by Noah Harris
“Oh! That’s simple enough.”
“You’ll learn more as we go along. Again, it won’t be exactly the same. But it’ll be fun. You wanna try pitching or catching?” Barry asked.
“I want to pitch.”
“Nothing new here, folks.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” Barry chuckled, dismissing his little joke with a wave of his hand as he guided Xanathen to the pile of sand he called the pitcher’s mound. “So, you’re gonna toss the ball, a coconut, at me. Alright?”
Barry ambled onto the home plate and jumped out of the way as a coconut sailed right past his stomach. He grumbled and instructed Xanathen to wait and let him get ready to hit it first. Barry held the large branch over his shoulders and stood in position, ready to swing. He nodded and watched as Xanathen threw the furry coconut in his direction. He swung the branch and sent the coconut flying into the air with a hollow crack! Immediately, he dropped the branch, letting himself tear down the bases. Xanathen just stood there and watched as Barry ran.
“What are you doing? You gotta catch it and tag me!” Barry instructed as he ran.
Xanathen began to run for the coconut as Barry tore into second base. By the time he had gotten it, Barry was rounding third and was soon at home base. Xanathen tapped him in the side with the coconut expectantly.
“Okay, yeah, like that. Except I already made it to home base. So I would’ve gotten a point. Here. Lemme try pitching. It might be easier to learn that way,” Barry lectured. He shook his head and put the branch in Xanathen’s hands. Standing behind him, Barry spread Xanathen’s legs apart to make a proper stance. Wrapping himself around the dark, muscular body, Barry corrected the arms, placing his face on the broad back. He guided Xanathen’s arms and moved both their bodies in tandem, gently demonstrating the proper way to swing. Their bodies soon became one as they held each other closer, gripping the large branch and letting their bodies grind into each other as they flowed through the swinging motion.
“That’s how you swing. Okay?”
“Yes, I rather liked that,” Xanathen smiled, as he locked eyes with Barry.
“Well, just remember that when you’re swinging,”
Barry made his way to the pitcher’s mound and grabbed a coconut. He internally winced at the size of it. Too big for a proper game, but hey, it was better than nothing. He began to wind himself up and tossed the coconut fiercely in a straight line, right towards Xanathen. It tore right past him as he stood there vacantly. They tried again, the second time resulting in a swing, but still no results other than Xanathen’s firm muscles moving and twisting as he swung. They continued to toss and swing until at last the hard side of the branch met the skin of the coconut with an earth shattering impact. The shell of the coconut swelled as it hit and burst in an explosion of milk that splattered over everything, including Xanathen.
The two stood there, stunned, though Barry knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. Xanathen however just stood there, slightly unsure of what to do.
“Just...just run. That’s a home run,” Barry said.
Xanathen bounded across the bases, pumping his leg muscles as he ran from one rock to the next. He tore around the bases not once, but several times, until Barry told him it was enough. They stayed around their makeshift diamond and continued to play, showing off their muscles, letting them flex on display as they tossed the coconuts as hard as they could and swung the branch like major leaguers.
Memories of the game came flooding back to Barry each time he tossed the coconut to Xanathen and went racing out to catch the ones that didn’t crack into pieces upon impact. The nostalgic feeling was warm and familiar. In a way, it almost felt like he was back home again, back on the baseball field with the bright lights shining down on him, as his parents hollered loudly from the bleachers. Each throw brought him just a little bit closer to home, even if it was just in his heart.
Then again, as he tossed the ball around with Xanathen, he felt himself growing closer to him. Even if it was an entire day of teaching him the rules and guiding him through the game, only to change the rules to fit two people, it still brought a smile to Barry’s face. Xanathen listened to what he said and tried his best to play the game. The way he threw himself into it showed that he was enjoying it. They both laughed heartily as they ran and tossed coconuts, peacocking their physical prowess while enjoying the sport. He felt like this was a great day, one he’d never forget.
