Hanging Loose Part 7

Jez pushed me down and threw a leg across me. The weight of his thigh woke up my c.o.c.k. It didn't help that Jez had a hand on my chest, thumb absently teasing the edge of my nipple. He gave me a look that I couldn't categorize; it seemed to be hungry and fearful at once. Like he was fighting himself. He closed his eyes and kissed the soft skin under my ear.

"You're making me h.o.r.n.y," I grumbled.

"There is one way to take care of that," Jez said, standing up. "That won't get us arrested," he added, seeing the look I gave him.

"But the water's so cold," I protested.

"You'll get used to it. Now stop being such a baby."

With a dramatic sigh, I stripped down to my swim shorts. Jez dropped his shorts too. The little red swim briefs he wore underneath left little to the imagination. I gasped.

"Those are downright un-American. Only hairy German tourists are allowed to wear them."

He just grinned.

"I guess they're more practical under a wet suit," I admitted.

"I don't wear anything under a wet suit. Now c'mon, already."

I followed him, running into the water then throwing myself into it. He'd been right. After the first cold shock, I got used to it.

Later, as we dried off and soaked up the sun's heat, he turned to me and asked a question.

"I'm driving up north on Monday. Do you think you could get three days free and come with me?"

Monday the restaurant was closed; Tuesday was my day off. I could ask Sandy to cover for me on Wednesday. She owed me one.

"Yeah, I can do that," I replied.

Chapter Nine.

California State Route 1, aka Pacific Coast Highway, runs right along the coast, and parts of it are officially designated as "scenic highway," I was told. Jez also informed me that the really spectacular parts were farther north, but I thought it was pretty d.a.m.n picturesque already.

Once we pa.s.sed Malibu, with its expensive homes overlooking the ocean and the rest of the hubbub that went with them, there were just long stretches of sh.o.r.eline and public beaches to the left and hills to the right. We were somewhere in Santa Barbara County when we took an exit and got on a narrow two-lane road that meandered among orchards, hills, woods, and fields of tall gra.s.s turned yellow and brittle.

We had been reluctant to leave Arthur alone, but Mrs. Gonzalez promised to look in on him. She lived in the same building and was a nurse, plus her husband worked night s.h.i.+ft, so he would be home during the day. Not that Arthur needed looking after-not according to him. He had been vehement about that point, shooing us out of the apartment and telling us to get lost. So we went.

Jez hadn't volunteered any information about our destination, and I hadn't pried. I think he enjoyed being mysterious and watching me fill to the brim with curiosity. I was holding back heroically. After all, we had to be headed to a beach somewhere, right? But the new turn made me spill.

"Okay, I give," I said. "Where are we going?"

I had to give it to Jez: even smug like that, he was as lovable as a bucket of puppies. "Doug and Loreen are old friends. Rob first brought me up here when I was five."

"All this time I thought you were going surfing."

"The beach is just a few miles to the west. I'm taking you on the scenic route."

"So you come up here for the change of scenery?"

He kept his eyes on the road. "Yeah. To be honest, I'm not that keen on Venice Beach. I grew up there, but I always liked it better here. Less craziness." He flashed his teeth at me. "Jasper should be there too. And Ginger."

"Jasper and Ginger? I don't think I've ever met anyone named Jasper or Ginger."

"Doug and Loreen are a bit hippie. You'll see. They were even worse back in the day. They could have given their kids much worse names."

"Like Moon Unit?"

"Or Dweezil." Jez grinned back.

Every once in a while we pa.s.sed a lonesome mailbox on our lonesome highway. At one such box, we slowed and turned off to an undistinguished dirt road disappearing into the trees. After a minute or so of b.u.mping around, we reached a clearing. A funky little house sat in the middle of it. Not too little, actually. Definitely funky though; it showed signs of having gone through a number of growth spurts over the years. I discerned the stone building that had to be the starting point. From there it grew in zigs and zags, sideways and upward, mostly in uneven green-painted wood. The main door stood wide open. Jez strolled right in, so I followed.

Doug and Loreen Williams weren't hippie in the conventional tie-dyed sense, but they radiated an undeniably bohemian vibe. He looked like a skinny, wiry version of Jerry Garcia, and she complemented him well. He wore faded jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt, she a long, flowing skirt with a colorful blouse and beaded necklace. They were both barefoot.

We found them in the large suns.h.i.+ne yellow kitchen. There were herb pots in the windows, prints and photos on the walls, colorful bottles, and all kinds of odds and ends on the shelves. And books everywhere-on the table, in the windows, on top of the fridge. The kitchen-and the rest of the house, I was to find out-was chaotic and well used. Loreen greeted us with exuberant cheerfulness. She hugged first Jez, then me.

"So you're the famous Nate. Nice to meet you at last."

Her arms were strong enough to squeeze the stuffing out of me.

Once free again, I shot a sharp glance at Jez, but he gave me a wide-eyed, innocent look that I was so not buying. Mercifully, Doug was content with a handshake and a slap on the back.

"Right on time! Lunch is almost ready. The kids should be back any minute."

