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.

“Me.”

“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.”

“Yeah.”

“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.”

“Fuck!”

“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.

“Why?”

“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.


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 :) 


WINTER IN PARADISE


Despite growing up in the tropics, I can’t get used to winter in Hawai’i. I’d come out from the cold, hard winters of Michigan where we didn’t see sunlight or even blue skies for weeks on end. But here on the Big Island of Hawai’i, it feels like an affront to my senses. Every day I wake up to sultry warm air, and birds chirping. The summer scents of ripe tropical fruit permeate the air, and the impossibly aqua blue water of my pool and the ocean is just outside my bedroom slider that opens onto a private lanai.


It’s paradise but I’m still wallowing in the “winter of my discontent.” I’m not ready to “hang loose” and go “native.” Aloha shirts and slippahs. Partly because my ability to relax has gone the way of the dinosaur. I can’t unwind, and take little pleasure in things that once had my attention. Yes, I’m burned out, slightly cynical, and tired. God, I’m tired.


I stand out on the lanai in my boxers and survey my new kingdom. The sweet but subtle rich, velvety perfume of plumeria trees in hot and soft pinks, pure whites, and golden yellows cloak my nostrils. They look so silky, I want to reach out and pluck one, nibble on its delicate flesh. I laugh at my fanciful mind, making up childish images. The islands of my youth, a place I’d played as a carefree kid, but that kid is long gone.


I walk back inside and open my closet to grab something for work. A multitude of black on black, and discreet classical navy shades with the odd tiny white thread running through them invade my closet—suits. I can’t get out of the habit, and I’m not sure I want to. I like looking and feeling professional in my job. It’s a point of pride for me. I’ve worked too long and hard to get where I am. Maybe too hard.


I don a subtle lightweight charcoal one and pick an attractive flame colored tie with subtle flecks of yellow and reds in it. Against the black suit, it looks like a long tongue of lava—Madam Pele’s hair flowing down my chest. I look good.


I run my hand over my shaved head and wonder if I’ll ever grow it back. There aren’t any visible scars to cover up but I still feel exposed to the world. And I still look pale and non-Polynesian, even to myself. I need a tan, something to make me look healthy on the outside at least.


Turning away from my image, I grab badge and cuffs, adjust my shoulder holster and slide into my suit jacket. All set for another day in paradise.


We’re investigating a series of break-ins. Expensive homes occasionally visited by off islanders. Ripe for the plucking in a way. Today, I’m checking on properties that are isolated to see if anything looks disturbed or out of the ordinary.


****


When I round the corner of the monster house with an unimpeded view of Maui across the channel, I’m surprised to find someone swimming in the pool.


I hold up my badge. “Detective Marques Tuisamoa. Are you the owner of the house?”


“No, why?” he asks.


“Friend of the family, relative of some kind?”


He shakes his head, regarding me with some amusement. “Why are you wearing a suit?”


“I'm Samoan. It's part of our religion.”


He laughs, his green eyes twinkling, a wild mouth shows expensive American dentistry and a sexy pink tongue caught between them.


I’m trying hard not to smile, surprised I managed to make a joke, dry as it was—and he got it.


“It's too hot to be wearing a tie. You should at least take that off.” Another puzzled look as if I’m defying logic.


The truth is, I am hot. But I also don't like to expose parts of my body to public scrutiny. It makes me uncomfortable. A bullet with flying shrapnel had made a mess of my collarbone and part of my neck. I’m aware of not having the body beautiful in some of the clubs I like to frequent. I have calves the size of ham hocks like a lot of Samoans but my chest is a mess. I’m ashamed. I don't want to let it affect my masculinity but sometimes I feel less than. 


“What’s your name and address?”


“Duke and around.”


I sigh heavily.


“Full name, full address.”


“Edward Duke Kukeakalani Dole. Hawaiian Coastal Beach Access, Big Island, Hawai’i.”


I purse my lips at his smart-ass answer. He doesn’t look like he has Hawaiian ancestry but I bet he’s a local, not kama’aina with that last name. Hapa perhaps, half Hawaiian, half haole. And possibly homeless. A good candidate for the break-ins. He’s probably camped around here somewhere.


But when I question him further, I don’t get the feeling he’s behind them. You get a feel for people over the years and this one just doesn’t strike me as a criminal of any kind. Other than the odd skinny dip in someone else’s pool. He’s young, early twenties maybe. Short hair with a striking tinge of red in it and dark eyebrows.