As the day wound down to a close, they grew weary of the game and made their way back to the cave. Though they had grown tired of playing baseball, Xanathen still seemed more than willing to go around the bases one more time with Barry. As Xanathen’s lips pressed against his neck and his hands caressed his smooth torso, Barry agreed to going past third, and perhaps even all the way home.
Chapter 7
Xanathen’s strong arms wrapped around Barry’s waist, pulling him in closer. He snickered as he planted his lips hungrily on Barry’s cheek and quickly moved down his neck. As Xanathen held him close, and covered him with small sensual kisses, Barry wriggled and shrieked within the big man’s embrace.
“Stop it, I’m ticklish!” Barry squealed, suppressing a hardy laugh.
This didn’t stop Xanathen at all, in fact, if anything it drove him to put even more effort into it, holding Barry closer and playing teasingly with his delicate white throat. Barry couldn’t resist and laughed, kicking his legs frantically in the grotto’s water as he felt Xanathen’s tongue grace his throat. He took a deep breath and broke away from Xanathen’s grasp, swimming away to the other side of the little pool of water.
“Dammit, I said stop! You know I hate being tickled,” Barry protested from the other side with a scowl.
“I know,” Xanathen replied, his face beaming with a large grin, “That’s why I find it so much fun.”
“I can’t breathe!”
“But you’re laughing!”
“I can’t help it! That literally forces me to laugh!”
Xanathen considered Barry’s words, and seeing the look on his face, it was clear he was serious. Swimming over to Barry’s side, Xanathen wrapped him in a warm embrace. Despite Barry’s pouting, the larger man nuzzled their faces together apologetically. Barry tried his best to remain upset, and as soon as he looked into Xanathen’s eyes, he couldn’t resist a small smile. He chuckled and nuzzled back as he placed a hand on Xanathen’s cheek and pulled him in for a kiss on the lips.
As they swam together in the vibrant blue lagoon, Barry still couldn’t believe that this was his life now. With every passionate kiss they shared, there was always a small part of him that believed it was a dream. It all felt so perfect, there seemed no way it could possibly be real. Even though he woke up every day held in those muscular arms, he sometimes still couldn’t believe it wasn’t all a dream. Stranded in a tropical paradise with a man who made every part of his body melt, wasn’t among the ways he’d imagined his life would go. Not that he was complaining…it was almost perfect.
As their lips parted, Xanathen gave him a smoldering, expectant look filled with burning desire. Barry laughed softly as he read the look in those eyes, but went mute as his line of sight drifted from the man who stood before him, drenched in the cool waters of the lagoon, to the cloudy horizon over the sea. As always, the distance was shrouded in the tumbling gray haze that seemed to separate him from the rest of the world. The mist hung heavily on the gentle blue waves. Barry’s heart sank at the sight, and the happy thoughts of what was to come with Xanathen seemed to fade from his mind and float away into the cloudy gray horizon. He seemed stuck on the low clouds that hung there, momentarily mesmerized, until he felt Xanathen’s nose press into the side of his face.
“Are you playing hard to get?” Xanathen asked smoothly, letting his hot breath wash over Barry’s chilled skin.
“Hm? Oh. Uh. Sorry,” Barry replied, as he quickly snapped himself out of it and devoted his full attention to Xanathen.
Xanath
en tilted his head curiously as he examined Barry’s reaction, “You seem distracted lately.”
“I guess I am.”
“Nonsense. There should only be one thing on your mind,” he teased, as he gently wrapped his hand around Barry’s dick and began to stroke it tenderly under the water.
“Stop it, I’m not in the mood right now,” Barry replied, turning away.
Xanathen released his penis and stood there, dejected and confused. His thick brow arched as he stood silently in the moment. He took a slight step back, letting the water splash around him and leaning back as if he had been punched in the face. His ego seemed to shatter into pieces and fall into the water, washing away in many directions.
“But...you’re always in the mood for an afternoon of lovemaking,” Xanathen said softly, clearly confused and hurt.
“Xanathen, please. I’m just not feeling it.”