As on cue, a car engine sounded outside, and a second later, a freckle-faced whirlwind of about seventeen or eighteen threw herself at Jez.

"It's nice to see you too, Gin," he said.

A guy about Jez's age appeared in the doorway, carrying a very large watermelon. He had to be Jasper. The Williams family resemblance was obvious, but he looked so solemn compared to the others. Maybe solemn wasn't the right word for it, but with his short-cut hair and serious expression, he stood out among our scruffy crew.

"Jasper, right?" I held my hand out, bracing for more friendly physical abuse, but he just shuffled the melon to one side and took my hand.

"Call me Scoot. Everyone does."

"I'm Nate."

"Nice to finally meet you, Nate."

There it was again. When did I become so famous? The whirlwind who had to be Ginger had detached herself from Jez and eyed me with suspicion.

"This is my sister. Don't worry; she doesn't bite. Be nice, Ginny." Jasper nudged her in my direction.

"Hi," she said coolly, staying out of arm's reach. I guessed she wasn't a member of my fan club.

We lugged our stuff into an upstairs bedroom and met back with the family behind the house. Under a large tree sat a big and heavy wooden picnic table flanked on two sides by benches. It was laden with a mishmash of plates and bowls. We took our seats. Doug and Loreen sat at the two ends, Jez and I on one side, Jasper and Ginny on the other.

Insects buzzed around us, and the soft breeze rattled the tree limbs, knocking stray bits of tree bark and the occasional dry leaf onto the table. It was all very rustic, and thus thrillingly exotic, standing in stark contrast of the crisp seriousness of the West family outdoor ventures my father had planned out like battle maneuvers. Everyone talked and pa.s.sed dishes back and forth at the same time.

"Joe Delgado bought the Johnson Ranch," Doug said once we all had piles of food on our plates.

"Is that the one that's been sitting there unused?" Jasper asked.

Several heads nodded.

"When old Bill Johnson died without a will, the fourth Mrs. Johnson and all the kids from his previous three marriages started a big legal battle over the estate," Loreen explained it for my benefit. "I don't even think it was worth that much. They just did it out of spite. Anyway, it was all tied up in courts for years while the land was left untouched."

Doug took over next. "It's all for the best. As it turns out, it gave enough time for the pesticides and other chemicals to wash out of the soil so it can be qualified as organic. I met Joe at the farmer's market. He told me he's going to turn it into an organic orchard."

As I eventually figured out, Doug didn't talk much, except when it was something he was pa.s.sionate about. Then he couldn't stop.

"He's a smart young man, and his family's been farmers for generations. His great-grandparents came over from Mexico as day laborers, then in time got their own land. Joe's brother grows organic vegetables and sells them to small grocery store chains. Some of the bigger ones too."

Jasper nodded. "Local and organic is getting more popular. That reminds me, Jez, I want to talk to you about something."

We didn't learn what it was, because he was interrupted by Loreen shoving a salad bowl at him. There was a quick exchange of looks I couldn't decipher. It was odd, but the whole family was a little odd.

Doug cleared his throat and went on talking. "We had Joe and his wife over for dinner. He gave me an interesting idea. He'll need bees to pollinate his trees, and that costs money. They need to truck the bees in from G.o.d knows where. Commercial beekeeping is very stressful for the bees. No wonder they are having so much trouble with colony collapses lately. So Joe and I made a deal. I'll keep my beehives in his orchard, keep the honey, and his trees get pollinated. We'll start next spring."

"That's exciting, but a little risky, isn't it?" I chipped in.

"So is everything in life," Loreen said, smiling.

"Do you know anything about beekeeping?" Jez asked.

"When I was growing up, we had bees. I know quite enough. The rest I can learn by spring."

"Dad grew up on a farm in Idaho," Jasper whispered to me.

Ginny rolled her eyes but didn't say anything.

It was all small talk till later, when we sat around among the ruins of our meal, shooting the breeze. At that point, Ginny pulled out a hefty camera and began to click away. n.o.body but me seemed to be bothered by it.

Noticing my unease, Jasper leaned over and explained. "My parents got her a camera for her thirteenth birthday. She's been a nuisance ever since. Even worse since she switched to digital; now there's no limit to how much she can shoot. Just ignore her. Eventually you won't even notice."

The whole Williams brood partic.i.p.ated in the old-world custom of siesta. I couldn't blame them; the hottest part of the day was best spent resting. I, however, wasn't sleepy. I opted to stay at the table and sketch: the house with its uneven lines and overflowing window boxes, the yard with its citrus trees, piles of wood, vegetable garden. Jez sauntered out of the house and sat behind me on the bench, his legs framing mine, his s.h.i.+rtless chest pressing to my back.

"It's hard to draw with you plastered to me," I grumbled halfheartedly.

"Mmm..." Resting his chin on my shoulder, Jez reached around to flick through my sketchbook. He stopped at some semiabstract doodles. They were of waves and sea foam in an Art-Nouveau-meets-tribal style I was playing around with.

