Disclaimer: There's sex, sodomy, and maybe a few other minor perversions in this. If you don't like that sort of thing, go elsewhere. Everybody in the story is legal age. Parts of this story may be autobiographical, or it might be all fiction--who can say?
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Dante runs from front to back, setting anchors, making everything safe. "Don't dive off," he shouts. "I'm almost done."
But look at all the men. I watch, look around, see people everywhere. I call them people, these diverse beings more like people than I've ever seen. Naked guys kiss on floating beds, a straight family eating lunch on their boat a few feet away. I think the guys are tacky, disrespectful. I learn later of Europe, the family used to viewing life without judgment, un-American, with humans behaving as though God cares enough to watch.
From one boat to another. People everywhere. Some naked, most not. More boats closing in. Dante holds me from behind, kisses my neck, says: "Isn't this hot."
Jeff stares at us, smiling, his friend and fellow porn-star Joey leaning over the rail, filming with his camera. Being a porn-star doesn't pay what it used to, but it creates fans, drives them to his pay-for-access page. We're not naked, so this footage will likely end up as lifestyle segments padding his hardcore content. Joey calls out to exploding boys: "Crank it, bitch; crank that fucking shit!"
Playfully Dante tries to pull my shorts down. I stop him, shouting, laughing, bending over, my ass pressing into his crotch, then me pulling away. He chases me to the edge, tackles me, pushes, pulls me over. We fall into cool water; we surface together kissing, symbiotic creatures needing breath from each other's mouth. Dante's indented belly slides along mine, beneath us the darkness, him holding tight, us kicking together to stay afloat.
Men drift on rafts around us, careful not to run us faggots over. To one side two men sit on the back of their speedboat, one in red shorts, the other in nothing, his cock full, long, nuts hanging low, full of masculinity. The two of them are beautiful but together, I imagine.
Jeff steps to the edge. I look over at him, at his powerful body, trying to not look at him too long, trying not to get caught. Dante catches me, kisses me, kisses my neck.
Cavalier Jeff, tight swimsuit clinging to his thick cock, dives over us, making water fly over our heads. He surfaces behind us, swims to the speedboat with the two men on board. My eyes follow his flexing back. He pulls himself through choppy liquid toward Big Dick. The guys smile down, stand up on the boat. The naked guy jumps off. Jeff almost catches him, holds him for a moment before they laugh.
Dante climbs on a raft with me, the two of us surrounded by rafts, boats, wave-runners, fags, dykes, breeders, holding on, falling off, microwaving in the sun.
Dante says: "I'm happy we came here. We needed to get away."
I say: "Are you okay about Jeff?"
Dante looks over, says: "Why wouldn't I be?"
At that moment Jeff swims up, throws himself over us, his wet skin sliding across ours, his heavy dense body making me think about sex. We capsize. I slip between Dante and Jeff, rising between them, feeling their bodies buoyant and hard. They laugh, both of their boyishness snapping inside me. Their hands on me, on themselves, each other. I back away from the tangle.
At our hotel, we agree to nap, shower, meet later down at the bar to watch bats fly out.
With my wet shorts off, I lie down on my stomach, head at the foot of the bed. Dante comes out of the bathroom in fresh flannel boxers, bounces onto the mattress, back against the headboard. I switch channels by remote, information on Labor Day parties hanging in my hand, waiting. I look back at Dante. He stretches his legs out next to me, one ankle crossing the other, his left hand lying heavy on my calf. I look at some news scandal show on the T.V. beyond Dante's feet, his toes twitching for a brief moment like flashing cameras.
I notice something, move in closer for a smell. He smells like algae. His eyes are more impish as his fingers crawl the inside of my thigh. I stay frozen, his fingers almost to my sack. If I flinch, I lose. I lose. He pounces, tickling my sides with hands locked beneath my arms. I struggle, laugh, writhe from side to side, his laughter in my ears.
My bare ass feels Dante's warmth through the flannel over his crotch. My neck is teased by wet lips, ears tingling from soft bites. My back burns beneath his hard chest. The scents of Hippy Hollow are everywhere.
Dante fumbles for supplies, covers and lubes his cock without leaving me alone. My back is warm with proximity, my neck inflamed by his afternoon shadow. "I love you," he says.
My ass feels something wet sliding up inside. "I love you too," I say, feeling the words echo through interiors.
