by Rick Dakan
"Oh, you know you love it," she quipped.
She sat down between his outstretched legs and he wrapped his arms around her shivering body. "Fuck that was stupid," she said.
"What?"
"Wandering off into that fog with no shirt on. I got so riled up during the dancing I was sweating my ass off.
The cold air felt good for about five minutes."
He held her tighter against him, relishing the feeling of having her in his arms. "Why didn't you come back and get some clothes?"
"Oh, I dunno. I guess I wanted to look tough for Winston. He didn't have a shirt on either."
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"Yeah, but, and I'm just guessing here, isn't he kind of crazy?"
"Hmmm, that's a good point."
"If she'd thought of it my momma would've always said, 'no one ever got anywhere trying to impress a crazy person.'"
"Your mom sounds like she would be giving good advice if she'd thought of that."
"Yes indeed. She'd be cool like that."
Across the fire, one of the drummers had materialized a guitar from somewhere out in the fog. Did they have a car out there somewhere? Where did that come from?
"Oh!" exclaimed Chloe, "Andre's going to play! He's really great, we should listen." She was still shivering from the cold.
"You're still cold," said Paul. "Maybe you should get inside your sleeping bag or something." In the background Andre started tuning his guitar.
"Good idea, give me a hand and we can zip the two together - I don't want to give up the warming power of your body heat."
Paul liked this idea a lot. It took them a few minutes to unpack the two sleeping bags and lay them out together. Andre started playing some classical guitar tune. He was very good, thought Paul. He had an ease and smoothness to his playing that spoke of profound expertise, even over the most complicated chord changes. The pair of them wormed their way into their dual sleeping bag arrangement, Paul lying towards the outside of the circle, and Chloe snuggled up against him, closer to the fire. They lay there like spoons in a drawer, listening to Andre play and drifting slowly off to sleep.
Paul woke-up again a few hours later. There were unconscious forms in sleeping bags and under blankets all around the dying fire. Somewhere someone was snoring very loudly, and it had woken Paul up. He was cursed with being a light sleeper. Chloe was sound asleep, his arms still around her. That was great and all, except his left arm had gone numb under the weight of her head. He'd managed to develop a rather uncomfortable erection during his sleep as well, which he found vaguely embarrassing given that his lower body was currently pressed fast against Chloe's.
He tried to maneuver his arm out from under her head without waking her up, but no such luck. She stirred as he lowered her head to the sleeping bag. "Whassup...?" she whispered hoarsely.
"Shhh, it's nothing," he replied. "Go back to sleep."
"Issat you snoring...?" she asked sleepily.
"No, I'm awake. That's someone else."
She laid there for a few moments while he rubbed his pained arm, trying to find a feeling that wasn't pins and needles. Then she spoke again. "Whoever it is, he's really fucking loud."
"Yep."
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around a bit, moving even closer and rubbing her rear against his front. Paul felt rising embarrassment, knowing she must feel his hard on. That didn't seem to stop her moving though. If anything, her back and forth motions seemed to go on longer than was necessary to get comfortable. "What're you doing?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"With your arm? Is something wrong?"
"It fell asleep."
She rolled away from him briefly and turned so they were now face to face. "Let me see," she said. He held his arm towards her and she began rubbing it vigorously for a minute or so until normal sensation returned.
"Does that help?"
"Definitely."
Her hands moved on up his arm to the sides of his shoulders, squeezing them. In the dim light he could barely make out her features, even from only a few inches away. Her touch wasn't doing anything to lessen his excitement. He reached over and returned the favor, gently stroking her arm and shoulder and then moving his hand down along her side to her hip and back up and then back up.
"I like that," she said. "I like being petted."
"Me too," he replied, as her own hand motions mimicked his, mirroring every movement on him that he made on her. She shifted her bare foot forward so that it rubbed against his.
He slipped his hand under her shirt at the back, rubbing her bare skin. She did the same. He pulled her closer now, his hand roaming up and down her back beneath the sweatshirt, up past the bra strap and then back down. She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch even as her own hands broke their pattern and moved down to squeeze his ass, pulling them even closer together.
Paul took that as an unmistakable sign and the dam burst on their restraint. He kissed her gently on the lips and she responded, which was all the added impetus he needed to go for it, kissing her full force, tongue springing into action. His hand moved from back to front, grasping at one of her breasts and maneuvering it out from its bra cup. She moaned ever so quietly and then rolled over on him, straddling him beneath her and throwing off the sleeping bag. She pulled her shirt off over her head and he leaned forward greedily to suck on her one bare nipple, flicking at it with his tongue, which seemed to be just the right thing to do, given her enthusiastic moan. He fumbled with her bra clasp, and she had to help him undo it before she started pulling up his shirt as well.
