by V. L. Locey
As we left his old neighborhood behind, I could pick up the smell of the sea. The sun was hot, the wind strong, and the man at my side was thrumming with excitement. Once our feet were on the sand, Bishop sat down and patted the sand beside him. I took a deep breath and let my eyes touch on the soft yellow sand and sapphire water rolling to shore.
“Aren’t we supposed to be in the water?” I asked, balancing my yellow board as the roar of the surf and shouts of people washed over me.
“Dude, sit. We’re going to watch the surf for a bit while I relay some things to you that you’ll need to know.”
I glanced out at the sea. The waves looked kind of rowdy to me. So I sat, board at my side, and watched the surf.
“What are we looking for?” I asked after a few moments passed. My bare arms were hot already, the white biceps giving me away as a newbie I was sure.
“Checking out where the waves are breaking, where the other surfers are paddling out, and checking out the skill set of the people out there.”
“Ah.” I scanned the few people on boards. “Are there sharks out there?”
“Yeah.” My eyes flared. “Mostly leopards, but there have been some great whites spotted along the beach from time to time. But those are rare. You can go snorkel with the leopard sharks over at the cove.”
“I’ll pass,” I mumbled, my gaze on the surf as I searched for dorsal fins.
“It’ll be fine. I’ve surfed since I was six and have never been bitten.” I nodded but didn’t relay how little that announcement had eased me. “Okay, so some basic etiquette. Wait.” I glanced his way. He did look damn fine with the sea breeze tugging at his long hair. “You can swim, right?”
“Now is a damn fine time to ask me that.” He gave me a quirky smile and a shrug. “Yes, I can swim. I can also drown so don’t let that happen. I’ve never surfed before...”
“And I’d never been on a horse before, and now I’m a frigging equestrian expert!”
“I’d not go that far. You haven’t even galloped yet.”
“I’m working up to it. The point was that we’re good for each other.” He chuckled and stole a fast kiss. “Now etiquette. Be polite. Most of the natives are kind of territorial. Don’t get in anyone’s way. One person per wave. The surfer who’s closer to where the wave breaks gets that ride. Always hold onto your board. We’ll paddle out to that channel there, see where the waves aren’t breaking? Once we’re there we’ll wait our turn.”
“Anything else?” I enquired with a bit of salt. He prattled off a hundred more things it seemed then made me practice lying on the board and popping up to my feet. After we did that a few dozen times as sunbathers snickered, he deemed us ready to hit the water. After the leashes were firmly attached to our ankles, we ran into the water, the waves pushing back, the salty spray wetting my face. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been in the ocean. Probably one of the rare trips to the east coast with my folks when I was a young boy. Way before I’d so disappointed them by being queer.
I mimicked what I saw Bishop doing, for the most part. Once we were on the boards and making our way to the line of surfers, my nerves doubled.
“Okay, so basic tips,” he shouted over to me as we paddled away. “When you see the wave you want, turn and face the nose of your board toward shore. Lay down, paddle, and make sure the nose of your board isn’t under the water or too high up. It should graze the water. Keep your eyes forward and use your peripheral vision to gauge where the wave is. If it’s not close yet, peek back and keep paddling. Once you feel that rush of momentum, pop up to your feet. Always look forward once you’re committed. Hesitancy will trash your stability. Eyes forward. Never look down at your feet, the wave, or the board. Knees bent, more weight on your back foot, arms out to the side, and you’re surfing.”
I nodded. He waved and paddled out ahead of me, catching the next wave that rolled in. I sat spellbound on my yellow board, enjoying his ride. He looked so at ease. It all appeared to be rather simple. Just a matter of balance. Kind of like riding a horse.
I grabbed the next wave. It was not at all like riding a horse. I no sooner stood up then I looked down to make sure my feet were in place, not that there were little diagrams or anything, when I went ass over tin cups. The surf tossed me off the board. Ocean water filled my nose, ears, and mouth. When I came up, my board was floating beside me, the tether keeping it close at hand. I threw my arms over it, caught my breath, and then paddled back out. Then fell off the fucking board again during the next ride.
