Fuck Buddy (11 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LIV

It had been two weeks since I told Luke I loved him. I came to realize pleasing Luke wasn’t something that could be conquered. As far as I was concerned. It was it was an ongoing process. It may have had a beginning, but it had no ending. I felt an overwhelming desire to please him with everything I did. The look in his eyes, the way he responded, or the smile on his face had always been enough, but as the days progressed, I wanted him to be satisfied with everything from my choice of clothes to what I chose to cook for dinner.

The more I researched the characteristics of subservient women, the easier it was for me to accept that being submissive wasn’t a choice I made. Right or wrong, I quickly decided I was naturally submissive. After doing so, my life began to make sense. My failed relationships, although probably destined to fail regardless due to my love for Luke, were all lacking in the areas where Luke and I flourished. Not only was I in love with Luke, I was in love with what he provided me.

Reassurance that who I was and what I was doing was exactly what he wanted and needed out of life.

“What the fuck is it?”

“A spiralizer,” I said over my shoulder.

“And it makes noodles?”

“Kind of,” I responded as I picked up a zucchini. “Out of veggies.”

I had purchased the device at Williams Sonoma, hoping to be able to cook meals that made Luke happy. He liked to eat healthily, and although he wasn’t one to watch his weight, he certainly paid attention to what he ate. Noodles made his feel bloated when he surfed, and although he loved the way they tasted, he refused to eat them for that reason.

Personally, I didn’t want to eat pasta because it stuck with me for hours, and all we seemed to do after eating heavy meals was lay on the couch and moan for the entire evening. In short, there was no time for us to fuck after eating a big meal.

“Look!” I shouted as I turned the crank.

Zucchini noodles slightly larger than spaghetti came out the end of the machine. I watched in amazement as the length of squash disappeared on one side and the bowl filled with noodles on the other.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. I leaned to the side and kissed his cheek as he peered down at the bowl. “You’re turning a zucchini into noodles?”

I nodded eagerly as the last bit of the spiralized squash fell into the bowl. “It’s as easy as that.”

“Right on,” he said. “Now what?”

“I’m going to cook ‘em in a skillet and we’ll eat them with some spaghetti sauce,” I said.

“Zucchini spaghetti?”

“Just wait and see, I bet you like it,” I said.

He shrugged, walked to the refrigerator, and removed a container of yogurt.

Pessimist.

I transferred the noodles from the bowl to the skillet and tossed my head toward the doorway. “Go wait in the living room. Listen to music or something.”

I heard The Cotton Jones Basket Ride’s “Chewing Gum” began to play as I sautéed the noodles. The song was released the year we graduated high school and reminded me of the summer that followed. Luke was still in his relationship with Valerie, but I spent the summer single. As Valerie worked all day for the three-month break from school, Luke and I spent the summer together at the beach.

During that entire summer I felt guilty for being with Luke when he was committed to Valerie, but now I felt no guilt whatsoever. In hindsight, maybe the guilt was a result of my love for Luke – something I wasn’t prepared to admit at the time.

“What does that song remind you of?” I asked over my shoulder as I stirred the sauce.

“Summer of 2008,” he responded.

“Great summer,” I shouted.

“Not as good as this one.”

I checked the noodles, added a clove of garlic, and nodded my head. “I agree.”

Cooking was something I enjoyed doing, but having someone to cook for seemed to make all the difference it he world. As the noodles became translucent I pulled the skillet from the stove, divided the zucchini onto the plates and ladled sauce over the top. A quick check of the oven’s times showed one-minute left.

Perfect.

Small things seemed to satisfy me. Having the noodles done at the exact same time the chicken was ready was something I was trying to do, but accomplishing it made me smile. After removing the chicken from the oven and carefully placing one of the breasts on his plate, I shouted into the other room.

“It’s ready!”

I walked to the table, placed the plates beside the bowls of salad, and admired the meal. As I noticed him walk into the kitchen, I turned and ran to the cupboard and pulled the silverware drawer open.

