My hands grabbed his head, pulling him into me for one final burst of sensation. “Oh, God … yes! Oh my God, I can’t take it. You’re so good.”
Jax kissed the bottom of my feet, one at a time. “Your feet still tingle when you come?” I looked at him through hooded eyes and nodded.
He stood up, picked me up, and laid me in the middle of the bed. “I need to fuck you.” He eased in, his blond hair falling in his face, his eyes burning with desire. “Oh God, I can feel you coming,” he whispered. His body was hot, his hands were all over me, and his lips were on mine. His eyes were feverish, his hands stroking my face and hair. “Rosalyn. Oh yes.” He fucked me slowly, his hands roaming, his sensuous tongue exploring, then pumped his hips quick and fast. I wrapped my arms around his back, his lips found mine and he kissed me greedily. I held on to Jax and when he climaxed, his expression was one of pure rapture. “Oh my God, Rosalyn, I’m coming. Really … really … hard.” He pulled my hair and then collapsed on me with a shudder and kissed my ear, my cheek, and my mouth. He buried his head in my neck and whispered in my ear, his breath hot. “You smell so good. Just like I remember.”
We lay in each other’s arms, our bodies slick with delicious sex sweat. Jax smoothed the hair away from my face and kissed me gently on the cheek. “Damn Rosalyn, you’re sexier than I remember. I can’t believe we’re really together again.”
“You’re not so bad yourself. Where’d you learn to do that?” I kissed his sweet, salty mouth, lingering over the taste of the ocean that I always associated with Jax.
As the storm raged, the wind howled, and lightening filled the sky, Jax made love to me again. He couldn’t contain his excitement and wanted to try out every single thing we’d ever experienced together.
He tugged at a strand of my hair while gazing in my eyes and said, “Hey, Roz, you still have all those sex toys?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?”
I swatted his butt then jumped up and retrieved my toys from their hiding place. Like a couple of kids on Christmas morning, we tested them out.
He smiled and kissed me again. “My favorite playmate.”
At one point Jax lay next to me, resting his head on his elbow and playing with my hair. “Are you okay?” I nodded. His finger trailed to my chin. “Look at me, Roz.” I gazed into his eyes. “Am I taking advantage of you?”
I lay on my back, my heart fluttering, a fine sheen of sweat covering my face. “Why would you think that?”
His eyes became misty. “You haven’t been feeling well, and here I am acting like it’s our first time together. Am I wearing you out?”
I sat up in bed. “You’re right about the fact that I’m not in training for this but—”
“But, you’re probably tired.” He sat up, our eyes meeting. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
My body wasn’t up to the marathon sex session, but I wanted Jax. “You’re not hurting me.” My fingers traced his chest. “I don’t want to miss this. My health issues have made me even more grateful for life. More grateful for sex. With you.” His lips covered mine and I fell into his passionate kiss.
We spent the evening making a sweet tangle of the sheets. Sometimes we’d just kiss, our legs entwined, Jax removing his delicious mouth from mine long enough to say, “God, I’ve missed you.” We tried each position imaginable, Jax bending me over the bed while he sank into me, Jax lying on the bed while I straddled him, my hair tickling his face as he grabbed my ass and worked that sexy cock in and out of me, Jax kissing my body gently from head to toe.
I forgot about everything that was wrong in my life as I fell under his spell.
We dozed during the night, and when we roused each other, he wanted to kiss and make love to me again. “Just let me look at you one more time,” he said as he entered me again. “Just one more time, then I’ll let you sleep. I promise.” I silenced him with a kiss.
When Jax finally fell asleep, his breathing slow and even, I was awake. I couldn’t rest from the excitement of having him in bed with me. I watched Jax sleeping peacefully, softly snoring, his blond hair falling over his closed eyes and I ached to make love to him again.
And then I finally admitted it.
I was in love with Jax.
