Skater Boys

by Neil Plakcy

  I looked at Alejandro. “The beach, huh? You wearing your po-po suit?” The thick equipment-covered belt strapped on his waist was festooned with weapons. He bristled with them. It always made him seem like a bad fuckin’ ass, though he never acted like one.

  “Nah. I’m going home to change. Just wanted to make sure you were up for it.” He glanced down at the board at my feet. “Bring your deck. There’s a place to play there.”

  Now he had my interest. Skateboarding at the beach? That sounded fine to me. “What beach?”

  “Venice, my boy. Go see some grand canals.”

  I shrugged and flipped my board up to grab it in one hand. “I’ll be here.”

  He sauntered back to his patrol car and I couldn’t help it; I watched his swinging butt. I only broke my stare when B-Boy come up behind me.

  “What’s 5-0 want wit’ you, perros?”

  “Nothin’. We gonna skate?”

  Before he could answer I twisted around on my back trunk and got into some serious flips, keeping my body busy so my mind didn’t have time to think about Alejandro and the sexy swing of his hips and what my little head imagined was under those cop threads. It worked. Almost.

  When Alejandro came back he was driving street wheels. A blue Prius pulled into the lot, and the man who stepped out this time bore little resemblance to the cop who had been there earlier. He looked a lot younger, for one, in cutoff jeans and a black LAPD T-shirt with the arms ripped off to display thick muscles with intricate tattoos up and down his shoulders and forearms. His cop hat had been replaced with a Dodgers baseball cap, his boots with a pair of flip-flops. He looked less like a cop than I did.

  B-Boy made tracks, and by the time Alejandro reached me, I was alone in the bowl. Cops could do that. Didn’t matter how they dressed.

  “You ready?”

  “Got no where else to go.”

  I followed him to the car. He paused by the driver’s side door and looked over the hood at me. “You can’t go like that.”

  “Like what?” I bristled. “I can’t go to the beach looking like a varrio brat? You want I should put on my Versace?”

  “You can’t go to the beach in jeans and jersey. How you going to wade?”

  “I thought I was skating?”

  “And swimming. Don’t think you’re going to the fucking ocean and not getting wet.”

  I didn’t tell him that I’d never been swimming. There were pools in the Cypress, but I never went. Never saw a reason to. Most of them were gang controlled, and anything that made me mingle with the chollos was a bad thing. ’Sides, I was either skating or in school, trying to keep my grades up. One thing mi mami had instilled in me and Nattie was that we had to finish school and we had to do well. As many times as I wanted to say fuck it and quit, I hung in. One more way to thumb my nose at the Locusts 13.

  Without asking, Alejandro drove us to my place, where I grabbed a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and a towel from the bathroom. I waved a hasty greeting to Tio and Nattie but didn’t stop to explain. The door slammed shut behind me, and I hurried down the steps, wondering at the lightness in my chest. It didn’t mean anything. I wasn’t glad to be sliding into the seat beside Alejandro. Wasn’t glad to watch him throw the car into gear, and peel away from the curb, past a graffiti-covered sycamore tree and onto the freeway to head west.

  Almost immediately I was in strange territory and the weirdest thing happened. The lightness I felt kept growing. The farther away I got from the pits, the better I felt. It was like a weight had blown away and cleared my head. Is this what it would be like if I got away for good?

  It took us nearly twenty minutes to fight traffic until I caught my first glimpse of water ahead of us.

  “Santa Monica,” Alejandro told me.

  “Not where we’re going?”

  “Not where we’re going,” he said cheerfully, totally unaware of how much torture it was to sit in the small confines of his car surrounded by his smell, and his fucking presence, and not be able to reach out and touch him.

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  We turned south and now I was getting glimpses of the beach between colorful buildings, some storefronts, some painted apartment complexes and graffiti-covered fences: a world away from Cypress Park. Most of the people on the streets were stripped down to shorts and tees or less. Young and old, fat and slender, most of them were Anglo, with a few mayates mixed in, and fewer Asians. Almost no Latinos. I felt like I’d invaded some strange, alien place where I wasn’t sure of my welcome.

