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We help ourselves to some foodfrom the fridge and Chris makes us coffee, and we brave the tailend of rush-hour traffic to get to the beach. Chris insists we stopby the pharmacy, where we buy condoms and sunscreen.
Once we’re at the beach, heslathers sunscreen all over me so slowly and sensually that mypussy throbs. He goes up and down my legs, definitely deeper intomy shorts than strictly necessary for sun protection, then spends alot of time on the back of my knees, the belly just below mybreasts, my collarbone and chest.
“You’re trouble,” I say.
“I have no idea what you’retalking about,” he says with a smirk. “I simply take sun safetyvery seriously.”
I do the same with his shouldersand his chest (he does his own legs), enjoying the feel of hisskin. I love men’s bodies, so hard and soft at the same time, andhis body is such an exquisite specimen. He sits in the sand, elbowson knees, fingers loosely braided, and I place little kisses on hisback before I rub sunscreen on it. He hangs his head and doesn’tspeak, just enjoys the tenderness. I don’t know why I want to dothis, but I do. I want to do all good things to him.
We sit for a while, and then Iwalk through the water, feeling the sand and ocean on my feet. It’snot too busy since it’s the end of the season, so the tourists aremostly gone. We don’t talk much, and when we do, it’s not aboutanything important. I think we both just enjoy the sun and thewater, and I am so, so glad that I get to be here withhim.
We leave the beach around 11:00and find a nice restaurant with covered outdoor seating,overlooking the ocean. We order lunch and drinks, and I don’t thinkI’ve ever felt more relaxed. On our way back, we stop by a coupleof stores, and he picks up a few items for Ximena’s grandkids.
Once we are back in our room athis parents’ place and have cleaned up a bit from the beach,Chris’s hands are all over me. I push him toward the armchair andtell him to take off his clothes while I get out of mine, and Iwatch him sit naked in that opulent piece of furniture that I amsure his parents never meant to have someone’s bare, lightly sandyass sit in. I lean over and give his cock a few pumps and a fewlicks, roll on a condom, and then, without a word, I straddle himand sit on his cock and it’s fucking insane how relieved we bothfeel to finally come together again, as if we’d been apart foreons, as if we hadn’t just fucked for the first time last night,but already this is something we seem to need to feel right aboutourselves.
We slowly kiss and caress eachother, the blazing midday sun coming in through the window, and Isee everything, every imperfection, yet I can’t see a thing wrongwith this man, and I honestly don’t understand how I ever gotrelaxed and centered before in my life, before it was possible tohave him inside me and all around me, kissing him, feeling thedepths of his mouth with my tongue, tracing his eyelids and hisneck and his shoulders with my fingertips and my teeth. Maybe I wasnever fully relaxed, I think for a split second, maybe this is whatI have needed all along, but I push the thought away because I wasfine and whole before, and I will be again when this runs itscourse, and it will, of course it will, as good things always end,but for now he and I breathe in the same rhythm, the rhythm of myhips grinding on his cock, his hands on my waist, nudging me,helping me, the pad of his thumb rubbing my clit, me kneading hisshoulders and arms, his tongue licking the sunscreen and sweat offmy neck and my breasts.
That voice inside me that’sfreaking out is still freaking out, but I hear its muffled cries,like someone is holding a pillow over its head, and I don’t know ifthe voice is the bad guy, or if those holding the pillow are,because this, this falling, it should feel dangerous, I knowit’s dangerous, but in the moment it feels like the rightest thingin the world.
I feel I’m being well and deeplyfucked, but also somehow much more than fucked. My whole body hums,and every nerve has been ignited, and it’s only a matter of timebefore he fans them enough—with his lips, his fingers, his dick,all at once—and I combust.
****
Charlotte’s birthday party is anafternoon backyard event, but it’s catered and the backyard ishuge. Charlotte is the center of attention, and she predictablydoesn’t seem to care at all that her son is here. It hurts my heartthat he thought he was expected here, that he would be missed, whenit seems not to be true in the least.
We sip beer, a Coronado IslanderIPA for him and a Red Trolley Ale for me, both local brews, whichdelights me, and I get to try both. We sit in two lawn chairs inthe back, our arms dangling over the armrests, our fingersintertwined, beers in our free hands. When I get up, Chris looksworried, until he sees I push our chairs together, so the armreststouch. He smiles, and there is so much relief in his smile that I’mhit with a mixture of tenderness and panic as I sit back down. Ourjoined hands don’t have to dangle anymore, and I lift them and kisshis knuckles because I really, really like him, and this is SanDiego, so nothing we do counts. He looks at me with so much emotionthat my heart starts to race. He leans over, cups my cheek, andkisses me softly, and when I feel it between my legs, I have toask.
“Do you think we will be missed ifwe leave now?”
“No, but I also don’t care if weare.”
“I think I might be in the moodfor some taco shells.”
To that, he grins and leaps to hisfeet, extending one hand to help me up. We grab a six-pack of beerand a bottle of wine, fortuitously with a screw-on cap becauseneither of us remembers to grab a corkscrew, and also a plateful ofcharcuterie because we hadn’t had dinner. On our way out, Chriswaves goodbye to Donald, who gives us a look, followed by a headshake and a smile.
We don’t come out of our roomuntil just before it’s time to leave for the airport on Sunday.Chris’s mom and dad are somehow both at home, but Chris first findsXimena and gives her the big gift he’d brought with him fromMadison and the small gifts we bought yesterday for her grandkids.She clasps her hands with excitement and kisses him a bunch oftimes on his cheeks. Seeing how she responds versus how his momresponded two days ago makes me want to strangle the person whogave him life.
Donald is in his home office,which is functional and comfortable more than it is stylish. It’salso the only room in the house that has his son’s pictures in it.My chest tightens.
Donald gets up from his desk andtakes off his reading glasses. “It was nice to meet you, Roxie,” hesays, extending his hand for a shake. “I wish we had more time tospend together.”
“Thank you very much for yourhospitality,” I respond. “I really enjoyed the stay.”
And then he reaches out and givesChris a big hug, one of those manly bear hugs, and Chris lookstaken aback, his arms flailing like he’s trying to decide if heshould flap them and try to fly away, but then he realizes what’shappening, and leans into his father’s arms. The hug lasts a while,and when they come apart, they both seem pretty shaken, and my eyesare filled with tears.
“I assume Mom is at the studio,”Chris says, and his father nods, lowering his eyes in what seemslike embarrassment. “Then please tell her goodbye for me.”
Donald and Ximena see us to thedoor. A hug from Ximena followed by a few tender words in Spanish,and a slap on the shoulder and safe-travel wishes from Donald, andwe are off.
****
Chris and I actually manage to sittogether on the flights back, and we hold hands the whole time. Iask him if going to his parents’ makes him sad, and he says thistrip has been the least sad he’s ever been. I lean over to kiss himand I really really wish airplane bathrooms weren’t so smalland so disgusting, because I want to hold him and make it allbetter with my tongue and my hands and my cunt, but kissing willhave to do. So we sit side by side, kissing softly with lips only,totally PG-13, our heads leaning against the headrests.
“I am sorry your parents are likethat,” I say.
“Dad’s okay, I guess. Hetries.”
“I hate your mom. Really. Ihate the woman. She completely ignored you, and you came forher birthday, not to mention the whole statue thing. Even if youweren’t her son, it’s just plain rude.”