He pulls himself out of the pool, and I do my best to maintain my cop face. It's hard to, though, with what he barely has on. A pair of neon green bikinis mold over an impressive coil of cock and meaty plump balls. They're dragging his swimwear down slightly and dark pubic hair is tantalizingly displayed at the waistband. I feel myself responding and shove my hands in my pockets to tent my pants out and do some swift rearranging if need be.


There's a slight gape of fabric at his thigh, and my eyes are glued to it.


“You can't swim in here. It's private property.”


“Says who? There's no fence. It's not harming anything. No one uses it.”


For a moment I'm lost for words. He seems so sure of the logic of these statements.


“You should wear a lava-lava suit. Let your balls breathe,” he says like he’s been considering this for a while.


My brain busily dances around these images, and I imagine wearing a traditional formal pinstripe lava-lava sarong with an impressive erection tenting the fabric.


He adjusts his bikini, swiping his hand over his tasty looking package, and I want it to be my hand. My mouth. 


Duke grabs a nearby towel and dries himself quickly and efficiently, lingering slightly over his crotch. Rubbing his cock and balls with the towel, making them jiggle in the skimpy costume.


I breathe in sharply and resist the urge to lick my lips.


Like his namesake, Duke Kahanamoku, he has a powerful swimmers body. Heavily muscled shoulders. A solid, defined chest above ribs that look like they’ve been damaged at some point. I wonder how he can be okay with showing that in public. Belatedly, I wonder if it's why he chooses to swim in private pools. Away from prying eyes.


Intelligent green eyes regard me. Waiting to see what I'll do next.


“Well, you can’t just go around swimming in people’s pools that don’t belong to you,” I say, hoping to sound stern and authoritative.


“Why?” He’s toweling his head now. Then he drops the towel and adjusts his swimsuit. Cupping his balls, hefting the weight of them in his hand, snapping the waistband of his bikinis as they cover the pubic hair.


My mouth jets with saliva, balls tingling and already aching. I’m grateful for the form-fitting pair of boxers I put on this morning.


I can’t answer his question. “Just don’t do it again, there’s a whole free ocean there.” I point to the turquoise water gently rolling onto the golden sand beach. Then gruffly stomp off back to my truck, turning up the AC as far as it will go and spreading my thighs, palming my cock. The intense throb and need sends spikes of desire thrumming down my thighs.


Punk kid.


****


I keep running into Duke on the island. It’s not that big, so this isn’t that surprising but he’s got a knack of being around. I start to wonder again whether I have him pegged wrong. There’s a vulnerability under the casual, hang loose, da kine attitude. But I still don’t like him for the break-ins. The jobs are too professional; they know what they’re targeting.


We always have a funny conversation, and he always wants to get me out of my clothes but not in the way I’ve fantasized about.


“That’s a nice tie, I haven’t seen that one,” he comments as I once again catch him swimming laps in a borrowed pool.


I’ve given up telling him off because he’s rubbing off on me, and even I’m starting to wonder what the harm is. I must be finally relaxing; I realize with a start. I’m slowly defrosting from my painful past on the Mainland.


Besides it’s good security to have someone around these places occasionally. Give it a sense of someone living there. I notice he often does small jobs around the place, and in the end I co-opt him into keeping an eye out for me. He’s been giving me bits and pieces of information he’s noticing on his travels and some of the intel is checking out. We’ll get these cocky bastards soon.


“Call me,” I tell him.


“Don’t have a phone.”


I end up buying him a cheap throwaway one with some minutes on it and slip him a twenty here and there as a look out fee.


Every time I see him, he has on a different swimsuit. I thought he was probably boosting them but I didn’t have the heart to talk to him about it. Later, I realize he’s borrowing guest bikinis, which he seems to prefer, from unlocked pool cabanas. It’s Hawai’i. People aren’t always fanatical about locking everything up. I’m finally getting used to the casualness here but I’m no further ahead in this investigation, and it’s frustrating me.


I often pick up a couple of plate lunches or bento boxes in the hope of finding him somewhere. I’m seeking him out more and he seems in tune with my schedule too.


We now have long conversations about personal things I’ve never talked to anyone else about. There’s an anonymity in it, a safe feeling. Two lost men, nursing some serious wounds and confessing to all our inadequacies and guilt.


He is homeless, kicked out for being gay, but still wants to try and make the Olympic swim team one day. The rib marks are past abuse and my stomach curls in horror for him. I gingerly show him my chest and he traces his fingers over it, examining, commenting, not letting me put my tie back on that day.