  Suddenly I wished I had B-Boy with me, and Gato and Rio and a few more to give me weight and make me feel safe. By the time Alejandro parked the car I got my nerves under control. Grabbing my board, I scrambled out of the Prius after him and noticed he scooped a pair of fine-looking blades out of the back seat. I watched, board in hand, while he put them on, stripped his shirt off and locked up.

  I couldn’t help it. I stared. He had a broad, hairless chest of brown skin molded over a set of sculptured muscles, with a pair of fat, nearly black nipples and ripped abs. The tattoos and a thin, puckered scar across his gut danced and flowed with every movement of taut muscles. I swallowed past a lump in my throat and turned away, staring toward the distant line of water that shimmered and sparkled in the brilliant sunlight.

  “You know you don’t have to wear that,” he said, indicating my own T-shirt. I pretended not to hear him. I had few enough clothes between him and his effect on me. No way I was stripping what I had.

  “You brought me down here to take me to the beach. So let’s do it already.”

  I jumped on my board and began weaving expertly between slower, walking bodies. He easily kept up with me. I had to say something.

  “Didn’t know you bladed. You never bring them down to the center.”

  “I’m there in a more formal capacity. I’m representin’ the po-po. Got to look presentable.”

  He was laughing and to my surprise I laughed back.

  Then the beach opened up before us and I stared. A concrete path cut through the sand, packed with human bodies skating and blading or just walking, but all moving in an endless flow like the waves I could see relentlessly trolling the beach itself. A group of kids huddled around a stone wall, and I was amazed to see them tagging it, in broad daylight, bold as brass. I looked around to see the local 5-0 swoop in to lay skull fuckers across their heads, but none were in sight. In fact, a few camera-toting Anglos were taking pictures of the taggers and their work. This really was an alien place.

  “That’s the graffiti wall,” Alejandro said. “They paint over it all the time, though some of the better work gets respected enough to be left for a few days. They call it living art.”

  “You mean they let them paint it?”

  He darted around a pair of Anglos and a furry little mop on legs and came close to me again, so close I could smell his sweat and a scent I knew was just his. It left me dizzy.

  “Want them to paint. It’s part of what makes Venice, Venice. Look around you, you ever seen anything like this in the varrio?”

  I looked. He was right, I never had. Then I didn’t care anymore. I saw the first concrete sand wall and a dazzling array of retaining walls and ramps and wave walls. And boarders, dozens of them, carving up the bowl, goofy-footing and deck-sliding, and I slipped into the action without a thought. I was aware that I had left Alejandro behind, but I wasn’t caring. I was in my element, a place where I was master and it didn’t matter who I shared my space with. I just wanted to fly. I did them all, boardslides and ollies, heel flips and 360s and even a Caballerial. By the time I staggered out of the park and found a bench to collapse on I was gasping for breath and drowning in sweat. Without thinking, I stripped off my T-shirt and used it to mop my face, finally raising my face to the sun and letting the cool ocean breeze blow over my overheated muscles. But as soon as Alejandro slid into the seat beside me my body went on alert again.

  “Pretty impressive stuff, Churro. Someti
mes I forget just how good you are.”

  I looked over to find him staring at me with a hunger that unnerved me even as it excited me. Our eyes met and something flashed between us. I broke the moment by swiping at my face with my damp T-shirt.

  “What say we go down to the water to cool off.” He barely spoke above a whisper, but I heard him loud and clear.

  “Sure.” Abruptly I stood up, clutching my board and holding it in front of me to shield my swollen erection from his hungry gaze. I hurried ahead of him, leaving him behind to get his blades off and follow me.

  He caught up to me at the water’s edge. Farther out, where the waves grew stronger, several suited-up surfers played around, catching the swells, riding them in, tumbling into the water when the waves collapsed under them. Seagulls swooped overhead, squawking and crying in a noisy assault on my ears. All around me voices rose and fell, kids shouted and there were even some dogs barking, but none of it drowned out the sound of his breathing beside me. I dared a sideways glance at him and found him staring at me.