“I—”
Barry pecked Xanathen warmly on the cheek before pulling himself out of the water. Stunned and nearly catatonic, Xanathen stood there waist-deep in the dazzling cerulean waters. Their clothes were nowhere to be found, as they had grown so accustomed to traversing the island together wearing nothing but smiles. Water dripped down Barry’s body, his blond hair glistened and the drips traced their way down his now detailed stomach, pooling onto the grass below his feet.
“I’m gonna go for a walk,” Barry said, looking back at Xanathen.
“Oh, excellent idea! I’ll—”
“No, I uh, was thinking of going by myself, if you don’t mind.”
Xanathen’s face twisted with a puzzled expression, looking continuously at Barry for more answers, but getting none in return. His sharp teeth bit down quizzically on his thin dark lips, his golden eyes fixed on Barry. Barry smiled warmly in return before he turned away.
“I’ll see you in a little bit…please don’t be upset.” As Barry walked out of the clearing, Xanathen remained frozen in confusion, his eyes wide with pain.
Barry strode through the forest and across the sandy beaches in comfortable silence. As he walked, he took in the scenery that surrounded him, mentally noting all the places he and Xanathen had conquered in a fit of passionate sex, over the course of the months. He chuckled as he walked past the tall palm trees and remembered gripping the trunk tightly as Xanathen bent him over and thrust into him with abandon. The rocks that the ocean waves crashed against stirred more familiar memories as he thought of the almost perfect timing when he erupted with an orgasm just as a large wave crested against the black rocks. Of course the long, winding beach was filled with places where they’d had frenzied trysts, where their bodies had tangled with one another, and where the uncomfortable sensation of sand was everywhere it shouldn’t be. The beach always seemed like the perfect place in the heat of the moment. Like clockwork, however, the two would soon be grumbling about the grainy sand getting everywhere they didn’t want it to be. He chuckled as he thought of all those moments, thoughts of surrendering themselves to the white-hot desire that flamed inside them daily. Every loving thrust to every long exchange under the moonlight was treasured in Barry’s heart.
Though he was enjoying the silence of being on his own, even if only for a short while, there was also a bit of a cool, liberating breeze born of not constantly being a slave to his own temptation and desire for a time. It seemed like it had been ages since he had a thought that wasn’t a savage desire of the flesh. Xanathen brought that out in him. Every part of every muscle that moved on the big beautiful man, looked like it was made just to drive his libido through the roof.
His mind wandered of its own volition and traveled far out to the mist that hung in the distance. He focused his gaze on it. The more he stared at it, the more he felt a loneliness eating away at his chest. There was something he was missing from all of this, something long neglected and withered away inside of him. But even as he stared out to the horizon, letting his mind wander away from Xanathen’s sculpted body and the hot rumbling sound of his voice, he still couldn’t put his finger on it. It almost seemed like a lost memory, something he once felt so strongly, but now could barely remember. But what it might be he could not fathom. The more he focused on the transparent outline of that thought, the heavier his steps became. A nearly tripped over a rock, and he stopped to inspect not just the one, but all of them carefully arranged on the shore.
HELP ME.
His eyes opened wide in realization as he plopped down on the sand, letting the message ring out in his head. It felt like he was coming down from the most enchanting high, and the sad realities of life came seeping into his mind as he examined the arrangement of rocks. He remembered laboring over this task on his first day on the island, all those months ago. The feeling of loneliness and fear came flooding back to him as he recalled being sprawled on the beach, and seemingly left for dead. He stared out at the sea in an empty stupor, letting his mind continue to wander through the memories like a vagabond. He could only think of the message written in the sand, begging for help from someone—anyone—just to bring him home.
Home. He thought of his home back in the United States. He recalled the apartment he had in Florida, only a short drive away from the beach. It was a one-bedroom apartment of moderate size, sports memorabilia decorating the walls. He remembered going jogging on the beach when he wasn’t on duty, keeping himself in the best shape he possibly could and enjoying the physical vigor of pushing his taut body to the limits as the warm sun beat down. He would throw himself on his little gray loveseat afterwards, letting his muscles throb under the cooling breeze of the air conditioning. He thought of his neighbors. While he never made an effort to be friends with them, they certainly weren’t bad people. A happy young couple that always invited him over for dinner and game night. He could barely make out their faces, but he remembered looking into their apartment and being astonished by the sprawling quantity of books they had stacked on shelves, piled on tables, and spilling over onto the floor. They seemed to be in their own enchanted world of swords and sorcery. It wasn’t his thing, but he couldn’t deny their passion, and their open friendliness made it always seem like a tempting offer. The laughter he heard through the walls made it seem all the more fun.
