A Year in Paradise
Originally a short story written for the Man Love Fantasies Winter Edition 2016, it kept going and will now be in a full length novel by Autumn 2017.
~ We had to write a 3000 word story for this picture.
Our next story was the Summer Edition 2016 ~ mentioning hot dogs, fireworks, apple pie, and a hot day.
Up next was a Halloween theme ~ and in Hawai'i, we have our own spirits that run riot on the island :)
FIREWORKS IN PARADISE
~ an excerpt from A YEAR IN PARADISE
and Mystery, Crime Fiction Writer
Halloween in Paradise
No Shots Fired—Another Year in Paradise excerpt
~ Duke and Marques's entire story will be out in a novel about Autumn 2017
I’m greeted at the door by my lover Duke in a pair of snug fitting, electric blue swim bikinis, his body still damp from the pool, and all thoughts of dinner disappear.
“Aloha! You’re home!” he sings out, throwing his arms around my neck and jumping into my arms, his long legs wrapping around my waist tightly.
Luckily I’m a classic Samoan shape—big.
“Miss me?” I ask softly.
“Hell yes,” he murmurs, one second before our lips meet in a fiery, intense passion that only Duke has ever brought out in me.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask, just to tease him, still tugging at his lush mouth.
“Sounds tasty.” I part his lips with my tongue and his dances with mine, sucking and holding, exploring my mouth, pulling back to lick my lips. Rocking his hips on my stomach, his hard length hammers my abs, and I groan with deep pleasure and need.
“Did you pick that shirt out yourself?” says Duke with a slightly amused look on his face.
“Yes… Why?” I say slowly. “What's wrong with it?”
“You look like the big mango in it.” He gives me a cheeky grin.
“It's not that bad.” I pause. “Is it?”
“Well...” says Duke, chewing slowly on his bottom lip. “Maybe turn the light on when you get dressed.”
“You bought me this shirt!” I say in protest.
“No I didn't. That one was given to you by Uncle Pahi.”
“You're kidding?” I feel a mounting sense of sartorial faux pas coming on. No wonder it felt a bit roomy. I've been kidding myself all day that I'd lost a bit of weight.
Now Duke’s grinning his impish cutie smile, and I roll my eyes.
“All Hawaiian shirts are loud. What makes this one any different?” I want to know. “I have another yellow one.”
“Yeah, but…” Duke pauses again. “It's the wrong shade of yellow.”
I walk over to the huge couch we have and release his arms from my neck, tipping him backward, his legs hooked over the couch back.
I unbutton it slowly and hurl it through the kitchen cut through aiming for the trash can.
“You still looked overdressed,” he says like it’s a big problem, grinning naughtily.
And I start laughing.
His knob pokes out of his swimsuit, the hard, slender shaft nicely outlined in the brief bikinis. My mouth heads there like a heat seeking missile to lick its smoothness. He wriggles and giggles until I yank the tiny triangle of fabric off. I rub my flat, smooth tongue over the head of his cock, then suckle it into my mouth, like an oversize nipple, running my tongue over the slit, wanting some moisture from him.
He bucks on the soft cushioning, his outstretched hands gripping the fabric as his ass levitates skyward.
I slide a finger into his mouth, and he soaks it in saliva, then I lift his ass, and lightly feather little rings around his sensitive pucker.
He cries out, “Yes, yes.”
I drop my pants and slide my boxers down to my knees, divesting myself of my side arm holster at the same time. Then grab his muscled swimmer’s thighs and bring him up so my cockhead touches his asshole. Mine feels swollen and throbs, heightening the sensitivity of everything. He gropes around, produces a bottle of lube, and I grin.
I drizzle the lube either side of his balls, and it slides slowly down to touch the place I want to be buried in. I swipe my tongue up his cock, and he grips my curls, pushing my head down onto his dick, fucking my mouth with his hardness. It bumps the back of my throat, and I push down my gag reflex, breathing through it, relaxing, so I can take him deeper. When he slides out of my mouth, he paints my face with his wet, slick cock. My nostrils get a good fill of his fragrance, and I clench my gluts, moaning deeply at all the sensations hitting my body at once.
