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Dear Peter,

Every detail of your face was breath-taking in the dying light. I know it sounds cheesy, but how else am I supposed to describe it? You're the wordsmith, not me. I'm just the dumb jock who comes down every year for his summer vacation to see you. Not that I don't mind forking up the cash, booking a hotel room, even going to painful lengths just to spend another holiday with you.

Our tradition is to go to the pier on the last day, buy the largest ice creams we could, and then sit upon the very edge staring out into a gentle sea and beyond. You always get strawberry, though there's always plenty to choose from. You get it because you know it's my favourite, just as I always get double chocolate chip since I know you'd kill for that. Really, the ice cream was just a front. After about ten minutes of us sitting and chatting, as we always did, we'd sneak licks and bites of each other's cones until we're pretty much eating each other's, linking our arms until we forget that we even have them. That's when your tongue slips across mine, our mouths meeting in some bizarre flurry of fruit and chocolate. It's that moment which always makes my heart jump. Don't bother with all the rest of it - the walks along the promenade, the sunbathing upon the beach - if I could sacrifice all that just to linger in that one point where we're kissing over ice cream, then I would. Though you say you don't know, I'm sure you understand how it always gets my heart thundering at a thousand beats per minute, that you awaken something primal within me by the sheer innocence that envelopes us there and then.

Memories flood into my head of us rolling about on a lazy afternoon back at my room; you relishing the time away from your parents and friends, being who you want to be, and myself enjoying the company of the only guy I've ever felt anything for. Even as I look into your eyes now, watching you nibble and lap at the melting pink goo that dribbles across your fingers, I see visions of your body beneath mine. Your supple vulpine form presenting itself to me, years of living upon the beach's shore having left you with a swimmer's build. I trace butterfly kisses along your nape and down your chest, having you moan and blush with each soft peck of my lips. I love it when you moan for me like that. Nobody else I know, nobody else I've been with, moans quite like you. It's like a cherub sighing, which again sounds corny I know. But I'm not the smart guy. You always were, and everything I say now is because you taught it to me. Words learnt upon that pier I use now to reflect on you, making sure you know exactly just how much I listen and what you mean to me. Delicate was another word you taught me. Fragile was a synonym, and elegant was something close, all of which I can say describes you perfectly. Your sweet mind was always muddied by my own, but we didn't care.

Your face now is as I remember it then. It had a pale red flush to it, not quite so much embarrassed, but something near to there. You were always so skittish when out in public, knowing somebody might see us, but the thrill of us hanging out, of what we could get up to, I knew it was too much for you to resist. Your eyes, beautifully pallid and sparkling blue, would always look at me with restrained emotions. I could see the words 'I love you' behind your gaze, though I never pressured you to say it. I didn't want to risk you running, panicking and fleeing.

From butterfly kisses, it'd descend into something a little rougher - though that never bothered you. Whilst you were shy, once you got going you had the drive of breeding stallion like myself and the mouth of a sailor, that much was certain. I can't even begin to count the hours we've spent in that musty old room, probably making all our neighbours pull sour faces as they tried to imagine what dirty shit we got up to. Don't get me wrong, just spending time with you was good enough for me, but to feel your tight body tremble so close to my own, your hole greedily swallowing my meat, our voices crying out in mutual orgasmic pleasure... You had to admit, those were some of the best times we had. It was always like that with you, from simply guzzling down ice cream to you guzzling down my seed, every moment was astounding.

But then we grew up, didn't we?

Again, I feel like we border into some cliché here where I'm the summer love of yours and then for the other three hundred and odd days of the year, we go our separate ways and return to reality. I was pushing my way through college; you were looking to go to university. We both had stuff going on in our lives. It didn't stop us from meeting, but I slipped up.