I playfully pushed him aside as he walked to his chair and set the knife and fork down beside his plate.

“There. Now, it’s ready.”

“Looks good.” He inhaled a long breath through his nose, wagged his eyebrows and sat down. “Smells good.”

Luke was like a grumpy old man in many respects. Set in his ways, and not willing to try new things or accept change, he often turned his nose up to things I was sure he would enjoy if he simply gave them a try. It wasn’t limited to food, either.

He wasn’t willing to accept or even discuss subtle changes regarding his clothes, food, beliefs in technology or music. He liked what he liked and he believed what he believed. It was just who Luke was. My preparation of the meal took tremendous guts on my part, and was a huge risk.

I rested my wrist on the edge of the table and watched as he raised the noodle-filled fork to his mouth. As he began to chew, I held my breath in wait.

And?

“God damn…” he said over his mouthful of food.

Good god damn, or bad god damn?

He swallowed.

“This is fucking awesome.”

Yes!

I lowered my fork to my plate and grinned as I twisted the tines through the noodles. Seeing Luke satisfied with something I had done filled me with pride. It seemed strange, but I got more pleasure out of cooking a meal for him and having him express his approval than I did out of almost anything else I did in life.

With my eyes fixed on my plate, I fought to hide my excitement. “You like it?”

“Love it. It’s like eating spaghetti without eating spaghetti. You know how bloated I feel the next day after eating pasta, right?”

That’s exactly why I made it, Luke.

“Yeah, I kind if remember you saying that.”

“Well, this is fucking awesome. It’s noodles, but it isn’t. Where’d you get that thing?”

“Williams Sonoma.”

“Is it something new?” He shoveled another fork full of noodles into his mouth.

I shrugged. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had learned about it on Pinterest. If I had, he probably would have stopped eating.

“I don’t know, I just saw it in there and thought you might like something healthy.”

“Well, I don’t care if this shit’s going to kill me.”  He pointed thee tip of his fork at his plate. “I’d keep eating it. It’s fucking goodness.”

He took another bite, a huge one this time, smearing sauce on both corners of his mouth.

In his own strange way, Luke paid me a huge compliment, and he didn’t even know it. After we ate, there was no doubt he would tell me he enjoyed the meal. As always, he’d thank me, tell me he liked it, and he’d help with the dishes.

Seeing the genuine excitement in his eyes and his eager appetite, however, was enough to let me know I was pleasing him in more ways than providing him with a wet pussy, a willing mouth, and a wayward mind.

We finished the meal, washed the dishes, and made a pot of coffee. While stirring my coffee, Luke raised his shirt, slapped his open hand against his washboard abs, and grinned. “I’m full, but I feel great. Hell, by the time we’re done with this coffee, I’ll be ready to fuck. That’d never happen with pasta, that’s for sure.

I nodded and raised my cup of coffee as if toasting the suggestion.

The thought never crossed my mind
.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LUKE

I shook my head and laughed to myself as he walked up the beach. After spending a lifetime surfing in southern California, I could now make two claims without reservation.

One, I had never given anyone pointers on how to surf.

And two, I had never seen anyone who was a poorer surfer than Perry.

While talking to him in the shop, I learned his parents had divorced when he was young, and that his father was an abusive drunk. Almost the exact opposite of my upbringing, but with similar circumstances, I immediately felt a need to help him find an outlet for his frustrations. I felt if there was something I could do to make him a better surfer, and in turn allow him to do it more frequently and greater passion, I wanted to do just that.

“What do you think?”

“Well,” I said. “I think you’ve got the right board. Now, this might sound a little rude, but it sure isn’t meant to be.”

He lowered the tail of his board into the sand. “Okay.”

“Forget everything you think you know about surfing. And I mean everything.”

He gazed down at his feet. “Okay.”

“Listen. The waves are breaking on your right. You surf left forward, so your heels are pointing in the direction you want to go. You’ve got do dig those heels into that board,” I said.

He glanced up and nodded.