He’s making high-pitched keening sounds, and my cock dances, bobbing up and down, aching to be sheathed by him.
Using the silky lubricant coating his asshole, I slowly work him open with my finger, letting him grip, then release it as I curl my finger inside him.
“Yes, fuck me. I need your big cock in me,” he hisses, running his feet down my chest, tweaking my nipples with his toes.
His powerful swimmer’s shoulders push up in a butterfly stroke, and I grab his ankles, kissing each foot before slinging them around my neck. Cupping his ass, I pull him up, and press my knob against his asshole before taking him inch, by delicious inch. The tightness around my dick makes me pulse, and each squeeze sends jolts of heat down my spine.
I’m driving his cheeks onto my ham hock thighs using his hips as levers, his balls are tight and smooth, the split line begging for a tongue to flick and lick it. His slender hardness is firm and silky as I grip his ass in one hand and wrap my fist around his cock with the other. Pumping him with my dick and hand, both of us whimper and cry out as I thrust into his tight hole.
I lean back slightly and watch my fat cock widen and claim him. My rock hard, brown skin entering his pinky stretched hole, the trimmed dark beard over his cock, in contrast to my jet black curly pubes nestling under his balls with each thrust. My arousal narrows my vision. Then he squeezes my cock, yelling out, and the cream spurts from his swollen shaft in ropey lengths, coating my hand, and pooling in his navel.
“Fuck me,” he cries out, and I do. Good and hard, rutting up into him, my cock pumping like a piston until the tug starts in my lower belly. An intense electric tingle explodes out of my nuts, spreading down through my thighs, and I shoot my load into him.
My knees sag, and he pulls me over the top of the couch. We collapse in a tangled heap, sweating and breathing hard. Sweet, tender kisses, nuzzling hot, slick skin. Just having my man pressed into my arms is a special kind of magic.
“Love you, baby,” I whisper.
“God, but I love you too. You’re my everything,” Duke says softly.
“I know I am, and you’re mine.”
His bright green eyes light up, and the freckles across his nose are asking for some gentle lips. When I’ve kissed him all over his face and nibbled on his sweet earlobe, I finally shuck my jeans and boxers caught around my ankles.
“Still up for driving over to see Pele?” he asks.
“You bet. Let’s take a shower, and we’ll get going. We can grab a bite to eat on the way.”
“I made a picnic to take but we can just get a snack to keep us going,’ he says.
“Sounds ono—very delicious.” And it does. We’re going over to Volcano to see Madame Pele doing her thing. I was surprised when he didn’t want to do the traditional Halloween stuff. Duke loves holiday things, and I had nightmare visions of being dressed up as one of the characters from the movie Moana. No surprises which one.
I stand up and pick him up in my arms, taking him into the bathroom. After another hot and heavy quick session, we finally get cleaned up and get on the road.
* * * *
“Why don’t you want to go somewhere and dress up for Halloween?” I ask Duke. We’d just got into this discussion the other week, but before I could have a good, long conversation with him, I was called out to an incident. Nothing too dramatic, this is the Big Island of Hawai’i after all, hardly the crime capital of the Pacific. But by the time I came home, we had other things on our mind, and it hadn’t come up again.
“Why don’t you?” he challenges me back.
“That didn’t answer the question,” I say as we roll along the Mamalahoa Highway, heading south for Volcano past coffee plantations, the trees laden with ripe, red cherry ready for picking, roasting, and drinking. We stop at Coffee Shack and pick up a chicken salad sandwich on luau bread which we split, and a wedge of liliko’i cheesecake each. One each because they’re just too good to share.
We munch our way through the sandwich, the bread is fresh and slightly chewy which I like. Chopped Mac nuts, shredded carrot and coconut, and pineapple bits make this bread an island favorite. Duke pours the sweet, tangy liliko’i syrup over the creamy cheesecake with its thick buttery crust and mine disappears down my throat while he delicately stabs at his with a fork, licking the tines, moaning happily.
