I hear something in the hall, and I quickly throw the shirt back in the drawer and close it. I freeze.
The sound gets louder and then passes and fades. Not Benton.
I don’t have a second to lose. He could be walking in at any moment. I put on my vintage FRANKIE SAY RELAX T-shirt and stare at the one queen bed. Even though it’s a suite, the cabin is so small because of the larger bed that there isn’t even room to sleep on the floor. I get into the bed and pull the covers up to my neck.
Each set of passing footsteps, I imagine to be Benton. We may have to share the same bed, but I can make sure I have as little contact with him as possible. Benton knows me so well that if he takes one look at me tonight, he’ll know I still have feelings for him.
The door to the cabin pushes open slowly, and light from the hallway slides in. I slow my breathing so Benton will think I am in a deep state of sleep. He tiptoes in and out of the bathroom and around the cabin. I think I am safe at least until morning, but then I remember Benton always sleeps entirely in the nude. You would think given the circumstances, he would show some decorum and cover up, but not Benton. He loves being naked.
I hear him at the foot of the bed and know I can’t resist one tiny little peek. I carefully raise my eyelids the slightest amount and watch.
He unbuttons his shirt slowly. His chest is firm, round, and covered in hair. If I were placing an order for a sex doll, I would basically ask for the exact dimensions and proportions of Benton’s body. When he undoes the last button, he doesn’t take the shirt off immediately. He lets it drape over his pecs and runs his hand from his flat stomach to his nipples and casually gives the left one—my favorite one—a tug.
I close my eyes a bit tighter so he won’t see me leering at him, but not so tight I can’t leer.
His shirt drops to the floor. He turns around and slides his pants down around his ankles, bending over so I have a perfect view of his thick, muscular ass. This is killing me. His skintight boxer briefs hug each cheek as if they are grateful for the job. But they are the last bit of clothing to cling to him. He turns around and peels them off. His cock flops down between his legs. Not hard, but not exactly flaccid either. He throws the underwear in the corner and stands a few inches from the bed in all his naked glory.
He stretches both arms over his head so every inch of skin is taught over his torso. Then he bends from side to side as his dick swings gently against each thigh.
I’m on my side, but I slowly adjust to push my dick farther into the bed, teasing my raging hard-on.
Benton isn’t done. He puts his hands on his waist and pushes his head back so his torso bends behind him. Then he turns around and grabs his ankle so his ass crack opens a bit in front of me. With his head turned away from me, I take the opportunity to move my hand down to my dick, which I have been grinding into the bed slowly but deeply. I firmly tug the skin on the shaft. He pops up, and I stop immediately.
He goes to the bathroom, flicks on the light, and I hear him brushing his teeth.
Quickly I roll on my back, spit on my palm and grab my own dick. Like every man, I know exactly how to get myself off quickly when I need to. I put one hand on my nipple and with the other give a few tugs to my shaft, moving over the head swiftly until I flood my underwear with a sticky mess thinking about Benton filling me up with his dick.
I hear the light click off and roll onto my stomach and press myself deeper into the mattress, knowing my load will be absorbed by morning. I close my eyes, grateful I didn’t lose control and attack him right there. I’ll deal with the messy emotional stuff in the morning. Now that I came, I can sleep peacefully knowing Benton is none the wiser.
Benton turns off the light on his side of the bed, and I feel his naked body make the mattress sink a bit.
I’m about to drift off when I feel him turn on his side toward me and place his mouth just behind my ear. He whispers, “I hope you enjoyed the show,” then returns to his back and is fast asleep.
My eyes flash open, and I’m awake for the rest of the night.
Chapter 15
The thing about a luxury ship is that when you first board, everything is so over-the-top that it feels like it’s a floating five-star hotel. After a night at sea, you realize it’s actually a boat on the open seas, and no amount of wood paneling or crystal chandeliers can stop it from rolling across the ocean, moving and shaking from side to side. Up and down and up and down. By morning I’m no longer worried about Benton knowing I watched him strip naked last night; I’m worried I might have thrown up on him in the middle of the night. I didn’t spend the night with my arms wrapped around Benton since they were mostly around the porcelain goddess.
