Baja Honeymoon

by Roland Graeme

  Ken watched them, excited by the way Diego pressed his naked body against Rick and pushed his tongue inside his mouth. He got even more excited when Rick took one hand away from Diego’s butt and seized his huge hard penis. Seeing Rick stroke the Mexican stud’s cock with such abandon, Ken felt his own cock and balls tingle with wanton anticipation. He threw caution aside and joined the other two men. He began to caress Rick from behind while Diego tongue-kissed his buddy, and then Ken and Diego began to undress Rick.

  When Rick, too, was naked and erect, all three men stumbled into the bedroom, where they fell onto the bed together. They quickly aroused each other to a frenzy as Diego deftly alternated his mouth between the cocks of the two horny norteamericanos, at first going back and forth between them, but then demonstrating his skill at taking two stiff pricks into his mouth at once. Meanwhile, as they got sucked, Rick and Ken were caressing each other’s bodies and Diego’s.

  Next, Ken and Rick took turns going down on Diego, entering into a playful competition to see which of them could please the bellboy better with his mouth. The three men ended up forming their bodies into a triangle on the bed, with Ken deep-throating Diego, Diego sucking Rick, and Rick blowing Ken. As they sucked each other, they played with their partners’ ass, rubbing the puckered apertures with their spit-slicked fingertips, teasing them, penetrating them.

  The cocksucking and finger-fucking had their inevitable effect. Before too many minutes had passed, all three men were in the mood to proceed to anal intercourse.

  Diego invited the other two men to take turns fucking him. They tried various positions: Diego on his back with his legs propped up over Ken’s shoulders, Diego on his hands and knees with Rick kneeling behind him and pounding his ass from behind, Diego squatting over Ken’s cock and riding it as Ken lay on the bed under him.

  When it came time for Diego to do the fucking, Ken encouraged Rick to stand next to the bed and lean over the edge of the mattress, supporting himself on his hands. Ken took Rick’s buttocks in his hands and spread them wide.

  “Take a look at that, Diego,” Ken invited.

  “It’s a beautiful remolino del pellejo.” Diego used a rather poetic slang term for asshole. The literal meaning was “the whirlpool in the skin.”

  “I want to watch you fuck it,” Ken said.

  And from his close vantage point, he did watch while Diego stood behind Rick and pounded the handsome young actor’s butt. After indulging in the voyeurism for a few minutes, though, Ken wanted to participate. He stretched out flat on his stomach on the bed and sucked Rick’s cock while Diego screwed him.

  Ken was almost afraid they’d run out of condoms, but luckily he’d had the foresight to lay in a fresh supply, bought at a pharmacy especially for this occasion. He demanded that Diego fuck him, too, and the young Mexican stallion eagerly complied.

  Diego never seemed to tire or to lose his erection, let alone his hunger for sex. And Rick seemed equally as insatiable.

  Ken glutted himself on cock, sucking Rick’s prick deep inside his mouth while impaling himself on Diego’s mighty phallus. After Diego came in his ass, Ken let Rick fuck him, too, while Diego went down on him, his hands busy on both men’s writhing, sweating bodies.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE HONEYMOONERS

  THE HOTEL had a newsstand, well stocked with newspapers and magazines in a variety of languages. After breakfast the next morning, Ken steered Rick toward it.

  “I think I’ll get something to read later on,” Ken said. “You want anything?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Maybe we can find something with your mug on it.” Ken meant this as a joke, which immediately backfired when he caught sight of an imported United States tabloid with a photo of his traveling companion emblazoned on its front cover. Is Deke Hiding in Mexico? the headline blared.

  “Fuck,” Rick exclaimed, when he, too, saw the cover.

  Ken paid for the publication, which both men feverishly scrutinized. The story accompanying the headline consisted mostly of rumor and speculation.

  Unconfirmed reports are circulating that Deke Rowe has been sighted in Loreto, a small town in Mexico’s Baja peninsula.