“Have you ever smashed a soda can with your foot? You know, stomped on one to squash it in one stomp?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, that’s how much force you want to dig those heels in with. Dig in like that, and that wave is going shove right back at ya.” I extended my left arm. “Toss your left hand out and twist your upper body with it. Just like you’re pointing in the direction you want to surf.”

He grinned. “Okay.”

“Have you ever ridden a skateboard?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I nodded my head. “Same concept. Heels down, and the skateboard goes left. Toes down, and it goes right. Same thing happens here.”

I reached for his board.

Holding the board in front of me, I slapped my hand against the front third of the board, right on top of one of the decals. “Left foot right
here.
Right foot behind it, about one and a half times the width of your shoulders.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m really sorry I’m not any better than this.”

“You will be,” I said. “Catch the next four-footer and let’s see how well you listen.

He paddled out and waited. Two waves passed, and he made no effort to catch them. His problem, at least from what I could see, wasn’t that he was incapable of paddling fast enough to catch a wave, it was staying up on his board after he caught it. Probably nervous, and a little disappointed in himself, he floated for a good fifteen minutes in wait.

A small swell began to rise, and he raised his head slightly.

This one’s gonna be perfect.

Paddle. Paddle. Paddle, you little fucker.

Get it.

He got up, and immediately spread his feet and bent his knees. His foot placement was good, and the wave was breaking to his right.

Swing your body. Swing it…swing it…hand out…

His board swung left and along with it his upper body followed. It was the opposite of what I would have liked to see, but it was something we could work on if we needed to.

Dig those heels in. Dig ‘em. Dig ‘em…

The board carved left. The wave, slightly larger than I expected it would be, was every bit of six foot tall.

He dipped his toes, took a hard right, and immediately carved another left. Without consciously thinking, I began to walk toward closer to the shore.

He swung his right arm and carved out another hard tight.

Stay out of that shoulder, that lip will…

Immediately before being overtaken by the lip and crushed into the tube, he carved left.

Fuck yeah. Stay up…stay up…

He continued to ride until what little whitewater was left had diminished into the beach.

I pumped my fist in the air and shouted. “Fuck yeah!”

I felt a wave crash into me. Confused, I glanced down. Apparently, out of my sheer excitement to see Perry improve, I had managed to wade out into the ocean without even realizing it.

Out of breath and covered in a prideful grin, he stepped to my side. “I forgot everything and did exactly what you said.”

“And it showed. Remember, look the direction you’re surfing first, point your arm and body second, and transfer your weight last.”

“Head, shoulders, feet,” he responded.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Have you got time for one more,” he asked excitedly.

“I’ve got all day.”

“You going to go up and get your board?” he asked.

“No. I’m going to teach you to surf.”

His eyes widened and he hoisted his board under his arm. “How long can you stay?”

“How long do you think you can you surf?”

He grinned. “All day.”

“All day it is.”

The morning quickly faded into the afternoon, and before I knew it, the sun was low in the sky. Perry was showing no signs of exhaustion, and it was refreshing to see someone as eager as he was to learn, have the ability to apply himself, and make improvements with such speed.

“How’s he doing?” I heard Liv’s voice ask from behind me.

Shit.

I turned around. Dressed in jean shorts, flip-flops, and a white sleeveless button down top, she looked adorable. After admiring her for a moment, I alternated glanced between her and the ocean. “I think we’re about done. What time is it?”

“A little after seven,” she said.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I had no idea it was so late.”

She shook her head and grinned. “I like it that you’re teaching him to surf.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“How many people have you given surfing lessons to?”

I shrugged. “Hard to say.”

“Give me an educated guess.” She said with a laugh. 

“None?”

“That’s right. None,” she said. “How many people have asked you to teach them?”

I chuckled. “Quite a few.”

She tossed her head toward the shore. “What makes him different?”

“I don’t know.” I draped my arm over her shoulder and pulled her to my side.

“Maybe it’s you.”

I looked down the bridge of my nose at her. “Maybe it’s me what?”

