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I instruct my driver to drop me by the Kuhio Fairchild location so I can assist with this‘dire situation.’On the drive down, I shot a message to Jimmie, advising him that I’m coming. But definitely running way behind schedule. Gordon salutes me after I ascend to the pavement from my backseat. Another buzz from the phone alerts me to an immediate response from Jimmie Lein. My attention to his rants doesn’t waver, as I saunter quickly through the lobby’s revolving door. No sooner does my head raise, when I bump directly into a young man.
His youthful flesh sheens under the fluorescence of our hotel lobby, much like a shiny display of gala apples at the market. Though appearing rather incensed at something, I hope he isn’t the reason I’m being summoned in the first place.Surely not, he seems to be as innocent as a sloth. Only totally fuckable. Please, oh please tell me you’re on Grindr. I’d slide into your DMs in a heartbeat.
“Sorry,” I offer, extending my hand to his shoulder. “I’d better pay attention to where I’m going.”
He looks uncomfortable, as if I’ve injured him from the impact of my body crashing into his. “It’s fine,” he says, grimacing and one-hundred percent unconvincingly.
His irises change from varying hues depending on how the light above us chooses to hit. One minute it’s as tan as my oversaturated oat-milk lattes. Then the very next, azure like the body of water swallowing all of Oahu. My heart might just stop beating altogether if I keep staring into his soul during our silent interaction.
The younger boy offers me a look back, almost as if he’s trying to place a finger on where he’s seen me before. It’s something all too common when I encounter the public. If my mug hasn’t been plastered on tabloid articles, it’s in television commercials and magazines one might find lying on a dusty stack in their doctor’s office.
“Are you okay, kiddo?” I ask, nervously scratching the back of my scalp.
I’d sworn off guys significantly younger than I am after Wade ripped me to bits. But this one is yet another exception to the rule. No sooner do I thwart an anxious sneeze, when Melrose yells at me from the front desk.
“Reid!” She hollers through the entire lobby. “Thank God you’re here.”
Briefly, I glower at her from over my shoulder. When I twist my head around to introduce myself to the young boy who’s riper than a fucking melon, I’m caught by surprise that he’s disappeared in a matter of moments.Surely I’m not dreaming him up. He was right there.
CHAPTER TWO
KRAGEN
Iwas told visiting Hawaii would bring me a total sense of calm. That the air has a certain healing quality, and my worries would melt with the wind. This couldn’t be further from the truth. My stress is beyond its finite limit, mostly because I’m here for my sister’s wedding. Our entire family is here to support her. Meanwhile, she insists on treating every person ‘on her special day’ like third-rate trash. Nothing I’ve done for her thus far has surpassed her incredibly high bar.
Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive. I have a tendency to be quite histrionic. At least that’s what everyone tells me back home. Not by friends.What are those?Save for a couple of coworkers, my inner circle is no bigger than a pineapple ring. And I technically work remotely, two-hundred miles away from the office. But if I have to hear one more person suggest that I take a deep breath, it’ll be too goddamn soon.Fuck I need a Valium or an orgasm STAT.
Sitting here hunched over our table reserved for the bride’s family has me pondering the consequentiality of life. And sex. I’m definitely horny as fuck more than I am anything else. These last few days have shown me that no matter how many inches I stretch my generosity, people will always take a whole mile. But my propensity to be fucked by some swarthy older surfer dude certainly ranks higher than my seemingly existential crisis.
One of my moms totters over to our table with a concerned look on her face. Since I have lesbian mothers and to save future confusion, let’s just use her real name. Tuti’s most likely worried that I’m not out on the dance floor with everyone else attending this overpriced event. Shaking my groove thang isn’t my brand of fun. Not without at least four mai tais and a whiskey sunrise thrown in there for good measure. No sooner do I bring up my Grindr app, when Tuti approaches from my side.Fuck fuck fuck. Fluffy puppy alert. Fluffy puppy alert.