He pushes, enters, almost slowly, making passion crash below my heart.
His forearms scoop under my armpits, biceps, hands clasping shoulders. I turn my head to receive his kiss against fevered lips. His breath drives hot against my face. My ass feels unleashed, vulnerable around his cock. It fills me, an army invading, the whole mass of it battering into me, my body a fortress with its gate forced open.
He breathes harder, grunting. I breathe harder, made senseless by my lust. He goes more intense, thrusts faster, shorter, his climax broadcast by his body, his soul, that silent part of me connecting to his body and sensing its ancient struggle to survive.
His genetics erupt into me, his chromosomes kept back by a latex necessity of our modern age. He pulls out, sits back on his calves. I remain static, pulling, pushing hard air out of my lungs.
He turns me over. I see a seriousness in his dark eyes; he's thinking, feeling something meaningful. I stare. It fades. He swallows, stifles, replacing questions with a playful smile.
Two, three fingers in my empty ass fill me, fuck me, as he strokes me in his other hand. I let it happen, giving in. His smile fades, his eyes pulling before I cum, making images go black, swimming in emotion and the clasping of arms around his neck, a violent, desperate pulling of him into a rapacious kiss that quenches everything I might try to say.
An awkward dinner passes for me. We never see bats; the evening is too warm. Dante acts as if nothing has changed. Jeff is too into Joey to care.
A roof party brings the energy up, makes us forget whatever issues we came here to avoid. Joey drags Jeff into a mass of dancing shirtless men, all one, and they disappear. With me our conversation is a living thing; it devours how I feel, making me chew on flirtations that Dante entertains.
The festivities die slowly, the next event calling to each boy. Dante says: "I'm getting kind of tired. I think it's all the sun. I should be heading back." Joey and Jeff insert themselves. Dante says again: "I'm heading back; you guys go without me."
I say: "I don't have to ..."
Jeff throws an arm around my neck, says: "Don't worry, Dante--we'll keep an eye on him for you."
The next event not the same, not the same without Dante there. An offering of crystal has my consciousness spinning in a sea of witless understanding, unnatural vision distorting an already hedonistic image of the world. Joey still parties. Jeff is still hanging on.
I head out for a cab. Jeff tries to stop me: "Hey, where are you going?"
I turn, say: "I miss Dante. I'm heading back."
Jeff says: "Hang with me 'n' Joey. We're going swimming at some guy's house."
"No," I say, "I'm not up for that. I'll see you in the morning."
"Call us," he says, "if you change your mind." He touches my chest; it tingles from the drugs. He kisses me deeply, says: "Joey wants both of our cocks so bad."
I don't answer. I only walk away.
Drifting precariously through the lobby, I guide myself toward our room. The lights are off. I fall next to Dante, waking him, holding him, telling him, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" he says.
"For being so fucked up," I say.
"Hey," he asks, "where's Jeff?"
I say: "Everything stopped being interesting as soon as you weren't there."
He waits, thinks the right words, says: "I didn't expect you back; thought you'd be off with Jeff or Joey or whoever."
"I didn't want ...," I say.
He says: "But, babe, you're so fucking high--why aren't you out getting fucked?"
I say, "I didn't want ..."
He says: "That's never stopped you before."
"Maybe things are different," I whisper, voice almost breaking, my hand reaching cautiously for a lover's cock, a cock already hard.
Dante lifts my shirt up off my torso, over shoulders, arms, as he speaks: "I've resigned myself to your way of life."
"Maybe," I say, "I've done the same."
He opens my fly, pushes the denim down my thighs, wrapping my drug-heavy nuts and soft cock in his hand. I feel I'm disappointing him by not being hard. "It's the crystal," I tell him.
"I figured," he says before kissing my cock, licking its flaccidness, moving down to my scrotum. He comes back to kiss me.
"You smell all sweaty," I say.
He smiles, says: "I think I'll do that bump now, then we'll put you in the shower."
I kiss his asshole deliriously clean; it smells like hotel soap. On all fours, above the covers, he moans like it's his dick getting blown; his cock is relaxed, dripping pre-cum on my hand. My wet hair hangs down, tickles the shallow cup of his back. He doesn't care, only wanting, wanting insanely to have his butthole licked. Quickly he rises to his knees to kiss me. I lift my tongue from his ass and meet his lips, thinking about him, tasting his earthly flesh.
