Surf's Up Page 4

  Raven moved inside him, pulling out just enough for the sensitive underlip of his erection’s head to be rubbed and then sliding in again.

  Hunter pumped his cock, and screamed as he spilled cum into his hand.

  The scream told him Hunter was climaxing and he could let go and reach his own orgasm.

  * * * *

  They napped until ocean breezes through the open windows cooled them too much. They showered together, exploring each other’s bodies as they’d done as boys, but they were too exhausted for sex again. He hadn’t really seen Hunter’s makeup when they’d had sex. To his relief now only faint traces of it remained.

  When they’d dressed, and Raven had loaned Hunter a college sweatshirt for warmth, he said, “We can barbecue hamburgers on one of the condominium’s community grills.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I’m starved,” Hunter said as he kissed his cheek.

  As Raven molded huge patties for the buns, Hunter rustled up chips, tossed salad fixings, and laid out deviled eggs Raven kept on hand pre-prepared. Iced tea was their drink of choice. Carrying their food to ground level and firing up one of the grills, they cooked and ate at a table near the grill.

  They talked about growing up on the res, laughing over some of the pranks they’d pulled, wondering where some of their friends were now, and what it was like to be native in a non-native world.

  It was easy to talk to Hunter, and Raven remembered it always had been. Finally, they stood to stretch, and Raven said, “I’ve got a little banana split ice cream in the freezer, I think.”

  Sexual and food needs satisfied, they returned to his digs to enjoy their dessert in silence on his balcony.

  As the earth spun toward the moon and the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, night settled in. Dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, sitting in chairs, feet propped on the low table in front of them, they sipped hot coffee after they’d finished off the ice cream.

  Hunter spoke in the quiet evening. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

  “Forget it. I’d say you made up for it tonight.”

  “I’m feeling better about myself after rescuing Jennifer.”

  “You were great, Hunter. No one else even noticed she was in trouble.”

  “One good thing coming out of the rez experience was the junior lifeguard classes.”

  Raven nodded.

  That sat in silence for a while, and then Hunter said, “I want to tell you about the binging. I was too ashamed this morning.”

  Raven dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t my business.”

  “So many things triggered it. I was staying with Jake, my new boyfriend, and Rodolfo, the boyfriend I’d dated before Waldo, reappeared and wooed him away. I’d already lost my house and car, had no jobs. That’s when I ended up on the streets.”

  “And Waldo is—”

  Hunter’s face was grim. “The cause of my financial problems. I bought a house while I was with him. I loved him, wore his engagement ring because he’d proposed. He was wealthy—I now know why—and for two years things were wonderful. Turned out he was a brilliant bastard, a lying thief who forged my name to several large loans, offering my house as collateral. After forging signatures, he cashed checks I’d written to pay bills and trusted him to mail. One day he announced out of the blue that it was over, meaning our relationship, and he split. The value of the house plummeted, and suddenly I had huge debts I couldn’t pay off.”

  “A predator,” Raven said.

  Hunter nodded.

  The failing light cast shadows on his Indian face, emphasizing its artistic lines, with its high cheekbones, patrician nose, and perfect lips. Conrad Hunter had an innocence about him, and Raven could see how this effeminate, beautiful man with his glam makeup, clothing, and gestures would have seemed easy prey to a predator like this Waldo.

  If you didn’t use makeup every day, you wouldn’t be a target.

  “He broke into my house, stole me blind. I have a security video of him and his brothers removing items—including my passport and only credit card. He’d broken into a locked cupboard in my bedroom to get them. He held up the leather wallet containing them, waved it at the camera and laughed.”

  “Did the police arrest him?”

  Hunter shook his head. “Couldn’t prove they were in the wallet. Since we lived together and I’d given him a key, he had the right to enter. No proof those were my belongings. Could have been things he’d brought with him.”

  “I hope you hired an attorney.”

  “Three. Two of whom screwed me in one way or another and met behind my back with Waldo and his attorney. He unsuccessfully sued to take the house away. Thank the gods, it went into foreclosure instead.

