Thank you to Becky and Julia for betaing and especially to Julia for writing the fight scene.
SURF CITY
I glance down at my own face, frozen with terror, reflected in the wide blade of the knife now held at my throat. I cannot see my assailant because he is standing behind me, but I sense that it is someone strong and very, very angry.
"I'm letting you go with a warning, Geek Boy, do you know what you are in for?" It might be easier if I pretended that I had no idea what he was talking about, but I do. The knife pulls away and I spin around. He's a small man, even shorter than I am, long sun-bleached blond hair falling loosely in curls around his face. . . piercing blue eyes. . . diabolical grin. "I hope you do, because he's always been mine. Understand?"
"Ryan? What is this Ryan? I don't understand." I vaguely remember Dylan's A/I friend on whom I had done some retrofitting. This madman looks a little like him.
"I'm afraid you've got me mixed up with someone else, buddy. My name isn't Ryan, it's Iolaus. Get that, Iolaus. Now go, and don't forget what I've told you."
I clench my fist to take a swing at him and realize that it is a stupid thing to do. He still has a knife. He seems somewhat deranged. It doesn't matter because he is gone. Somewhere into the night. I realize that it is not the first time that day I have seen him. He must have been tailing me for some time.
* * * *
Earlier that day.
I am finally getting a chance to try out my hover board in a real freakin' ocean. After we had returned from Fellenhoff Drift, Dylan thought we needed a real vacation. Not only did he rent a comfy seaside cabin with a kitchen stocked with food and Sparky on a planet with a real ocean with waves and beaches, but he even sprang for an extension of the rental of my hover board. I wasn't sure what had gotten into Dylan, but we sure seem to have bonded on the last adventure. I noticed there were twin beds, but wonder how long it would be before they were pushed together.
I'd asked Dylan to come surfing with me. I could get him a hover board or a regular surfboard, but he declined. Never learned to do it, he told me. I thought those High Guard Cadets had a lot of free time to spend on the beach, with real waves and without the thought of Dragons chasing them. Can't believe he never learned to surf. Missing one of the great joys of life.
He uses the beach for a staging area for all those things they did learn at the High Guard Academy. It's a great place for all his exercises. He runs huge laps alternating between dry and wet sand. I watch him contort his body with various stretching moves, then tighten it with set-ups and push-ups with infinite variations. Doesn't he know how hot it makes me to watch him work out like that?
My recreational choice is slightly less demanding, especially when you have a hover board. You can fly out, just above the waves, and land in that mystery zone where the incoming waves and the outgoing surf boil and mix together. You're not all tired out from swimming out on your board. You're fresh and ready to become one with the waves, get lost in the pipeline. Get your mind off freakin' buff Dylan.
Like we ever had pipelines in Boston. The only time we had big waves was because they had bombed some harbor on the freakin' coast of West Africa. Some backroom crafted Nova Bomb that sent body parts ashore along the entire East coast of the America's. Even I wouldn't surf in that tomato soup, even though the waves were mighty tempting.
I look around and see several other guys out in the surf. Big gods looking a lot like Tyr in the with bodies in all the hues of the sun-kissed flesh rainbow. I wonder what Tyr thinks about me going off on holiday with Dylan. I wonder if he cares at all. He's been a changed man since he returned from that tunnel. I haven't gotten used to him. I miss the old Tyr. Miss him a lot.
Makes me wonder about Dylan's intentions, too. I wondered when he took me on the mission and I am still wondering. Is this a play for him to take Tyr's place in my life, or just a way of saying "thank you"? I do not read our Captain Hero that well. I am going to have to start trying.
I can see a huge swell rising in the open ocean. I push my board under the water, turn off the automatic jets and prepare to take this one commando style. Seamus Z. Harper versus the big one. This ought to be good. This ought to be freakin' fantastic.
The water breaks over my head and I feel as if in am under a waterfall. A moving waterfall crashing into the beach in front of me. I know there are not words to describe this sensation to Dylan. He's never done this, and there is no way to share. I am alone against the sea, or at least I think I am alone.