Food is fun for Duke. I noticed this about him when I first met him and used to bring him bento box plate lunches on my rounds, looking into some burglaries we’d had. I shake my head with the memory, it brings an instant smile to my face.
“What are you grinning about?” he asks.
“You, and food, and meeting you. Best thing in my life ever.”
He grins, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. “Agreed, best thing ever.”
He settles down happily in the seat again, and I remember what I was going to ask him earlier.
“So, how come you don’t get all dressed up?”
He shrugs. That’s when I know he’s avoiding the subject.
“Want to tell me about it?” I ask. Everyone has a past, and everyone has baggage. You can either say it’s too heavy to carry or you can help them unpack it. Duke and I voted to help lighten each other’s load earlier on in our relationship.
He sighs heavily, blowing out some breath, and I wait him out.
“You know when I was molested…”
“Yeah.” We’ve talked about the feelings Duke has, and he’s done some therapy on it but he’s never given me the specific details. One of his swim coaches was quite together and took him under his wing, recognizing early that something had happened to Duke as a kid.
I reach out for his hand, and he links his fingers through mine.
“You know we used to live up on a big estate in North Kohala.”
“Well, I had some friends from school I used to hang around with, and it was easier trick or treating with them because there were houses to go to. Not like where we lived, there was nothing. There was a big group of us, but Tommy and I peeled off and crossed the road to the church to look at a gravesite that had just been freshly dug.”
“Morbid wee buggers.”
“Yes.” He shudders. “Although it was Halloween. We hadn’t intended to go in but then the old priest came out and started talking to us. He said, ‘I see you boys have been collecting a good amount of candy, would you like a toy instead?’”
Duke’s pursing his lips, tapping the fork against the plastic box in agitation.
“Of course, we were up for that. We were only six.”
“And there weren’t adults with you?”
“This is Hawai’i. People trust here. You grew up in Samoa, you know what it’s like.”
I nod. On the whole, it is completely different to the Mainland.
“We went inside his house, next to the church and he shut the door, locking it. That’s when I got creeped but Tommy was just looking around.” I gently squeeze Duke’s hand.
“’It pays to be safe,’ the old bastard said. ‘I’ve got the toy hidden under my cassock. If you lift it up, you can play with it.’”
My eyes shoot to Duke’s, and I’m lucky I don’t drive off the road. He just nods his head matter of fact, grimacing slightly.
“He lifted his dress, and it was bobbing away like a skinny white wand with scrawny pubes and an angry head. It looked like a big red lollipop.”
I grimace, Duke’s too good at “talk story” sometimes, and now that image won’t leave my head.
“Suck this, boys, and I’ll give you a toy. It’s like a Chupa Chup, you just wrap your lips around it.”
“Luckily, not that.”
I exhale a gust of stale air that’s been sitting in my chest, not knowing what to say.
“Well, anyway, when my father asked where I got the toy from, I told him. He accused me of lying and took the horse whip to me.”
“Shit, is that how you got the scars on your ribs?”
“Yep. The old man said, ‘Normal little boys don’t make up stories like that, Edward.’”
I just shake my head in disgust. I saw some things in Detroit at times that no one should ever see or have to be a part of when it came to kids. Career junkie families, producing children at an alarming, unchecked rate. In some ways, your brain glazed over for protection, otherwise you’d go nuts. It all came with the territory. But when it’s someone from a wealthy, and you’d think, intelligent family—part of me rebelled and riled in anger at the level of ignorance. It just wasn’t right. And I ached for Duke, my beautiful lover, friend, and partner.
“That’s when I decided I wasn’t normal and was never going to be believed. I became a renegade in the family, the outsider. In its own funny way, it allowed me to be my own person. I didn’t get caught up in my family name and all the bullshit that can go with it the way my brothers did.”
“Fuck. You were only six, that’s child abuse,” I say, horrified at Duke’s ability to turn shit into Shinola.
“Yeah, I know that now. My father had a short fuse and ruled us all with it. My mother, us kids. Being able to swim was my escape.”