  Other sources report that the popular young actor, heartbroken and despondent over his recent breakup with supermodel Eva Angelokva, has been seen drowning his sorrows and seeking female solace in a nightclub in Acapulco.

  “Who writes this shit?” Rick demanded. “What’s ‘female solace’? A fancy term for trying to get laid?”

  At least they don’t say anything about male solace, Ken thought. “We haven’t gone anywhere near Acapulco,” he pointed out.

  “But they got the first part right. God damn.” Rick bit his lip, and seemed suddenly sunk in gloom.

  “At least it’s a good photo of you,” Ken said, in an effort to say something to break the silence.

  “I can’t believe this. What lousy luck. We were in Loreto for what, all of five minutes? And the whole time we were there we didn’t see more than two or three people. Who could have paid any attention to us, and recognized me?”

  “It’s a small world, as they say. Even in a place like Loreto, they must get the Internet and follow the careers of certain gringo celebrities. All it would’ve taken was one person to get a glimpse of you and say, ‘Hey, that guy looks kind of familiar.’ Next thing you know, they’re on their cell phone, sharing their celebrity sighting with their friends.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “But after Loreto, the trail seems to have gone cold.”

  “For now. If they find out we’re here in Cabo, we’re screwed,” Rick lamented. “I’m going to have to think of some way to throw these bastards off the scent. Otherwise, we’re likely to have them following us on the road and lying in wait ahead of us all the way during our trip back north.”

  Ken thought for a moment. “I’ve got an idea. Toss ’em a red herring.”

  “Huh?”

  “A red herring. Have your agent plant a false rumor, like he did before when he leaked that phony lead about you and Eva spending your honeymoon in France or Spain. Have him pick out some place and deny you’re there, and keep denying it. The more he denies it, the less they’ll believe him. And they’ll all start looking for you in wherever the hell your agent claims you’re not.”

  “My God, Ken, that’s brilliant. But where am I supposed to not be, and what am I not doing there while I’m not there?”

  “Give me a minute. I’ll kick a few ideas around and come up with something.”

  It didn’t take Ken long to come up with a strategy. Rick got his agent on his cell phone and relayed the suggestion to him.

  “Well, that’s done,” Rick said with audible satisfaction after he put away his phone. “We’ve planted the seed, so we’ll just have to wait and see what, if anything, sprouts. But I’m not going to let this nonsense spoil our stay here. Let’s do our imitation of typical tourists, and do some sightseeing.”

  They strolled along the waterfront. It was a breezy day, perfect for walking. The harbor was full of small boats zipping through the choppy water. They soon learned that these boats were water taxis that ferried people out to the peninsula to look at the attractions.

  As they neared the jetty, they were accosted by the shouts of water taxi drivers, each attempting to attract tourists to his particular boat. Ken agreed with Rick that it might be fun to take the trip, and so they paid the fee of one hundred and fifty pesos per passenger and climbed into the boat. It took only about ten minutes to get out toward the arch, and as their boat added its own wake to those of the hundreds of other small boats crisscrossing the harbor, their taxi driver doubled as a tour guide, giving them a running commentary on everything they were seeing.

  The arch was impressive to see up close. Carved from the solid rock by centuries of wind and waves, it somehow managed to seem both solid and precarious at once. Bobbing on the waves in the boat directly underneath the arch, Ken and Rick could look
up at it, high over their heads. Ken had the rather unnerving thought that the natural structure might come crashing down on them at any moment. They took many pictures, from this and the other vantage points that their pilot steered them to. They then continued a little farther until they reached Land’s End, the lonely little rock that marks the southernmost tip of the Baja peninsula. The waves crashed against the boulders as they circled around, thus completing their journey, a traversal from top to bottom of the Baja peninsula. They had done it.

  Or rather, as Rick reminded Ken, they were technically only halfway done, since they now had to travel the full length back up the peninsula to complete the circuit and get back home.

  “Nothing that a couple of experienced adventurers like us can’t handle,” Ken boasted.