I happen to glance over my right shoulder and there is someone else in the pipeline with me. Someone else sharing this once in a lifetime experience. A small golden man with wet blonde hair. Doesn't look like one of the sea gods, but he is one hell of a surfer. He is smiling away, as if to say that anything I can do he can do better. I don't doubt it. I am on a techno-crafted hover board; he is on what looks like a piece of freakin' driftwood. He smiles over at me.
"Nice pants." That is what I think I hear him say.
I look over. He is wearing this freakin' piece of blue cloth wrapped around his groin. He looks like Tarzan in cornflower cheesecloth.
The wave breaks down and carries us into the beach. I see Dylan now relaxing on a beach chair off in the distance with his floppy-straw hat, cut-off jeans, big cooler full of beer and Sparky. I want to scream and see if he saw me, but walk quietly toward him. The other man walks away, down the beach. I notice Dylan's eyes follow me.
* * * *
I wanted to go out that night and Dylan wanted to stay in the room and play GO. Maybe I should have agreed. He might have gotten bored, we could have taken a walk down the beach in the moons light, walked barefoot in the nighttime low tide, held hands . . . That sounds romantic doesn't. But, No-o-o-o-o. I wanted to go out, so I went by myself just for a short walk into town and ended up with a freakin' knife at my throat. I can still see his shit-faced grin as I lie on the bed. My bed, alone, listening to Dylan snore. Some vacation.
* * * *
"Cripes, Dylan. I didn't know it rained here." I am looking out a window that is streaked with a yellow slimy rain. The beach is empty and the surf is flat. "Do you know how long this is supposed to last."
"Don't know. We don't have access to any weather communications. You said you wanted to enjoy the natural surroundings of the beach. No electronics."
"Natural surroundings that were supposed to include sun, and surf, and sand, and shells, and cute girls in bikinis." I throw that last one in for effect. I could care about such girls when I have this big hunk by my side, but a guy's got to keep up appearances.
"Don't see much of that about today. How about we put on some oilskins and hike up to the casino."
"Oilskins."
"Sorry, rain gear. My mind must be somewhere else."
"Not really fond of Casinos, Dylan. Why don't we just stay here? Maybe the weather will break."
"I hear they have a game of Photodots."
"Haven't played in a while. Don't know if I still have the old Harper touch."
"Well, if you don't, I just cut you off. You will be playing with my money."
* * * * *
Photodots is a remarkably simple game if you have an IQ of 185 and electronically enhanced reflexes. Basically it is like the old game of darts only the target is very small and you as a player control single photons to go through tiny slits and holes. All you have to do is realize that sometimes photons react like waves and sometimes like particles -- then predict when each will occur. It should be one of those things where the house always wins, except when people like me get involved. Instead of betting on a coin/toss I study all the freakin' variables and win big time.
Of course the Casino game is showy -- huge representations of what is going on at a sub-molecular level. I always attract a crowd. Today I have all the observers that I want in Dylan -- watching me play and my bankroll grow. Tyr must have told him about my skills. I remember the first time Tyr watched me, carefully studying me with those dark eyes, chin resting on his fist, a hint of a smile on those inviting lips -- how could you forget that. Dylan is more quizzical. But I know he likes watching me win, especially when it is his money. I wonder how he will repay me.
"Think you're good at that, don't you?" I recognize the voice before I turn around. It is the man from last night. The crazy one.
"Someone thinks so." I pat the pile of chips and rods in front of me and glance possessively towards Dylan.
"How are you on a more manly scale? Care to throw something people can actually see?"
I look up at the huge display on the wall. Most people don't realize that they are not playing with the lights up there, but with tiny bits of light.
"What's the matter, you blind?"
"You know what I am talking about Geek Boy."
"Darts?"
"Actually I was thinking knives." Before I have a chance to answer the same knife that had been at my throat just hours before is sailing through the air and embedded right in the middle of the target of the PHOTODOT game. It just quivers there. Strangely enough there is no response from Dylan or the others in the room. It has to be a hallucination not for the sharing. That really bothers me. I wonder if it might be going on at the sub-atomic level.
"Let's blow this joint. If feel as if my luck is about to change." I turn to the still unmoving Dylan.
"Looks like you won enough to buy us a good lunch. How about we try out the Ioliasian Buffet?"