“God, babe. I’m so sorry.”
“Well, you put a grown man with no sexual outlet and this is the fucked up shit you get. And most of the Catholic priests were probably molested themselves,” adds Duke.
“Yeah,” I agree somberly. The church and I have parted company over the years. In Samoa, you’ll see scruffy, poor looking houses but at least three or four massive, elaborate churches to each tiny village. The contrast always strikes a negative chord with me.
“So anyway, that’s why I don’t like sucking white cock,” he says with one of his naughty expressions on his face. I know he’s trying to close the subject for now, and I accept that. Sometimes we can only tolerate pain for short periods of time and in pieces.
“So you only like me for my fat, brown dick,” I say lightly.
“Yeah, and a few other fine attributes,” says Duke with a twinkle in his eye.
I laugh, and he does too, but it leaves me with some disturbing images and hasn’t added to my reasons why I must try to like Duke’s family for his sake.
“Tell me about your Halloween growing up,” he says.
I kiss his palm softly, and tell him about Devil’s Night.
“Halloween is half the reason I decided to become a cop. We were visiting my Uncle Tupou in Detroit. All night, sirens were going non-stop. He came home, weary, in a smoke-smudged uniform. He was a firefighter for the city and 1994 was one of the worst years they’d ever had—anywhere between 500 and 800 fires were set.”
“Fuck, that’s messed up.”
“Yeah, crazy,” I agree. “Devil’s Night started as stupid pranks, people TPing things, throwing eggshells, and shit, but in the 70’s it turned to arson in the inner city mostly. The city was in decay, abandoned buildings everywhere boarded up. It was creepy, like a ghost town after dark. My uncle took us to Greektown right in the city. It’s only an area of a few blocks with Greek restaurants and stores. But there were several beat cops on every corner. That’s what stood out to me the most.”
“That’s amazing,” says Duke.
“It was. Well, after that year, the city had, had enough. They organized the citizens, people volunteered and they still do it. It’s called Angel’s Night now and 40,000 to 50,000 people patrol the streets with local law enforcement and city officials organizing it all.”
“Shit, no wonder you came out here. That’s dark.”
“Yeah, it was. I’m glad I got shot, you know. Otherwise I might not have ever gotten out of there. You helped me see that. I came here, met you, had light in my life again. I was as burned out as the city. And felt just as empty inside.”
Duke and I squeeze fingers in a locked moment of solidarity, and his warmth touches me as it always does.
* * * *
We arrive at the entrance to the Volcanoes National Park, and the rangers have stopped manning the booth. But our annual park pass, membership badge on the truck allows us to drive in without paying the fee. This is the wet and lush side of the island. Huge hāpu'u—native tree ferns, drip with moisture, their new fern leaves wrapped tightly, ready to uncurl into a fully fronded plant.
It’s a powerful symbol in the Pacific. The Kiwis call it a koru—new beginnings, new life. The Kiwis have the fern leaf as their national symbol. Their sportspeople wear it proudly around the world. And a lot of Samoans are top rugby, rugby league, and netball players. Half the Silver Ferns Netball term is made up of Samoan New Zealanders. I look over at Duke, happy in his own little space, the window down, snapping pictures of the scenery. He’s my koru.
The sun’s just fading as we make our way down the Chain of Craters Road. Sacred, scraggly 'ōhi'a trees are dotted everywhere with their bright red lehua blossoms that contrast against the charcoal black of the old lava fields. Partway down we stop to look at where the road has been cut off by a lava flow at one point. Pele has no mercy. They keep moving and rebuilding sections of this road as she releases the slow moving, pulled taffy, ropey pāhoehoe lava down the hillside. No Parking and Road Closed signs serve as a permanent memorial, embedded in the lava as Pele flowed around them, heading for the sea.