“Warrior scars. We all have scars, some are just more visible than others,” he says.


I clasp his hands between my thighs as I sit on the edge of the pool with my suit pants legs rolled up. We sit in companionable silence and eventually he rests his forehead on our hands, kicking gently in the clear blue pool water. I release one hand to gently stroke the back of his head and eventually shrug out of my hot black jacket.


****


I’m lulled into peace and feeling good with the intimacy when there’s an excited call over the radio.


“Damn.”


We smile at each other, and he pushes off the wall to start swimming laps again.


I slide into my shoes, no socks, and take off at a fast clip, heading for my vehicle and a property a couple of miles away. I arrive in the middle of it, adrenaline pumping, gun drawn, but it doesn’t take us long to round everyone up. Surprisingly no shots fired. Welcome to the islands. Three guys from O’ahu—all with some serious form.


****


After we process them and get them situated in their new home for the night, I’m hot, aggravated, and tired. I’m glad to see the back of the little bastards.
The captain assigns us to a new case each, and I realize with a pang that I won’t be in the area to see Duke as much.


“You want to go for a surf?” asks my partner, who’s finally arrived back at the station from his training course.


“Sorry, man, got something to do, but another time.”


“No worries, yeah,” says Kukio. He gives me the shaka, his thumb and little finger jiggling as he ambles off.


****


I drive a little too fast for the island, where the tourists are easy to spot because they speed. Whereas the locals just cruise, often under the speed limit, taking their time, relaxed and laid back. I’m finally starting to do it myself.
But not now. I’m on a mission.


When I pull up to the property, I sit for a moment, hoping I have this right.
He’s swimming laps, his powerful, wiry body, cutting through the blueness. I lean down and put my hand in the water on the wall as he does a turn. He pushes off but stops, floating on his back, clearly pleased to see me.


“We got them.” I sit down on my ass by the edge of the pool. Legs akimbo, black regulation shoes lined up with the tile edge.


“You look like you need to cool off, get out of that hot suit.” He hooks his finger at me, an invitation. He’s wearing cute little black bikinis today with a pinky trim.


I hesitate and he swims toward me. He reaches up, grabs my legs, then my tie, and pulls me into the water.


The first kiss is hot and searing. My hands automatically reach for his sexy ass, sliding my big hands beneath the skimpy fabric onto his rounded cheeks as I hoist him onto my hips. His lips are damp and salty from the pool water, they pull mine slowly, then his hot pink tongue searches for mine.


Duke groans softly, nibbling my earlobe, shuddery lips pulling the soft skin, sending spikes of intense need into my groin. He rubs his crotch against my wet shirt, his cock already thick and curving up toward his stomach. I pull back to admire him and he loosens my tie enough to drag it over my head. His nimble fingers undo my buttons, pushing the suit jacket off my shoulders, letting it float away and sink into the pool.


He points, and I frown.


Oh! I wade across the pool to set him on the edge and carefully lay my service weapon on the side with my holster.


Quick fingers unbutton my shirt and it’s flung behind us into the pool.


“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, tracing his tongue over my scars, seizing a brown nipple. Flicking and tugging the nub until it’s hard and erect, so sensitive, it’s sending tendrils of intense need to my cock.


He’s sexy as hell, his cockhead defiant and proud above the waistband of the tiny bikinis. I squeeze his length through the wet fabric and he arches his back, lifting his ass, allowing me to slide them down. It exposes shaved plump balls that beg to be sucked and fondled.


Spreading his muscled thighs, I pull him closely for my first taste, running my tongue down his long slender length. Swirling his balls, lifting his thighs with my hands so I can lick all the way to his asshole. My tongue pushes at the tight sensitive pucker, and he cries out with pleasure.


Sucking and licking, his hands grip my shoulders, soft moans and impressive guttural sounds when I slide a mouth-lubed finger into his ass. “Yes, yes,” he whispers.


I heave myself out of pool and strip down for him. He lies back wantonly on the warm tile, thighs spread, his hands pulling his stiff dick and fondling his high, tight balls, trailing his fingers down to his sensitive hole and pushing a finger in. Fucking himself for me, inviting me in.


I’m shaking so badly; I can barely undo my zipper. When I finally pop out of my sodden suit pants and wet boxers, he stills and squeezes his cock, lips trembling.


“Want you so badly,” I mumble, as I sink to my knees between his thighs.
“Yes.” he agrees and sits up to heft my balls in his hand, then sinks his hot mouth over my knob.


I push into his throat, whimpering with desire.