I shrug my shoulders, walk behind him, and wonder if surfing in the yellow rain might not be preferable.
* * * * *
I spend the rest of the afternoon watching Dylan play Black Jack. He claims it is his favorite Casino game, but they don't allow people like me with electronic enhancement to play. It is awfully simplistic, but I am glad Dylan found something he liked to do. He doesn't win much; he doesn't lose much -- that's Dylan. I convince him that since I have spent all day just standing watching him play cards, we need to do something active. I suggest we go to a dance club.
The club is too loud, too smoky, too flashing, too. . . . the kind of place I really like. Dylan is not so sure. Dylan equals moderation. This isn't moderate. It isn't an ordinary dance club either. The men outnumber the women about five to one and most of the women are wearing jeans and flannel shirts and sitting around drinking beer and smoking. Dylan orders me some layered neon colored drink that tastes really good. Wish he would get one for himself, but he just orders a scotch.
"Aren't a lot of potential dance partners here, Harper."
"Picking is pretty thin, maybe the hot girls come later?"
"Then by the time the hot girls get here I will be home in bed, asleep. I suggest if you want to dance you find someone and get going. I'm not likely to want to stay here all night."
"But. . . ." How do I tell him I want him to dance with me? I guess it was a foolish wish. Hell, I never have convinced Tyr to dance with me in public. He doesn't like these clubs, so why did I think Dylan might?
I ask some cute little green girl to dance and we get up on the platform and start going to it. She is a good dancer. I am a good dancer. I wish they had some dance contest tonight for us to enter. Maybe Dylan would consent to dance with someone who had won a medal, or a few free drinks. I notice he is watching me dance. This is good.
The music gets louder. The drink seems to have made me really loose and in-tune with the music. This is really, really fun. I watch Dylan and only once in a while look at my partner. She doesn't seem to care; her eyes are glued on one of those jeans and flannel babes.
When I got dressed this morning I hadn't thought about going to the clubs. I am dressed in my usual drab cargo pants, a sweatshirt, and boots. Normally I wouldn't care, but it seems people are watching us. Hot people. Maybe if Dylan doesn't get the point I may see if anyone else here is interesting, a guy can only wait so long.
I look at my partner and her eyes seem to be focused at something over my left shoulder. I turn and look and he is there. Dancing alone. Without a partner. He's wearing these tight leather pants with patches on the knees and seat, two brown leather belts crossing each other on his ass, no shirt, and this purple vest made up of small square patches. Tanned and sun-bleached. Small and muscular. He is one good-looking dude, and he can dance.
I can dance, too. I step it up a notch, pull off my shirt and tie it around my waist. I'm tempted to lose the cargo's and dance in my boxers, but that probably might be too much for Dylan to take. I am sure the others here would like it. The music gets louder and faster. We dance, acknowledging each other's presence with our eyes and forgetting entirely about my partner. Then it gets slow and quieter and I what we have been calling dancing has deteriorated to stand- up sex. I know I am hard. A few moves of my hands let others know that, too. He doesn't have to do that; his pants are bulging on their own. Now it is a contest to see who can last the longest and cum the hardest, and I know I am going to freakin' win.
All eyes but mine are on me. I watch him. He gives me this little smile and closes his eyes. I watch his body shake in counter-point to the music. I win!
"Nice job," he whispers and is gone in a heartbeat.
I continue, letting the crowd watch me orgasm and feeling like I am king of the beach.
* * * *
"What exactly was that about, Mr. Harper?" Dylan asks with a puzzled face.
"What did it freakin' look like? I was challenged, and I rose to the occasion."
"That you did, Mr. Harper. But I didn't know that was something you did in public."
"You saw him, he was the one who started it."
"Who started it?"
"That blonde guy."
"What blonde guy?"
"The one behind me, he says he knows you. Says his name is Iolaus."
"I don't think I know an Iolaus. If I ever did, I don't remember."
Now he tells me.
"I'm going back to the cabin. If you want to stay, you can, but it's been a long day."
"I'll go, maybe tomorrow the sun will be out." I certainly don't want to walk home alone again tonight.