After a solid two hours of wiping out, I slogged to the beach, my trunks slipping down on one side. With a huff of sheer exhaustion, I dropped down into the wet sand, cursing at my inability not to look down. I saw Bishop coming to shore, his board under his arm, his soaking wet trunks clinging to his junk. How dare the man be so damn sexy?
“You look soggy and adorably surly,” he said as he flopped down beside me.
“It’s nothing like riding a horse,” I mumbled, my arms and legs complaining, my elbow sore where I’d cracked it on the board in a spectacular tumble, and my left ear packed full of salt water. “Also, I think a crab bit my toe.” I held up my right foot to show him the laceration on my pinkie toe.
“You poor thing.” He reached over to rub his fingertips along my scalp. “I’ll kiss every part of you that hurts as soon as we have a place where kissing sore parts can take place.”
“I didn’t ride one wave to the end,” I confessed.
“I know. But you know what? You never gave up, and that one time you almost made it. Another few hours and you’d be shredding those breakers.”
“Another few hours you’ll be taking me to the emergency room.”
He wiggled in close, slick wet skin gliding over mine. “I think you’re fucking awesome for even attempting it. No shit, I mean it.” I scoffed a bit more. “It takes balls to do something new. Today was just to see how you sat on the saddle. Next time you’ll trot, I promise.”
“Cowabunga, dude,” I mumbled.
He roared, kissed my salty beard, and leaned back to enjoy the wind and surf in his face. I glanced over once when he’d fallen silent because he was never quiet unless he was asleep and caught him with his eyes closed but sitting up. He looked to be meditating, and I loathed the thought of disturbing him. It gave me a chance to admire his features that I’d come to love.
Love.
Yes, love. I was falling in love with a bun wearing dino bonehead. Hell, maybe falling wasn’t the right term. Maybe I’d already plunged into love just like I had the Pacific Ocean. In a way, it felt similar. The rush of the water coming up under you, lifting you up, pushing you forward, and then tossing you head over heels. Gasping at the realization, I tried to steady my erratic breathing as fear wrestled with giddiness. I focused on his face again to calm my thumping heart. Enjoying the way his gold lashes rested on his bronze cheeks, I smiled as his lips twisted up on one side.
“Can you hear that?” he asked as a child raced past with a snow cone melting all over his hand.
“All I hear is the sound of the ocean,” I replied, my gaze moving from his long lashes to his lush mouth.
“Exactly. It’s an earth song. Perry was telling me one day about how many of the tribes believe that the world has a heartbeat. The rocks, the trees, the animals, the plants, they all sing. And it’s up to us to open ourselves to their chorus. The sea talks to me just like the Tetons do you.”
I couldn’t help but kiss him. What else could a man so hopelessly in love do?
***
After a rather wild night on the town with Bishop and his mother, we slept in the following day. I’d had a little too much to drink at Hankie’s by the feel of my head, but after some eggs and copious amounts of coffee, I felt like my old self again. We piled into Diane’s car, a soft blue Subaru, and left for Reseda around noon. The ride down I5-S was stunning with its views of the ocean. California seemed wider and more open than I’d imagined.
Then we got closer to Los Angeles.
All that wide and open was replaced by traffic, stores, and houses. And billboards. So many billboards. Bishop kept glancing into the backseat.
“You look like your horse right before he shits,” he commented. Diane glanced into the rearview as we turned the corner at a KFC and crept ahead to yet another traffic light.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a city bigger than Jackson Hole,” I replied.
“Did you grow up in a big city?” Diane asked as we waited to make a left at the light.
“Yes, ma’am. I find I much prefer Wyoming.”
She giggled. “I thought you might say that. Oh, come on! Will you people pay attention?! More than one car should be able to make that light!”
“Madame Road Rage,” Bishop sniggered.
We managed to get to Armie’s apartment building, a nice tan stucco building behind a security gate. Diane tapped in a code, and the gates opened slowly. We parked behind several apartment units then got out, stretching our arms over our heads to work out the kinks. The air was alive with the sounds of the city. Tipping my head up to work out the tightness in my neck, I watched a plane soar over the small stand of palms that made up a little gathering area for the condominium residents. Red brick walkways led to the buildings as well as the community area. There were benches and stoneware planters with bright red flowers.