I’d tried to talk myself out of my feelings for him and had shoved thoughts of him into a back corner of my mind where I could pretend that what happened between us didn’t exist, pretend like it was just an unfortunate time in my life when I’d suffered from a lack of judgment. I’d gotten busy raising Eugene, making him the center of my life. I’d nearly forgotten how wonderful it felt to have Jax’s warm, loving, caring body next to me in bed.
If only. If only there weren’t so many complications. I loved Jax. Maybe in another time, place, and environment, a place where there were no age differences, and no cancer …
I kissed him tenderly on the forehead, curved my body around his, and when I finally fell asleep, I slept more contentedly than I had in years.
Eugene
After dinner, I went into my room to practice guitar. Leo jumped on the bed, and I was petting his soft fur when Nelson called.
“Dude, you’re not gonna believe this,” he said.
“What?”
“I did some Google searches tonight, and do you know who Jax is?”
“He’s my mom’s old friend?”
“Well yeah, but the guy’s got loads of YouTube videos and interviews and junk, and wanna guess what else?” Nelson paused for maximum effect like he had the discovery of the century. “Jax Priest’s brother was Tyler Priest from Love Bone.”
“What the—”
“Why do you think your mom didn’t tell you that, bro? I mean, it’s kind of a big deal, right?”
I didn’t know why my mom didn’t tell me. It seemed like there were lots of things she didn’t tell me.
“Hang on a sec, I’m going to my computer now.” I opened my laptop and typed in Jax Priest, Tyler Priest and tons of articles came up about how Tyler had died and that the two brothers were from Point Loma and all kinds of other shit. I started to feel dizzy. “Holy shit, Nelson, Love Bone? That band is radical.”
“No shit. Why didn’t your mom say anything?”
I had no idea why my mom didn’t tell me. I felt super embarrassed, and all I wanted to do was hang up the phone.
“I gotta go now,” I said to Nelson. “See ya in school tomorrow.”
“But you’ll find out, right? Maybe we can get some Love Bone T-shirts or some swag or some kind of original promo CDs or something, right? This is huge.”
I told Nelson that I’d find out. When I hung up the phone, I slammed my laptop shut and went to my mom’s room to talk to her, but the door was closed. The couch was made up for Jax, but he wasn’t in it. I heard the two of them in my mom’s room talking in real low voices. I wanted to pound on the door and make her pay attention to me.
But then I decided I didn’t need my mom. I stood up straight. Screw her and her lies. She treated me like a baby, she didn’t trust me, and she’d been lying to me. Ever since I was little, my mom acted like I was a soft-boiled egg or something, like I’d break if I were out of her sight for five seconds. And I didn’t like the way she treated Jax, like he was some kind of best friend, and got all stupid when he was around. She thought I didn’t notice things, but I was a lot smarter than that. Well, she had another thing coming because I wasn’t her baby anymore.
Going back to my room, I opened my laptop and searched for the bus schedule from Santa Cruz to El Granada, where Mavericks was. If my mom wouldn’t let me surf, or go out in the rain without a raincoat, or talk to me about who Jax and Tyler were, I would find out myself. And I would go to Mavericks on my own and check out the waves. All I knew was I needed to get away from my mom. My internet search said that it took four buses to get there, and I could be there in about four hours. It cost $19.40 in bus fare, which I had in my drawer from chores I’d do
ne around the house.
I pulled on my sweatshirt, filled my backpack with some bananas, mixed nuts, and a water bottle, and then I climbed the step stool to get a screwdriver from the cupboard above the microwave. I felt like slamming the cupboard door closed and wanted to kick something, but I kept quiet so I wouldn’t get caught. Then, I pulled the metal box out from where I’d hidden it under my bed and put that in my backpack. My mom kept her secrets in there, enough of them to make her cry, and I planned on busting that box open to find out what was inside. When I walked out of my room, on my dresser I saw a bookmark my mom’d given me that said, “Number One Son.” I ripped it in two and threw it on the floor.
I took my umbrella, and when I got outside, it was raining cats and dogs, whatever that was supposed to mean. Some stupid thing my mom always said.
