Mahu Surfer (17 page)

I had a good time, partly because there was no sexual agenda going on—at least not on my part. I wasn’t sizing up the wahines—or the guys, for that matter—and trying to figure out my chances of scoring. While there might have been a girl or two checking me out, none were blatant, so I didn’t have to do anything to discourage anyone. I played darts, I drank my beer, and I laughed. A lot.

It was obvious to me, though no one said anything directly, that people knew who I was, so I couldn’t be too blatant about asking for drugs, or asking if anyone knew Lucie, Mike or Ronnie. Around ten o’clock I was surprised to see Brad’s friend Jeremy, but we did nothing more than shout hellos before he appeared to have left the bar. I figured there were probably few gay places he could go, and if he was bored at Sugar’s it was worth checking out the straight bars to see what kind of action was going on.

About a half hour later, George and Larry, the macho guy and the cute guy, came in together, and my radar went into overdrive. Sure enough, as soon as they both had beers, they were heading my way.

I was a little drunk by then. Still able to function, still able to drive, but my defenses were dangerously low. They clinked their bottles up against mine and made their greetings, and I followed them to a dark corner of the bar.

“How’s it going?” George asked. “You finding anything out about Lucie?”

“Still picking up information,” I said. “Haven’t really processed it all yet.”

“If there’s anything we can do to help,” Larry said.

“Anything at all,” George said. His leg brushed against mine, so casually that it might have been nothing, but my adrenaline level soared. I decided I could put my homicide investigation on hold for one Saturday night and enjoy myself.

I knew I could play coy with them, ignore the subtext, come up with another excuse to leave. But what was stopping me from heading out with them, enjoying what they had to offer? Some outdated code of ethics that said sex should be only a two-person sport? Or some deeper programming, which indicated that sex had to be involved with romance, which had to lead to me and Mr. Right living together behind a white picket fence?

I didn’t think either of those should control me, and frankly, I was horny, so I said, “That offer you made the other night. That still stand?”

“You bet,” George said.

“Didn’t think you’d be so easy,” Larry said.

I licked my lips. Might as well go for the gusto, I thought. “I’m not easy,” I said. “I’m hard.”

Both George and Larry laughed out loud. “Well, that’s a good state to be in,” George said. “You’re staying at that sleazy old Hibiscus House, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Well, let’s get over there and make it a little sleazier.”

They’d come in George’s pickup, in response to a phone call from Jeremy, as I thought, so Larry came with me, and George followed. His truck was a lot like mine, banged up and yet still serviceable.

Larry sat next to me, playing first with a bit of my black hair, then stroking one finger down my thigh as I drove. “You’d better not do too much of that, if you want us to get there in one piece,” I said. I could feel my erection straining against my jeans, and thought if he touched it, I’d probably explode right there.

“We’ll get there,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Fortunately, Hibiscus House wasn’t too far away, and shortly the three of us were standing in my slightly-messy room. I’d learned from Brad’s visit that I had to keep it neater, so the only thing I had to do was move some dirty clothes off the chair and the place was fit for company.

George and Larry didn’t wait for hospitality, though. George was behind me and Larry in front of me, one stroking my back and the other kissing me. In short order, and almost without my noticing it, I’d shed my clothes and stood there, nude, between them.

“If you guys don’t strip down, we aren’t going to have much fun,” I said, in between my tongue’s dueling with Larry’s.

“Oh, we’ll have some fun,” George said.

There was something quite erotic, on the edge of dangerous, about my being naked with the two of them fully clothed. I’d exposed myself to them completely, while they had exposed nothing at all to me. I’d relinquished all the power, and that was a powerful aphrodisiac itself.

I felt Larry’s stiff dick rubbing against mine through his pants fabric, and George’s finger, magically lubricated, exploring my ass, and I gave myself up to the pleasure. Soon enough, both of them were naked, too, and Larry had turned his ass to me. George handed me a rubber and squeezed some lube onto my hand, and I began doing to Larry what George was doing to me.

In short order, we were making a Kimo sandwich. Larry’s hole was loose and slippery, and I slid right in. Mine was more difficult for George to penetrate, but he seemed to have a lot of experience. I felt the rubbery head of his condom-enclosed dick knocking up against my back door, and then in one strong push that sent waves of pain through my body, he was inside me.

He led the rhythm; as he pushed into me, I pushed into Larry. Soon my ass got used to the intruder, and the pain melted away. I had my hands on Larry’s prominent hipbones, more for balance than for anything sexual, while George was balanced enough to let his hands roam around my body, tweaking my nipples, cupping my hipbones, running down the outer edges of my thighs.

I shut off all thinking, opening myself to pleasure, and pleasure was provided. I felt incredibly connected to both of them, as if an electrical current that began in George pulsed through me and into Larry.

I couldn’t control the noises I made, and it seemed George couldn’t control his, either. They worked together until, with one massive push into me, he filled his condom’s reservoir, and I did the same with mine. We held the position for a moment or two, and then with a squishy plop, George had pulled out of me, and I pulled out of Larry.

Larry turned to face me and we began to kiss again. Then I felt George move between us down at crotch level, and realized he was blowing Larry, my limp dick nested in his hair. Larry came quickly, and then the three of us fell onto my bed, where we spooned up together. “Man, that was awesome,” I finally said.

“That
was
pretty good,” George said.

“You guys do this kind of thing… often?”

