Reciprocity

You look, as the water which had at first been cool as a bite, covers your pink feet in wet, warm, creeping bursts. You look at the man with the shadowed eyes and fair, buoyant hair, eyes that nevertheless seem to penetrate air and cloth and skin and soul. Despite the warmth from the July sun, you shiver and prickle, goose bumps rising, nipples tightening, tingling. You fight the urge to cover your budding chest with a lightly freckled forearm, confused and scared by your body’s reaction to this man’s stare, yet you are curious. You like it, but you don’t know why. You like it, but think that perhaps you shouldn’t. You vaguely hear your brother splash up behind you, call your name, but you don’t answer. You look at the man, at the boat that brings him closer. You look.