It was about four miles to the Metro Point Pacific Station, so I started walking. I felt excited because I was finally doing something on my own. Screw my mom. I didn’t need her and the way she babied me. I didn’t need Nelson, or my mom, or my teachers, or anybody else to tell me what was right. I was old enough to make my own decisions.
I walked down 37th Avenue toward Portola Drive, angling my umbrella in front of me to keep the rain and wind away. Wind shrieked in my ears, and the waves sounded huge when they slammed the shore. I’d lived in Santa Cruz all my life, and my mom thought I was too much of a baby to even go in the ocean. I would show her. How would she like it if I decided right then, in the dark, to just walk down the staircase to the beach and take a night swim? I kept walking though, because I was going to Mavericks.
It was about ten thirty when I got to the first bus station, and I had to wait about fifteen minutes for the next bus.
“Hey, kid,” said a lady who was about fifty pounds overweight and leaning against a shopping cart that was loaded down with crushed aluminum cans, wadded up plastic bags, and a ton of smelly clothes. “You got any spare change in that backpack?”
I glared at her and told her to mind her own business. She put her hands up and said, “Didn’t mean to piss you off.”
The bus pulled up, and I was off on my adventure. The bus driver gave me a look of surprise, I guess ’cause I was out so late, but I acted like I owned the place, walking to the back of the bus where I settled in with a man who smelled like he needed a bath and a nice lady who had a yoga mat rolled into a purple case, on the floor in front of her.
“Hi, sweetie.” She smiled.
I gave her a little smile of my own and thought things were going to be okay.
The storm raged all night. Every time I got off one bus to walk to the next bus stop, I thought my umbrella was going to blow away.
“Where you headed?” asked one of the drivers. She was a huge lady with a pretty smile. There was a school picture of a boy my age whose hair stuck out all over the place taped to the dashboard next to her.
“Half Moon Bay to visit my uncle,” I said, the lie slipping off my tongue.
“So late? Whyn’t you wait till tomorrow morning?”
“‘Cause he’s sick and … Just ’cause.”
She gave me the once over and kept an eye on me the whole time like she was memorizing me or something. When we made the next stop, she handed me her phone number on a worn piece of paper torn out of a lined notebook. “You call me if you need help, okay?”
I nodded, got off the bus, and stepped right into a mud puddle, soaking my Converse high-tops.
I dozed off during the bus rides, but I finally felt like I was doing something. I was so tired of sitting around and watching my mom smoke her bong and drink that poppy seed tea and treat me like I was stupid.
When I finally made it to the last stop, Coronado Street in El Granada, it was about four in the morning, and it was still raining. I stepped off the bus and, for the first time, felt like maybe this wasn’t such a great idea because my clothes were wet, it was freezing, and it was pitch black. I held the umbrella over my head while I listened to the pounding ocean.
I’d printed out a map that said it was about three miles to Mavericks, so I started walking. There wasn’t anyone around that early. I passed cozy houses that looked like they’d be warm inside. A light flicked on in one house, probably some nice mom or dad getting ready for work, and I imagined the families who lived there. I was sure everybody had a mother and maybe even a father who cared about them and trusted them and didn’t keep secrets.
I clutched my umbrella tighter, put my head down, and followed my map. Finally, I trudged through the town right next to the surf spot of Mavericks. I was surprised that the town was so small. The sky began to lighten and I saw a few restaurants, a hotel, and a buttload of fishing boats. I saw them in people’s backyards, in their open garages, and floating in the bay. The only sound I could hear above the surf was the foghorn, which blew like every five seconds.
My backpack weighed a ton. With the metal box in there, the straps dug into my shoulders, so I stopped to shift it some. My neck hurt, and my shoes made squishing sounds.
I finally made it to one long road where there was nothing, no houses, no shops. It reminded me of that final road in the movie The Wizard of Oz. Would I ever get to the beach? Checking my map again, it looked like I was headed the right way.
