Surf's Up Page 2

  Hunter muttered an apology in Karuk.

  When they were clean, Raven draped a towel over the toilet seat lid, and ordered him to sit and dry off. He disappeared in his bedroom to dry off, then stepped into pajama bottoms. He returned to check on his tribal friend.

  “Well, I guess you’re more dry than wet. Let’s get these pj bottoms on you.” He knelt with his back to him so he wouldn’t be able to see Hunter’s crotch when he stood and pulled them up.

  Still unable to walk a straight line, his charge followed him into the kitchen where Raven toasted two pieces of dry bread for him, insisting he eat them both. He provided two ibuprofen tablets, again insisting he take them with a full glass of water.

  That done, he put him to bed with a pillow and blankets on a fold-out couch in the living room. “I’ll leave this night light on. You know where the bathroom is if you need to upchuck, take a dump or piss,” he said. “I don’t want you relieving yourself on my furniture. Got it?”

  A moan of agreement issued from the mass of blankets as Raven switched off the main light and clicked on a night light.

  Raven lay on his back in bed, his hands locked behind his resting head, arms bent at the elbows. Despite his chant this morning, he’d tried to downplay the fact of his native blood. He kept his hair short, stayed fit, kept his weight down and dressed like most California men, Caucasian or not. When he consulted with clients, he always wore slacks, a dress shirt and expensive leather shoes.

  He was extremely careful about alcoholic drinks, especially avoiding the binging that had destroyed the liver of his dad’s father.

  Now Hunter, with his tan skin tones, long hair, high cheekbones, and black eyes brought it all back. Memories of the struggles, the hunger, and sense of hopelessness for the future crowded in once again.

  That’s enough, Raven. Stop. Dwell on the good life you have and look forward to a better future.

  Raven rolled onto his side and slept.

  * * * *

  Deep in the night, in the hush before dawn, in that time before the birds begin to sing, Raven became vaguely aware that someone stood beside his bed.

  “C…cold,” a tremulous voice said in Karuk.

  Still not fully awake, he lifted his covers to that pronouncement as he had done so many times for his younger brothers. A shivering form slipped beneath them and turned on his side away from Raven. Although drugged by sleep, Raven sensed how chilled he was. It was a natural thing for him to slip his arm over the newcomer’s waist and pull him close to share his heat.

  Raven fell deeper into sleep, unaware until much later that it was Hunter’s back drawing heat from his broad chest. His tantalizing tush had found its warmth cradled against Raven’s limp dick and hot groin.

  Chapter 3

  Dawn hadn’t quite broken when Hunter slid out of Raven’s bed without waking him.

  Shame stabbed him like a physical thing. He had binged again. Despite knowing its dangers, he’d done it again. He seldom drank, but when times were hard and desperation grabbed him he wasted his money on whiskey and drank himself into oblivion. This morning he felt like hellfire even though he’d been aware yesterday—when he took that first swig of the amber liquid from the bottle with the black label and fancy white lettering—that this was how he’d feel. He’d known then the binge would leave him dizzy, weak, his stomach burning, head pounding, a terrible taste in his mouth and the idea that all he needed to feel better was another drink.

  He breathed into his hands, gagging when he smelled his foul breath.

  Walking on tiptoes, he retrieved his bag from the laundry room where he’d dropped it and slipped into the bathroom. He shut and locked the door for privacy. If Raven needed to use the toilet he’d just have to pee out a window. Or wherever.

  As he rummaged through the bag, he was relieved to find his toothbrush. Too embarrassed to spread Raven’s toothpaste directly on it—and thereby contaminate it with his cruddy mouth grunge—he put some on his finger and spread the red-white-and-blue stuff on the bristles. The flavor of the paste was strong, and when he’d brushed and rinsed teeth, tongue and the roof of his mouth clean, he felt a bit better.

  He carefully capped the paste and returned it to the medicine cupboard over the sink. When he saw the bottle of ibuprofen, he took three out and got them down by cupping water in his hand several times and swallowing it.