  The pilot then turned the boat around and drove them back toward Lover’s Beach, a narrow patch of sand near the tip of the peninsula that was unique because it separated the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortez. The two bodies of water were divided by a mere hundred yards of sand. It was thus possible to romp about in the Pacific Ocean and then walk to the other side of the beach and swim in the Sea of Cortez within a matter of a few minutes.

  As the name implied, Lover’s Beach was also a popular make-out spot. Since access to the beach was limited to daylight hours, the activities were presumably limited to hand-holding, necking, and discreet petting.

  Ken speculated that this hadn’t always been the case. “I bet back in the days before motor boats, when you had to row all the way out here, people actually made the trip so they could find a private place to fuck.”

  Rick laughed. “Count on you to think of something like that.”

  “I imagine screwing on the sand here at night, with a bonfire blazing, could be very romantic.”

  “I didn’t know you had a romantic streak in you.”

  “Sure I do,” Ken protested. “Everybody does.”

  The driver dropped them off in the surf and said he would come back to pick them up in about half an hour. It was interesting to stroll across the beach and get a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. The surf was much stronger on the Pacific side, and the high waves pounded noisily against the rocks and the beach. They were able to take a picture of the Pacific side, turn around, and snap a picture of the Sea of Cortez, all without taking a step.

  They saw that a few intrepid tourists had brought along their snorkeling gear, but the swell was too rough today and there was a very real danger of being smashed up onto the rocks. Like most of their fellow visitors, Ken and Rick passed the time in lazy inactivity. They sat on the beach and watched a constant stream of water taxis unload their passengers onto the beach while others moved in close to retrieve theirs. Everywhere in Cabo, somebody seemed to be selling something or wanting a tip for his services. Even in this isolated spot, Ken and Rick could witness the steady flow of dollars from American wallets to Mexican pockets. Here on Lover’s Beach there were several young men who waded out into the surf to help tourists disembark from on board the water taxis. For their efforts, they expected at least a couple of dollars or the equivalent in pesos from each tourist. Judging from the number of people coming and going, Ken estimated these guys were making a respectable income.

  As promised, their driver returned to collect them and, dispensing with the services of the eager young men, they waded out into the surf to meet him. After another short ride, they were back on the dock.

  Now that they were back in the town and enjoying a leisurely walk through it, Ken and Rick saw signs everywhere advertising some sort of product or service catering to the American tourist. The temptations seemed endless. Rick, like Ken, possessed an unusual amount of buyer resistance. They may have saved a few bucks by dispensing with the services of the attendants on Lover’s Beach. But if they stayed in Cabo for too long, Ken feared they’d end up broke.

  By now they had developed a taste for authentic Mexican food, so for lunch they bypassed the more touristy restaurants in favor of the kind of café patronized by the locals. There, Rick ordered pork with relleno negro, a black sauce made from burnt chili peppers and spices. Feeling equally adventurous, Ken had turkey, smothered in pipián, a sauce with a pumpkin-seed base.

  “This would be great for Thanksgiving dinner,” he declared.

  Back in the bridal suite, they caught up with recent events.

  Back in Los Angeles, Rick’s agent had agreed to a brief press conference, which Rick and Ken caught on an English-language entertainment news channel on their room’s TV. The poker-faced agent went on camera and insisted that his client Deacon Rowe was “well and in good spirits,” which was undeniably true as far as Ken could observe by stealing a glance at the man seated beside him in the bridal suite. Then the agent blandly went on to declare that there was “absolutely no truth to the rumor that Mr. Rowe is staying in the private home of friends in Acapulco. Nor is there any truth to the rumor that he has been seen in public in Acapulco with the daughter of one of the most prominent families in Mexico City.” All of this was literally true, which in the journalists’ eyes must mean the agent was lying through his teeth. The agent then declined to take any questions, which, as he’d no doubt intended, allowed frustration to fuel speculation.

