The Raw Prawn

by Connie Bailey

  Russ made a face. “I’m no good with names, but you’ve got a heart-shaped ass and a beauty mark just above your map of Tazzie on the left side.”

  “Spot on,” she laughed. “I’m Patricia, and I never got to thank you properly for helping me over my dislike of blokes.”

  The storeowner was looking from the woman to Russ as though watching a tennis game. “I can’t believe me ears,” he said. “Thought Trish was a full-on lez.”

  “I am,” she said with a mock glower at her boss. “So don’t get any funny ideas, Wally. I just thought I should see how the other half lives before I committed.”

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Russ said. “I’d love to catch up, but we’re in a rush.”

  “On a day like today? You should be at the beach, mate,” Wally declared.

  “Too right,” Russ agreed. “We just need a few things, cozzies and so on.”

  The blonde woman narrowed her eyes, looking Russ and Jarold up and down. “Come on in the back,” she invited. “Carry on, Wally. I’ve got this one.” It didn’t take her long to figure out that the two attractive young men were on edge about something, but made a wrong assumption. “Look, lads, no one here is going to bag you for being together.”

  “That’s good to know,” Jarold said as he tried on a pair of bright blue board shorts.

  Russ smiled at Trish. “He’s not a bad sort for a Yank.”

  “I think he’s shit-hot,” she said. “Careful someone doesn’t nick him off you. Let’s get on with it. I’m off to the beach as soon as I finish here.”

  “Give us a ride?” Russ asked.

  “I’m going to Tamarama with my best girl.”

  “Fair dinkum? I’d love to take Jazza there.”

  Half an hour later, they were bouncing along in Trish’s combi with her girlfriend Toni in the passenger seat and Russ and Jarold sitting on the floor in the back with the surfboards. Trish parked the van and the girls began disrobing. Jarold’s eyes widened as he turned to Russ. Without a word, Russ started stripping off his clothes. Jarold took a look at the brown people on the crescent of sand beside the turquoise water.

  “This is a nude beach,” he said.

  “No flies on you, sport,” Russ replied.

  “Glad to hear it. What are we doing here?”

  “The best place to hide is in plain sight. This is custom-designed for our purposes.”

  “I thought we were going to the police.”

  “We are, but not in broad daylight.” Russ paused. “You’re not shy, are you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am a little shy about parading around naked in front of strangers.”

  “Everyone here is starkers. No one looks at anyone else. Trust me.”

  Jarold met the other man’s eyes. “I do. I don’t know why, but I do trust you.”

  Russ’s heart contracted almost painfully as he reached for Jarold. “I’ve given you a hard time, ay? I’ll make it right, Jazza. My oath.”

  Jarold slipped his arms around Russ and they leaned together for a long moment. “Shit, look at me,” the American said. “About twenty-four hours ago, I was a fairly typical straight guy, and now I’m on the run with my gay lover.”

  “I’ll fix it,” Russ said.

  Jarold laughed softly, running the tip of his nose up the bridge of Russ’s. “There’s no going back,” he said. “Things can never be the way they were before I met you.”

  “I’ve ruined you, have I?”

  “Too right,” Trish said through the window. “Are you going to snog in the combi all day, or are you going to have a swim?” The boys watched as Trish and Toni ran toward water as blue as Jarold’s eyes, their brown bottoms bouncing, hair flowing back with the wind of their passing. Jarold shrugged and finished removing his clothing.

  “You see?” Russ said as they strolled by the naked sun worshippers laid out on towels. “You can’t blame anyone for having a perv, but no one stares, and even then, they’re not looking at our faces. We’ll be safe enough here.”

  Jarold wasn’t feeling nearly as relaxed as Russ. The American was all too aware of his pride swinging in the breeze, lolling gently from thigh to thigh with his stride. And he was without a doubt the palest person in sight. However, he soon realized that Russ was right; these people had seen plenty of penises and made no bother about it.

  “Isn’t it grand to walk about with your willie out?” Russ said.

  “I could get used to it.” Jarold glanced aside at his friend’s lithe body.