Instinctively, I switch over to my wallpaper displaying a litter of Yorkies napping in a wicker basket. Not that either of my moms would care to know that I spend most of my free time cruising dating sites. They actually encourage me on a frequent basis to keep my options open. However for some strange reason, my high expectations of men seem to be far superior to anything I’ll ever find on the likes of Grindr. And if I must be honest, none of them are centered around a man’s physical features.Okay, there is that ONE thing.
“Sweetie, you’ve been sitting in the same spot since before dinner,” she says, stroking the base of her palm against my spine. She always knows what works when I’m stressed. “Are you gonna haveanyfun tonight?”
If I have my way and destiny is on my side, yeah sure I’ll have fun.“Yeah I’ll be fine,” I shrug.
Tuti shakes her overworked visage. “That’s not what I meant, honey,” she snarls. “Get your booty over there and dance.”
“You’re gonna have to force a pint of whiskey down my throat in order for that to happen, Momma.”
I call Tuti‘Momma.’And Candace is my‘Mimi.’She knows I don’t dance. So I have no idea why she’s persistent about me throwing out my back by trying to dance the macarena or whatever the fuck. That’s the other reason I don’t like to dance. Tuti seems to be forgetting about that one fateful day in middle school when I fell down four rows of gymnasium bleachers, ultimately resulting in chronic back pain. I’m still not completely over my dependence to oxycodone. Despite not taking any for a few good years, all it would take is just one for my amygdala to cave from the temptation.
“Momma, just go have fun because I’m having fun right here,” I assure her, albeit unpersuasively. “Why are you worried about me when it’s Tessa’s special day?”
Momma grimaces because deep down, she’s psychic or some shit like that. “Because you’re my Sugar Bear and I care about you equally as much,” she replies, pinching my cheeks like I’m fucking six.
Tuti downs the last of her fifth champagne of the evening. Or something. I’ve lost count. A person would think an attractive gay man who just turned twenty-one this year would be quite the lush. But I’m not. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy alcohol on occasion. However, I’m entirely convinced that liquor is intended for sexy people to accentuate their perfection. That’s where I fall short.I’m no sexier than a black walnut tree.
My fingers are eager to open Grindr just as soon as Tuti traipses back to the dance floor, joining Candace for a slower tempo song. When the app finishes seeking permissions to track my location, an entire grid populates, teeming with a variety of options to satisfy my hunger for being fucked like a rabbit. Some face pics, others advertising their torsos both chiseled and fluffy, and there are quite a few three-quarter poses in front of gym mirrors.Figures. Conceited assholes must be everywhere, I suppose.
As I scroll through the massive results, everyone’s profile offers something for every flavor. This is a vast improvement from the sorts I’d find in a place like Grand Junction, Colorado. If I earned a buck each time I read‘only into twinks’or‘no fats no fems’on profiles back home, I’d be rich. Not independently wealthy, because Mesa County is hardly a metropolis. It’s barely half the population of Honolulu. But it’d provide some extra cheddar to get out from underneath the parental unit’s caring thumbs. They couldn’t be any more supportive of Tessa and me. I love them with every beat of my heart. But fuck me if it’s not expensive to live alone in today’s world. With my yearly salary, I’d be lucky to afford a studio apartment down by the train tracks.
I suppose if there’s any hope of finding some strange tonight, I’d better get to dropping some taps and messages. Of course, if they’re the superficial gay and require a face pic just to talk with me, my efforts won’t be fruitful. Despite the clever theme of my profile. But as my therapist keeps reminding me,“you won’t find anybody if you don’t put yourself out there.”
Here’s a nice looking guy.Again, I don’t care about physical abnormalities. I have many complaints about my own body. There are, however, three boxes which a guy must check in order to provide enough appeal for me to consider a date. This is an exercise Carter has practiced with me in therapy, which has become useful in determining a person’s worthiness and personality. Unless I’m super horny, I guess. Then every inhibition is tossed out the window in an instant.
The first thing in a guy which I look for is a certain level of displayed intelligence. I’m not searching for Albert Einstein incarnate, nor am I expecting some philosophical genius such as Immanuel Kant. But it’s not fanatical to ask that our electronic exchange match at least a high school grammar level. Or that their tone and demeanor helps prove a degree of maturity.