When’s he’s sucked and jacked my dick until I can barely kneel anymore, he pushes me over onto my back and crawls over to his backpack. His cock and balls swing beautifully in the encroaching sunset and he returns with lube and a condom.


He sits on my chest, facing away from me, and I nuzzle his sexy ass, licking the delicate asshole as he cries out with lust. I run long laps of my tongue from his pucker to his balls until neither of can stand it any longer. Lubing my finger, I push his pucker apart and squirt the silky fluid inside and he shudders deeply. Pulling his thighs apart farther, I shimmy him back and drop his smooth balls into my mouth, one by one, rolling them, sucking the skin through my teeth gently.


He sinks down onto my face, the male smell of him overriding the salty pool water now, and my dick is like granite. When he stops sucking my cock and slides the condom over it, lubing and jacking me, I nearly come on the spot. He turns himself around, and I hold his hips as he lowers himself over my aching hard-on, that’s begging for an ass to slip into.


“Fuck, your cock’s big,” he moans, grinning like crazy, sinking himself onto it inch by inch, pulling away, coming back for more, until he finally lets himself be filled by my shaft, balls deep.


He curls down onto my chest and tenderly kisses me. I rub his back and sweet ass cheeks, letting him ride me at his own pace. Licking his neck, watching him tremble, matching my shudders of need. Slow, hot kisses, tongues entwined, skin to skin, sensuous love making like I haven’t had in a long time.


His ass clamps, squeezing my cock and fire shoots down my thighs, my ass throbbing with the intense ache. Both of us moaning, the sounds drifting off into the dusky, heated air.


My hand is wrapped around his length, twisting and twirling the satiny head as it pushes up through my fist, the red tip urging me on. I push up into his ass and he cries out as he explodes, long white filaments shooting over my hand and our stomachs. Guttural sounds of deep need emit from us as I’m also pushed over the edge, feeling the sweet release into this sweet man.


Both panting hard, his damp head flops onto my chest, and I nuzzle his hair, wrapping him in my arms, enjoying the connection. Enjoying him.


When we finally come up for air, he points at my suit jacket and shoes at the bottom of the pool. “Don’t think you’ll be wearing those again.”


I laugh and laugh. A sound that breaks up the last hard pieces of defense in my chest.


Yes, it’s about time I trusted again and slipped back into my island roots where my inner self gets to exhale every day.


“Want to come and help clean out my wardrobe. Make some room in there for your sexy little bikinis.”


He stills, his eyes wide, questioning.


“There’s a pool that’s just right for you. I don’t like you living down here on the beach. It worries me. I want to know you’re safe in my arms at night.” I pause…“I think I’m in love with you…” I wait, worried I’ve given too much away, making myself too vulnerable.


But he smiles and says softly, “I love you too. I have for a while.” We stroke each other’s faces tenderly, eyes locked. I close mine as intense relaxation soaks into my soul.


“I’m only coming on one condition, though,” he whispers in my ear.


“Name it.”


“On Aloha Fridays, I get to choose what Hawaiian shirt you wear.”

Meg Amor

Sensuous Romance,

and Mystery, Crime Fiction Writer


FIREWORKS IN PARADISE

~ an excerpt from A YEAR IN PARADISE



There on the bed is my choice of clothing for the day. Well, it’s not really a choice, per se. Duke and I have an agreement that he gets to choose my aloha shirts on Friday. Today is a taste sensation I’m not sure I can swallow.

“Baby, no,” I say, knowing I’m really not going to get anywhere with this.

“It’ll look good with your gorgeous brown skin and black curls.”

I have hair now. I’ve been growing it back.

I scratch my neck, and take a peek at Duke who’s grinning naughtily.

“I’ll look like the big banana in it.”

“You will not!” he scoffs. “You’ll look like the big pineapple.” Then he laughs and laughs.

Something I do a lot more of these days too. Duke—how the hell I lived without him before now, I don’t know. He literally lights up my life.

I sigh dramatically. “You’re lucky I love you,” I say, trying to be ultra-serious.

“Yes, I am,” he agrees quite seriously, his green eyes seeping into my soul, capturing me like he always has.

I pull him into my arms to nuzzle his bare skin, the muscled swimmer’s shoulders taut under my lips, and he groans softly.

“Time?” I mutter, pulling away from him in a half-hearted attempt to be at work on time for a change.