We park at the ranger’s station at the bottom, the sea pounding on one side, and the old lava fields stretching out as far as the eye can see up mauka way—Pele building new mountains on the island. The plume from a lava tube dumping hot magma into the sea billows ahead of us. We grab torches, blankets, the ho’okupu, and the picnic backpack, then hike up the road about a mile to the best panoramic viewing spot. The sun has almost disappeared for the day, and we pick our way carefully out to some old solidified lava rock, then spread our blanket out to take in the spectacle.
“Isn’t she beautiful,” whispers Duke, sighing with deep satisfaction.
“It is beautiful,” I agree.
“Not it, she. Be respectful.” He wags his finger at me, like I’m being a bit thick.
I do know this about Pele but it always surprises me how matter of fact and reverent, seemingly ordinary people are about the fire goddess. She has a living, breathing realness to her, and is deeply respected here in the islands. Physically, she’s created large parts of the BI, adding new land to her every day. And emotionally, spiritually, her energy, passionate nature, and life force is everywhere—she’s part of all Hawaiians.
He goes back to watching the thick, mesmerizing lava flow down the pali. The cliffs have several spots where she’s flowing like a slow moving waterfall with an intense glow from the molten, hot orange lava. Earlier Duke showed me some of Pele’s hair. It was fascinating. Fine strands of glass that blow in the wind like cotton candy or fine, flyaway hair. She’s everywhere here, from the land to the sea.
Her energy and the island is slowly bringing me back to my own life force too. I’m not so uptight and wired all the time. Or angry. My emotions and feelings which previously flowed through my veins without an outlet, bubbling under the surface, now break out like hot, fiery, liquid magma flowing through an underground lava tube. When they hit the sea, they explode into fine particles of black sand—shattering the walls and tough facades I’ve put up over the years. And Duke—he’s the heat and heart in my core—my pu’uwai.
I don’t know if Pele’s my guardian spirit but whatever aumakua guided me here to the islands, I thank them every day.
It’s almost pitch black out here, other than the lava coming down the pali. We sit side by side with a light blanket around our shoulders. Duke pours us a Kona coffee, and I open up the Tupperware containers to see what goodies we have—still slightly warm ginger cake made with fresh local ginger root.
“Hmmm, this is good.” I groan, as he also offers me long, juicy slices of fresh mango.
He grins, slurping sticky juice off his fingers in a way that is far too tempting.
“Know any good ghost stories,” I say to Duke, and he nods solemnly.
“Yeah, come on, let’s put the ho’okupu out for Pele first, and I’ll tell you some things.”
We’d made a green ti leaf “basket” offering for Pele, placing some tobacco and red anthurium flowers inside as a gift to her. We find a spot that will nestle it from the wind, and Duke slowly pours a small miniature of gin over it.
“She’s a partier, our Pele,” he says, and I grin.
He says a respectful Hawaiian pule—blessing over the offering—and we sit in reverent silence to the goddess Pele.
“What did the blessing pule say?” I ask.
“Just asking Pele for protection, and to be respectful of people’s houses and land. Thanking her for our island and what she provides,” he says quietly.
“Do you think it works?” I ask.
“Yes. Often when there’s an eruption, and the lava flow is threatening houses or villages, a kahuna will do an offering and it will stop advancing on the township. In 1880, Princess Ruth Keelikolani knew she had to do something to stop Hilo being engulfed. She walked up to the lava flow and knelt down, chanting the old ways, offering brandy and silk to Pele, and it stopped the next day. Hilo was saved. They did it again for Kapoho Village in 1955 too.” Duke nods at me with big eyes, he’s so endearing.
“Far out. That just gave me chicken skin.”
“Me too.” He shrugs his shoulders. “But that’s not really scary spirit stuff.”
“You think?” I ask him incredulously.
Duke drops his voice into a hushed tone, “Here in the islands, we have the Night Marchers. They’re old warriors and they march with brightly lit torches, chanting, and drum beating. Rows and rows of men and women. They say if you look them in the eye, you’re dead. You’ll only be spared if you have an ancestor in spirit with them. They’re really tall and emit a blue light.”
My eyebrows feel like they’re inching into my hairline.