  “You gonna do it?” he asked softly.

  “Do what?” I was jumping out of my skin, my heart slamming into my ribs, sweat leaking down my pits and even between the crack of my ass. I wasn’t thinking straight. I had no idea what he meant.

  “Go in the water? That’s what we came here for, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Without another word I strode out into the surf. Cold water washed over my feet and my toes curled in the sand and I felt a sudden jolt.

  I stopped, and Alejandro shoved me toward deeper water.

  “Go on, get wet.”

  “Fuck off,” I snapped and playfully punched his shoulder.

  “Hey, that’s assault.”

  “Assault my ass, pendejo.”

  “Serious offense, assaulting a police officer. You can do hard time for that.”

  “What you gonna do, turn me over your knee?”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew they were a mistake. He threw me a hot, lazy smile. “Would it help if I did?”

  I was so hard I nearly groaned out loud. Angry and aroused I stumbled into deeper water, until the cool wash of seawater drenched my shorts and cooled my overheated cock. Ahead of me, Alejandro kept going, wading deeper and deeper, finally turning when he realized I was no longer beside him.

  “Too much?”

  I shrugged, pissed that he’d found something that shook my confidence.

  Without a word, he led me back to shore. “Come on,” he said casually. “Don’t know about you, but I’m starving. You hungry? We can go grab a bite.”

  I jumped at the chance to leave the place. But instead of leading me back to the car, he took me in the other direction. Before I could ask where we were going, he led me off the boardwalk. Eventually we reached a side street where small, neon- and pastel-colored houses crowded each other behind lush walled-in gardens my mother would have wept over. He trotted up the stone walkway and paused only long enough to pull a key out of his pocket.

  He must have seen my questioning look because he said, “My dad’s place. He’s…not well, so my brothers and I look after it. No one lives here, though, so the place is empty.”

  He let us in and with trepidation I followed him inside through a short hall and into a room that was only slightly larger. It was cool and dim and all the curtains were drawn. He went around and opened everything up. Light spilled over the tiny, cluttered room. The air smelled stale, like the place had been shut up for a while.

  I wondered what was up with his father. Where was he? In the hospital?

  Alejandro vanished into another room and came back seconds later with two opened Tecates.

  “Hope you like beer,” he said. “Not much else in the place.”

  I took it with a sullen nod of thanks and, avoiding his eyes, kept looking around, though I wasn’t really seeing anything. I was all too aware of the man standing beside me. What were we doing here? What did he want?

  Nah, I take that back. I knew what he wanted, I just wasn’t sure if I wanted it.

  Oh, fuck, who was I kidding? I was ready to do anything he wanted as long as he put an end to this miserable waiting and playing games. But I could hardly tell him that, could I?

  He brushed past me, his hand sliding over my hip as he steadied himself. He indicated my board. “You can put that down, you know. Stick it by the door.”

  I did as he suggested, tensing when he came up behind me in the hall. I could smell his clean, masculine sweat and the salt of the ocean. When I glanced sideways, I glimpsed his thick muscles bunched and writhed like steel cables under his glowing skin. He was staring at me with unnerving intensity. What was he looking for? I wanted to scream at him to stop. But I was afraid to open my mouth, afraid I’d beg him to do something.

  He must have seen the war going on inside me. A huge, satisfied smile softened his face and made him look less like a cop than ever.

  I had to say something, if only to distract my thoughts from where they kept heading—with my eyes, straight down to his bulging crotch that grew thicker as I stared. “You always wanted to be a cop? Like, was your dad five-oh?”

  “Nah, my old man was an accountant. Suit and button-down shirt and tie every day, twenty-four years, till he keeled over one day.”

  “Dead?”

  “No, stroke. He’s in a nursing home.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, not sure what else to say. At least he still had family.

