him again. “But that’s just it. It’s my whole point. You find beauty in the world around you. My first day here, I thought I was going to die, and you were like, ‘But look how pretty the sunset is, isn’t it worth it?’ and that’s an extraordinary perspective. Folks here value community and people over material possessions, and honestly, that’s refreshingly human.”

Davo called out as I was walking over to the dining hall. “Hey, wait up,” he said, jogging a little to catch up. Tonight he wore a black tank top with a black pleated skirt that went down to his knees. It looked a bit kilt-like, and I was not opposed. “Wow.” He grinned. “You like?” “I love.” He gave my hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “It’s a bit heavier. I don’t wear it in summer too often.” “That’s a travesty. You should wear that all the time.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Even in bed?” “Yep. Or over the table. Over the end of the couch. Maybe up against the kitchen counter? I could lift it and be inside you so easy.” He stopped walking, let his head fall back, and groaned. “You can’t be saying shit like that to me.” Then he hissed, “I cannot be getting a hard-on in a skirt. There’s no hiding that.”

“Stop that now!” I yelled at him. “Or I will put you in the fridge.” He stopped. Oh my god. That actually worked. I would never actually put him in the fridge, and I had no idea where those words even came from. But it worked. “Good boy,” I said quietly. “Quiet boys don’t go in the fridge.” I sounded like Hannibal freaking Lecter.

I snatched up the apple and cut it into slices. He was very happy with this development, bouncing and whistling as he watched. “You like apple?” I asked. “Good boy. Quiet boys are good boys. Quiet boys get apple.” And now I sounded like a creepy sex offender. This was all so wrong.

When I was sure I’d adequately sunscreened myself, I walked into the water. “Don’t splash too much,” Davo said. “Attracts the crocodiles.” I shrieked, and he cracked up laughing. “I’m kidding! There are no crocs here.” “Davo!” I grabbed my dick. “I peed a little!” He laughed so hard I thought he might burst something.

“Are you looking up my skirt?” I laughed. “No. I’m too busy trying not to die. I hope you know that if you fall and get hurt, I won’t be able to get us out of here,” I said as we climbed. He laughed as he reached the top, then turned to help pull me up. “You’d do just fine. And anyway, I wouldn’t do anything to put us at risk.” It really wasn’t that high up, and getting down would be easy. “Yeah, I know. I’m just a city boy prone to exaggeration and pessimism.”