“Island,” he whispers seductively, nimble fingers untucking my towel and letting it drop. It catches on my erection and does a double somersault off the end of my knob. Then my cock bounces hard against my stomach, and his eyes are hot and sultry. My breath catches, and I cup his thickness through the lava-lava, then unroll it from his waist.

“Oh God.” I groan, the feel of our cocks rubbing together, thigh to thigh, balls jiggling for position. Man, it feels good.

His lips are sweet and our tongues pull and tug, as our groins rub and smooch. Sexy, hot breath tickling my ear, hands clutching asses, and the slickness from our dicks making itself known as we slide like silk over each other.

We grind harder and faster. High-pitched keening from Duke that makes my nuts throb. Hearing my man this turned on is so arousing, I can barely stand.

I back him into our “love seat” we have in the bedroom. So named because it’s ideal for me to sit and sprawl my big Samoan ham hock thighs in. He can sit facing me in my lap, with his legs through the chairs arms. Or away from me if I want to enter him, penetrate him deeply, which we both love, especially with a mirror in front of us. Watching my thick brown cock sliding up into my lover. His cock hard and erect, proudly bouncing as he slides up and down on me. Fuck, it’s sexy.

Watching his face as he comes, the creamy cum shooting up into the air, the ecstasy on his face. It’ll push me over the edge every time.

But today, I have him in my arms, kissing and loving him. Watching the dreamy expression on his face, as he grips our dicks together and fists us slowly. His thumbs rub our slits, moaning softly. I run my hands down his muscled back, and cup the sweet cheeks of his ass, feathering his asshole. Then swipe some of our natural lubricant to stroke his pucker with. He’s biting his lip, grunting, keening. And when I push into his hole slightly, he jerks, his arms pumping harder.

“I wish I had time to sink my big cock into you,” I whisper.

The strangled cry he lets out amps me up even me, the arousal in my swollen, tight balls achingly sensuous.

“More,” he whispers fiercely.

“My meat stretching you, thrusting up into you hard and fast.” I whisper hoarsely, my ass and balls throbbing.

“Oh God, fuck, fuck. Love you,” he hisses as he swells, and his cream pumps through his fingers.

Then I’m spurting, lost in the powerful orgasm. “Love you, baby,” I mutter, my chest heaving.

We sink into each other, nuzzling and smooching. Soft, loving kisses, glazed happy expressions. I need this badly today.

It’s Fourth of July, and I feel twitchy, on edge. It’s the first one since I was shot. Why couldn’t I have been shot on a bland, boring Tuesday, in a non-remarkable month? Not only do I get to live the day again, but I know for weeks that it’s coming. They assure me it’ll get better. It will fade.

But nobody realizes how complex this is for me, even Duke.

And I’m embarrassed to say, but I haven’t told him what today is. I don’t know why I haven’t told him the date. He loves holiday things, maybe I don’t want to spoil Fourth of July for him. He’s excited about the fireworks in the harbor tonight, and I haven’t told him they trigger me. They’re fun, and pretty, for God’s sake. I’ve talked around it, every time the subject has comes up.

I put it aside for now and try to make myself simply enjoy having him in my arms, but my brain is already activated and marching to its own rhythm today.

I wonder why he chose this particular shirt today? Duke often has symbology with things he does. He comes from the Dole family here in the islands. I can imagine him choosing this shirt because of the ripe, lush looking, pineapple splashed all over the lemony colored background. He’ll be sending me out there with a part of him wrapped around me.

The truth is, I might grizzle and grumble about his choice of brightly colored aloha shirts, but I secretly enjoy knowing my man, my lover, has bought them especially for me. Duke has made it his mission to deck me out in outlandish shirts. The guys at the office give me assholes about it, but it’s all a bit of fun, and I’d certainly been desperately in need of that when I first came out here to Hawai’i.

It had seemed like the perfect midway point between the Mainland and Samoa. I’d shuffled along, not really sure if I’d made the right decision, but my soul was fed a little more each day. The sultry, warm air greeted me every morning, and thick stands of fragrance plumeria stroked my nostrils right off my lanai. The neon green geckos popped in every morning for their slices of freshly cut papaya, their long tongues slurping up the juices. Life was moist and juicy here.

Then I’d met Duke, and I knew then that it was time to let go of the mess I’d made of my dry and desiccated life in Michigan. He accepts me the way I am, faults and all. When I have things I’m embarrassed about, emotions or feelings that threaten to overwhelm me, he’ll look puzzled and ask me why I felt bad about feeling them. He’s my trade wind, my island breeze that blows away the cobwebs from my soul.