"These would make nice tattoos," he mused. "Sort of like tribal, but different."

"Have you ever thought of getting tats?"

"I have, but never saw one that was quite right. I think I'd be okay with something like this. Would you like me inked?" he added teasingly.

I had to think about that. I loved his smooth, unblemished skin, but the thought of twisting black lines decorating it was hot. Especially if they came from me-it would be like marking him as mine. That thought tingled its way down from the back of my mind to the pit of my stomach.

"I have an idea." I hopped off the bench and stood to face Jez. "Turn around and lean against the table."

Jez complied. He leaned back and rested his elbows on the table. There was a daring what-are-you-gonna-do-now glint in his eyes. I regarded him squint-eyed. He squinted back. I pulled out my black markers and set to work. They were not designed for drawing on skin but did well regardless. I had to be careful not to smudge the lines, but the ink dried fast. Waves slid from Jez's left shoulder to curl, lick around his nipple, following the natural curve of the pectoral muscle, and ended frothing against his flat stomach.

I leaned back to admire my masterwork. Not bad. All it needed was a signature. I bent down and nipped at the skin below the belly b.u.t.ton. Jez's breath caught. I clamped my lips on the patch of skin and sucked. He let out a strained little sound and placed his hand on my head. I felt through his touch his yearning to shove my face between his legs. I wanted it too from the second the scent of his arousal filled my nostrils, just not there when anyone could catch us at any second.

"Let's go upstairs." Jez stood and pulled me toward the house.

"We can't. It's too quiet. Everyone will hear us."

"We'll keep it down."

I rolled my eyes at that.

"Okay." Jez disappeared into the house. I dithered at the door, but he reappeared a few seconds later with a tattered blanket thrown over his shoulder. He took my hand and led me into the woods.

We were within shouting distance of the house but hidden by the trees, with nothing but insects and birds keeping us company. The two of us could have been the last humans left on earth. We spread the blanket over some dry gra.s.s in the shade.

It was hot, and both of us were covered in a sheen of perspiration. A fat little drop of sweat rolled down on Jez's sternum; I had to claim it. I pressed my tongue flat on it. The salty tang spread over my taste buds. I dragged my tongue up his chest to the hollow of his neck, tasting him all the way.

Everything about Jez was so f.u.c.king erotic: his amazing, masculine scent; his solid body; the slight scruffiness of his chin; even the way he looked at me. I couldn't believe I'd ever denied myself this. The desire to possess him, to crawl into his skin, engulfed me; I could hardly breathe. We kissed hungry, wet, and sloppy, our tongues wrestling for dominance.

We tumbled over in a jumble of limbs, clawing off the little clothes we wore. I wriggled down his body, buried my face in his crotch, and inhaled openmouthed so I could taste musk on my palate even before my tongue touched his skin. I licked his b.a.l.l.s, his shaft, the thick, salty juice leaking from the slit. I wrapped my lips around his c.o.c.k and forced more and more of him into my mouth. Jez's thighs flexed as he fought for control not to buck up into my mouth. I tried hard to make it good. The head of his c.o.c.k hit the back of my throat, and I gagged. Jez gently pulled me by the hair, off his c.o.c.k. He kissed me.

"Go slow, babe," he said.

We kissed and touched some more. I couldn't keep my hands off him. When they stole back to his c.o.c.k, he pushed me down on my side and then lay down the opposite way till we were groin to mouth. He gave me a sly grin and took my c.o.c.k into his mouth. At first I mirrored what he was doing to me, the way he sucked and hummed, his tongue slithering, but then I relaxed and went with instinct. I felt a sense of victory when I could fit almost all of him into my mouth. The dual sensation of having his c.o.c.k in my mouth and his lips wrapped around mine was dizzying.

Jez slipped a hand between my a.s.s cheeks and rested a finger against my hole-nothing more, just resting it there. It did a h.e.l.l of a job at chasing all other thoughts out of my head. It was just the two of us-the smell, taste, and s.e.xy sounds of making love. As I got closer, I let go of Jez's c.o.c.k, but he kept working mine. That single finger was pressed harder against my hole, and just the tip of it slipped inside. I came like a f.u.c.king fountain. Jez finished himself off with a few frantic strokes while I still tried to get my bearings.

I drifted off into a state between sleep and wakefulness. I was roused by a tickly sensation; a long-legged spider was crawling on my arm. I blew on it, and it tumbled back into the dry gra.s.s. I sat up and stretched my stiff muscles. The ground was hard; the blanket didn't help much. I spotted Jez a few feet away, back turned, still unashamedly naked, whizzing on some shrubbery. I cursed myself for leaving my sketchbook behind.

"You have the nicest a.s.s I've ever seen," I noted.

He looked back over his shoulder. "Seen many?"

"I took my share of figure-drawing cla.s.ses." And all those art history books.

He returned and sat down next to me. He rested a hand on my shoulder and lazily rubbed the bottom of my earlobe.

"Don't think I haven't noticed your interest in my a.s.s."

I swallowed. "I have thing for round body parts."