We walk silently through the rain that gives no indication that it is about to stop. I cannot believe that Dylan didn't notice that Iolaus character, and am beginning to wonder if I am seeing something that isn't there -- at least as far as others are concerned. You know, I wonder if that is what is happening with Dylan, whether I am looking for something that is not there, will never be there, and suddenly I wonder if that too belongs to somebody else.
* * * *
I am fortunate. The sun comes out and the surf comes up and I don't have to think about what a terrible mistake I made in reading the intentions of the man who after all is my captain. Dylan spends enough time on the beach to turn the skin that no one will ever see under his turtlenecks a yummy shade of golden-brown. People will notice the sun-streaks in his hair though. One night I even agree to play GO with him until he tells me that I am the worst GO player he has ever seen and suggests that I get some reprogramming done on my game base. I get mad, sulk and sleep on the couch that night, not even wanting to be in the same room with him.
The next night to make it up to me he takes me out to dinner to the nicest place on the beach. I have to watch him eat this slimy fish in a cream sauce that he claims he genuinely loves and drink one glass of this red wine that is so dry it makes the ends of my jaw hurt, but the steaks are tasty and huge. We get this wonderful gloppy chocolate dessert with nuts and whipped cream. We share one, which is nice, too. A couple of times our hands touch or our forks cross. I look for a reaction from Dylan, and of course there is none. Otherwise, it is a great meal.
I don't challenge Dylan when he says he knows a quicker way home, one that involves going down dark and narrow streets and wonder I might have made a mistake allowing him to finish off the wine and have a snifter of cognac after dessert. I don't want to get home that badly, because I know it will be the same-old-same-old.
I look up and emerging from the darkness are seven or eight men. Big men! Big men walking shoulder to shoulder toward us as if to challenge our right to take this route.
"We don't have any money, if that's what you want." Dylan says in a brutish way.
One of the men makes some comment about the fact that Dylan's friend, namely me, has a cute ass. That pisses me off. As horny as I have been all week I have no desire to hook up with some street thug. They have knives. I wonder if everyone on this fucking planet carries a knife.
Dylan is a great fighter. I've fought at his side a few times and after the last trip I feel as if I am getting better. We are badly outnumbered though. Maybe Dylan can handle three/four/five men at once, usually I can't, but tonight I am going to have to try.
"Hey, you! Yeah, you, Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb! Come and get a little taste of Harper!" I yell at two of the guys who are coming at us. Dylan gives me both a "Thanks" and an "Are you crazy?" look at the same time.
I search my oversized brain to remember Tyr’s self-defense lessons and my street experiences and the only thing that comes to me is a very strange phrase Anasazi kept repeating to me over an over, "When the mind ceases the action, the body reacts". I never seemed to understand it to the great ire of my Nietzschean instructor.
All thoughts however perish when I see two sledge-hammer sized fists coming towards my head. Ducking was out of the question so I do the only thing possible in this situation, I go down, sitting almost in a forward split, and bring my own fists up, hitting the Twiddle Dee in the groin from the best vantage point possible. The thug screams and doubles over in pain. I twist and fall backwards, bring my knees to my chest and then jack-knife them up, hitting my assailant up the head and sending him flying.
I hear the thud of a body hitting the dumpster but I have no time to gloat as the other one, Twiddle Dumb as I called him, charged with a roar. I am still on the ground, so I twist again and scissor-sweep bandit’s legs from under him. The brute falls with a loud crashing sound and I twirl around on my back and gain enough momentum to bring my legs down on his midsection. I hear the crack of the broken bones and Twiddle Dumb remains motionless.
‘The bigger they are…’ I think and flip up, off the filthy alley -- and straight into the hands of another thug. I forgot there were seven of them. Before I can understand what had just happened I find myself in a headlock with a mean-looking blade pressed to my throat, nicking my skin. Gees, that’s new, even that mad man Iolaus didn't bother to cut me. The thug mumbles something about slitting my throat but not before having his way with me and Dylan but I don’t really listen to him. I can’t believe I let him catch me like that.
