George and Larry didn’t wait for hospitality, though. George was behind me and Larry in front of me, one stroking my back and the other kissing me. In short order, and almost without my noticing it, I’d shed my clothes and stood there, nude, between them.
“If you guys don’t strip down, we aren’t going to have much fun,” I said, in between my tongue’s dueling with Larry’s.
“Oh, we’ll have some fun,” George said.
There was something quite erotic, on the edge of dangerous, about my being naked with the two of them fully clothed. I’d exposed myself to them completely, while they had exposed nothing at all to me. I’d relinquished all the power, and that was a powerful aphrodisiac itself.
I felt Larry’s stiff dick rubbing against mine through his pants fabric, and George’s finger, magically lubricated, exploring my ass, and I gave myself up to the pleasure. Soon enough, both of them were naked, too, and Larry had turned his ass to me. George handed me a rubber and squeezed some lube onto my hand, and I began doing to Larry what George was doing to me.
In short order, we were making a Kimo sandwich. Larry’s hole was loose and slippery, and I slid right in. Mine was more difficult for George to penetrate, but he seemed to have a lot of experience. I felt the rubbery head of his condom-enclosed dick knocking up against my back door, and then in one strong push that sent waves of pain through my body, he was inside me.
He led the rhythm; as he pushed into me, I pushed into Larry. Soon my ass got used to the intruder, and the pain melted away. I had my hands on Larry’s prominent hipbones, more for balance than for anything sexual, while George was balanced enough to let his hands roam around my body, tweaking my nipples, cupping my hipbones, running down the outer edges of my thighs.
I shut off all thinking, opening myself to pleasure, and pleasure was provided. I felt incredibly connected to both of them, as if an electrical current that began in George pulsed through me and into Larry.
I couldn’t control the noises I made, and it seemed George couldn’t control his, either. They worked together until, with one massive push into me, he filled his condom’s reservoir, and I did the same with mine. We held the position for a moment or two, and then with a squishy plop, George had pulled out of me, and I pulled out of Larry.
Larry turned to face me and we began to kiss again. Then I felt George move between us down at crotch level, and realized he was blowing Larry, my limp dick nested in his hair. Larry came quickly, and then the three of us fell onto my bed, where we spooned up together. “Man, that was awesome,” I finally said.
“That was pretty good,” George said.
“You guys do this kind of thing… often?”
“When we find somebody we both like,” Larry said. “Not so often as all that, but occasionally.”
“Are you—together?”
George laughed. “Tonight’s about as together as we get. I like a little pussy now and then, and Larry mostly likes to get fucked—as often as he can.”
I didn’t pretend to understand. I loved what we did—while we were doing it—but I didn’t think I’d make a habit of it. After a while, Larry and George both kissed me good night, and slipped out the door.
I looked at the clock. It was just midnight. I could get some sleep and then the next morning… I suddenly realized. The next morning was Sunday, and my family was coming to the North Shore for a big luau. My room was littered with condom wrappers and lube bottles, my ass felt like it had been reamed by a beer bottle, and my nipples felt like raw meat. Jesus.
I hoped it would all be better in the morning, and went to sleep.
Luau
My cell phone woke me at eight. “We’re passing Helemano Plantation,” my brother Lui said. “We’ll be in Waimea soon. You got the picnic area reserved?”
“Shit.”
“You still in bed, sleepy head? I figured you’d be surfing already, trying fruitlessly to improve your surfing skills before your big brothers show up and blow you out of the water.”
“Rough night. I’m getting up. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Get lots of tables. We have a whole caravan here.”
“Caravan?”
“Mom, Liliha and Tatiana are each driving a car full of food. The three of them have been cooking for days—it’s like those three witches from Macbeth.” His voice turned away from the phone for a second. “Jeffrey, you tell your mother, your auntie, or your Tutu I called them witches and you get no Xbox for a month.” His voice returned to normal. “Dad’s got every surfboard this family owns packed into his truck. I’ve got a car full of kids and toys and so does Haoa. Harry’s back there somewhere, and so’s your friend Terri with her son.”
“Jesus.”
“He’s probably trailing along behind,” Lui said. “Get your skinny butt moving. I can almost see Matsumoto’s.”
I stumbled out of bed, into the shower, and into board shorts and a T-shirt. I could just imagine the wrath of my entire family if they showed up at Waimea Bay Beach Park and I wasn’t there with a batch of picnic tables.
Fortunately, the near-perfect surf conditions meant that everyone who’d considered heading up to the North Shore had gone directly into the water, and I was able to secure the perimeter of an area I thought was big enough for all of us. And only moments after I arrived, my father’s pickup, loaded with surfboards, entered the parking lot.
There was indeed a caravan behind him. Lui had recently surrendered his pickup for a dark gray Mercedes sedan, which was in second place, filled with Jeffrey, his brother Keoni, and their sister Malia. Right behind was Lui’s wife Liliha in her gold Mercedes, which filled with food and picnic supplies.