By 7:00 a.m. we are anchored and I am able to steady myself through a quick shower. I grab some drawing materials and I’m out the door before Benton even wakes up…or maybe he’s watching me the way I watched him. I doubt it. He is more of an exhibitionist than a voyeur.
Coffee is served on the top deck, so I make my way up the staircase, but I’m not prepared for what I see. Overnight the ship has sailed from the somewhat unassuming port town to Bartolomé Island. An almost perfect half circle of sandy shore stretches around us. Just beyond the shore, black-and-gray volcanic rock form clusters of outdoor sculptures. To one side a large hill rises to meet the sun, and on the other, an impossible vertical peak of black rock rises from the ocean. It’s like a beautiful beach on the moon.
I take the first seat I find and turn to a blank page and let the rough black charcoal make its way across the paper.
After several frustrating minutes trying to sketch, I look down and see my drawing is a mess. It’s not what I see. I take a deep breath and go back to my process. I move across the paper again, trying to refocus on the scenery in front of me and not the scenery in my cabin last night. I try to find a way through. I give it a few more minutes, but when I look down it’s still a mess. How can I disappoint myself so much in this incredible setting? I tear the page out of the notebook with a sudden, if not violent, rip.
“Enjoying your favorite pastime, Michael?” Benton says, popping up from below just as I am destroying my morning’s effort.
“I prefer watercolors,” I say shortly.
“Oh, I know that. Watercolors are your favorite medium, but judging yourself harshly is your favorite pastime,” he says, pointing to the crumpled ball at my side.
“Look, Benton, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” The truth is he is painfully accurate in his statement, but my immediate response is to be combative. Why couldn’t I just say “Good morning”? People do sometimes just say the polite thing. I could give it a try.
“And let me guess,” he continues, “you were totally taken by the view, sat down, started sketching, and you haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet.”
“Goooood morning,” Fred says, helping Rita up the last step. My two favorite passengers arrive on the scene. Their timing is impeccable.
We both greet the couple, being the dutiful tour faculty we are. Despite not being in the mood for niceties, or being around Benton, we escort the guests over to the sumptuous breakfast spread with a rainbow of fresh-cut fruit and the usual assortment of incredible-looking pastry. The four of us sit down at a table with a stunning view of sea and sky.
“Morning, everyone,” Penny says in her chipper cruise director voice as she approaches us. “Everyone sleep well?”
Fred and Rita nod and tell Penny how much they love the ship, their cabin, everything down to Rita’s most recent slice of banana.
“How about the two of you?” Penny asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I slept perfectly the minute my head hit the sheets. Michael was a bit tossy-turns, however.”
If by “tossy-turns” he means “sicky-wicky,” then yes, but I’m not about to let him think I can’t handle a rough night at sea after him mocking me for enjoying his little show.
“I slept fine,” I say.
“I hear you’re heading
out this morning to scout our afternoon walk,” Rita says to Benton after taking a sip of coffee.
“Indeed I am. I want to make sure we have the best possible path with the most wildlife opportunities when we head out as a group.”
“That sounds lovely. You two have fun.”
“Oh, I’m staying on board,” I say. “Benton’s going by himself.”
Penny jumps in, “Oh, I thought you were going to the island with Benton. I’m so glad you’ll be here. Mrs. Worthington needs a partner for bridge. I’ll sign you up for the morning and afternoon slots, and if she is still awake, you can do the evening slots too.”
“Penny,” I say flatly. “I have no idea how to play bridge.”
“Well, that’s perfect. Neither does Mrs. Worthington.”
I sat next to Mrs. Worthington at dinner last night and vowed to avoid her for the rest of the cruise. She must be in her early hundreds and told a forty-five-minute story about how she takes her tea. Twice. She thinks the homeless just need to work harder and that everyone would be happier if there weren’t so much complaining about “equal rights.” Suddenly the expedition sounds much more appealing.