By the time I throw myself back in the shower, dress up as the big pineapple and slide my revolver into my back holster, I’m running late.

He shoves a couple of bacon, scrambled egg, and cheese English muffins in my hand as I race out the door.

“Bye, dear. Have a good day at the office,” he imitates a fifties housewife. Although, I don’t think many of them sent them husbands off to work, waving from the door in just a little apron and nothing else. 

It makes me grin. It’s a good start to a day I need to get through.

* * * *

I ring him about two o’clock, frazzled and irritable.

“Come home, we’ll celebrate Fourth of July.”

“You know I hate that shit.”

“What’s wrong with Fourth of July? Everyone loves hot dogs, apple pies, and flying the flag for the old red, white, and blue.”

“I hate hot dogs. God knows what processed shit is in those things.”

Duke laughs, and I instantly felt like a grumpy old bastard.

“I’m sorry, baby. Bad day?” he asks.

“You have no idea. I just want to come home, have a beer, and be with you, babe.”

“I miss you too,” says Duke softly, and it gives me a feeling of respite and peace in a day that’s turning out to be a fucking pain in the ass.

What possessed our local mayor to open a new building on sacred kapu land on this day? As my Western Samoan cousins say, with their Kiwi sayings they’ve picked up from living in New Zealand, “He’s as thick as two short planks nailed together, and as cunning as a shithouse rat.” Not a good combo. The Hawaiian people had better vote Harry Kim back in this time. He’s been badly missed.

And I’ve been the “lucky” bastard to draw the short straw for assignment on this one.

The day is hotter than hell. Pele, our fire goddess has decided she isn’t that keen on all the American pomp and ceremony of Fourth of July either. Or else she’d missed the memo on what it meant to have fireworks in the harbor. She’s been spewing hot, molten, orange lava from a huge lava tube into the sea on Puna side. It’s creating a nasty amount of vog—volcanic particles and smog—and Laʻamaomao, the god of wind and forgiveness isn’t having a bar of it either. So the air is hazy and heavy, with people’s barbecues and smokers not adding to anything.

The American red, white, and blues hang limply, as does the protestors Hawaiian Sovereignty flags. The only things not at half-mast are people’s dicks and egos. What a pack of wankers. Another good Kiwi saying I employ on a regular basis.

I want to say, “Get a grip or get your hand off it.” But I’ve said neither. I’m Marques Tuisamoa, an officer of the law, and expected to uphold it, no matter how ridiculous people are being.

In the end it all fizzles out. No shots are fired, everyone has a beer, throws a few choice comments out, and ambles off to a barbecue. Welcome to the islands.

* * * *

By the time I arrive home, I’m well over the day. I try to push aside the thought of fireworks down in the harbor I know Duke wants to go to tonight.

“I’m out here by the pool, baby,” calls out Duke. That’s unusual, he always greets me at the door when I come home.

I put my service revolver in the gun safe and unload my cuffs and crap on the bench, then go out to see what Duke’s doing.

I crack up.

“See, I wanted to give you a hot dog with meaty goodness in it.”

I’m still laughing. “Where’s the apple pie?” 

“I’m wearing it.” He grins.

What a delicious sight. My beautiful man is stark naked on the lounger by the pool. His ample soft cock nicely sandwiched between a hot dog bun, looking all oiled, and appetizing. Two sparklers are lit and stuck into the top of the bun. And as I come closer, the tantalizing waft of cinnamon and apple pie comes off his bare skin.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Starving.”

The hot look between us starts arching the lit sparklers toward his abs. “Let me see if what’s between those buns is any good to eat?”

I grab the sparklers before they set his pubes on fire. As I yank them out, the bun falls open, and his hard, thickened cock springs free to bounce off his stomach. I lick the hollow of his neck, the spicy scent makes me groan with hunger. I need something to nibble on.

Duke’s a swimmer, so he has almost no body fat on him, but I’m after something meatier at the moment to put into my mouth.

“Where’s the cream for my apple pie,” I murmur, licking his skin.

He grabs his long, slender cock, sliding its length through his palm, fisting it faster. “Coming right up,” he whispers, and we both crack up.

It’s just what I need after the shitty day I’ve had. Duke never ceases to surprise me with something. He’s refreshingly straightforward, open, and without guile.

And it occurs to me that I need to be that way with him too. It’s time I told him what day this is. But first I need to satisfy my hunger.