My mother drives a Lexus, and she and her load were sandwiched between Liliha and my brother Haoa’s panel truck, in which he had the kalua pig, fresh from the imu pit in his back yard, along with barbecue supplies.
His kids, Ashley, Alec, Ailina, and the newest baby, Apikela, rode with their mother, Tatiana, a big-boned daughter of Russian immigrants to Alaska who had floated up on our shores and fallen in love with Haoa. She drove a Chrysler PT Cruiser which was perennially loaded with kids, toys and various levels of debris.
At the rear were Harry, his girlfriend Arleen next to him, her son Brandon strapped into a car seat, Harry’s longboard strapped to the roof of his BMW, and Terri in her Land Rover, with her small son Danny. It struck me that we probably had every variety of luxury car on the islands represented, along with my father’s beat-up old truck, the previous beat-up old truck which he’d passed down to me, and Haoa’s landscaping van.
The parking, hugging, kissing and unloading seemed to take forever, especially with the kids all clamoring to get out on the water. Harry and Terri finally volunteered to chaperone the lot of them, and while the rest of the adults unloaded, they trooped down to the Pacific to check out the surf conditions. The littlest kids had boogie boards, but Ashley and Jeffrey, who were already teenagers, both had graduated to real surfboards.
I helped Haoa lift the pig out of his van, and noticed him wincing. “How you doing, brah?” I asked. He’d gotten banged up pretty badly over the last month, between getting himself into a variety of fights, and then redeeming himself, at least in my eyes, by rushing to save me when a bad guy was about to shoot me.
“I’m getting old, Kimo,” he said. “Forty. Jesus.”
“Cool,” I said. “So I can beat your ass when we go surf.”
“You never do dat,” he said.
“I’ll beat both of you,” Lui said, coming up to join us. “When we go surf?”
“Soon as we get rid of this stuff,” I said. Lui helped Haoa and me carry the pig over to where the women were putting the food together, and then the three of us dropped our shirts, grabbed boards and raced each other to the water’s edge, then out into the surf.
“Go, daddy!” Ashley cried.
“My dad’s the best surfer,” Jeffrey said.
“Uncle Kimo’s the best,” Keo
ni said defiantly. “You watch.”
“You don’t know anything,” Jeffrey said, cuffing his brother.
“Loser buys everybody shave ice,” I called, launching myself into the waves.
My brothers were always so much older than I was, Lui by ten years, Haoa eight, that I never got to hang out with them as equals. Even once I returned to the islands from college, both of them were so busy with their families and their careers that sometimes they seemed more like uncles than brothers, though I felt a visceral closeness to them whenever we were together.
For the first time that day, I felt like we were three brothers. I hadn’t seen Lui shirtless, in board shorts, since he was a teenager; my oldest brother is rarely seen without a suit, or at least a sports jacket.
Haoa’s more relaxed; in his landscaping business he usually wears polo shirts embroidered with the name of the business, khakis or chinos, and deck shoes or sandals. But I hadn’t been on the water with him in years, either. The three of us raced through the breakers, laughing and talking stink, as the rest of the family gathered on the beach to cheer and watch.
I knew I was the best surfer in the family, at least in part because I was the only one who’d kept on surfing, year after year, and because I secretly thought I was the one with the most talent, too. But my brothers gave me a run for my money. I remembered being a little kid, watching Haoa and Lui surf and being amazed at their prowess. Those feelings came back to me as I watched them both jump on their boards, catch waves, even do a little carving. They were both rusty, sure; and the waves at Waimea Bay, though nothing like Pipeline, were still pretty strong. But my brothers, like me, were Hawaiian to their core, and for us, surfing is like riding a bicycle; you never forget how to do it.
The kids on shore exploded into laughter any time one of us fell, and cheered wildly as we bobbed, turned and rode the waves in. We must have surfed almost an hour like that before we called a truce. “So who wins?” I asked, as the three of us trudged up the shoreline, dragging our boards.
The kids had obviously been practicing together, because with one voice, they shouted, “Uncle Kimo!”
I gave an exaggerated bow, and one of my brothers kicked my behind, knocking me head first into the sand. Immediately, all six of my nieces and nephews, along with Danny Gonsalves, were on top of me. Ashley and Jeffrey wanted a private surfing lesson, and then I had to fool around with the other kids and their boogie boards. It was almost noon by the time I dragged them all up the shore to the picnic area so we could start the luau.
I found myself in line next to Terri. She was wearing a navy polo shirt and black shorts, and when she pulled off her dark glasses for a moment I saw dark circles under her eyes. Her husband Evan had died just a month before, and the grief was still wearing on her. “How are you holding up?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I get through the days. Tatiana’s been great. She’s always inviting Danny over to play. He and Ailina go to kindergarten together. They’re like little sweethearts.”