“Benton did say he could use some help today, so maybe I should go.”
“I did?” Benton says until he gets a clue and reverses himself. “Yes. I did. Super, I’ll go tell them two for the panga,” Benton says. He finishes his orange juice and nods a polite goodbye to everyone.
As soon as he is out of earshot, I ask Penny, “What’s a panga?”
“Dear, a panga is the smaller boat we use to get from the ship to shore. Where we are anchored is about as close as we can get.”
Oh no. “It’s a boat?”
“Well, a very small one, yes. You and Benton are headed out for a romantic nature walk this morning. Just the two of you? My, my, my. What happened last night, doll?” Penny asks with a bit more enthusiasm than she needs.
“I’ll tell you what happened last night. I had my arms wrapped around—"
“See. I knew this would happen,” she says, thinking she knows what’s going on.
“—wrapped around the toilet bowl. I was so seasick I thought my guts were turning inside out.”
“Well, that’s a disappointment.”
“Tell me about it. Excuse me if I’m not thrilled about getting on an even smaller boat this morning.”
“You’ll be fine. It’s less than five minutes to the shore, and if you do feel a little shaky, there is always big, strong, hairy, gorgeous Benton to hang on to.”
“Penny, is the sea air interacting with your wig and affecting your brain? I want nothing to do with Benton.”
The truth is I don’t want to go on a romantic walk because I don’t want him to know that what I want more than anything is to go on a romantic walk with him. I want to tell him how it makes me swoon inside when I know he remembers I love watercolors. I want to tell him he should dump whatever young jock he is seeing and come back to me. Instead I am caustic and snippy. Doing and saying the opposite of how I feel seems both perfectly logical and completely insane at the same time.
“Passenger Mr. Michael Davis to the water deck for transportation to shore. Passenger Mr. Michael Davis,” the loudspeaker above us announces.
“Have a wonderful time,” Penny says and waves her chubby jeweled fingers.
“Penny, whatever you are thinking, don’t think it. And I know exactly what you are thinking.”
I walk down the steps to the water deck to board the panga. I know exactly what Penny is thinking because I’m thinking it too.
Chapter 16
A crew member hands me an orange life preserver and helps me into the little boat, where Benton is already sitting and holding the safety rope. I sit next to him out of sheer fear and nothing else. Once I am on the panga, I grab the rope so tightly I think it might fuse with my body. Pedro, the skipper, uses a small motor to propel us forward and steer.
Being only a few inches from the water, it becomes a deep sheet of translucent candy with buttery curves that shift like sand. It’s so beautiful that I no longer think of it as my enemy. My instinct is to reach across the boat to grab Benton’s hand, but of course that instinct is so wrong. He thinks I still hate him, and a part of me does, but another part wants to share this beautiful experience with him. The fact that he is wearing a pair of incredibly short shorts that show off his thick, muscular legs covered in dark hair does not help me act rationally.
Up ahead, the island’s pristine beach is completely deserted. The water creates white foam peaks on the sand. Scraggly trees cling to black boulders behind the coast, and the enormous peak and the vertical outcrop of rock bookend the entire island.
The panga crashes against the waves as it beelines for the shore. Benton stares straight ahead, and the wind brushes his hair behind his ears as water sprays his face with each bounce of the ship. He looks like an ad for a cologne, maybe something called Maritime with a slogan like “The scent of a man on a mission…for love.”
The skipper docks the panga on the rocky shore, and as soon as my feet touch land, I feel a million times better—no more nausea. I want to lie down on the sand and hug it. “Are you ready to find some animals?” Benton asks.
I scan the coast and don’t see a single person. The island is small, but I was sure there would be at least some other explorers. “I’m ready to find another human,” I say.
“The Galapagos Foundation only allows one ship per day, and today we are that ship.”