Suddenly I see Iolaus appear from out of no where, and wonder if these guys are his henchmen. He acts as if he is trying to tell me something. He makes faces, flops his hands, hangs his head and acts like a puppet with the strings gone loose. I understand and in an instant I hang limp in the arms of my assailant, the only thing seemingly holding me up being his grip on my neck and his knife at my throat. He is startled and at this precise moment Iolaus grabs his hand and twists the knife out, a little more pressure and I hear the bandit’s wrist snap. He howls in pain but still holds my neck so I head-butt him backwards, the back of my head makes contact with his nose and I hear another howl and he loosens his grip on me. I slip out and watch as Iolaus dispatches him with a few swift kicks.
The blond saunters over to me and winks, "You did good, Geek Boy!" I mumble my thanks, not very coherent and somehow disturbed by his proximity and post-battle rush, but he waves me off. He leans close, very close and suddenly licks my neck, right over the Adam ’s apple where the moron nicked my skin with that knife of his. His pink tongue snakes out again and I clearly see now that he has licked off the blood from my skin. His tongue is a little abrasive, like cat’s and he swipes it against my skin and I feel a shiver running down my back.
He smiles his deranged smile again and whispers, "Just remember, Geek Boy, when the mind ceases the action, the body reacts." He winks again and the next thing I know he is gone.
I brush myself off and look around. Four of our attackers are laid out on the ground and the other three are high-tailing it down the alley in the opposite direction.
"Nice fight, Mr. Harper." Dylan says with a smile.
"I had a little help." I smile at him and wait for a comment about our friend.
"Tyr's lessons come in handy don't they? You held your own. I knew I could count on you to handle your share."
"But. . . "
"Don't but. . . Harper. Let's get home."
* * * * *
"Tell him to go on without you. We need to talk. Tell him you have to use the bathroom, he hates public restrooms. You'll catch up with him." Iolaus is back again, walking beside us. I'm certain now that Dylan can't see or hear him.
"I have to go to the bathroom, but we're almost to the beach. I can pee on the beach." I say to Dylan.
"No, you can't pee on the beach, Harper. Go back to that bar we just passed. I'll stay here if you want, but I don't think anyone will jump you walking across the open beach. But don't, for the sake of others, use the sand for a restroom. Didn't your mother ever teach you anything?"
I turn expecting my companion to say something pithy and smarmy about being right and there is no one there.
"Won't be long, but might have a beer. To calm me down, you know. Go on without me and don't wait up for me."
"Be careful, Mr. Harper."
"I will. . . . I'll try.. . "
* * * *
He's waiting in the bar for me. I use the restroom because I really do have to pee and would have used the beach if Dylan hadn't chastised me so. He has two huge mugs in front of him and that smile on his face. I take one, take a big slug and return his smile and his stare.
"Does fighting make you as horny as it makes me?"
I'm tempted to throw the beer in his face and tell him I have everything I need to solve that problem back in the cabin, but either he won't believe me and will laugh in my face, or he will believe me and take out his knife and cut me. Either way I won't be very happy.
"A little." I can smile just as hard and just as sweetly.
"Want to go fuck?"
"With you?"
"Why not? You can't tell me you don't like men, not after the scene at the bar the other night."
"I'm not particularly fond of men who hold knives to my throat."
"What about men who pull knives from your throat. I thought I made my point clear back there."
"Let me think about it while I finish my beer. I told Dylan I'd be there shortly, he might be worried."
"He might be sleeping."
"Yea, that, too."
We both smile and realize we have many things in common.
* * * *
We get a bag of dark beer that comes in big brown bottles and take it with us. The taste reminds me of my youth, one of my few good memories. I usually got a blow job when whomever I shared that beer with was done, male or female. Must be something in the hops. We drink it on the beach and of course we have to pee. We both laugh and get a chance to scope out each other's dicks while we're at it. We both have smiles on our faces, again.
I follow him to a cabin less than a kilo from ours. It is small and sparsely furnished; in other words it looks a lot like our cabin. Except that it has a king-sized bed.
