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CHAPTER ONE H e rose from the high, glassy surf, negotiating the gigantic waves like some ancient Hawaiian sea god, his long black hair caught back in a ponytail. His naked body glistened in the morning sun, his powerful thigh muscles rippling with each stride towards the shore. His full attention however, was focused on a man cantering across the sand toward him on a magnificent, jet-black stallion. The rider, clad only in white pants that clung to his lithe frame, wore a fishhook made of bone around his neck. Hurricane Flossie had passed the Hawaiian Islands, leaving only big, warm waves and this brilliant morning sun. These two men had taken advantage of the exhilarating surf conditions at Halona Cove, just as we had. Only my roommate, Aloha and I, were still standing by our parked car on the road above them, surfboards in hand, watching these two men in love on that perfect, desolate curve of white sandy beach. 1 .
The Forbidden Island The naked man, well over six feet tall, was looking up, his face radiant as the rider gazed down at him, mesmerized by the awesome specimen reaching up to him. “Johnny, tell me I’m not dreaming. Tell me he’s real,” Aloha whispered to me. “That is the sexiest man I have ever seen. And look at that cock. He’s huge!” The naked man swung easily over the top of the horse. There was no saddle, only a thick blanket between the two men and the horse. From where we stood, we could see the tattoos covering half of the naked man’s body, down the entire right side as he exchanged a long, heated kiss with his lover. Their passion transmitting itself to us. My breath caught as Aloha breathed, “Och, look at the way he’s kissing him. That’s so hot it makes me want to fuck.” His British accent made it sound like fook. “You always want to fuck.” I was laughing now. We glanced back at the beach. The horse and its riders had vanished. “Did you see that?” Aloha was running up and down the cliff’s edge, but the two men were indeed gone. “They just disappeared.” I was not so surprised. I knew both men well. Lopaka, the man in white, had been my lover once. The sea god was Kimo, his partner for life. “You know, I’ve seen that guy with the tattoos 2 .
A.J. Llewellen before. He’s a hula dancer. A famous one.” Aloha sounded obsessed. “I think his name is Kimo Wilder.” “Yeah, I know.” Aloha turned to me. “I had no idea he’s gay. Man, that was so hot.” “So let’s go home and fuck.” I took the words right out of his mouth. “Not so fast.” Aloha had a look of wildness in his eye. “They can’t have disappeared. They have to be somewhere.” He ran down to the beach before I could utter a word of protest. I had no desire to catch up with Lopaka and Kimo. We’d had a bad parting of the ways after a disastrous attempt at a threesome that I never allowed myself to think about. But Aloha was loping down the rocky dunes above Halona Blowhole to the beach around the rocky curve. I followed him because wherever the lovers had escaped to, privacy was most certainly an issue. They believed they were alone on this leeward beach. They weren’t trying to lure us into a foursome. My next thought was, what the hell are they doing here on Oahu? They lived in Maui. I’d left Maui to escape the memory of them, the constant reminder that Lopaka had found the man of his dreams and I was a part of his past. No. I was worse than that. I was part of his ancient, fossilized 3 .
The Forbidden Island history. Thinking about Lopaka was like nursing an infected tooth. Sometimes I bit down on it by accident and the agony ripped through me. And what were they doing on my side of the island? Finding Aloha had been a godsend. He was the sexiest guy I’d been with, apart from Lopaka, but even that happened by accident. As I followed him, I studied his sexy bubble-butt, which looked so good in his burnt orange board shorts. If we found ourselves alone on the beach, I wouldn’t have minded getting down and dirty ourselves. Aloha, a handsome, thirty five year old haole, five years older than me, moved here from London as a college student and never left. We couldn’t have been more different. I was five foot nine, a healthy mix of Japanese, Portuguese, Hawaiian and French. My mother used to call me her halo-halo boy, or fruit salad. I had a trim, compact body and Aloha was a handsome, solid, almost six-foot chunk of sexy, balding, British bulldog muscle, the result of lifting boxes, not working out at the gym. “Och, there they are.” He beckoned me over by some rocks at the end of the cove. “They’re fucking!” A hard lump formed in my throat. Kimo and Lopaka were lying entwined on the same pristine piece of sand made famous in the movie From Here 4 .
A.J. Llewellen to Eternity. Lopaka’s white pants had been discarded and flapped on the shore, their horse stamping a foot, but otherwise waiting patiently. Kimo’s massive mast worked between Lopaka’s open legs with the kind of uncontrolled lust Burt Lancaster would have fucked Deborah Kerr with if movie censorship in the 1950s hadn’t been what it was. We could hear their ecstatic moans from where we were, Kimo’s body muscles taut with the effort of taking his man with such ferocity, alone down there on the beach. “Doesn’t look they want company.” Aloha sounded depressed. “No, it doesn’t. C’mon, let’s blow this Popsicle stand.” “What’s with you this morning? Why’d you suddenly get so grumpy?” “He’s my ex and this isn’t exactly pleasant for me.” Aloha was wide-eyed now. “The one with the tattoos?” “The other one.” Aloha looked impressed. “Och, he’s a tasty morsel, too.” “Yeah.” “Well, we could still have a surf, you know.” “Yeah. We could,” I shrugged. “Or we could go home and play.” 5 .
The Forbidden Island Aloha’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I have another idea. Let’s surf, then we go home and play.” We ran to the ocean with our boards and took turns taking waves, until Aloha dropped in on my wave, making me wipe out. He thought it was funny watching me tank, but I’d had enough. Gasping and coughing up buckets of water, I struggled back to the beach as Kimo came towards us astride his horse. He was wearing the long white pants now and he lifted his hand in greeting. “Aloha.” His voice was powerful, confident. “Aloha,” we responded. Kimo’s eyes were fixed on me. If looks could kill, I was pretty sure I’d be pushing up a fine patch of daisies by now. “Where’s Lopaka?” I asked. His glower turned into an impish grin. He pointed to his groin and I could see now that two brown arms disappeared below the waistline of his pants. I could also see the huge, gleaming gold wedding band on his left hand. Kimo’s splendid tattoo work was even more fearsome than I’d remembered and I was sure there was new work on his face around his right eye and cutting down to his mouth. He was as powerful and commanding as I remembered. “I can’t keep my hands off him.” Lopaka’s face 6 .