I quickly put everything together in my head. “You mean we are the only two people on the whole island?”
Benton adjusts his backpack, turns to look me right in the eyes, and says, “It’s just you and me.”
A day after realizing I am still in love with him, I’m alone on an island with my ex-boyfriend who dumped me. Oh, this couldn’t possibly go wrong.
As soon as we start walking, I realize the black flat rocks on the shore are not rocks at all. I stop to examine the creatures, and Benton kneels down to get closer to the animals. I’m not scared, but I’m as close as I want to get. They look a bit like very small black dragons with spikey mohawks running down their backs. Each one looks to be thousands of years old. “What are they?” I ask.
“Marine iguanas,” Benton says, never breaking his focus on the formation of reptiles with dark bellies spreading across the sand. “They are the only sea-going lizards in the world. They can hold their breath for up to thirty minutes as they look for algae.”
I focus on a particularly chubby one, and his eyes blink in a way that conveys a deep sense of ennui. He communicates that he has been alive a long time and seen it all, sort of like Barbara Walters.
“Look over there,” Benton says, standing up and pointing to the other side of the cove.
“Wow, sea lions!” I say. There are about two dozen napping on rocks. One stretches his body across the rock, and the exercise turns into a sudden dive into the water. A few others dive in after him, making a ripple of splashes echo against the rocks.
“Close call, mate. Those are actually Galapagos fur seals. They are just a bit smaller than the sea lions.”
Damn him. Most people with a ridiculous knowledge of a topic would be condescending and smug making a correction. Not Benton. He shares his joy so freely and easily. It only makes me love him, and hate him, more.
“That formation of lava rocks looks like a good place to look for some unique birds,” Benton says, pointing to a group of porous black rocks each about the size of a small car.
“Do you think the blue-footed booby might be up there?” I ask, hopeful that I might finally set eyes on this remarkable creature.
“It’s very possible.”
I follow him past the beach, feeling the soft wet sand under my hiking boots and letting the salty air tinged with the unique scent of iguana poop and algae fill my nostrils. At the base of the formation, I firmly place my foot on one of the large boulders. Benton is already on top of the boulder,
using his binoculars to scan the horizon. He lowers his binoculars and, without saying a word, turns to me and extends his long, gently muscled forearm for me to grab. How does someone who spends most of their time in a lab studying animal genetics have such a perfect body? I go to the gym like they are giving away free puppies, and my body doesn’t look half as good as his. He smiles down at me, and I stumble.
“Michael, be careful. I need you in one piece. Take my hand,” he says. “The view up here is beautiful.”
The view from where I am standing is pretty wonderful too. I take Benton’s hand, and it’s awful. I immediately feel a rush of blood to my face and other parts of my body. I melt a little bit inside.
I take his hand, and he squeezes mine. We are connected firmly like two Lego bricks, and it feels so right. Maybe we are on the same page about this. I put my foot on a dent in the rock to steady myself when…
“Oh look! A Darwin’s finch feeding her children.”
Benton lets go of my hand to grab his binoculars. I fall off the rock on my back to the wet sand, which doesn’t feel nearly as soft as it did before.
“Benton!” I say sharply from the ground below him.
“Quiet, mate, you’ll scare them,” he says, not even looking to see if I’m okay.
“BENTON!” I shout.
“Oh, Michael, she heard you. Now she’s gone. Oh, well, let’s get going.” He extends his hand again.
I get up from the wet sand without any apology from him, and this time I walk a few feet from where he is standing and find a series of smaller boulders that will allow me to get to the top without any assistance from him.
Standing next to him, I keep waiting for my apology, and nothing happens. He is still steadily looking through his binoculars, searching for the bird. I dramatically brush off some sand from my shirt, and he finally notices.
“Oh, yes, sorry about that, Michael, but you don’t understand how rare a sighting that was. Truly a remarkable event,” he says, the whole time scanning the horizon for another opportunity.
There Galapagos My Heart Page 5