“Good for them.” I smiled. “I’m glad you guys could come up here today.”
“I wasn’t going to, but Tatiana insisted. I didn’t want to intrude on a family thing.”
“You know you’ve always been part of our family.” Terri and I had gone to Punahou, a Honolulu prep school where both my brothers had preceded me, and even though her family was one of the wealthiest in the islands, we’d always been great friends.
“I know, and I appreciate it, now more than ever.” She paused. “I know that you’re working undercover,” she said in a low voice. “Harry told me. I know he wasn’t supposed to, but I was feeling so miserable about what happened to you that he thought he had to tell me.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I said, loading my plate with lomi lomi salmon, kalua pork, long rice and vegetables. I saw Harry coming toward us. He looked as skinny as ever, though his mop of black hair seemed to have been cut at a fancy salon, instead of with a bowl and a pair of scissors. “I left the force. I’m just up here surfing, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.”
“Harry,” Terri said darkly, as he arrived in line behind us. Back in Honolulu, I had counseled him to start working out, to bulk up some of the muscles he would need to improve as a surfer. After not seeing him for a couple of weeks, I noticed the workouts were starting to have an effect; his arms seemed at least a little more muscular under his short-sleeved aloha shirt.
He looked from my face to Terri’s. “Shit,” he said. “Were we not supposed to know?”
“Get some food, Harry. We’ll talk.”
Terri and I walked over to a picnic table under a stand of palm trees, and sat down. Harry joined us a few minutes later. Across the way, I could see Arleen, a sweet Japanese girl Harry had met through me, holding Brandon, all the moms swarming over the new baby in our midst. “What makes you think I’m working undercover?” I asked.
Harry looked sheepish. “As long as you’re not a cop any more I can tell you,” he said. “I hacked in to your bank account.”
“You did what?” Terri and I both said, almost simultaneously.
“I was worried you’d run out of cash. You know with all those patents in my name, I’m running a big surplus. So I was going to transfer some money to your account. I figured if you didn’t know where it came from, you couldn’t complain.”
“That’s a really—nice—sentiment,” I said. “Strange, but nice.”
“Once I got in—and by the way, your bank’s site isn’t very safe from hackers, any teenager could break through—I saw that your paycheck was still being deposited. But some of the codes on the deposit changed two weeks ago, and just for my own amusement, and to see if I could do it, I decoded them. You were switched from District 1 to District 2, on temporary assignment undercover.”
I shook my head. “Jesus, Harry. How many crimes do you think you committed just doing all that?”
“Well, if you’re not really a cop any more then you aren’t obliged to report me, are you?”
I sighed. “Lieutenant Sampson—he’s my new boss. He was worried that if Lui got wind of my assignment, he’d find some way to get it on TV. So I had to promise to tell everyone that I had given up the job and was coming up here just to surf.”
“I don’t know that I’d trust Lui either,” Terri said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Sorry, I know he’s your brother, but look what he did to you, Kimo. If he ran that story about you being gay without telling you—or your parents—I don’t think he has any ethics at all.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But I guess I agreed with Sampson, because I said I’d do it his way.”
“So your parents don’t know you’re still working?” Harry asked. “Your mother must be having a cow.”
“A herd,” I said. “New cows popping out daily.”
The three of us ate in silence for a few minutes. “Are you making any progress?” Terri finally asked.
“I’ve been learning a lot, but without a partner to bounce it off I’m feeling swamped.”
“We can help,” Harry said. “I provide the logic, Terri provides the heart. Together we’re a full person.”
“Arleen thinks you have a heart,” Terri said.
“You know what I mean. You’ve always been better at the touchy-feely stuff, I’ve always been better at the logic. Kimo’s always been the one who just bulls through and gets things done. We’ve been like this since high school and we’re not likely to change.”
When we were at Punahou, Harry and I were mad to surf, sneaking off every available moment to drag our boards into the water, ignoring homework. He was the only reason I’d made passing grades, though somehow he’d scored straight As and gone off to MIT for undergraduate and graduate degrees in computer science. He’d come back to the islands just a few months before, teaching a little at UH, fiddling with some inventions and managing the money he’d made on the mainland.
Terri had been the good g
irl, president of the honor society, homecoming queen, a straight A student herself. She had made sure we knew when our tests were and dragged us to extracurricular activities. It was good to be together with them both again.
I outlined the facts. “That poor girl,” Terri said, shaking her head.
“Hey, there’s two dead guys, too,” Harry said.
“I know, but I keep thinking that this Lucie is at the center of things,” Terri said. “I’m getting a clear picture of her from the details. She sounds determined to succeed, but it’s not just a lack of money that’s standing in her way, it’s her attitude toward money.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, sitting forward on the picnic bench.
Mahu Surfer Page 13