  As he splashed water over his face, he had vague memories of vomiting in the sand, of making his way here with Raven’s help and showering naked with him.

  Too bad I was too bombed to enjoy our nudeness together.

  As a teen he’d always had a hard-on for Raven, who was a year or two older. Today he realized that attraction hadn’t diminished. There was something about him that still set all Hunter’s sex bells ringing.

  And my balls, too. Next, my dick lengthens into a full cock that’s so hard it hurts.

  Pulling a length of his hair to his nose, he smiled. It smelled like Raven’s hair. So Raven must’ve shampooed him. He smiled, wondering if he’d also shampooed the nest of curls at his crotch and wanted something of what hung there, awaiting a glance, a touch, a pull. Remembering what kind of shape he’d been in last night, he thought, “Who’d want sex with a drunk, even a fun and charming one?”

  As he toweled his face dry, he thought about sleeping against Raven’s powerful body, still feeling its warm imprint on his own.

  Hunter located his hairbrush and worked his way down the lengths until the snarls were out. He pulled it back and started to plait it into a single braid to hang down his back. Indian style, he thought somewhat grimly. He was called Red…not for his tattooed woodpeckers but as a nickname for Redskin. Where in hell had that come from? Only a few tribes had a slight reddish tinge to their skin; most did not. His skin was a light brown, lighter than many Caucasians who spent too much time outdoors or under tanning machines.

  He stopped plaiting. He wanted to wear his gold hoop earring, and his hair would look better loose. Maybe less of a shock to Raven. Less Indian, too.

  He was careful with his makeup. A lighter touch on the eye shadow, upper and lower lashes and eyebrows today. He slid a pale coral gloss over his lips. Tattoos, earring and makeup were decoration enough for now. By the time he heard Raven up and heading for the bathroom, Hunter’s musings returned to sex. If I’d stayed in bed until he wakened, I’d have seen his morning boner. He drew in a deep breath of regret and let it go.

  The shower went on. It went off.

  Hunter was ready, but tense after last night’s disaster. He’d slipped his feet into his sliders and was dressed in a wrinkled but clean white T-shirt and cami cargo shorts. He’d made coffee, fried bacon and had a bowl of eggs he’d whipped after adding some water ready to slide into the frying pan. Eagerly, he waited for the sound of footsteps across the hardwood floors signaling Raven’s approach. As Raven entered the kitchen he was pouring the eggs into the heated skillet where he’d left a little bacon grease.

  Raven was dressed in beach sandals, a dark green T-shirt straining to cover his shoulders and chest, and frayed denim cutoffs that ended near his knees. The sight renewed the realization of how much Hunter had missed this boyhood friend. He wanted to walk up and hug him, smell the clean scent of his skin and his aftershave, press his lips to the smooth skin at the curve of his neck and taste him.

  Instead, he greeted him with a smile. “Good morning.”

  Raven paused after looking him up and down before entering the kitchen. There was a marked tightening of his jaw when he noticed Hunter’s makeup and earring, but all he said was, “You’ve been busy this morning. How’re you feeling?”

  “Not too bad, thanks to you. I hope you don’t mind that I took more medicine this morning. I borrowed some of your toothpaste”—hurriedly he added—”but not your brush. Had my own brush. When I put it away…the toothpaste, not my brush…I saw the pills and knew I needed them, so I helped myself.”

  I’m babbling. Why am I babbling?
Nervous, of course, because I don’t want to come across as the stereotypical feminine gay, too noisy, needy and busy.

  “Not a problem.” Raven nodded, then walked over and peered over Hunter’s shoulder into the pan. “That smells wonderful. It’s a little different.”

  His nearness, the scent of his hair and even that of the distinctive fabric softener used on his clothes sent a trill of excitement tripping through Hunter. “Ortega chilies. I added some to the eggs. I hope that’s okay. I found a can in the cupboard so figured you’d eaten them before and I risked adding them. I do hope you’ve had them before because I used the last of the eggs.”

  There I go, babbling again.

  “Actually, I haven’t tasted them. Bought them to try on someone’s advice. This’ll be the perfect test.”