And then finally, just as the sky grew lighter, I saw a parking lot with a porta potty and a couple of cars: an old Ford Pinto with some dude sleeping in the back seat and a crazy VW van with bumper stickers all over it that said junk like Surfing Ruined My Life, Pray for Waves, and Save Trestles. I raced down the path that led to the beach, my backpack bumping against my spine. The rain, which had finally slowed, spat in my eyes as that foghorn trumpeted in my ears like a welcome song.
When I reached the beach, I stood there and gawked at the ocean. I was finally there! I raised both arms in a V and let out a whoop.
Glancing over my shoulder, up on the cliff to my right, I spotted that huge microwave tower I’d seen in movies and YouTube videos of all the radical surfers on big waves at Mavericks, so I knew I was in the right spot. In the ocean, I caught a glimpse of jagged rocks jutting up out of the water. A chill went up my spine, and I felt like I was in a movie myself. The ocean was angry, the water a gunmetal gray. But there weren’t any big waves so far as I could tell, and in fact, the waves were coming in sideways. That was bizarre.
The air was salty, and a cold wind sliced through my jeans. But I’d made it all this way on my own without anyone to help me, and I felt like celebrating.
My tennis shoes were soaking wet with sand sticking to them as I moseyed across the beach. I sat down, took a banana out of my backpack, and enjoyed my breakfast. Once I ate, I hopped up to find a rock. I was finally going to break into that stupid metal box and find out what it was that made my mom cry.
I’m not going to say that it was easy to break into that box because it wasn’t. I found a rock nearby that felt heavy enough to do the job. I pried with the screwdriver and pounded on it with the rock. Nothing. I jimmied, twisted, hammered, and beat the living daylights out of that thing until it was so dented I thought it’d break in two. Nothing. I paced in front of the metal box, scratching my head then went back to whacking and beating until I thought I’d pulverize the box into metal shards. Nothing. If only I had a hand grenade.
I was not about to give up.
I collapsed on the sand and rubbed my temples. There had to be a way.
Jumping up, I decided to find a bigger rock, but when I got a few feet away, a bunch of seagulls swooped in, attacking my backpack. Rushing back, I shooed them away.
There was this weird whooshing sound in my ears, like I could hear my heartbeat. My head felt dizzy, and I was so mad that I picked up the rock, held it over my head, and slammed it down on the metal box. It sprang open.
I must’ve stared at that box for a full minute. I’d opened it! I pumped my fist twice. Yes!
I collapsed on the sand and pawed through the box.
There were some photograph
s, a notebook—the one I’d seen my mom writing in—and a sealed envelope. I picked up the pictures. There was one of my mom holding me when I was a baby, a huge smile on her face. She stood on one of the paths by our house overlooking the ocean. There was another photo of my mom, Jax, and Tyler when they were younger. I squinted my eyes. It was really weird because Tyler looked a lot like me. Mom wore a pair of blue jeans and some kind of skimpy tank top, her hair long and crazy. Jax stood to her right wearing a pair of board shorts and no shirt, his smile making him look like he’d won the lottery. His messy hair was almost white from the sun, and even though he was a teenager, he already had a pro-surfer body, all hulked up and junk. Tyler was on my mom’s left. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, and had long chocolaty hair and a big grin.
There was another photo of my mom sitting on a sofa with a dark-haired lady and a man who looked a lot like Jax. I turned that photo over. Someone had written: Rosalyn, Lydia and Troy, Point Loma, 2001.
I rifled through the box and grabbed the envelope, tearing it open. The letter was in my mom’s handwriting, and it was addressed to me. I didn’t want to act like a baby and cry, but I could feel tears welling up as I read.
Dear Eugene,
If you’re reading this letter it means that we’ve already had our talk and that I’m gone now. Sweetie, this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do, and I would do anything to change the outcome, but I really did try to do everything the doctors told me to cure my cancer, and nothing seemed to work.
I want you to know how much I love you, how much I wish that things could have turned out differently, and how extremely proud I am that I got to be your mom. When you were born and I looked into your eyes, I fell in love, and I never stopped loving you one second of the whole time we were together.
Pleasure Point: The Complete Series Page 50