He feeds from what we share, his passion slowly losing the hottest part of its fever. I feel it, touch his soft inside-outside place, picturing it pink, wet, open. I push into him, making him kiss me even harder.
He lifts off my finger, the softness of him sucking, clamping before release.
He pushes teddy-bear violent, seeking to make my fragile parts vulnerable to attack. Legs going up, my ass becomes a bowl into which his tongue is poured. He eats with vengeance, punishing me for the weakness I brought out in him. He frees my feet, uses his fingers to pry my ass apart, to make my sphincter a bright poppy, a burning sun. To me he is wet pressure, just wet pressure, making my nerve endings flip and swim somersaults just beneath my skin.
Licking nuts, cock. He slides up my chest to kiss me. I taste myself, our flavors mixed. We kiss, almost laugh, our bodies joyous toys. His eyes open wide, the innocence inside so beautiful. I stare, swelling, floating.
A.A. speaks of a moment of clarity. Dante sits up. I wish I could not be a cynic, loving without complication. Cynicism is a form of cowardice and awareness. If we weren't cynics, we could love, behave like those couples in coffeehouses who always make us sick.
"You do love me, just not like ...," I say.
"Like what?" he says.
"Like normal people. Like people who cuddle, fight, cry, go insane, because they never realized that everything is pointless."
"Baby, I'd never want to be like that." He kisses me.
"You and I may have been exiled from paradise but no Garden of Eden is worth living in if all its bounty is forbidden to explore. No wonder I'm in love with you, so in love I feel unfamiliar; I don't know how to act."
He grins. "You're quite beautiful yourself. Now get over here and suck my cock."
He grows full inside my warm throat. I have him on his back, head on the pillow, ass open, wet with lube. His cock slaps a firm stomach when I release it, his hefty nuts heaving in their sack. I examine the ass. It tries to suck me in each time.
I soak fingers in our bottled lube, push deep inside. Two fingers. Three. I take my cock, rub it on the pink flesh that opens to me. I reach for a condom. When I'm ready, I push inside. His flesh surrounds my flesh.
He says, "I really want to get fucked," then moans.
I propel my cock, pull back out, engorge, make him empty, turning him from existence to void to existence with sudden stabbings. It's a principle. Bodies in motion. I fuck and pound, tease his inside skin, the crystal making our erections only last a while. He's hard, gets me on my knees, trying to out-do me. His cock is fat, covered in a rubber I wish wasn't there as he goes into me. My ass is wet, soaked with lube made hot by the cooking of my body. Dante fucks me wild. He pulls out, pushes two fingers of each hand inside to see if I will open. I am open.
He fills me, fucks me; he can't get deep enough to satisfy himself. The part he wants is too entrenched to reach.
Cock hard. Cum explodes. Thin, watery, drugged-up semen shooting between fingers all inside me. Dante. Dante. Mouths locked together. Breath passing hot inside. Sudden emptiness. More onanistic water sticks my skin to his. Dante's. The kiss, the words: I love you.
By afternoon we wait for the pilots. I rest my head on Dante's shoulder, neither of us having slept. My fucked hole is sore, my cock feeling it could keep going. He kisses my forehead.
Jeff glances up, smiles. I think of sympathy, how magic makes lovers tell the truth. It must have been some night. Joey smiles, whispers: "You wouldn't believe the trouble Jeff tried to get me into."
Jeff looks up at us, looks back to them, says: "It could have been better."
Dante pretends indifference, reads the sign over the departure gate. Joey says: "What the hell do you mean by that."
Jeff avoids my eyes, says: "It all gets so boring after a while; but when you try to escape, you end up only running into yourself, and that's the last person you want to meet."
Joey looks up, raises an eyebrow. I say: "You don't wanna know."
Joey says: "But I do."
Dante says: "Trust me, we're never doing it again."
I say: "You said that last time."
He shrugs, says: "I was younger."
I laugh silently, feel something warm, meaningful--I don't know--some subjective response I don't want to lose. I notice two attendants as they begin boarding procedures. We stand, grab carry-ons. As I always do when putting my faith in something I can't see--the soul going on--I imagine currents running through me, imagine them leaping out into an unknown world. Dante looks into me as if he understands, as if that constant arcs between us.
I give a man my pass, thinking a bit too much, unfamiliar with what comes next.