  Raven poured two mugs of coffee and set one down on the right counter next to the stove for Hunter. In that action he’d put his fingers lightly on Hunter’s left shoulder and set the mug down with his right hand. That brought his body enticingly near Hunter’s butt.

  He felt his pucker tighten.

  “I only have powdered creamer. And sugar.”

  “Black’s fine, thanks,” Hunter said, but he was wondering if there was a message in what Raven had just done. Had Raven remembered discovering on the rez that he and Hunter were gay? Was he signaling with that closeness?

  “I take mine black, too.” Raven took sets of salt and pepper and cutlery from the counter and a drawer, placing them on a table outside on a narrow balcony. Since this was the top floor it had no overhang. A furled awning hugged the wall just under the roof, but it wasn’t out today, leaving the balcony open to the sea and sky. “When the weather’s nice and I don’t have to go in to work, I like to eat out here mornings and read the paper. That okay with you?”

  “S’fine.” Anything to be near him.

  “Toast?”

  Hunter nodded, and, looking briefly up from the eggs, watched Raven’s strong fingers push delicate slices of wheat bread into the toaster without tearing them. He was there with breakfast plates when Hunter slid a black turner under each hot yellow omelet and transferred them to the plates, then added crisp strips of bacon. A twang similar to a plucked bass guitar string sounded, signaling the toast had popped up, so Raven added that to the plates, too.

  The newspaper was absent, leaving the way open for them to dig in and eat. They didn’t talk as they polished off their food.

  “Thanks for the great breakfast,” Raven said as he finished the last bite and settled back in his chair. He sipped his coffee, which had cooled enough not to burn his tongue.

  Shame rolled over Hunter again. He looked at his plate. “It was the least I could do after all you did for me. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or ruined any plans you might’ve had last night. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. Probably drowned.”

  Raven looked out over a green sea rolling in to shore in frothy ruffles that dissipated on the sand. His eyes didn’t meet Hunter’s, as if he feared the answer. “That possibility was what worried me. This happen often?”

  “Thank Holona, no. I’m not usually that stupid. It’s just that so many things happened all at once.”

  “You wanted to blot it all out.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Binging?”

  Hunter nodded, suddenly uncomfortable talking about this with Raven, a man he’d heard was talented, successful, college educated and a businessman. While he—Condor Hunter—was an ex-everything. And a lousy, feminine gay Native American on top of it.

  Raven said, “You need to stop binging. One of my grandfathers died young because of it.”

  “I know.” Hunter hung his head. How many times had he told himself he might be destroying his liver or his brain? But Waldo had walked out on him, so he binged in his grief because, after all, who would love him after Waldo? Then Rodolfo came along and stole everything he had, including his new boyfriend, Jake, and leaving him homeless. “I’ll try.”

  Raven stood and picked up his dishes. “Don’t try. Just do it.”

  Obviously, Raven did not understand how impossible that was.

  Chapter 4

  Raven hoped he’d hidden his disgust that this guy—who’d once been a very special friend—was into glam. He didn’t understand it. You might be homosexual, or even bi, but you were still a man and masculine, with a penis and balls. You also had muscles stronger than that of most women.

  Unless you were trans or queer, he simply didn’t get the feminine thing.

  When they were boys on the reservation, they swam and hunted shells together, worked on a canoe his father was building and fished in the Klamath River for their family’s dinners. As puberty burst upon them they experimented sexually, which was what guys did gay or not. Not only did they find their blossoming manhood fascinating, they discovered they had no interest in plunging their cocks into a girl. Girls were okay as friends, but there was nothing appealing about tits, legs and asses on females. In contrast, a tight male ass, well developed upper chest muscles and abs, and a full front underwear pouch caused their dicks to harden with one quick look.

  They’d been close friends, yes, but when Raven’s family moved off the rez they went to different schools and hadn’t seen each other again until yesterday afternoon. As Raven found new purpose and set goals for his future, Hunter was no longer on his mind.

  Yet, here he was in his life again, and, despite feeling guilty about it, Raven did not intend to rebuild that friendship.