  “All my savings have gone to lawyers. Attorney number three dropped my case without telling me, sued me when I quit paying him. But I was the sixth client to report him to the state bar, and an L.A. firm is handling my counter suit on contingency, and they assure me he’ll be disbarred and I’ll get a settlement.”

  “Until then, you have no income, home, or belongings. Hell in a hand basket, I’d have binged, too. What kind of work were you in?”

  Hunter’s smile was shy. “Compared to you, Mr. Big Building Designer Guy, not much. I was a DJ, and I’m a singer. I had a small combo, but I can’t pay them.

  “Radio studio I worked for was bought out, my show dropped. The gay club where I sing is having licensing problems and closed. Temporarily, they say. If they reopen, I’ll at least have some income again. Maybe even DJ there, too.”

  “Which club?”

  “Michael’s.”

  Raven nodded. It was the largest gay night club in San Diego, and he knew it well. It was big. Easy to go unnoticed there. He used it because it was a long way from Encinitas, where most of the company’s clients lived. “Until things turn around for you, you’re welcome to bunk here. I obtain all the permits for our company, and I may be able to update you on things at Michael’s.”

  Excitement resonated in Hunter, and he sat up straighter. “I’ll cook and clean while I’m here.”

  Raven stood, leaned down, and brushed his lips across Hunter’s. “Cooking would be great, but I have a cleaning service.” He stretched and yawned. “I’m tired. Work day tomorrow, so I’m going to bed. How about you?”

  “In a while.” Hunter picked up their dishes and headed for the kitchen.

  As an afterthought, Raven said, “You’d better give Michael’s my landline number in case they need to phone you.”

  In bed, Raven crashed, then wakened when the coffee’s caffeine sent him to the bathroom to pee. When he noticed Hunter tossing uncomfortably on the too-short couch, he wakened him and drew him into bed with him. They slept spooned the rest of the night, and it seemed a very natural thing.

  Chapter 8

  A sleepy-eyed, tousled Hunter, wearing the loaned sweatshirt against the morning’s chill, stumbled into the kitchen just as Raven was about to leave for work.

  “You look fucking gorgeous all dressed up,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Raven said as he leaned in to kiss a very masculine cheek dark with stubble. “You look like you slept well last night.”

  Hunter grinned at the humor of it. “That I did. Had a most excellent day yesterday.”

  “Do you have plans for today?”

  He nodded and ran his hands through hair he hadn’t yet brushed. “I’ll make some job calls. I’ll walk to a nearby thrift shop where I think I can find some decent slacks and a dress shirt. I think I can do that on the money Jennifer’s mom gave me.”

  “Money you earned, Mr. Hero.”

  Raven bit back the urge to offer to pay for new things, but he sensed that would thwart Hunter’s efforts to be independent. To be a man with pride. “My dad’s coming here for lunch. I’m sure he’d love to see you again. Think you could be here between noon and one o’clock?”

  Hunter laughed. “I think I can manage to work that into my
fucking empty day.”

  “Great. We always pick up Mexican food and eat here. Write down what you want and we’ll bring it. See you then.” He picked up his car keys and briefcase and headed for the door. He had it open and was stepping out as he turned and said, “Dad’s a very conservative guy. Maybe you should leave off the glam stuff today.”

  He turned and was gone.

  * * * *

  A paralyzed Hunter listened to the sound of the elevator door opening and closing.

  He stood alone in the lovely digs, his happiness shattered like a crystalline globe dropped on hard, gray concrete. He buried his face in the loaned sweatshirt and smelled Raven’s scent. The cloth of the shirt was as soft as the feel of his soft lips touching Hunter’s cheek. The intensity of their love making was a powerful, painful memory.

  It’s over. I saw his response to my makeup, even as light as it was, that first day and now I know. If I dress and act like who I am I would be an embarrassment.

  He scoffed. A patsy to one man, an embarrassment to another. Shit, shit, shit!

  He doubled over with the pain, but, in time, he stood and shoved his hair back. If that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is. I will get through it. I’ve done it before so many times I’m a pro.