He spreads his legs and I lick his plump shaved balls, already tender, and sensitive to my touch if the little high-pitched sounds of pleasure are anything to go by. I roam all over his scented scent, licking and tasting, nibbling on especially tasty bits. Duke’s squirming and sighing, whispering, “God, yes,” everything I hit a hot spot.

I come back to his balls, rolling them around my mouth, coating them with saliva and pulling the soft skin through my teeth. He inches up the lounger as his body spasms. His hands are clasped onto the top of the lounger, arching up into my tongue. I flick his nuts and take long, luxurious laps of his soft inner thighs. Working my way up to his jutting cock, bathing its length, twirling the head, then suctioning him hard.

He jerks and his back arches. I lift his ass cheeks in my hand and he’s presented to me like a beautiful present for me to unwrap. His bobbing hot cock and meaty balls pushing into my mouth. The smell of the spicy cinnamon is filling up my senses but so is the fragrance of Duke. The masculine, tangy personal perfume of my lover.

A hand clutches my hair, and I suck harder. He’s close to coming. I know all his signals now, then he’s arching, crying out, tensing up as he jets creamy cum into my mouth. I still my mouth and hold him between my lips while he pants, gasping, moaning softly. God it feels good.

When he can breathe again, he says seductively, “I want my hot dog now, with some of that salad cream on it, baby.” And he slides down under me, so I can dip my cock into his waiting, wet mouth. His green eyes light up, sending searing heat to my balls, and a tingle up my spine. I hang over him, trying to keep my weight off him because I’m a big guy. He massages my ass cheeks, as I make love to his mouth. My balls push into his chin, and a slick finger widens my ass. Then I lose it, rutting into him. Duke presses my gluts down, pushing me down his throat, and I scream out as the hot, white cum leaves my body, as well as my brain. It takes me a few minutes to come back to earth.

We’re lying sated, and sprawled out on the plush loungers we have out by the pool. I stroke his damp red hair back from his face, and fall in love all over again.

It’s now or never.

“About the fireworks tonight…” I start.

“I think we’ve already had ours,” he says softly, then he smiles his mischievous smile, and I pull him into my arms, sighing with pleasure.

“I know you’re looking forward to them…” I’m not really getting anywhere with this conversation, and I’m irritating myself.

He pulls back and stares into my eyes, kissing me so tenderly on the lips, my breath hitches in my chest.

“I’m tired, I can’t be bothered going down now. Do you mind?” he says, and I feel the instant reprieve, but I know he’s lying. I need to tell him why.

“Babe…” I start again.

“I know you got shot on Fourth of July,” he says.

My throat locks up, and the rising panic threatens to cut off my breath.

He puts his hand on my chest, rubbing it soothingly. “It’s okay. I’m right here. We can get through anything together.”

My eyes start to swim, the tears already washing across my eyeballs, before they trickle over and start the slow trek down my cheeks.

“How do you know?” I whisper, ashamed of the emotions coursing through my body, and everything that goes with them.

“I looked it up,” he says quietly. “I wondered why fireworks were such a touchy subject for you. I’m sorry. I had to know.”

“Of course, baby. I should have told you sooner.” I’m swiping rapidly at my cheeks but it’s a lost cause.

Duke pulls me into his chest, rocking me gently, whispering, “I love you, I love you, talk to me, please.”

I dump about a gallon of water out of my body and snot up his chest in an unmanly fashion, but I can breathe a little easier.

He gets up and brings back a box of tissues for me and some cool water. Duke’s very nurturing, and I soak it up like an enormous sea sponge, hoping he feels just as loved and cared for by me.

I blow out some breath and start, this time going for broke.

“It’s layered and complex, babe. And I never seem to sort out the layers in my head around it. We were at a Fourth of July celebration. I wasn’t even on duty. The fireworks had just started and everyone was entranced by them, oohing and aahing. And I…”

Duke nods at me to continue, his green eyes never leaving mine.

“I…saw a guy go for his weapon. It was pure instinct. I was moving before I even registered what was happening. He went down as I barreled into him. I was counting on my size to simply mow him over. Well, I did, and I thought I’d stopped him in time. I didn’t even realize what had happened. The fireworks were going off, and I actually thought I’d been hit in my shoulder by one that had gone astray. I didn’t even click it was a bullet. I caught the ricochet and the shrapnel from it. Everyone was on him, and then me.”

I was stunned on the ground and my partner shouted, “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

Then he was pressing a wadded up shirt into my shoulder, and I think I passed out when I realized what had happened.

Duke just sits waiting.

“Is it the noise that sets you off?”

“Yeah,” I agree too quickly.