  “Could you eat?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  They bought a couple of spring rolls and kebabs from a cart and carried the food behind one of the large limestone boulders. Unrolling brand-new towels, they sat and devoted their attention to consuming the meal as quickly as possible. Russ chugged half his bottle of water and looked over at Jarold as he wiped his mouth on his forearm. Feeling the heat of the Australian’s gaze, Jarold glanced up from shoving wrappers into a bag. Neither understood why mere proximity should trigger this overwhelming compulsion, but they knew that they could not resist it.

  Russ made the first move; straddling Jarold’s lap on his knees, he took the other man’s face between his hands, removing his sunglasses and looking down into eyes that saw nothing but him. A rush of heat melted his groin as he bent to take the lips offered up without reservation or conditions. Tilting his head for a better fit, he sparred with Jarold’s tongue. The American sank his fingers into the straining muscles of Russ’s shoulders, back, and buttocks as the epic kiss went on. Russ leaned in, rubbing his stiff cock against Jarold’s chest as he burrowed his fingers into Jarold’s thick hair. Jarold rubbed his stubbled face across Russ’s nipples before taking one between his teeth to nibble and suck with increasing enthusiasm. Kissing a path down Russ’s flat belly, Jarold followed the freckles like carelessly strewn copper to the greater treasure below. Sliding down to recline on his elbows, Jarold nuzzled at Russ’s hanging sack and the base of his long shaft. Russ massaged Jarold’s scalp, absently absorbing the adoring attention his novice lover lavished on him along with the fresh tang of salt on the breeze that caressed his bare flesh and the rhythmic, soothing sound of the surf.

  “I wish it could always be like this,” Russ sighed, his breath catching in his throat as Jarold drew his balls into his mouth. “Ah Christ, you’re too much for me, Jazza. Lie down and let’s give it a go in reverse.”

  Jarold looked up at him through long lashes, drowsy-eyed and drunk with pleasure, baffled as to why they had stopped when things were going so well. He didn’t stay confused for long as Russ bore him to his back on the towel and maneuvered around until he faced Jarold’s feet and his mouth was inches from Jarold’s arousal. Jarold eagerly took hold of Russ’s hips and pulled until his face was buried in the other man’s crotch. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the singular scent that would always evoke Russ’s presence for him from now until the day his senses and his memory failed.

  It wasn’t a smell that could be defined with anything as mundane as words. It was the way you felt looking out the back door at the rain pattering through the leaves of the autumn aspens with the roasting turkey smell and your father’s pipe tobacco filling the kitchen behind you and the maroon velvet of a really good pinot noir on the back of your tongue, your mother’s welcome home kiss still warm on your cheek, the holidays stretched out before you like your first lay. No, it couldn’t be described with mere words and Jarold didn’t try. He had better uses for his tongue.

  Russ sucked in a big breath when Jarold’s tongue entered him. Jarold continued to stroke Russ’s arousal as he feathered his way around the sensitive perineum before darting into the musky crevice again. Russ rocked gently, his head bobbing as he took Jarold’s length down his throat before letting it slide from between his lips at a languid pace. The rosy column of flesh was shiny with Russ’s saliva all the way down to the thatch of dark hair. Russ loved the way Jarold tasted. It wasn’t anything he could
express in words, but he would know Jarold’s mouth, his sweat, his blood, and his seed in the dark. The briny-sweet-spicy taste that defied description and beggared the imagination would forever be his drug of choice, and he finally understood the phrase “forsaking all others”.

  “Turn on your side,” Russ panted, relinquishing Jarold’s cock for the length of time it took to say the words and for Jarold to comply. Sucking his index and forefinger into his mouth, Russ got them good and wet before crossing them and easing them into his partner. Jarold made a yummy sound around the velvety sack in his mouth and Russ shivered in reaction. Jarold pumped Russ’s shaft faster, licking his way down the fat vein to the moist cleft. Russ thrust into Jarold’s fist, increasing his speed as an ardent tongue speared his opening. The Australian retaliated, swirling his tongue around the sculpted head of Jarold’s arousal as his fingertips traced figure eights on Jarold’s prostate.

  “Oh hell yeah,” Jarold murmured against a firm cheek. “Oh yeah. I can’t wait anymore. It feels too damn good.”