They kissed with gusto as they fumbled out of the rest of their clothes, rolling back and forth on the bunched up sleeping bags and trying not to wake the others in the circle. Paul was in a near frenzy, moving up and down Chloe's body with his mouth, nipping playfully at her in between licks and kisses. He paused only once, when they were both fully nude, to wonder at his good fortune. She looked at him quizzically, wondering why he'd stopped, which was all he needed to start again. He rubbed the length of his body against her, one hand exploring fervently between her legs, the other cupping a breast as he suckled on it. Then she uttered those four, fatal words.
"Do you have a condom?"
Of course he didn't have a condom! Why would he have a condom? Who knew they'd be having sex? He hadn't bought condoms in months and months, not since he'd broken up with Jenny!
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"Um...no," he said, pausing once more. "Do you?"
"No," she said. "So we have to play nice." She wrapped one hand around his penis and stroked it a few times.
"But we can still have fun." She climbed atop him, her head towards his feet and slowly took him into her mouth. She moved up and down for a few moments of pure bliss before she stopped and turned back to Paul.
"Hey there, buddy, can I get a little help back there? 69 takes two digits, if you take my meaning."
Looking at the opportunity that was now literally right at the tip of his nose he said, "I definitely do." And he showed her just how much he knew.
Afterwards, both felt very satisfied, but also suddenly very cold. They untwisted the blankets and sleeping bags from the knots they'd worked them into and crawled back inside the covers. Paul fell asleep almost at once, a feat made simpler by the fact that the snoring had stopped. Had they woken the snorer up? Who cares, he thought, as he held Chloe's naked body against him. Nothing else out there matters right now.
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Chapter 16
They slept through the dawn, and Paul even managed to sleep through the rest of the circle waking up and packing up their things. When he finally did open his eyes, Chloe was stirring next to him, squinting against the white light that was bouncing off the fog from every direction. Was it 8:00 AM or Noon? Paul couldn't tell. He
heard movement around him, people walking though the sand and talking quietly to one another.
Then, out of nowhere, there stood Winston, beaming down at them.
He wore a blue windbreaker and jeans now, and had his long hair tied back in a ponytail. He was holding a thermos of coffee, and two ceramic mugs.
"You cats want a cup of joe before we go?" he asked.
"Um, sure," said Paul.
"Whossat?" murmured Chloe. "Win... is that you, you old hippie fuck?" She sat up and Paul noticed that at some time during the night she'd put her sweatshirt back on. As she let cold air into their sleeping cocoon, he wished he'd done the same.
"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" asked Winston as he poured coffee into the mugs and handed them over.
"Nope, but your mom seems to like it."
"Always with the mom jokes," the old man said. "What is it with you? Is it some kind of Elektra Complex?
Some repressed antipathy towards your own parents or a profane manifestation of your own inner need to reproduce?"
"Yeah, any one of those works. Plus you know, they're funny."
"Some would say so." He screwed the lid back on the thermos. "It's a conversation we're going to have to finish some other time. My little family here has to get a move one. Stay in one place too long and nothing good can come of it. Even a place like this."
"Well, thanks for having us Winston. It's always great to see you. And you'll remember that thing we talked about last night?"
Winston patted the pocket of his windbreaker, where Paul saw the corner of an envelope sticking out. "All taken care of, my sweet."
Chloe stood up to give him a hug, even though she hadn't got around to putting on any pants yet. "Thanks again old man. I really appreciate it. As always."
He released her from his embrace and smiled down at her one last time. "My pleasure. As always." He turned and headed down towards the water, although Paul couldn't actually see the surf through the thick fog. "You kids have a safe drive back."
"Where's he going?" asked Paul.
"It's none of our business," she said as she started hunting through the bedding for her pants. "Fuck it's cold."
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"I mean, like, right now. Why's he walking towards the ocean?" The sudden roar of a diesel engine answered the question for him. They had a boat out there in the fog, which explained a lot.
"Didn't I tell you they were a pirate crew?" said Chloe. "They're going to their ship, silly."
"They have a ship? Does it have cannons and a jolly roger?
"Well, by ship I mean motorboat. But you get the idea. That's how they do most of their moving around, in a little flotilla of small boats that travel up and down the West coast."
"Huh, wild."
"Speaking of which," she said, "We need to get going. Which means you should probably get dressed." Paul was enjoying watching her pull on her jeans.
"What's the rush? Can't we just sort of lie around here a bit longer, have a little fun?"
"Sorry there kiddo, but this is a private beach and we're not, you know, the owners. We don't wanna get caught out here with our pants literally down. Trust me, I've been there." She plucked his jeans from the pile and tossed them at his head. "So cover up and move out soldier. We're on the march."
"Yes sir," he said. "Where're we going then, General?" He played along, but he was disappointed. He'd hoped that last night hadn't been just a one time drunken/sleepy thing between them, and if she'd been amorous this morning that would've been a very positive sign. Instead he was getting signals that were, at best, mixed.
"We're going home. There's work to be done."
They joked back and forth as they packed up their gear and hiked back up the cliff side to the car. Anytime Paul even approached a topic dealing with sex or what had happened last night, Chloe deftly twisted the conversation in another direction. He caught the hint fast enough and stopped trying, which seemed to put them both much more at ease. As they packed up the SUV and headed back onto the road, they fell into a relatively comfortable silence, listening to yet more Ska.