He squints at me, like he knows I’ve just told him a lie. And I cave. This man has given me the opportunity to be a whole man, right from the start.

“It goes deeper than that. It’s my own guilty feelings of celebration that it happened. I feel like I ‘got off easy.’ I had an excuse to leave a place I essentially hated. It’s the feeling that I didn’t have a ‘good enough’ excuse to do it of my own volition before then. I often wonder if I subconsciously set it up for myself.”

“Probably,” he agrees, like this is quite a normal thing, and that makes it easier for me.

“You know it took me a while to slip back into island living.”

He nods, and we both grin. I used to roust him from swimming in private pools when I caught him in borrowed sexy bikinis. I’d be in my suit and tie I refused to give up. I think, I needed the control the suit gave me. Now, truth be told, I welcome the loose, comfortable, open-neck Hawaiian shirts. I have a feeling Duke’s been slowly getting rid of my tie collection too. I found one tying up a papaya tree the other day.  

“Babe, as I’ve slipped back into island living, I’ve realized things are different out here. We rarely deal with a murder, whereas before I was knee deep in them. Most days, so snowed under, they buried me. When I was shot, the cop part of me rebelled against what was happening. But another part of me was relieved. Although, I couldn’t tell anyone that, it felt disloyal. I was a cop, and a good one.”

“Still are,” he says confidently.

“Thank you. Well, anyway, when they’d finally released me from the hospital, I’d gone home and sat in my easy chair for what felt like hours, just staring at nothing. When I’d finally come back from my fugue-like state, I realized my life had become nothing. Going from case to case. No social life outside work, no lover, nothing.”

He laces his fingers through mine, and I bring his hand to my lips to kiss him gently.

“I knew I’d had a warning from spirit. I’d have to make some changes. Rather than feel pissed off and frightened, I’d silently thanked the event and the person who shot me. I didn’t send him a case of Scotch, but the thought was there.”

He breaks into laughter.

I smile, feeling the ease at telling Duke. I’ve never told anyone my feelings about this. “Well, that was how massive my relief was. I finally had the excuse I needed to get out of where I was. As I sat and absorbed my newfound life and death precipice, I felt free for the first time in years. But I couldn’t tell my partner that, or any of the other cops. I felt like I betrayed the brotherhood of tough Detroit cops because I wanted an easier life.”

He sits and thinks about this for a minute or two. “You did the right thing. It was meant to be. You can’t come to this island and things go well unless you’re meant to be here. The island will reject you if you’re not supposed to be here. You met me. And you said your old partner retired early and bought a sporting goods store, which he loves. You did both of you a favor.”

I’m stunned by the simplicity of this truth.  

Now I wonder if Frank was dying for an excuse as well to get out early. I’d been so mired in my own guilt, pain, and relentless wallowing that I’d been wearing my invisible hair shirt almost as a point of pride. Now, who’s being the wanker?

I laugh, telling Duke my thoughts, and soon we’re rolling around on the lounger laughing our asses off. When we finally stop, we both lie on our backs, panting, holding hands, and I’m free.

Free to love Duke with wild abandon.

I move on top of him, and his body molds into mine. He wraps his legs around my waist, and I know I want to be inside him, buried as deeply as possible.

“I want you your big fat cock inside me,” he murmurs, echoing my thoughts, tracing his tongue around my lips.

The kisses are frantic and hot. He scrambles out from under me, crawling onto his hands and knees, his wood swinging between his thighs. He parts his ass cheeks for me, and I lick around his asshole, the delicate pucker contracting and expanding, until it lets me rim him fully. Lapping and burying my tongue in his sheath. Wanting my cock buried in him, up to the hilt, my fat balls slamming his thighs, getting tighter. His hole squeezing my shaft, the muscles sucking my dick, wet and hot, riding him bareback.

Jesus. I can’t wait. I push my lubed knob into his opening, and he cries out. “Fuck me hard.”

I push into him slowly, the velvet glove squeezing my cock, Duke moaning in ecstasy. Watching my thick brown length slide into him all the way, stretching him, making love to my man. I move in and out of him as I fist his swollen thickness. Duke’s cries of pleasure amping me up even more. I lose my rhythm, panting and laughing. His hand takes over his cock, so I can thrust into him, sheathed by his love for me. Knowing I love him just as much.

I explode into him as the first bursts of brilliant blues and reds let off their own fireworks over the harbor. 

“Best Fourth of July, ever,” I rasp out.

“Fuck yes,” he agrees, quietly laughing.