  Russ engulfed Jarold’s pulsing rod to the root, sucking, swallowing, and stroking until the exquisite sensations from within and without merged into one all-consuming blast of pleasure that detonated behind Jarold’s pubic bone to reverberate in his farthest reaches. Jarold pulled out of Russ’s mouth as his cock twitched a final time, drooling out a spill of cream. Leaning over Russ, Jarold took the other man in his mouth, teasing the sensitive tip with the rough flat of his tongue.

  “Touch yourself,” Jarold whispered as he ran a fingertip around Russ’s spit-slick opening.

  As Russ’s hand shuttled up and down, Jarold’s tongue flicked out to moisten Russ’s fingers, slipping between his palm and his shaft. Russ pushed up into the hot, wet velvet, lifting his pelvis in time with the cycles of pleasure that grew ever greater and closer together. Clutching at Jarold’s hair, Russ thrust deeper as his climax erupted, filling him with molten joy that overflowed down the back of Jarold’s throat. Jarold coughed, recoiling involuntarily and spraying Russ with his own cum. He hit the sand on his ass, eyes watering as he swallowed rapidly.

  “Looks like you’ve got a low gag reflex, mate,” someone said from the direction of the rocks that sheltered them. “This is a nude beach, but nowhere on the sign does it say you can have a head job in public.”

  Chapter Six

  Sorted Out

  RUSS got to his feet as Jarold grabbed for a towel, and they turned to face the intruder. A man with strawberry-blond hair and no extra meat on his bones leaned against one of the water-sculpted rocks with a noncommittal expression on his face. He was as naked as the other two men, but his air of self-possession was like a suit of armor.

  “Filthy wanker,” Russ said hotly. “Getting your jollies, arsehole?”

  “I can see you’re upset,” the stranger said. “But isn’t that language a bit strong?”

  “Fuck off, you mangy maggot.”

  “Cursing an officer is tantamount to assault.”

  “You’re a cop?” Jarold exclaimed.

  The newcomer nodded solemnly. “And your good mate here is a step away from jail.”

  “Didn’t notice your badge,” Russ said, looking the man up and down.

  “Fair enough. I’m Officer Davis and I’m going to give you a bit of advice. I’m all for young love, and I know that sometimes it’s hard to wait, but if I were you, I’d start practicing a little self-control. Public lewdness doesn’t look nice on your record.”

  “Look, we’re not a couple of derros,” Russ said. “You’re not going to arrest us, are you?”

  “I’m not technically on duty just now,” Davis said. “So I suppose I can let you off.”

  Jarold poked Russ in the back. “Tell him,” he whispered harshly.

  “Tell me what?” Davis asked.

  “He’s a Yank,” Russ said quickly.

  The raw intuition and carefully honed skills that had gotten Ben Davis promoted ahead of his peers informed him that these two attractive young men were hiding more than a homosexual relationship. “Actually, I’d guessed that your friend was American,” he told Russ. “What is it that he wants you to tell me?”

  “He’s not got a clue,” Russ said. “It’s nothing, really.”

  Jarold bit his lip in indecision, but there really was no choice. “We saw someone get killed.”

  Davis’s red-gold eyebrows shot up toward his wet bangs. “And who might that be?”

  “Jazza, don’t!” Russ said urgently.

  “I’m sorry,” Jarold said. “I have to. I don’t want you to go to jail, but I think it would be better than the alternative. If those guys catch us, we’re dead. You know that.”

  “Guys?” Davis prompted.

  Russ took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We saw Leith’s men kill Eric Norton.”

  “I see, and Leith would be Jason Leith, the largest distributor of illegal pornography in New South Wales, is that right?”

  Russ nodded.

  “Well I’m utterly gob-smacked,” the policeman said. “I think you’d better come with me and tell me everything you think you saw.”

  “Think we saw?” Jarold repeated. “I know what I saw and I’ll never forget it.”

  “The thing is, I haven’t heard anything about any murders. Are you going to come with me, or must I call for help?”