  He showered fast, ate a quick breakfast, put his dishes in the dishwasher, shoved his belongings in his plastic bag and turned to leave. Hunter stopped. He returned to pick up Raven’s shirt. He added it to his bag, and then he left, hoping he wouldn’t be accused of theft for taking it, but he couldn’t let it go.

  Couldn’t let Raven go. Not just yet, but in time, yes. It was necessary if he wanted to survive this latest rejection.

  * * * *

  “We’re here!” Raven called out at noon, after he’d unlocked the door and stepped aside for Dyami, his dad, to enter first. His feelings for Hunter had settled in very close to love, and he was eager to see the reunion of the two men.

  There was no responding answer. He walked through the empty rooms, but no Hunter, no note. “I guess he’s been delayed.”

  “We should wait for him before we start eating.”

  Half an hour later, Raven insisted they eat. “Food’s getting cold, and we need to get back to work.”

  “How trustworthy is Condor?” his father—whose name meant “eagle” in their tribal language—asked.

  “Very. I’m beginning to worry about him.”

  “Give him time, son. Give him time. He’s looking for work.”

  In his business office later, Raven left messages on his landline, none of which were answered. That evening, he walked again into an empty condo. He began to search for some clue that would make sense of this.

  Their dirty breakfast dishes were in the washer, and he could tell Hunter had showered. His damp towels were neatly folded and hanging on the racks. His toothbrush and razor were gone. Not a good sign, he thought.

  Raven raced to the bedroom. The plastic bag Hunter used as a duffle was missing, too.

  Looking for work carrying his belongings in a plastic bag? I don’t think so.

  Frightened now, he raced down to unlock his storage area in the parking garage, relaxing when both boards were propped against one wall. Just as they’d left them.

  Legs suddenly weak, a shaking Raven crouched, forearms on his thighs, until he’d recovered.

  He’ll return for his board. When he does, I’ll smother him with kisses and fuck him ʼtil his balls fall off. That’ll teach him to scare me like this.

  Tears filled Raven’s eyes. Then I’ll buy him the biggest, finest surfboard we can find!

  * * * *

  When Hunter hadn’t returned in three days—and Raven hadn’t slept—he reported him missing. There was little for the police to go on. All he could do was describe his appearance, name, and that he was Native American. Since he wasn’t a relative and Hunter was an adult who could come and go as he pleased, he realized the police weren’t that interested in searching for him.

  When he returned to his condo, nostalgia prompted him to pull his late grandfather’s flicker head ring for the brush dance from its hand carved redwood holder. From another redwood holder—carved by either great grandfather—he pulled a different style flicker dance headdress. The wide, stiff strip of leather was covered with white condor feathers atop brilliant red scalps of California woodpeckers along the base.

  Most tribes used feather war bonnets for their chieftains. Raven had seen a flicker headdress that was just as long, crowning the head and hanging down behind the shoulders. It was just as striking. Just as Indian.

  His heart stumbled in his chest. It had been too many years since he had been Indian. He and Hunter had met on the rez, both had escaped and discounted their heritage.

  He shut the precious mementos back in their cases and turned to his phone. He checked the hospitals, but Hunter hadn’t been in any of them.

  Nights, he walked the streets and searched the beaches looking for men without homes who might be sleeping there. During the day, he checked the homeless shelters and soup kitchens in the area. Without money or a car, he couldn’t have gone far. He checked the closest thrift shop and learned Hunger had purchased slacks and a dress shirt there on the last day he’d been with Raven. Judging from the prices of other slacks and shirts, he would’ve had enough change from the twenty dollars to purchase a throwaway phone. Distraught, he walked home.

  He apparently hadn’t wanted to use my phone. Accept it. He’s not coming back for his damaged board. He’s gone for good.

  An even darker thought popped up. What if Jake had come into his life again?

  With that searing thought, he sat on the patio that evening in the dark, and decided Jake wouldn’t hold any appeal for him after he abandoned Hunter. He slept that night.

