Nantucket was everything Kurt had expected.  It was pristine with cobblestone streets lined by shops and restaurants housed in quaint, New England clapboard or brick buildings.  As they moved out of the town proper--Burt and Carole had picked Kurt up at the ferry when Kurt had discovered that it was going to cost hundreds of dollars he didnt have to take the Navigator across the water--the houses on the island became very different in style but were uniform in their building materials.  All were made of wooden slats, weathered to a soft gray.  The newer houses stuck out jarringly, because their wooden shingles were still brown.  That would change over time.  On the one hand, Kurt thought the houses were beautiful and the uniformity of color kept the island looking tidy.  On the other hand, the sameness seemed a little oppressive.  Kurt was always one to express his personal style, and here that seemed to be limited to the architecture only. 

Kurt was surprised when they arrived at their vacation destination.  He was expecting some ostentatious estate with manicured lawns and a sprawling mansion.  Instead, the property was expansive but mostly left wild.  There was a garage separate from the house with an apartment overhead, which Kurt discovered would be his own for the duration of his stay.  According to Burt, the garage apartment hadnt been used in years, but the billionaire owner hired staff to keep it clean and well-maintained, just in case. 

Across the lawn was the main house, which was large, but modest, compared to the homes surrounding the property.  The furniture was nice but nothing fancy.  It looked like it had been decorated tastefully in the seventies in neutral colors and never changed.  Floors that were not covered in wood were a Scandinavian-looking ceramic tile, and an entire side of the house fronted not the ocean but Hummock Pond, a large inlet where swans and osprey swam.  Carole told Kurt that there was a public beach a few minutes walk up the road and to be prepared for the coldness of the Atlantic, even in the heat of summer.

If Carole thought Kurt was going to take his pasty white skin out to the beach and into the ocean, she didnt know him at all. 

Kurt dragged his suitcase up the stairs to his new, temporary apartment and began unpacking.  The apartment was a single room in the eaves of the garage with a small adjoining bathroom.  Kurt was surprised that the bathroom had no actual bath, and when he asked, Burt took him to the side of the garage where--behind a short wooden wall--was an outdoor shower.

"Seriously, Dad?"

"Theres a shower in the main house, if you want to use it, kiddo.  But theres an outdoor shower at the main house, too, and Carole and Ive discovered that theres something nice about bathing--what did Carole call it?--Al somebody."

"Alfresco?"

"Yeah, thats what she said.  Just try it once, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt said reluctantly.  He wasnt much of an exhibitionist, and although the property was pretty private, even the idea that birds flying overhead might see him naked made him a little uneasy.  He had been working out in college and watching his diet, and his body was far better than it was when he was a gangly high school student, but he still felt self-conscious about his body...and his smile...and his voice.  Oh, who was he kidding?  He was never going to be completely comfortable with himself. 

Still, a while later, Kurt braved the outdoor shower, which, he had to admit, was kind of nice in a completely unsettling and sort of naughty kind of way. 

-s-

The next morning Kurt awoke early and managed to get a good deal of work done on his screenplay before he looked out the window and discovered it was raining. 

Terrific. 

He had a feeling that the few things to do on this sleepy island were substantially limited when you couldnt be outside.  It turned out to be worse than he thought.  After breakfast Burt and Carole dragged him to a whaling museum (a whaling museum!), arguing that Kurt, "might as well come with them, since its raining."  The museum was absurdly expensive, but Carole paid, and Kurt found the interior to be tasteful and the exhibits more interesting than he expected. 

He was staring in horrified fascination at a nineteenth-century enema kit and thanking the powers of the universe that he was not a gay man during that era, when a lecture on eighteenth century whaling began in the room behind him.  He planned to move on, but it was interesting, and he ended up staying for the whole hour.  So maybe the idea of spending three years at sea with nothing but other men seemed more appealing to Kurt than to others in the room, but so what?  After the lecture, Kurt was delighted to discover that it had stopped raining, and he convinced his parents to let him wander around the town by himself, promising to meet them for a late lunch. 

He wandered aimlessly, looking in windows and scanning the crowds, but when he found himself entering a mens store whose window display featured a hideous collection of plaid shorts and overly-bright polo shirts, he had to admit to himself that he was really looking for the man he had seen last night on the boat. 

The first time Kurt had seen Blaine Anderson, he was sixteen years old.  He had traveled to Dalton Academy ostensibly to scope out the competition from the rival glee club, the Dalton Academy Warblers, but he was also seeking refuge from the bullies at his own McKinley High School.  Blaine introduced himself to Kurt on the stairs and Kurt thought he had never seen a boy more beautiful.  When Kurt discovered that Blaine was the lead singer of the Warblers--and what a voice!--he fell in love even more.  Blaine, on the other hand, showed no romantic interest in Kurt at all.  He talked to him for a short time after the performance at Dalton Academy, and he would say "Hi, Kurt," when they ran into each other at various show choir competitions over the next two years, but that was it. 

The fact that Blaine became Kurts romantic fantasy throughout high school (and more than a few times in the shower in college) had nothing to do with Blaine, per se.  In Kurts mind, he imagined Blaine to be the perfect boyfriend who was caring and considerate and knew how to touch him just right.  Kurt knew it was all in his mind.  You couldnt love a man you barely know.  But, at the same time, Kurt figured his feelings were as harmless as having a crush on a movie star or a television character.  Probably real life Blaine was nothing like fantasy Blaine.  Maybe real Blaine was a snobby jerk.  He had certainly gone to an expensive prep school, and he was probably now at some Ivy League university. 

Even more ridiculous was that Kurt thought that the man he had barely glimpsed on the ferry was Blaine, when he had only seen the back of the mans head.  Surely there were plenty of short men with dark, curly hair.  Werent the islands off of New England mostly populated by descendants of Portuguese immigrants?  What were the odds that the boy he barely knew from Ohio was the man he saw on Nantucket?

Yet, here Kurt was, walking around town looking for a fantasy preppie that probably wasnt even here, and, even if he was, what was Kurt going to say to him? 

Hi, you probably dont remember me, but Ive been jerking off for six years pretending it was your hand wrapped around my dick and not mine.  Thank you for that; youre really good at hand jobs.  And, now that youre here in the flesh, why dont we make it your hand in reality? 

Sure, that should send him running.