“Someone I know has seen them up on Mauna Loa, and he said they look like they’re coming toward you, but they’re really walking backward, pulling you away from sacred sites.”
“Jesus, I think I’d shit myself if I saw an actual spirit,” I say.
“I think it would be kind of cool,” he says, and I laugh.
“Come here, you. I need a cuddle after that spooky story. I hope to hell there’s none out here.”
“No, it’s not sacred land here. We’re good.”
“Thank Christ for that,” I mutter, and he laughs.
We have a nice kiss and cuddle, and I breathe in peace. My man in my arms, his soft lips always looking for mine. It’s a piece of paradise.
When we’ve had enough, we pack up and gingerly work our way back across the black landscape, the lava’s sharp if you can over on it. We throw everything in the back of the truck, and head back up the hill.
Duke’s singing to songs on the CD player, glamming it up, flicking his red hair and using my smaller Maglite as a mic, when he suddenly says sharply, “Pull over!”
I abruptly swing to the side of the road.
“What?” I look at him.
“There’s a woman and her dog back there walking, we need to give her a lift.”
“I don’t want a bloody smelly dog in here.”
“Trust me on this one. You do.” Duke’s eyes are huge and serious. What on earth is going on?
He hops out of the truck and shines the torch. “Aloha. Would you like a lift?” he asks.
“Mahalo nui loa, I would greatly appreciate your kindness. Such a kind service to give to an old lady and her dog. It is a long walk up the Chain of Craters Road. I was just returning to my home after viewing the fine display on the pali tonight. May I ask if you enjoyed it?” She’s an older lady but has a striking melodic voice with an odd, old-fashioned Hawaiian lilt and way of speaking.
Duke helps her into the back seat. She looks tidy enough in her white mu’umu’u, and the dog at least looks white too, and not gray or mangy. Her long, salt and pepper hair isn’t unkempt, even though, it’s loose, and she’s been walking in the wind.
“Can I offer you a cigarette or a nip of gin for the road? And we have a sandwich here for your dog,” says Duke, and I wonder what the hell he’s up to.
I frown at Duke, and he subtly shakes his head at me, reaching into the glove compartment for something.
“Here we go.” He hands her a hip flask of gin and a new packet of Camel’s.
Where the hell did they come from?
“No smoking in the truck,” I say.
“Marques!” hisses Duke.
I glare at him. “I don’t like the smell of smoke in my car, okay. Sorry, ma’am.” I look in rearview mirror, and she nods at me, smiling sweetly.
“That’s perfectly acceptable. I understand. It is better outdoors where Laʻamaomao, the wind goddess can disperse the smoky atmosphere.”
“Yes!” I raise my eyebrows at Duke in an “I told you so” way.
He half grimaces at me, and his eyes look wide and slightly frightened. Maybe I should have gotten the woman to sit in the front seat.
“Is your home in the Village?” I ask her, referring to Volcano Village.
“No, here in the park, at the Halema’uma’u Crater.”
“Lived there long?” I raise my eyebrows in the rearview at her.
“Oh yes. Quite some time.”
I nod. I didn’t know they had permanent dwellings by the crater. She probably means the camper cabins there. I wonder how she manages that. I thought they were temporary residences only.
Duke is sitting beside me in the passenger seat, looking more uptight by the minute. His fist is clenched and nervously tapping his lips. I’m not asking rude questions, for God’s sake. I haven’t covered money, politics or religion.
“Are you a custodian or something in the park?” I ask, hoping to find out who this odd woman is, walking around in the middle of the night, up the steep Chain of Craters Road for heaven’s sake. It’s the cop part of me.
“You could say that, yes,” she agrees.
That’s not a very clear answer. I open my mouth to say something else, and Duke inhales sharply through his nose.
“You okay?” I ask him, reaching out to squeeze his hand, and he nearly crushes my fingers. Jesus… Don’t tell me he’s picked up something on her I’m completely missing here. I casually drop his hand and tap the numbers on my weapon safe, sliding it open. It’s unlikely to be seen in the darkness of the truck’s interior. But Duke’s hand shoots out and stills me. I look at him, and he subtly shakes his head again.