  Things had been good for Raven and Hunter. Their love making had been not only explosive but endearing. So why had Hunter abandoned him? He sighed long and hard.

  I hadn’t wanted to be friends again, and now I’ve gone and slept with you, stuck my dick in your sexy tight ass, and fallen in love.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, a despondent Raven rifled through the approved permits for Condor company’s latest project and remembered he’d promised to check on Michael’s, the gay club Hunter had worked in. A jigger of hope stirred when he spoke with his contact at the permit office. It blossomed full bloom and broke through his despair when he learned Michael’s was back in business.

  The idea that he might find Hunter made it impossible to work, so he took a break and walked to the coffee shop for a second cup and the newspaper he hadn’t picked up yet. He burned his tongue on the scalding coffee when he spotted an ad announcing the celebration of Michael’s reopening tonight. Hunter’s band was its headliner.

  Excitement flared in him, tempered with shame and worry. How would Hunter react if he saw Raven again?

  * * * *

  Parking was difficult and the club was crowded. Raven was glad he’d arrived early enough to pick a seat and a small table at the rear. He wasn’t sure he’d have the nerve to see Hunter afterward and he certainly didn’t want him to pick Raven out now. He paid his cover charge and ordered a beer…which he was too nervous to drink.

  The club lights went down, and the stage spotlight revealed a single man on a low stool, his hair pulled back and plaited in a long braid down his back. Small black studs showed in his earlobes. His thighs gripped a white drum between them and his hands began a slow rhythm.

  Hunter stepped into the spotlight. He was dressed in black leather—moccasins with a soft fringe of feathers at the ankle, tight pants, a sleeveless jacket over a sleeveless T-shirt. Black gloves ended just short of his fingertips and his nails were polished black. A dark leather bracelet covered his right wrist where he held the microphone

  The colorful tattoos on his arms were an exuberant contrast with the stark black.

  Raven saw eyes heavily outlined in kohl, lids blended with a deep burgundy
color and silver glitter that caught the light. Hunter had darkened his full lashes and eyebrows, and accentuated his high cheekbones with expert rouging. His perfect lips were a deep dark red.

  The cut of his clothes. His makeup. They were all glam, and so sexy he rocked Raven to his core.

  He sensed the audience waited in tense expectation for what he would give them.

  In Karuk, and to the steady rhythm of the drum, Hunter began to chant in the haunting, five-note scale of Native American musicology. There was a richness to his voice that immediately cast a spell over the audience. Beer bottles and liquor glasses stopped clinking and voices quieted as they listened expectantly to what this man would do next.

  In this moment, he was of the Pue-lik-loʼ—the downriver peoples—and he danced as one, sometimes circling, sometimes bending as he told their story. Hunter’s eyes were closed, as if his chant sprang from deep inside. So true were his song and his steps to his blood heritage that Raven thought he might well be dressed in full dance regalia.

  As he watched the beauty and reverence of what Hunter was doing unfold, something in Raven’s squelched native soul freed itself and sprang to life.

  Hunter’s long black hair had been pulled back on one side and gelled tight to his skull where it ended in a narrow braid that hung down. From his exposed earlobe hung an earring of slender, white dentalium shells in three graduated tiers. It swung as he moved. The rest of the hair on that side had been swept over the top of his head to the other side.

  Love and admiration rolled through Raven. You needed to be Yurok to understand the meaning of those tattoos and the sacred significance of the shells and Hunter’s chant. Good memories of reservation life emerged from the sad ones, and he wanted to dance alongside him as they had as boys in imitation of their elders.

  As quietly as it began, the music ended, leaving only the echo of the drum and the final note of the chant.

  There was a pause, and then the audience stamped, clapped and whistled.

  Raven’s eyes fill with unshed tears. His heart threatened to shatter with pride.

  The stage lights broadened and softened. Keyboard and guitars moved in to back Hunter as a roadie knelt to remove the moccasins and replace them with ankle boots. Hunter removed the dentalium shell earring, pressed it to his lips and handed it to him. He replaced it with one of dangling black onyx.