Hidden Tiger — A Push and Pull. The sun decided it wasn’t going to…
By: Winter Hawk
Tags: Queer, Flash Fiction, Fiction Writing, Fiction, Gay

Photo by Jide Lambo on Unsplash

The sun decided it wasn’t going to bother making an appearance today. It was going to stay in bed, wrapped under the covers. The sky was a single sheet of grey and that was fine by me. Rainy days were some of the best beach days. I had a tent I liked to use for just such occasions. It was big enough to seat two people and a monster cooler comfortably. On rainy days the ocean seemed to roar as waves crashed against each other in a race to the shore, and the wind sang a sea shanty of battered ships and sunken souls. I enjoyed listening and taking it all in.

The rain often scared other people away. The beach became a desolate place filled with dark beauty. It was on one of these days that he asked me to marry him.

Arthur was a good man. He treated me like gold and cared for me in ways no other man ever had. Sundays were our days. While others went to church, Arthur and I worshipped at the altar of salt and sand. We planted our tent firmly in the ground, camped underneath it, and became kings of our land, full of freedom, free of interlopers, full of life, free of worry. It was a place just for us, our own.

I reached into the cooler for the first slice of cold fruit, as I usually did, and nestled within one of the cantaloupes was a silver ring with gold trim. For a moment I just looked at it, my silence overshadowed by the drumming of the rain. I knew he was looking at me, waiting. His eyes pulled at me. I raised my head, for a moment to look at him, but instead turned towards the shore. The wind swept it up, wave after wave pounding against the sand, leaving foam in its trail. The beauty of nature mystified me. So many different agents acting together: agents of wind and water and earth. Thinking about it all made me feel small, made this moment feel almost insignificant.

“Marry me,” he said when our eyes finally met “You’ll never have to feel lonely again, never work or worry again.” I looked into those tired eyes and saw what a future with Arthur looked like. There would be more days like this: peaceful days where the rest of the world seemed to disappear, but there was so much more that kept tugging me back. I could never be a kept man. My pride would never allow it, and yet, as he squeezed my hand the prospect of security was too enticing to ignore… but was that enough?

“Arthur,” I hesitated, and the slightest crack in my voice gave me away.

“Look, you don’t have to answer now. Take the ring and cantaloupe and think it over,” he beamed at me with his crooked smile, “I know you. You always want to approach a problem from all angles before you come up with an answer.” His eyes were kind and vulnerable and saw right through me.

“Ok,” I answered, the word tripping off my tongue.

He kissed me softly on the cheek, stroked my back, and smiled as he headed towards the water.

He was still strong, muscles taut beneath his slightly sagging skin, and his back arched broadly as he sauntered towards the shore. I smiled and looked down at the ring. I pulled it out of its melon casing, popped the fruit in my mouth, and looked the ring over. Inside was an inscription, it read: Who else could tame such a hidden tiger?

He liked to call me his hidden tiger. He saw me as someone silent and strong. I was his tiger, who jumped to life when my passion blazed. I liked being thought of as a fierce creature. It made me feel strong.

But tame? Being tame was boring. It required submission to someone else and an acceptance of tedium. Could I do that? And why would he want to tame a tiger? Didn’t he fall in love with my fire?

I needed someone who could run wild with me as an equal opposing force. Was Arthur truly my opposing force? Was he strong enough for me? Strong enough to deal with me and all my bullshit?

Too many thoughts swirled simultaneously through my mind, but I slipped the ring onto my finger anyway and couldn’t help but smile.

Arthur was always so happy. Perhaps he could make me happy as well. A part of me hated him for being so happy. Time had taken his youth, his glory days, and many of his erections but that didn’t stop him from always smiling, even when the young twinks brushed him off with their contemptuous stares. He just brushed off rejection like a gnat. How could happiness come so easy for him? Most of the time it eluded me like a vague idea on the tip of my tongue.

I watched as he splashed in the water like a kid, perfectly at peace with his surroundings. He looked so content, so not like the type of guys I usually gravitated towards. I was typically attracted to people who were a little bit sad, people who have touched the darkness, like me. Arthur was not like that at all. He had touched the sun and was all the brighter for it, but was he too bright for me?

I popped another cantaloupe in my mouth and thought about the day we met: The club was dark and loud in typical fashion. I sat at the bar nursing a rum and coke, too scared to talk to anyone, hoping that someone would talk to me. Hoping that someone would see me.

Arthur saw me.

“Did your boyfriend leave you all alone at the bar?” he cheesed, a goofy smile on his face as he approached me.

“No boyfriend,” I responded, almost rudely.

“Then, can I buy you a drink?” He wasn’t deterred.

I turned towards him and quickly spat out a “No, thanks!” Realizing that I was being rude for no reason.

He put a hand on my shoulder. He was brave, even then, and knew how to go after what he wanted.

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,” he said. Another cheesy line I was sure he had practiced in the mirror, but the right line for me.

I smiled despite myself. It was my favorite type of cheese. “That’s one of my favorites.”

“Mine as well,” he responded, confidence brimming through him.

What can I say? I’m a sucker for Shakespeare and as we talked he started wearing me down. That was two years ago. Two years of push and pull between accepting his generosity and love and stubbornly asserting my independence, two years of kind gestures, and emotional support. Two years of great sex, despite my preconceptions. He loved running his hands over my body and pushing my mind to its limit. He especially loved to argue over what constituted “real literature.” I loved finally having someone to spar with and tasting the best of what life had to offer. I loved having someone to chase after me. Loved having someone who looked at me like I was his whole world. I loved being adored and fawned over by someone with substance and grit but also hated myself for being weak enough to let someone love me and letting him see the real me.

I had grown up an awkward skinny nerd, deep in the ghetto, who fantasized about riding dragons and kissing boys in between getting his ass kicked on an almost daily basis. It was rough. I was bullied. I wore k-mart layaway clothes and ate from food stamps. I spent my time buried deep in stories that transported me far from my reality. My imagination had always been a stamp in my passport to freedom.

Arthur had become another and I hated myself for letting him sweep me away but also loved every moment of it and the places he took me. Here was a man at the peak of his career willing to share the fruits of his labor with me. But who was I to deserve his fruits? Most guys just offered twigs and berries, always paltry and disappointing. Arthur was different, a unique blend of sardonic intelligence and a good heart. Arthur recognized the quiet strength of my mind and loved to nourished it. I recognized the kindness of his heart and the sweet taste of his love. I ate from it like a starving child but grew resentful of how much I depended on his nourishment. Our relationship was a constant push and pull with me unwilling to admit how much I loved it, and how much I needed him.

He flopped into his beach chair, soaking wet and smelling of salt. It was intoxicating. I ran my hand through his thinning mop of salt and pepper hair.

“The water is cold, but hell if it’s not refreshing,” he said, leaning into my touch, a wry smile curling on his lips. Those grey eyes always had a way of melting the ice in my heart.

He reached into the cooler and pulled out two beers. He handed me one and as I drank it I looked around the empty beach. The place was ours. The ocean and wind sang for us. It felt good. I looked down at the ring. It was a perfect size. It hugged my finger without choking it.

“It’s such a beautiful rainy day, don’t you think?” he asked, staring at me with cool confidence.

“I do,” I replied, and met his eyes with a clarity I hadn’t felt in years.