“It’s okay,” he mouths.
While he and I are doing this pantomime in the dark, I haven’t been keeping a good eye on our mysterious hitchhiker in the back. When I sit back in my seat and look in the rearview mirror, I nearly swerve off the road.
“Ma’am,” I say, louder than is probably necessary.
I swing over sharply to the side of the road again, and flick the interior light on. She’s gone.
“Fuck,” says Duke, echoing my thoughts precisely.
How the hell could she have gotten out of the truck. I didn’t slow down, didn’t hear the door opening. Oh my God, did she jump? Where’s the dog? We leap out of the truck, and I run back down the road, frantically searching for her.
“Help me look,” I yell out to Duke who’s just standing there with his hands on his hips, looking oddly amused and grinning like a lunatic.
What the hell is going on?
“I guess she went home then,” he shouts out.
“What?” I ask him in disbelief as I sprint back up to the truck and grab my Maglite, and holster my weapon.
“Pele.” He grins.
I think my jaw just hit the road. It’s not that I’m not used to idea of spirits or ancestors roaming around in theory but I’ve never actually had one in the back seat of my truck, large as life—so to speak. And despite Duke’s earlier ghost stories, there has to be a logical explanation for this. I’m a cop!
Chicken skin crawls up my spine, and even Duke is rubbing his hands up and down his arms, like he’s been goosed.
I’m panting, trying to take it in.
“You didn’t put anything weird, illegal…in that cake you baked, did you?” I ask him suspiciously.
Duke rolls his eyes, laughing his head off.
In an attempt to process something real, I ask, “Where did the gin and cigarettes come from?”
“I always carry them in my car in case she shows up,” he says, pretty matter of fact. That’s when it really hits me that—for the love of all things holy—we just had a spirit appear to us.
“This has got to be the coolest Halloween ever,” says Duke, and I start laughing.
“Maybe we just imagined it,” I say.
“Both of us?” He gives me an amused look.
“Maybe there’s a hole in the exhaust or something and we’re having hallucinations.”
“Then where did the booze and smokes go?” he asks.
I shine the Maglite under the backseat and do a thorough hand search for them. He’s right. They’re not there.
I get another cascading run of chicken skin with chills up and down my spine.
“Oh, man! That was fantastic,” says my lover.
I’m not completely sharing Duke’s enthusiasm. My brain bounces around, trying to wedge what just happened into something logical, but fails miserably.
I put my gun back in the gun safe and Duke slides it shut. “No shots fired. Welcome to the islands,” he says, and I laugh my ass off. It’s become a bit of a standing joke between us. I’ve drawn my weapon once since I’ve been here. Otherwise, it’s just another bulky thing, creating sweat puddles on my body.
“We better let the park rangers know,” says Duke.
“Because when Pele appears like that, there’s often a big eruption. They should get the heads up.”
Feeling like a complete idiot and wondering if my badge will be compromised, I cautiously stop in at the ranger station with Duke, who tells our story after we rouse someone on the radio. I’m concerned there’s possibly an unwell or injured woman wandering around in the park. That yes, somehow managed to open the door quietly, throw herself out, and then shut the door as we sped up the hill. That’s when my brain falters to a screeching halt again.
Ranger Mark Amalu seems like a pretty sensible sort of guy, so I’m surprised when he says, “We’ve had another sighting from some young girls, but it’s good to get the confirmation from a law enforcement officer. We’re probably going to get a sizable eruption. She sometimes appears when she’s about to blow. And she was in a white dress, not her red one, you said? Do you give her any food or anything?”
“Yes, we had gin, cigarettes, and a sandwich for her?” confirms Duke, and the big, lean Hawaiian ranger looks relieved.
“Well, that should help,” he says, like this is a perfectly normal, everyday discussion. “And she had the white dog with her?”
“Yes,” confirms Duke.
“Okay.” He nods, blowing out some breath. “Let me call some people. Do you guys mind sticking around for a bit?”