  Davis accompanied the boys back to Trish’s combi, where they gathered their few belongings. Jarold thought of his backpack, stored behind the counter at the youth hostel, and wondered if he’d ever see that faithful companion again. Russ gave the girls a facile story about Davis being a schoolmate of his older brother and promised to stop in the surf shop again soon. The policeman led them to his old Holden sedan, but didn’t start the engine right away. He turned to his left in the driver’s seat so he could see Russ in the front seat and Jarold in the back.

  “Now we’re dressed and have a bit more privacy, why don’t you give me the short version?” he said. “Just one of you, please.”

  Russ glanced at Jarold, who deferred with a small nod. “My name’s Russ Bridger, and this is my mate Jarold Lake. I worked for Jason Leith as an… entertainer. Jarold and I were at the Wall.” He looked up at Davis to see if the man recognized the name of the bar. “Leith wanted us to put on a show for Eric Norton. We refused, but Leith was just using us to distract Norton so Hastings could kill him. They killed Norton’s minder as well.”

  “Hastings is Gruesome Guy Hastings?” Davis asked.

  “Right. Hugh Stanwell was there too. I don’t know Norton’s man’s name.”

  “Most likely it was Les Barrett. King’s Cross and Oxford Street are far out of my jurisdiction, but I like to keep current on local crime figures. If it happened as you say, Leith has most likely had the scene cleaned up and disposed of the bodies by now. Our forensics people can perform bloody miracles these days, but we’d need a reason to search. Mind telling me why you didn’t report it right away?”

  “You’ve no reason to believe us,” Russ said. “But all the cops I know are in Leith’s pocket. We came here to hide from his men.”

  “It’s not a place I’d think of looking,” Davis admitted. “So I’m to understand that you’re in fear for your lives?”

  “It’s not a bloody joke, mate,” Russ answered.

  “You didn’t seem all that concerned about discovery when I walked up on you.”

  Russ exchanged a look with Jarold, and Jarold cleared his throat. “It just… happens,” the American said. “You could’ve sat down next to us, and I doubt I would’ve noticed. It must be love, unless it’s LSD.”

  A trace of longing misted the policeman’s eyes for a moment, and then he blinked. “Be that as it may,” he said. “It wasn’t the smart thing to do. I need to decide how best to handle this. As it stands, I don’t even know if what you’ve told me is true. What will I do with the two of you while I’m checking your story? Maybe jail is the safest place for you.”

  “No,”
Russ said quickly.

  “Had a bad experience with lock up?” Davis asked.

  “If you consider being assaulted by two other prisoners a bad experience.”

  Davis shook his head. “Every yobbo that gets dobbed in sings the same song about being mistreated while he’s locked up.”

  “Yeah, that’s what the other cops told me when I complained,” Russ muttered.

  “So you were hard done by. That doesn’t mean all policemen are like that. I know the men I work with, and they’re an honest bunch.”

  “Please,” Jarold said. “Isn’t there any other way?”

  “Shit!” Ben Davis pulled his gaze from the American boy’s. “I’m soft is what I am, but I’ll take you to a friend of mine. Strike me, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said as he turned the key in the ignition.

  “BEN, I can’t believe you’ve put me in this position. You must know how inappropriate this is. I’m a magistrate now, not a criminal court lawyer.”

  “I know, Jen, but it really seemed the best thing at the time. I mean look at them, could you take them to jail?”

  “Yes,” she answered firmly. “What you’ve done could jeopardize any case we might have against Jason Leith.”

  “I checked. Eric Norton hasn’t been seen since he entered Leith’s night club on Oxford Street, and I don’t think these lads are lying.”

  “Oh really, Ben! Are you certain you’re not being fooled by those pretty faces? You can be a bit susceptible in that area, you know.”

  “That’s not fair,” he said.

  “You’re right.” She put a hand on his arm. “I apologize. That was exactly the kind of thing my male colleagues used to say about female law enforcement. Prejudice is so insidious.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Davis said dryly. “Now, if we’re all done with recriminations, what do you reckon we should do?”

  “I’ve no doubt you already have a plan,” she said, picking up her teacup. “Why don’t you just tell me how I’m involved?”

  “IT’S beautiful here,” Jarold said, looking over the railing at the lovely homes on terraces all the way down to the sparkling water. “Rose Bay is a perfect name for it.”