Page 58 of I Do, or Dye Trying

He tackled me in the water when it was deep enough, and we splashed around trying to pull each other under water. I soon found something more interesting to do with my hands than splash water at Gabe. I stroked his erection through his swim shorts and smiled at him in a way that projected my wicked intentions. We were alone on the beach that morning, and I decided to take advantage of it by looping my arms around his neck and pulling myself up until I could wrap my legs around his waist.

Water might be sexy and do wonderful things for your libido, but it’s not your friend when it comes to having sex and should never be confused with lubricant. I loved Gabe more than life itself, but unless he wanted to backpack me to the car after he wrecked my ass, we would have to settle for some good old-fashioned frotting.

Gabe gripped my ass hard and held me tight against him like he feared I would swim away. There was no chance in hell of that! I tangled my hands in his hair and gave him a slow burn kind of kiss, the ones that start out with just a hint of tongue then eases into a sexy glide. I sucked his tongue into my mouth wishing it could be his dick but settled for the insane thrill that raced up my spine when I began grinding our erections together.

In the grand scheme of things, getting off by rubbing our dicks together through our clothes seemed innocent and immature, but the landscape and the emotions involved elevated it to an erotic encounter like nothing I had ever experienced when I was young and innocent. The intensity of our kisses matched the activity going on beneath the water. The closer we got to our orgasms, the harder we kissed one another, and they slowed to savoring sips as our bodies came down off our climactic high.

“Did we break any environmental laws by unloading spunk into the ocean?” I asked Gabe once we dropped down on the towels he laid on the sand.

“Nah,” he said calmly. “It’s just basically salt and water, so the marine life won’t notice the difference.”

“Oh, I bet there’s a sea turtle out there appreciating that you ate cinnamon muffins and drank pineapple juice with breakfast,” I said.

“Breakfast of champions to help you choke it down like a champion,” Gabe said. He tilted his head to the side like he was thinking about putting that slogan on a T-shirt.

We lay on the beach for a while longer before Gabe pulled out bananas, water bottles, and granola out of his backpack. “What else do you have in your bag, Mary Poppins?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out,” Gabe said smugly. “You about ready to hike back?”

“I guess,” I said. I wasn’t very eager to leave that piece of paradise.

“I have more surprises for you,” he said cajolingly.

I used to hate surprises but not when it came to Gabe. His surprises were the absolute best. I hiked back on sex-weakened legs and talked Gabe into stopping for a Hawaiian ice that was way better than the versions we got back in Ohio. The sugary cold treat was what I needed to fuel the rest of our adventure.

Gabe’s surprise that night was taking me to a luau where we were served amazing food and drinks while we watched stunning performances by musicians and dancers. The men were virile and strong during their muscle dancing, and the women were fluid and graceful during their hula dancing. I even managed to stay awake long enough that night to recreate some of the moves with Gabe.

“There’s no way you can top the magic of this day,” I said into the darkness before I fell asleep. I should’ve known that Gabe would see that as a challenge.

IREADILY ACCEPTED THEchallenge my husband threw down and the rest of our trip became a fun contest where we tried to outdo each other. We both came out as winners, regardless of who picked the adventure for the day. It was hard to consider it “losing” when we went on helicopter rides, snorkeled with sea turtles, or made love against the black, slick rock behind a waterfall. No one was keeping score and Josh’s laughter and smiles were the best part of it all.

There were also days that we spent being lazy by the pool or strolling through an outdoor mall holding hands while buying souvenirs, or trying to make some of the Polynesian recipes in the cookbook Josh found in the kitchen of the rental house. There were seamless days of adventure and nights of passion, peacefulness in my soul, and more joy in my heart than I ever dreamed possible. There were times I felt it so acutely that it took my breath away and I knew I had to be dreaming. I was certain that at any moment I would wake up gasping for air like when a person wakes from a dream about falling. I’d reach for Josh to pull him closer only to find that he wasn’t there. I’d sit up and look around only to discover I was back in that rental house alone, not in the new house I bought with my husband. But I wasn’t dreaming; Josh was real, and so was our marriage.

Away from our everyday worries, which often included a threat of some kind, I could relax and enjoy our time without looking over my shoulder or trying to split my attention between loving Josh and protecting him. The likelihood that Jimmy found a way to follow us to Hawaii was slim, so I let my guard down and just soaked in the good stuff while I could. Being on vacation, however, didn’t mean that I ignored my responsibilities as an officer of the law and ignored trouble when I saw or heard it.

One day, Josh and I were sitting at an outside café sharing lunch when I heard a woman shouting for help. I leaped from my seat and saw the woman pointing to a fleeing young man who’d stolen her purse. I chased that punk for two blocks, but I finally caught him—well, tackled him—in someone’s front yard.

“Get off me, fucker!” the punk demanded.

I heard the screen door open quickly and slap the side of the house. “What the hell is going on here?” a woman asked angrily.

“Ma’am, can you please call the police? This punk stole a woman’s purse from the market,” I told her.

“Is that true, Raymond?” she asked angrily, ignoring my request.

“Ma, I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” the punk said from beneath me since I had him pinned to the ground.

“Oh, yeah?” she asked, sounding angrier with every word she spoke. “Is a hot pink Coach purse what you’re carrying these days? I wasn’t aware you’d become such a queen.”

“Get off me,” Raymond demanded, “unless you want to use my asshole to get off. Will that make you forget what you saw because I can make you forget that twink you were with at the café.” Raymond tried to push his ass against my crotch to entice me, but that only pissed me off more.

I dug my knee harder in the back of his leg making sure I hit a nerve that would render it numb for a minute. “That’s no twink,” I told the dipshit. “That’s my husband, and there’s not a damn thing you could do to make me forget him.”

“You think?” Josh asked from behind me. “’Cause I’m not so sure from where I stand, Gabriel.” I didn’t know that he’d followed me.

“Quit busting my balls and help me out by calling nine-one-one,” I told him.

“Please don’t,” the woman said. Her tone of voice caused me to snap my head up and look at her. It was more than sadness; it was desperation. “He didn’t steal the purse for something bad like drugs,” she told me. “Well, I guess it’s for drugs, but they’re legal.” She removed her ballcap and exposed her smooth scalp. “He was only trying to get money for my chemo pills this month. My social security wasn’t enough, and they cut his hours at work. He’s a good kid.” She turned her gaze back to her son and said, “This isn’t the way, Ray Ray. I’ve completed the paperwork the social worker at the hospital gave me, and we need to have faith that the Lord will provide.”