Dylan has this evaluation system he uses on the Andromeda crew. Fails to meet expectations (like that ever freakin' happens.) Meets expectations. Exceeds expectations. Well his guy, Iolaus, he exceeds all expectations. Not only is he well built and well hung, but he's extremely energetic and knows positions I haven't tried before. He's got this whole collection of sex toys, some of which have to be antiques, including this little butt plug that transforms his cock into a freakin' vibrator. I expect this quick, wham, bam, thank you Harper and what I get was a night of free form frolic. I get to do things I never get to do with Tyr, like fuck him. We drink all the beer, and give each other blow-jobs.
At one time I close my eyes for just a few seconds, and when I wake up he's grinning at me.
"You've passed."
"What?"
"You passed."
"What?" I have no idea what he is talking about.
"It was a test, Harper. To see if you were good enough for him."
"Dylan put you up to this?"
"No Dylan didn't, I did. I said he belongs to me. I just can't have him now. It's a long story. You don't really want to hear it, but I knew you were interested in him but I wasn't sure you were good enough for him."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I can't really explain it, Harper. Dylan and I have been involved in the past."
"Like when. . . like before the black hole." I figure it has to be something spooky like that.
"Much longer than that. As I said, I'm not going to explain. I just happened to see you two when you were checking-in to the resort. I noticed the way you were looking at him. That's fine, Harper. He needs someone to be with and it can't be me right now. I just wanted to make sure you were good enough."
"What would give you the idea that Seamus Z. Harper wasn't good enough. . . ?"
"Well, I heard you were a slutty bottom. He doesn't need that. He doesn't want that."
"What does he want. . . or need?"
"He needs a friend, a colleague, someone who can hold his own and fight his own fights. Someone who can make him laugh. And. . ."
"And . . ."
"Someone who can fuck him now and then. For a big guy he's got a slutty bottom side, too."
"And you don't." I reach out and grab for his dick again. It is positively addicting.
"THIS is what he likes Harper. Exactly this. Give and take at all levels. Don't expect romance, but expect loyalty. Don't expect fidelity, and don't get too pissed off if he falls in love with some chick. She'll die soon enough.
"You'll swear he likes fighting more than fucking, but believe me, when he's done he's even more horny that we were tonight. He's probably back at your cabin with some porn and a big silk handkerchief. "
"I like the accessories here better." I smile and wonder if it is worth going back to see what he has said about Dylan is true. I would be more than happy to spend the rest of the night here, with Iolaus. This is my kind of man.
"I've got to say I like them, too." He smiles at me. "But I can't stay. This is our night. Now go back to Dylan, I am certain he'll be glad to see you."
"What about Tyr?
"Don't worry, he'll be taken care of."
I could spend the next few minutes asking about Tyr's future or kissing this man. I chose the later.
* * * *
The sun is rising over the ocean as I walk along a stretch of white dry sand with no footprints. I'm going back and I wonder how I got there. I only vaguely remember where I am going and wonder how many beers I drank out of that bag. I wonder what happened that night after I left Dylan. I probably will never know.
Dylan is on a straw mat in the living room doing sit-ups in his black boxer-briefs. He sees me, quickly stands and grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me to him.
"Where've you been, Harper. "
"Don't know. Think I fell asleep. Can't tell you."
"Can't tell me, or won't tell me."
"Can't tell you. Believe me, I wish I knew."
"I was worried." I notice that the worry is evident throughout his body.
"Not as worried as I was when I woke up in the sand. Pure white sand. No footprints. That doesn't make much sense does it."
"About as much sense as the dream I had last night."
"Must be a winner, if what I see is any indication." I look right down at his feakin' hard cock and then up at his face and smile. He's got to get the idea now or I'll know it's hopeless.
"Oh, it was Harper. I dreamed I was on a beach having sex -- with a guy -- a little blonde guy."
"Gee, thanks Dylan. I didn't know you cared."
"It wasn't you, Harper."
"Oh."
"No, I seem to know him from somewhere, but not sure where. But. . . "
"But, what, Dylan."
He pulls me against his totally hard dick and kisses me. Hard and wet, the way I always though he would kiss and the way I was beginning to think that he would never kiss me.
"You'll do."
"You bet your freakin' ass I. . . . . . . I cannot talk on my knees with a dick in my mouth. He'll see just how much Seamus Z. Harper exceeds expectations.
McJude
October 2002