"Why're we going home early?" asked Paul, a little astonished that he already sort of thought of Chloe's house as his home.
"Well, we lost our place and I got done what I needed to get done with Winston. Plus, Bee mentioned in my e-mail yesterday morning that Raff's been up to something and I want to be there to make sure he doesn't fuck things up."
"Don't you trust Raff? I thought he was, like, your second in command."
"Oh, I do, as much as I trust anybody. But we don't really have a 'command structure' in the Crew. It's not like I'm actually the captain or anything like that. We're all equal. Raff and I tend to take the lead in things because that's what we're best at. The problem with Raff is that he doesn't always have the best judgment."
"Is that why you've never brought him to meet Winston?"
She was silent for a beat. Not long enough that anyone who didn't know her would notice, but Paul picked up on it. "What do you mean?"
"Winston, when he thought I was part of your crew last night. He said that you'd never brought anyone from Chapter 16
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your Crew to meet him. I was wondering why you brought me."
"I don't really know to be honest." She didn't take her eyes of the winding highway, but she put a hand on his knee. "I guess I must trust you more than...more than I usually trust people. Winston's special to me. He's my little secret and the others don't know about him. I'd like it to stay that way. Can I trust you not to talk to them about this part of the trip? Not any part of the trip."
"Is this some kind of 'what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas' kind of thing?"
"Something like that." She obviously hoped it would end there, but he just kept looking at her, waiting for her to continue. Finally, she did. "There are things about this trip that the others wouldn't really understand. I've let you in on a lot. Let you into my life a lot in general. People will already be wondering about our trip. If they knew about Winston and, you know, everything else, there'd be some jealousy. Maybe a lot of jealousy.
So I need you not to mention any of this to anyone. Does that make sense?"
"None of this makes much sense at all. What do you mean you let me in on a lot? I don't know anything."
"You know more than you think you do. Or at least you've seen more." A note of frustration started to creep into her voice. "Can you just do this for me, please? Can you just keep our private affairs private? Is that so fucking much to ask?"
"No, no, of course not. It's fine. I won't tell anyone. Not that I was going to anyway. I mean, who would I tell?
You're the only one in the whole group I'm close to." He struggled to find the words. "It's just...It's frustrating."
She massaged his thigh and then gave him a comforting squeeze. "I know. I know. But are you having fun?"
"Yeah, for the most part."
"Well, just concentrate on that for now. It's a fun life if you let it be that way. Look at Winston. Have you ever seen anyone who loves life more?"
"He did seem pretty happy."
"He's amazing. He's my inspiration."
"So, what's his deal then? I'm assuming he didn't get started making scenery."
"It's a secret. He doesn't like to talk about it." They drove on in silence for a minute.
"But you know, don't you? He told you."
She let out a surprised snort. "Yeah, sort of. Actually I kind of figured it out by accident. But he copped to it."
More silence, Paul just stared at her. But she wasn't going to fall for it this time. "Well come on then, tell me the story."
"I can't. You think I'd do that?"
"Yep."
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could. I'd never betray a secret from a friend. Never."
"He told you that yo
u could tell me? Why me?"
"Not you specifically. When I found out he said I could tell whomever I wanted. That it didn't matter. His old life's so far behind him now, there's no worry. No one cares about his old secrets anymore. I think that's actually as sad as I've ever seen him, when he said that to me. He said, 'Chloe, when you live this life eventually everything you fought so hard to keep hidden becomes irrelevant. After a while, no one really cares anymore.' I still remember that like it was yesterday."
Paul didn't quite understand why that was a cause for sadness, but he wanted to hear the story. "Ok, so spill.
Who's Winston?"
Chloe reached over and turned the stereo off. If she was going to reveal Winston's story then she wanted undivided attention. "Of course first of all, his name's not really Winston."
"Go figure. Named himself after Churchill or something?"
"Close, Winston Smith from George Orwell's 1984."
"Interesting choice. Do you know his real name?"
"Fuck, I barely remember my real name. And no, I don't know it. But I saw a picture of him once, from when he was young. I recognized him. That nose and those ears maybe, I don't know what it was, but I knew it was him as soon as I saw the pic."
"Where was this?"
"It was in a book I was reading, about radical groups from the sixties and seventies."
"You were looking for inspiration I'll bet."
"Yes, as a matter of fact I was, now are you going to let me tell this story or not?"
"Sorry," he said, "Go on."
"Well, he was in the book. There were a bunch of black and whites in the center, you know how they do that -
put the glossy pages in the center. This section was on the Weather Underground, and there he was, standing on the streets of Chicago in 1969 with a baseball bat in his hand, watching someone throw a brick through a window. The caption said simply, 'Two Unnamed Weathermen During the Days of Rage.' This was right before they went underground, you know."
"Kind of. The Weathermen were, like, sixties peace activists or something right? What was their deal?"