“Maybe it’s you that’s different. Maybe you’ve changed,” she said.

I turned toward her and wrinkled my brow. “Maybe you’re full of shit.”

“Oh wow.” She pointed toward the shore. “He’s really doing good.”

I turned toward the ocean and shielded the sun form my eyes. Perry had all but mastered the front side carve, and from where we were standing he looked like he had been surfing for a lifetime.

I pursed my lips and nodded.

“Front side carve?” she asked.

“That’s exactly what it is,” I said. “You should have seen him this morning.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. He was awful. I told him to forget everything he thought he knew, and we’d go from there.”

She turned to face me. “And he went from awful to that in one day?”

“One long day.”

“Is that the board you made for him?” she asked.

I nodded my head. “Yep.”

“Another grand,” she said.

I shrugged. “Not exactly.”

“Nine?”

“Not quite.”

“Eight?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Seven? You didn’t make a custom for seven, did you? Luke?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Less?”

I nodded. “A little less, yeah.”

Liv knew my father gave me the shop after I graduated high school, and she further knew I had no rent to pay. The only thing I needed money for were utilities and food, and she fed me more than I ate at home. She had also been around me and the shop long enough that she knew exactly what I charged for a custom board.

“Six? You made a custom for six hundred bucks?”

I pointed toward the horizon. “Sure did. And a damned good one.”

Perry was right underneath the lip, riding half way up the face of the wave. Three feet to his right, and he would have been in the tube, a surfers dream.

“He looks like he’s doing great,” she said.

“Big improvement over this morning.”

As Perry waded through the water and toward the shore, I gazed beyond him and along the horizon. I really didn’t have a reason for giving him a break on the board. At the time, I had no idea of his parent’s divorce, and I sure didn’t feel sorry for him.

As Perry stepped in front of us, drove the nose of his board into the sane and grinned. I returned his smile.

Liv was right. Something
had
changed.

The man in front of me was getting surfing lessons from someone who swore he’d never give them. The woman at my side was my life long best friend. For fear of losing her, I vowed to never be in a relationship with her.

But I was giving surfing lessons and I was in a relationship with Liv.

“Worn out?” I asked.

He nodded. “Long day.”

“Perry, this is my girlfriend, Liv. Liv this is Perry.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

Liv grinned. “Nice to meet you. You looked great out there.”

He slapped his hand against his board. “Luke Eagan custom and Luke Eagan lessons. I’m on top of the world.”

“Shhh. Don’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t.”

“I tell you what,” he said. “I’m starving. If you two want, I’ll buy dinner. There’s a great place right up here off the boardwalk on Mission Beach Boulevard. It’s about two blocks down. It has great pasta.”

Liv turned to face me and raised her eyebrows.

I nodded my head toward Perry. “Pasta sounds great.”

As we turned away and began to walk toward the boardwalk, Perry followed close behind. Halfway up the beach, Liv slapped her hand against my ass. I glanced at her and narrowed my eyes jokingly.

“You delirious? Have a fever or something?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” I said. “But kind of.”

“What does that mean?”

I grinned and pulled her against me. “I’m in love. It’s kind of like being sick and delirious at the same time.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “Today I went into the men’s restroom.”

“Piss in the urinal?”

She shook her head and laughed. “No, but I have a question.”

I stepped on the boardwalk, kicked the sand from my feet, and turned to face her. “Okay.”

“Your dick is so long,” she whispered. “How do you pee in that thing without getting the tip of it all wet?”

“I can’t tell you, it’s a secret. A man thing.”

She turned toward me, cocked her hip to the side, and eyed me up and down. “Uhhm, we don’t keep secrets. A relationship won’t ever work if there’s secrets. So no secrets, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, but not being completely truthful.

There was one more secret I had kept from her – from everyone – for my entire life. I knew one day I’d have to tell her; but as much as felt I wanted to, I continued to tell myself I was simply waiting for the right time.

I knew, however, there would never be a time suitable for such a horrid tale.