  The press conference set off a double stampede, as one brigade of journalists immediately flew to Acapulco to try to track down Rick’s nonexistent friends there, while another posse invaded Mexico City, attempting to determine which prominent families there had eligible daughters. Before the day was over, a Spanish-language tabloid hit the hotel’s newsstand. On the front page were glamour photos of no fewer than ten young Mexican socialites, under the headline Which One Will Be Eva’s Successor?

  “None, I’d be willing to bet,” Rick said as he and Ken perused the publication.

  Ken was relieved to see that Rick no longer seemed depressed by his breakup with Eva. If anything, Rick seemed lighthearted. He joked about Eva and Gunther, claiming that the latter had done him a favor by stealing his fiancée and ending his engagement.

  Rick also made a point of telling the hotel’s manager what an excellent employee he possessed in Diego. Every time Diego delivered room service to the bridal suite or ran some errand for its two occupants, Rick slipped him a generous tip accompanied by a kiss and a quick grope or pat on the ass.

  “You’re spoiling that kid,” Ken suggested after one such incident.

  “It’s his source of income, so I don’t begrudge it him. Anyway, we’re still working our way through my diamond ring refund money, and we’ve barely made a dent in it so far. Trust me, you’re a much cheaper date than Eva ever was.”

  “I’m sure I am. You give me half a chance, though, and I bet I can show you a much better time on that bed than she ever would have.”

  Rick giggled. “You’re outrageous. You have absolutely no shame.”

  “Shame is highly overrated, buddy. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that it’d be totally misplaced here. This is supposed to be the bridal suite, after all.”

  As for Diego’s more personal and intimate services, Ken and Rick availed themselves of them on two more occasions, once during a hot afternoon when remaining in the air-conditioned comfort of the bridal suite seemed preferable to venturing outdoors, and again late at night. Diego accepted the money they offered him, but he went above and beyond the call of duty in his efforts to satisfy the two American men.

  “Worth every penny,” Rick concluded. “We’re going to have to invite that boy to come visit us in California.”

  “Maybe we can set him up there as a call boy,” Ken suggested.

  Rick snickered. “Listen, buster. If there’s anybody around here who’s a born male whore at heart, it’s you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I guess I meant it as one, in a weird sort of way.”

  On their last night in Cabo, however, they dispensed with Diego’s services and spent the evening together, just the two of them.


  They were changing their clothes, getting ready to go out, when Ken heard a muffled chiming sound. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know. Oh fuck, it’s my cell phone,” Rick said. “I’d almost forgotten what it sounds like. I suppose I’d better answer it.”

  The caller turned out to be Rick’s agent.

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” Ken offered. He was about to leave the bedroom when Rick stopped him.

  “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing you can’t hear.”

  The phone conversation was brief, and Rick’s contribution to it consisted almost entirely of such exclamations as yeah, uh-huh, no kidding, and fine, none of which was particularly illuminating.

  “Well,” Rick said after he hung up, “apparently it is possible to be in two places at once. It seems I’m having myself a high old time in Mexico City, incognito, as the guest of the family of one of my new Mexican girlfriends.”

  “Good for you. Next thing you know, you’ll be announcing your engagement.”

  “Someone’s gotten there before me.” Rick maintained a poker face. “Eva and Gunther have announced their engagement. For real, apparently, not a rumor.”

  “Oh. And how do you feel about that?”

  Rick’s expression didn’t change. “I feel fine. Come on, let’s get a move on. I’m hungry.”

  He’s a good actor, Ken thought. “So am I.”

  They found a small restaurant on one of the side streets and had the day’s special: duck served with singed corn, sausage, melon compote, and a chili pepper and raisin sauce.

  “I must say we’ve been eating well in Cabo,” Ken said.

  “Well, fill up while you have the chance, because starting tomorrow it’ll be pot luck again, back on the road.”

  “Actually, I’m kind of looking forward to our outdoor meals. Oh, don’t get me wrong. This restaurant fare has been great. But there’s something special about cooking for yourself in the open air.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Rick refilled their wine glasses. “I’d like to propose a toast. To the happy couple, Eva and Gunther.”