“When we find somebody we both like,” Larry said. “Not so often as all that, but occasionally.”

“Are you—together?”

George laughed.  “Tonight’s about as together as we get. I like a little pussy now and then, and Larry mostly likes to get fucked—as often as he can.”

I didn’t pretend to understand. I loved what we did—while we were doing it—but I didn’t think I’d make a habit of it. After a while, Larry and George both kissed me good night, and slipped out the door.

I looked at the clock. It was just midnight. I could get some sleep and then the next morning… I suddenly realized. The next morning was Sunday, and my family was coming to the North Shore for a big luau. My room was littered with condom wrappers and lube bottles, my ass felt like it had been reamed by a beer bottle, and my nipples felt like raw meat. Jesus.

I hoped it would all be better in the morning, and went to sleep.

Luau

My cell phone woke me at eight. “We’re passing Helemano Plantation,” my brother Lui said. “We’ll be in Waimea soon. You got the picnic area reserved?”

“Shit.”

“You still in bed, sleepy head? I figured you’d be surfing already, trying fruitlessly to improve your surfing skills before your big brothers show up and blow you out of the water.”

“Rough night. I’m getting up. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Get lots of tables. We have a whole caravan here.”

“Caravan?”

“Mom, Liliha and Tatiana are each driving a car full of food. The three of them have been cooking for days—it’s like those three witches from
Macbeth
.” His voice turned away from the phone for a second. “Jeffrey, you tell your mother, your auntie, or your Tutu I called them witches and you get no Xbox for a month.” His voice returned to normal. “Dad’s got every surfboard this family owns packed into his truck. I’ve got a car full of kids and toys and so does Haoa. Harry’s back there somewhere, and so’s your friend Terri with her son.”

“Jesus.”

“He’s probably trailing along behind,” Lui said. “Get your skinny butt moving. I can almost see Matsumoto’s.”

I stumbled out of bed, into the shower, and into board shorts and a T-shirt. I could just imagine the wrath of my entire family if they showed up at Waimea Bay Beach Park and I wasn’t there with a batch of picnic tables.

Fortunately, the near-perfect surf conditions meant that everyone who’d considered heading up to the North Shore had gone directly into the water, and I was able to secure the perimeter of an area I thought was big enough for all of us. And only moments after I arrived, my father’s pickup, loaded with surfboards, entered the parking lot.

There was indeed a caravan behind him. Lui had recently surrendered his pickup for a dark gray Mercedes sedan, which was in second place, filled with Jeffrey, his brother Keoni, and their sister Malia. Right behind was Lui’s wife Liliha in her gold Mercedes, which filled with food and picnic supplies.

My mother drives a Lexus, and she and her load were sandwiched between Liliha and my brother Haoa’s panel truck, in which he had the
kalua
pig, fresh from the
imu
pit in his back yard, along with barbecue supplies.

His kids, Ashley, Alec, Ailina, and the newest baby, Apikela, rode with their mother, Tatiana, a big-boned daughter of Russian immigrants to Alaska who had floated up on our shores and fallen in love with Haoa. She drove a Chrysler PT Cruiser which was perennially loaded with kids, toys and various levels of debris.

At the rear were Harry, his girlfriend Arleen next to him, her son Brandon strapped into a car seat, Harry’s longboard strapped to the roof of his BMW, and Terri in her Land Rover, with her small son Danny. It struck me that we probably had every variety of luxury car on the islands represented, along with my father’s beat-up old truck, the previous beat-up old truck which he’d passed down to me, and Haoa’s landscaping van.

The parking, hugging, kissing and unloading seemed to take forever, especially with the kids all clamoring to get out on the water. Harry and Terri finally volunteered to chaperone the lot of them, and while the rest of the adults unloaded, they trooped down to the Pacific to check out the surf conditions. The littlest kids had boogie boards, but Ashley and Jeffrey, who were already teenagers, both had graduated to real surfboards.

I helped Haoa lift the pig out of his van, and noticed him wincing. “How you doing, brah?” I asked. He’d gotten banged up pretty badly over the last month, between getting himself into a variety of fights, and then redeeming himself, at least in my eyes, by rushing to save me when a bad guy was about to shoot me.

“I’m getting old, Kimo,” he said. “Forty. Jesus.”

“Cool,” I said. “So I can beat your ass when we go surf.”

“You never do dat,” he said.

“I’ll beat both of you,” Lui said, coming up to join us. “When we go surf?”

“Soon as we get rid of this stuff,” I said. Lui helped Haoa and me carry the pig over to where the women were putting the food together, and then the three of us dropped our shirts, grabbed boards and raced each other to the water’s edge, then out into the surf.

“Go, daddy!” Ashley cried.

“My dad’s the best surfer,” Jeffrey said.

“Uncle Kimo’s the best,” Keoni said defiantly. “You watch.”

“You don’t know anything,” Jeffrey said, cuffing his brother.

“Loser buys everybody shave ice,” I called, launching myself into the waves.

My brothers were always so much older than I was, Lui by ten years, Haoa eight, that I never got to hang out with them as equals. Even once I returned to the islands from college, both of them were so busy with their families and their careers that sometimes they seemed more like uncles than brothers, though I felt a visceral closeness to them whenever we were together.

For the first time that day, I felt like we were three brothers. I hadn’t seen Lui shirtless, in board shorts, since he was a teenager; my oldest brother is rarely seen without a suit, or at least a sports jacket.