It was something beyond my control, something neither of us could have anticipated, but it happened. I broke my leg - how I don't remember these days - and not so late that I still couldn't make the vacation, but it cut into the time I could have been spending with you on a beach front just watching the shores roll by and talking about what our big dream is. I think that's when we started going downhill. I turned up a week late to find you miserable, thinking I'd finally decided just to not come without warning. The damn hospital didn't have any internet - I couldn't have contacted you. I think we spent the first few days arguing, fighting over trivial shit just because you were upset I couldn't have been there. It's then I learnt you weren't happy. I never saw it from you most of the time, because when you were with me you always smiled. But during those three hundred other days, you felt like nothing was worth it. All that kept you going was the hopes of summer, our days spent sharing our bodies, pleasuring one another in the most intimate ways we knew how, quelling a hunger that rose up like a bad addiction. Me not turning up was like a stab in the back, as if I'd personally gone out of my way to betray you. Back then, I know we'd smoothed over the cracks and forgotten about it eventually, but I just want to say whilst I forgive you, it was pretty shitty of you to blame me.

The next year was fine; I had no reason to suspect anything was amiss as we made our usual plans, and I boarded the plane to come see you again. This time, I was out of college, whilst you were preparing to leave for your second year of university in the big city. I was proud of you then, proud of us both, and I came to the little village where you lived with a stupid grin on my face thinking that soon I could announce I had plans to move permanently. I couldn't have been sure then, it was all ifs and maybes, but I wanted to leave with that big news burning in your heart on our last day.

I didn't get chance to tell you though, because on that pier, during our little tradition, you barely touched your ice cream. You let it melt and I couldn't understand why, until you started crying. You'd gotten it into your head that now we were finally finishing our education, with me already done and you halfway there, that this was the end. That I'd go off and make a life for myself and that our little holiday secret of young love would dwindle and finally come to a close. I was mortified when I heard you, but you blubbered on, rambling even, and suddenly the sad boy that I'd fallen for so long ago revealed his darkest secret I never thought you'd ever have. I was pretty angry, mainly at myself though you didn't know, when I heard you talk about how you'd come close, how you'd considered the idea, made arrangements, thought that now there was nothing else for you because you'd hit the jackpot so early that now it was never going to come again. You'd talked of odds and probabilities, but I didn't understand. You were acting like everything was over, that it wasn't worth carrying on and it scared me. Over tear-soaked ice cream puddles at the pier, I forced you to promise me that you wouldn't do anything stupid, that we'd see each other again pretty soon and that you should have held on for a year more. I didn't want to tell you about my plans then... I figured it would have been too cruel if they'd then fallen through and I'd have to deliver the bad news that I could no longer follow through on my side of the bargain. I just had to hope I'd done enough, that you were as smart as I knew you to be not to do that stupid thing...

I came back next year and you were nowhere to be found. I spent all my time there frantically looking, trying to snoop out from friends or locals to see if they knew where you'd gone. Fucking hell, you had me checking the damn local newspapers and police to see if there had been any missing people or suicides reported without drawing attention to myself.

It was like you'd disappeared, and I couldn't understand why. I miss you Peter. You don't know how much, but I do. I miss our time together. I miss feeling you close to me, I miss you teaching me new words and then giggling as I try to sound them out, trying to even use them in conversation. I miss seeing you. I wish I could just see you, because that would make everything better. A little closure, to know what happened at the very least. Be it on some grave or memorial somewhere or to see you wandering around your hometown. It'd be nice... Then I could maybe forgive myself and finally be rid of this guilt.

I just want you to know a few final things, Peter. It's why I'm writing this open letter, leaving it here at the pier where we'd have our ice cream. I want you to know that even when you were gone, when I was back home throughout the rest of the year, for all the years now that have past, I want you to know that I still love you. I never said it before, in hindsight perhaps I should have, but I do love you. That much is clear to me. I don't need to use the fancy words you taught me to tell you that. I only need the three: I love you. But it's been thirty years, and I'm getting on. I'm starting to turn grey, which you know I am not pleased about, but I wanted to go grey with you Peter. Sometimes, as I go back every summer just to revisit the spots we used to hang, waiting at the end of the pier on my last day hoping that maybe, just maybe, you'd show up. I thought I'd seen you one time, with another guy, paw in paw, and the fox had looked happy. Part of me likes to think that was you. If it wasn't, then forgive me.

I just hope that, wherever you are, you're happy now.

With all my heart,

Justin x