After various discussions with volcano scientists, geologists, other rangers, and some law enforcement, we finally leave the park. I’m in a bit of a daze.
“Shit, babe. I didn’t think anyone would take us seriously.”
“Why not?” He looks puzzled.
I look at Duke. I’m speechless. I just know that if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it for a second. And I thought I’d seen some weird shit in Detroit!
Trial by fire—quite literally.
“Do you need a fresh pair of boxers?” He grins.
“Pretty damn close,” I say, and we both start laughing.
“God… That was…unreal.” I’m actually at a loss for words.
“I think I’ve still got some residual adrenaline pumping,” he says.
“Me too.” I flick a glance at him in the darkened truck, and there’s something feral in his eyes that sends a hot jolt into my balls.
He jiggles in his seat, and spreads his thighs, swiping a hand over his bulge.
“No teasing while I’m driving,” I say, in my best stern cop voice.
“Then pull over,” he says huskily, and my cock uncurls from between my thighs, fighting to escape my boxers.
Thankfully this stretch of road in the Ka’u desert is pretty quiet. I pull off into a side road, and before my seatbelt is even unlatched, his fingers are in my lap, stroking me through my pants.
“Want to make out in the back seat?” he asks seductively.
“Yeah, as long as we don’t get any visitors popping in.”
He laughs nervously. “I don’t think she does that. You have to pick her up. Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt.”
We scramble into the back seat and cling to each other. Now I’m coming down from the rush of it, I’m actually a little shimmery on it. He’s quivering, and I stroke his hair back, kissing him with slow tenderness until he slips his tongue between my lips and crawls into my lap. I hike his sweatshirt up and run my hands down his muscled back. And his fingers disappear between us to unzip my jeans.
“Lift,” he whispers, and I lever us both up, sliding my jeans and boxers down to my thighs.
After some complicated maneuvering, lots of swearing, and a few head and elbow knocks, he’s lost his pants altogether.
He grabs the lube from the center console and hand over hand coats my stiff, swollen dick in silky glide. Our kisses become fiercer, lips clashing, and tongues fucking hard. He fists our cocks together with both hands, and I clasp his ass, spreading his cheeks, working a thick finger into his pucker.
“Another one,” he whimpers, and I push another thick digit up inside him.
Now he’s growling, tugging at my mouth, collapsing on my neck. Nuzzling down my chest until he can latch onto one of my big, brown nipples. Each tug sends a sizzle of electricity down into my groin.
“I can feel you throbbing in my hands.” He moans, and I buck, wanting the action of thrusting, being buried in a hot, tight sheath.
“Please…” I beg him. My balls fill stretched tight and ultra-sensitive.
“Position me, baby.”
I lift his spread cheeks in my big hands and lower him onto my thick, brown cock as he holds my erection back in his hand, to squat on me.
“Yes,” I hiss out when my cockhead touches his hole, then pushes through the first sphincter. The tight squeeze, Duke breathing through the sting and pressure, then slowly bedding himself on my dick, gurgling with pleasure as I stretch and fill him.
“You okay, baby?”
“Fuck yes,” he cries out, riding my cock, ecstasy on his face.
I pump my hips up into him and he grips my shoulders, then my face as I fuck his mouth with my tongue. “Love your meat in me,” he whispers, sending hot lancing spikes of heat through my body.
His hard cock rubs my abs, leaving a slick of pre-cum down my belly. Now he has his rhythm, I wrap my big paw around his beautiful cock and grope his balls, tugging and feathering them gently until he’s mewling, crying out my name and I explode, shooting my creamy cum into him. Seconds later, he’s pulsing in my hand and spurting into my fist, coating my belly with his heat.
We’re both making high-pitched sighs and moans, smooching on hot skin, whispering deep love to each other.
“That was volcanic,” he mumbles.
“No kidding.” I pant, wrapping my arms around him tightly, caressing his back, loving him in my arms, and feeling the earth shattering love between us.
* * * *
Two days later, boiling lava shoots into the air and forms a lake in the pit of the Halema’uma’u Crater for the first time in years.