  Raven stood, picked up his dishes, and headed for the kitchen.

  He’d always been comfortable with who and what he was. He felt no shame at being gay, but feminine gays and their glam made his gut curl in distaste. Today he’d had it thrust in his face, however mildly, by the alcoholic loser Hunter had become.

  Raven was discrete about his lovers and didn’t flaunt his sexual preferences, because if you were crazy enough to hate Indians you might very well murder a gay one instead of just insulting or beating him up. Why would he risk a man tagging along who announced to the whole world what he was with makeup so thick even the sea hadn’t washed it off?

  He sighed, realizing Hunter had followed with his own dishes and had been talking to him. Pulling himself together, Raven said, “Sorry. I wasn’t listening. Had something else on my mind.”

  “Like what you’re going to do with me?”

  Shocked at the accuracy of his perception, Raven looked at him and read worry, sorrow and shame in his features. Think fast, he told himself. “I usually walk to buy my newspaper before breakfast. Since you had it ready for me, why don’t we take that walk now? It’s about a mile roundtrip. Feel up to it?”

  Hunter nodded, “That should help clear the cobwebs out of my brain.” After adding his dishes to the dishwasher, he disappeared.

  Raven heard the rustle of plastic and Hunter reappeared wearing expensive sun glasses worth at least five hundred dollars.

  So he had money at some point. Or a wealthy boyfriend who left him because he’s dependent, noisy and feminine?

  Raven had always found dark glasses sexy, and he felt his body clutch south of his navel because now Hunter was Hollywood handsome, with the soft waves of his black hair flowing over his shoulders and his golden earring glinting through. The only bit of glam that could be seen was the gloss on his lips—lips Raven hadn’t noticed before and which were perfectly shaped for kissing and gently biting.

  If you didn’t know better, the gloss could just be sunscreen.

  “Ready,” Hunter said.

  “Ho…kay. Let’s go.” Raven’s shock at his body’s response to this Hollywood Hunter caused the stammer over his words. He grabbed his wallet and house keys.

  They took the elevator down, and Raven’s awareness of the slender but warm, strong body beside him was keener than he would’ve liked.

  They walked north along the beach, getting their feet wet where the tide had reached the rocks and sea wall. Hunter touched
a hand to the place where the high tide mark was three feet high place on the cliff. “You definitely saved my life.” He put an arm around Raven’s waist and hugged him. “Thanks again.”

  Raven tensed, waiting for a kiss on his cheek. He breathed again when it didn’t happen and relaxed as Hunter released him. He was relieved when he located the path up the cliff and they walked more separately. Soon they passed the city’s lifeguard offices and were on Pacific Coast Highway. Raven entered a small mini mart, and the woman behind the counter greeted him.

  She was an older woman as thin as some anorexics. Her white hair was in tight white curls, and Raven had decided a friend must’ve given her those with a home permanent. There was nothing beauty salon about them.

  She grinned at them. “How’s it goin’, Rave?”

  “Good. I’m good. How about you?”

  “For a cranky old lady, I’m fine…far as I know. Who’s your friend?”

  “Alice, I’d like you to meet Condor Hunter. We grew up together, and he’s visiting for a while. Hunter, this is Miss Alice, my favorite mini mart owner.”

  Hunter exchanged warm, polite greetings with her. The sound of quarters hitting bottom in the newspaper rack slot alerted Raven to open the door and grab a paper out fast. He just managed to get his hand out before the heavy little door slammed shut.

  Alice shook her head. “Day’ll come when someone gits hurt with one of them machines.”

  Hunter surprised Raven with a soft, lighthearted laugh. “But not today.”

  “Yes siree. Not today.” Alice laughed, too. As they left the store, she called out, “Hope you like to surf, Mr. Hunter. When he ain’t workin’ Rave’s all about the surfin’.”

  Raven saw his friend’s cheeks flush at those last words. This morning, surfing was a sensitive subject for him.

  Once they were outside, Raven said, “We’ll take the sidewalk back. That’ll give me a chance to check my post office box and our sandals a chance to dry out.”