Honolulu

[thepnutgallery]

Ben had another tour scheduled, but it was early in the morning and all day long. They called, when he didn’t show. I’d suggested to him that he call them the day before, and they’ll usually just take a deposit instead of the full fee. He opted not to, and it’s his money, after all. We laid in bed and fucked instead, and I suppose that’s a better use of his time. We eventually hit the beach in Honolulu. It was a bigger city than Hilo, which was much appreciated. I’d heard there was a free shuttle to the main shopping center, but the nice Kiwi gent I asked about it just directed us to the bus. I had no problem with this, and was even quite pleased with myself for saving so much money. We passed a hop on, hop off tour bus on the way, and Ben bought two tickets. His money. We got off at the beach, Ben “put this turkey on roast.” I knew I had zero desire to lay on the beach doing nothing, so I went for a walk. I walked out on the rocks, then meant to hit the shops, but got stopped by a gent sitting on the beach. He complimented my abs, and I should have known then that he was drunk. Instead, I sat chatting with him for a while. His parents were very conservative “typical” military father, mother who wouldn’t let him come out even when he tried to tell her. He had trouble even saying the word “gay,” talked about a lot of old friends he hadn’t seen, and thinks he’s going to die soon. I gave him what counsel I could, but then went back to look for Ben.

Ben had woken up, not wanting to get burned like so many of the rest of the beach bums. We hopped back on the tour bus, and ended up chatting with the guide. He’d lived in San Diego before moving to HI, and asked where I lived. Never a shy one, I said “the gayborhood.” He said he was gay, lived with his partner and spent most of the rest of the tour chatting with us. I’m not entirely certain that I believe him, but I have no real reason not to. I gave him my card, for if he and his partner ever go on an Atlantis cruise, or to San Diego.

We met up with Sasha at Hula’s, though he’d obviously gotten there some time before us. It was happy hour all day, which meant $3 well drinks and $3 glasses of wine. I made sure to pace myself, both on account of not wanting to get smashed, and trying to pay attention to Ben’s pocketbook. Sasha had no such reservations. He tried to text a bunch of friends to join us, but it was just the three of us all afternoon. We caught a cab to go back, Ben in the front, and Sasha guiding my hand to his lap in the back. Costs me nothing to rub his hard on, and it’s not like anything was going to come of it.