  “Yeah, me too.” He reached over and took the beer out of my hand, putting it on an end table beside an old, worn reclining chair. “You’re going to do great this weekend. You’re going to wow them. They won’t be able to take their eyes off of you.”

  He reached over and tweaked my left nipple. It was the cold from his fingers that made both of my nibs swell and jut out of my suddenly hot skin. Not his touch.

  I broke out in a sweat. Mierda, what was he doing to me?

  My cock was pressed painfully against my jock. I was sure he could see the fat bulge and I shifted to hide it.

  “Something wrong?” he murmured, his fingers touching my arm, lingering and stroking my twitching muscles, moving onto my shoulder and down my rib cage.

  “No, nothing. Can I have another beer?”

  “Sure, help yourself,” he said lazily, his fingertips still sliding over my skin. They came to rest above my waistband.

  I didn’t move. His fingers twitched just a little, just enough to slide under the fabric.

  “What are you doing?” I closed my eyes, savoring the heated trail his fingers left across my equally hot flesh. My cock pulsed and in alarm I realized I was leaking fluid.

  I was sure I could smell myself. My mouth was suddenly dry and I couldn’t breath.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” When the palm of his hand skated across the swelling between my legs, the touch was feather light, barely felt, but my cock leapt and strained as though it wanted more.

  “I don’t…” I shuddered. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Oh, I think you know what I’m doing,” he said. “You never do this with your girlfriends?”

  “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  His voice was low and so soft, I could barely hear the words. Or maybe that was just my heart pounding in my head that drowned out everything else.

  “We can stop, if you want.”

  “No!” I grabbed his hand and pressed it against my groin. I ground his stiff fingers into my cock, savoring the burn that started at the base of my balls and spread outward.

  He kneaded and stroked me through the denim, and we both ignored the growing wet spot. Our eyes were locked. He licked his lips.

  “I want to suck you.” His eyes had a glazed look. I didn’t say a word while he opened my fly, shoved my jock aside and extracted my fat, swollen dick. I glanced down at myself, and saw the angry red helmet, smeared with precum, the head poking out of my foreskin. He made a sound in his t
hroat, then he crouched down and slipped his tongue around the tip of my exposed cock, exploring the wet slit.

  The shock that slammed through me was like the rush I got when my board left the ground and I soared over the curves and ramps of an arena.

  With nothing but his lips and his hot, moist tongue, he pushed my foreskin back and stroked the supersensitive underside of my prick all the way down to my balls.

  I gasped and thrust my hips forward. He responded by grabbing my ass with both hands, holding me in place while he plunged his whole mouth up and down on my distended cock. My fingers were rigid talons locked around his nearly hairless head, and without thinking I drove my dick down his throat.

  Sensation piled on sensation. My cock got harder and my balls crawled up and I was seconds from exploding. Suddenly he jerked off me. I reached for him blindly, but instead of his mouth, he wrapped his fist around me and started pulling and tugging, his thumb stroking the supersensitive skin of my exposed head.

  We were both staring at my cock, rising out of my thick, black bush, an engorged, purple fist-sized monster, until finally thick, ropy cum shot out, coating his hand and my belly. Immediately the air was full of the musky, raw smell of fresh cum.

  I was gasping and shuddering, my hands still locked over his skull.

  He leaned down again and gently licked the tender slit of my dick. I hissed and new shudders wracked me.

  When our eyes met again, his were fever bright.

  “You are so fucking hot, Churro. So sweet.”

  He stood up and kissed me for the first time. I’d shared a few fumbling kisses with girls, but they were nothing like what he did for me. At first his lips were surprisingly soft, then in a heartbeat changed to hard and demanding. I opened my mouth and groaned when he shoved his tongue inside. I followed his lead, eagerly sampling what he offered. Our tongues tangled, and I tasted him and found I wanted more. I grew aggressive, grabbing his hips and pulling him against me. The swelling of his cock pressed into my thigh; he was taller than me. I suddenly wasn’t satisfied to be touching him like this. I wanted bare skin.