The Summer of First Sight
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was a vision of effortless grace, a stranger who had momentarily paused my world. Two days later, I found myself sitting by the river that bordered my neighborhood, tossing pebbles into the shimmering water to distract my racing heart. Then, he appeared. He stood at the water’s edge, mirroring my movements, his presence sending a jolt of electricity through my veins.
Trembling, I forced myself to stand and approach him. “Hi, I’m Vicente,” I managed to say. He turned to me with a smile so radiant it felt like a gift. “I’m Tito,” he replied. He told me he was visiting from Brooklyn, New York, staying with family just a few houses away from mine. In that moment, the rest of the world faded into a blur; there was only Tito, and the sudden, exhilarating realization that I was attracted to men.
As we parted ways, I whispered an invitation for him to meet me again the following evening. The anticipation that followed was a sweet torture, a humming energy that lived beneath my skin. When we finally reunited under the canopy of an ancient willow tree, the tension between us snapped. Our first kiss was a revelation, a collision of longing and discovery that tasted of salt and summer air.