“This is really nice,” I commented as we carried our bags to one of the ground floor breezeways. Bishop gave me a nod. Diane rapped on door 115-Z and a small dog began barking.
“That’s Alphonse,” Bishop explained right before the door opened and a slightly more flamboyant version of my Bishop threw himself at his brother. Where Bishop was board shorts, a mussy bun, and sloppy sandals, Armand was leggings, sparkle, and hair gel. And eyeliner. And lip gloss.
“I knew you were coming!” Armie exclaimed as he hugged his twin tightly.
“Of course you did, you watched them from the patio door,” a tall, beautiful Latino man with an arm full of wiggly Pug dog commented. Juan was dressed casually in jeans and a white polo shirt.
“No! It was our twin connection,” Armie replied, releasing his brother to hug his mother. His blue eyes found me trying not to look out of place. Which was impossible. A cowboy in Los Angeles kind of stood out like a sore dick to quote Kyle. “Oh, well now, look at this tall drink of water! Bishop, you never told me your boyfriend was such a silver fox!”
Armie wiggled between his brother and mother then tossed his arms around my neck. He smelled of fresh gardenias. I gave him a pat on the back.
“Armie, let them come in,” Juan said, and the clinch ended. “You know the routine. Everyone sit then Alphonse can greet you.”
The inside was cool, shady, and brightly decorated. Rounded archways, hardwood floors with bright pattern rugs. Ceiling fans whirred. We all took a seat on a long burgundy couch, and Armie took his mother’s bag. Since there was only one guest room Armie had made reservations for us in a nearby hotel.
“Are you ready?” Juan asked. The others nodded, and the Pug was placed on the floor. He didn’t stay there long. He shot up onto the sofa like he’d been fired from a cannon and went for my face, his little ass wiggling, his tongue lolling. He managed to get a few good licks in before I could grab him and pass him along to Diane, who fussed over him as if he were a grandbaby.
“Friendly little cuss,” I said to ease the worry lines on Juan’s face.
“Oh yes, he loves kisses,” Armie said while sailing back into the room. He wiggled in between Bishop and me, crossed his legs, turned his lined eyes to me, and tipped his head. “You’re not my brother’s usual kind but I do see the appeal. So, tell me all about you!”
I’d not even gotten my mouth working when Bishop jumped in, pulling his twin’s attention from me by filling him in on the dig, the ranch, the horses, the Tetons, and the moose he had seen.
“Moose! I want to see a moose. Juan, we should go to this ranch and rough it!” he called out to his partner who had been tasked to make a pitcher of white peach sangria.
“I’m not sure you’re exactly the roughing it type, bebé.” Juan entered the room with our cocktails then moved in front of us, lowering the tray so we could get our drinks.
“I could be. Here you go.” Armie passed a wine glass packed with peach slices to me. “This is one of my favorite afternoon drinks. Those are fresh white peaches, peach brandy, Moscato wine, and some seltzer. You’ll love it. It’s sinfully sweet and the seltzer tickles the nose.”
I took a sip and was surprised at how delicious it was. I generally didn’t care for such sweet drinks. “It’s quite good.”
“It’s one of the best sellers at my restaurant,” Juan stated with pride. The next few hours were spent chatting about everything but my past. Every time Armie tried to broach the subject Bishop neatly sidetracked his twin.
After a light lunch at home, we hit the city of angels to do some sightseeing. We visited the Hollywood Walk of Fame, cruised down Sunset Boulevard in Juan’s black convertible Mercedes, did a bit of shopping on Rodeo Drive. Just a bit because my credit limit on my old Visa didn’t go high enough to do more than a bit, and then went to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, morbid as that sounded. It was really quite interesting visiting the graves of the old movie icons such as Judy Garland, Cecille B. DeMille, and Rudolph Valentino.