Instead, he would spend the time focusing more on his position in the Coast Guard. That seemed to be the only thing that mattered to him. He never wanted much, and the rest of himself was denied—heavily and without explanation—so he focused on just his career. He was determined to be a good pilot and show everyone around him the kind of brave man that he was. There would be none who would call him a coward, or who would deny his fearless command.
His mind wandered to memories of those he worked with. They were all decent people with a similar agenda. They seemed to want to help others and keep people safe, though without Barry’s emphasis on bravery and strength. Everyone else seemed more comfortable in their own skins, and went about their own daily lives. He wasn’t sure if he earned his place in the spotlight through his own actions, or whether his workmates own peaceful comfort just didn’t force them to constantly clamor for attention the way that he did. He even began to wonder if he was doing all that well. Was he just being an ass all along? Still, he remembered their positive attitudes and how they would joke around together, before and after assignments.
He continued to think of how long it had been since that fateful mission that sent his helicopter spiraling into the ocean. It had to have been four, possibly five months by now. With no calendar around it became hard to keep track of the time as it passed, and with Xanathen tantalizing him every day, he became too distracted to continue his own count. The more he thought about it, the more the realization caused his thoughts to turn grave. By now, everyone he worked with, or cared for, must have believed he was dead.
He thought of his parents back in Minnesota, in that old wooden house. Little by little, he remembered it all and let it drip back into his mind sporadically. So much came back to him seemingly without reason or
pattern. A disorganized pool of memories flooding back, overwhelming his control and forcing tears to well up in his eyes. He remembered the never-ending trip to Mt. Rushmore in the old station wagon. Mom packed fifty ham and cheese sandwiches, and Dad flicked cigarette butts out the window, all while the cassette player droned on, playing a book on tape. There were the years he played Little League baseball, and his parents cheered loudly as he rounded the bases. He recalled the awkward, outdated discussion when his father shared ‘the birds and bees,’ and how he wanted to hide under his covers in shame. He laughed as he remembered when his mother secretly bought him concealer, for those days when the zits were out of control.
Then there was the time he ran away for a month. The pressures of his parents weighed down on him with their constant attempts to make him into a ‘real man.’ It finally drove him into squatting in a vacant house in town that hadn’t been sold, or even looked at, in years. It seemed to him that everything he did was wrong in their eyes, and even the good, was never good enough. After a heated argument, it was enough to drive him to gather what few things he thought he needed, and run off. He could no longer recall the specifics, but he remembered the long pent-up anger reaching a limit, and their home erupting into long bouts of shouting and screaming.
The vacant house was dusty and empty, with only spiders for company. He slept on the cold, carpeted floor, and lived on food donations brought by his friends who would stop by. Still, it was no way for him to live. After a long, stubborn month, he sucked up his pride and went home. He was greeted with a loving embrace and forgiveness; though they still didn’t think he was right, they were happy to see he was alright.
The storm of memories finally became too much, and he broke down into bitter sobs as he sat on the shore, letting the salty tears sting his eyes as they flowed down his cheeks. He squinted and stared out at the misty horizon, letting the realization sink in, finally clear on what was preventing this paradise from being perfect. The more he thought of his parents mourning him, their only son, the darker the world around him seemed to become. He let himself cry it out for a bit longer as he sat on the pearly white sand. With this sudden burst of lucidity, he finally understood he couldn’t turn away from this truth any longer. He now knew just what he had to do. In the meantime, the grief flowed strongly and he continued to weep until there was nothing left of him but a tired, shriveled husk of a man lying sprawled out on the beach.