By the time we left the cemetery, we were getting hungry, so we headed to Lapis Eleven, Juan’s restaurant in L.A. It was a grand meal, exemplary food and service in a softly lit dining room that seated at least two hundred. I had the robala chileno—Chilean sea bass—served with guacamole and black beans with a side of roasted avocado.
Juan and I ended up talking about cooking for most of the meal. How my ex had been a Michelin starred chef in Chicago, and how I had enjoyed cooking myself. Armie sipped on a mango drink of some sort, his ears perked up to everything I was saying.
After the meal, and the Mezcal infused cocktails we’d all had, aside from Juan who was the designated driver, we cruised down to the Santa Monica Pier to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. There were tons of people on blankets watching the colorful explosions taking place over a roller coaster and brightly lit Ferris wheel. Armie, Juan, and Diane seemed to be watching Bishop and me cuddling and necking instead of the fireworks.
“Did they see any of the fireworks?” I asked after the show had concluded.
“They think you’re a good match for me,” he whispered as we walked to Juan’s car, fingers meshed, blanket under my arm. “I think they’re right.”
It was right on the tip of my tongue to say it. Just blurt out that I loved him but something blocked the words from falling out. Instead, I stole a kiss.
Coward.
After a round of hugs, hugs, and more hugs at the entrance of the Hotel de Luna, Bishop and I waved goodbye to his family for the night. Tomorrow held more touristy fun with trips to Universal Studios and Disneyland on the docket.
“I am exhausted,” I said around a yawn as we rode up to our room on the fifth floor.
“I hope you’re not too tired. I still owe you kisses for all your surfing boo-boos.” He leaned in close to taste my neck. Ah yeah, the surfing boo-boos. We’d not even tried to get romantic last night in his old room. The walls were so thin we could hear his mother turning the pages of her book as she read in bed. That might be a slight exaggeration, but we certainly heard her humming as she moved around her room. Also, bunk beds.
“I might be able to keep my eyes open a little longer.”
“Mm, I hope so.” He nipped at my earlobe then jumped back as the elevator opened on our floor. Our room was at the end of a short hall, a lovely suite with a stunning view of Los Angeles. The bed was massive and firm, the room lit with soft brown lamps that matched the rust and white theme.
I padded over to the slider to look out at L.A. “Nice view,” I said just as his arms slid round my middle.
“I ag
ree.” He buried his face into my neck, his erection jabbing me in the buttocks. My head rolled to the side, an open invitation for him to proceed. And he did...with sharp nips that made me squirm and gasp. His hands slipped up under my shirt, eager fingers locating and pinching my nipples as he sucked up a love mark.
“You like that don’t you?” he purred into my ear, rolling my nipples while rubbing his cock against me. “You like when I pinch them.” He did, and I groaned. “And you love it when I pull on them.” He tugged the tender nubs. I moaned and leaned backward, pressing my ass into his dick. “God you’re so responsive. I love it.” He gave my earlobe a nibble.
“I want to suck you,” I panted, twisting in his arms until we were facing each other. His mouth slanted over mine, his reply in the possessive way he licked into my mouth, his tongue claiming mine with long sweeps and sharp jabs.
“On your knees then,” he softly growled. A shudder coursed through me as I went to my knees. I yanked on his zipper then peeled him out of his pants and briefs. His cock sprang up, the fat head slick already. “Do you want me to fuck that sweet mouth of yours?”
“Yes,” I replied as I wet my lips.
“Arms over your head. Open wide. Yeah, nice. Catch that drop of precum on your tongue.” I reached upward. He grabbed my wrists, pinning my arms to the cool glass door. A glistening string of liquid descended from his prick to my open mouth. The salty tang of him made my balls ache. “Mm, shit, you look so good like that.” His dick came closer then veered off to the left, leaving a damp streak across my cheek. I chased his cock, turning my head, my tongue out. He pumped a few times, hissing in pleasure as his dick scrubbed over my beard. “I want you to suck my balls first. Hard. Make a meal of them.” He took my wrists in one hand, using his free hand to press his cock to his belly. “Suck them into your mouth. Do it, Nate.”