Fuck Buddy (9 page)

CHAPTER NINE

LIV

“If you say a word, I’ll kill you,” I said.

She shook her head. “I won’t, I swear.”

“Dead. Like to the cemetery. That kind of dead,” I said in my most convincing tone.

She pulled away front he table slightly and squinted. “Okay. Jeez. I said I won’t.”

“Luke.”

She scrunched her nose. “Huh?”

I nodded and grinned. “Luke.”

“Luke? Like Luke fucking Eagan? The surfer? Your bestie?” she screeched.

I glanced over each shoulder. “Shhh.”

Chloe and I were sitting in a restaurant eating lunch. With her arms covered in colorful Asian themed tattoos and rocking a black and purple ombré, she didn’t look much differently than she did the last time I had seen her. Well, with the exception of the hair color, but her hair was always colored wildly.

“Holy shit, Liv. Are you serious?”

“Uh huh.”

“For how long?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. Like a couple of months. No, maybe a little more than a month.”

She widened her eyes, swallowed heavily, and stared in apparent disbelief. “One word.
Wow
.”

My face washed with pride. “Uh huh.”

“God, I remember when we were in school. No disrespect, but I wanted that guy to fuck me so bad. He was so fucking hot,” she said, shaking her head lightly. “Then, I saw him on T.V a while back. They did a thing on him on News 8 like a year ago, did you see that?”

“No, but I heard about it.”

“It was freaking nuts. He was inside some crazy thirty-footer at Black’s. The swell kept swallowing him up, and he’s inside the barrel just riding it like it’s no big deal. Over and over, he’d just disappear into the tube or whatever, and then
bam
, out he’d come,” she said, holding her arms out to the side, giving her best surfer imitation.

She glanced down at the table and quickly raised her eyes to meet mine. “It was when we had that big storm like early last spring. The whole beach was there watching him. Nobody would even try and paddle out. But Luke? Yeah, he was out there, just like always.”

Chloe was a slut, but she was a funny slut. Although I hadn’t seen her in eighteen months, I really felt like there was no one else I could talk to about Luke without being chastised or criticized. She had always been a little bit of a weirdo when it came to sex, and seemed to always have boyfriends who like to slap her around.

Since our odd phone sex encounter, I decided to give her another call and see if she had time to meet for lunch and talk.

She shook her head. “Anyway, holy fuck. So, does he fuck as good as he surfs?”

“Uhhm. Yeah, probably better. But I’ve got some questions.”

“About what?”

“Well, about wild sex. He’s into all kinds of weird stuff.”

“No shit. Like having you call me on the phone while you’re boning. That was funny. Kavin’s a freak, too. So what’s the question?” she asked.

I twisted in my seat nervously. “Uhhm. Well, have any of your boyfriends liked to choke you?”

“Uh, yeah. Like all of ‘em.”

“Oh.” I giggled. “Sorry.”

She twirled the ends of her hair around her index finger and snapped her gum repeatedly. “So Luke’s a freak, huh?”

I quickly remembered what it was I didn’t like about her. The gum thing drove me insane from the first time we met. Apparently she didn’t grow out of it.

I shrugged and took a sip of my malt. “I guess so. So, I’m guessing you like that kinky stuff?”

“Kinky? Yeah, love it. But choking isn’t kinky, it’s just whatever. I mean, really, Anastasia Steele’s got nothing on me.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Who?”

“Seriously?” She chuckled. “Fifty Shades of Grey? Anastasia? Christian? Hello?”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t see it,” I said.

“Did you read the book?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Do you like Luke’s hand on your neck?”

I stared blankly.

“When he chokes you, do you like it?”

“Oh. Yeah, I do.”

“Read the book. It’s a joke as far as BDSM goes, but it’s a good read. Might make you realize some things about yourself.”

“Okay.” I took another sip of my malt. “You said choking wasn’t kinky. So, what’s kinky?”

She stopped twirling her hair. “You poor thing. You haven’t got a clue, do you?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll give you a few of my faves. Bondage, spankings, deprivation, piss play, butt plugs, and a good face fucking. I mean, really, there’s not much I don’t like,” she said.

A lump rose in my throat. I swallowed twice, gazed at her wide-eyed, and coughed. “Piss play? You don’t…”

“Sure do. He pissed all over me, and I love it. Hey, it’s not for everyone, but don’t knock it. So, are you submissive?”

I shrugged. The thought of being pissed on, even by Luke, made me cringe. I gazed back at her, filled with wonder.

“But Luke’s dominant, right?”

I shrugged again. It seemed like a rhetorical question. All men were dominant as far as I knew.

“Oh shit. Please, tell me you’ve got a safe word at least.”

“A what?”

Her mouth fell agape. “Liv! You two idiots are going to fuck around and hurt someone. Oh my god. Do you have a laptop?”

“Yeah.”

She began twisting her hair in her finger again. “Just Google BDSM and start reading all you can. Jesus. Have Luke do the same. Jesus fuck. Google what a safe word is. It’s a word you two agree on, and when you’ve had enough, or you’re uncomfortable, you say it, and whatever is going on, no matter what, stops. It’s to keep you safe and him out of jail.”

I leaned forward and cleared my throat. “Don’t get mad, but what does BDSM stand for. I mean, I kind of know, but I don’t.”

She rolled her eyes as she shook her head. “You’re funny. So, you kind of know and you kind of don’t, huh? It’s okay. BDSM stands for a lot of things. The B and D stand for bondage and discipline. Then, the D and S stand for dominance and submission. And, the S and the M stand for sadism and masochism.”

“Oh, yeah. Luke said he read about himself and he’s a maso-whatever.”

“He’s a masochist?”

I nodded. “That’s what he said.”

She grinned. “Nice. Hope you like being humiliated and you’re into pain.”

“It’s okay. I mean I like so far. But, can I ask you more?”

She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go in about thirty, but sure.”

“We were having sex and he slapped me. Like hard. Really hard. And he choked me really hard. And. Well. I uhhm, I liked it. I mean I
really
liked it. So, is there something wrong with me? I mean, I wasn’t like abused or anything when I was a kid.”

She laughed a gentle laugh. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. There’s hundreds of thousands of people just like you and me. Here’s the math.”

She glanced over each shoulder and craned her neck as she peered past me and around the restaurant. “Well, seven out of ten fantasize about it, and four out of ten are into it. In this restaurant right now, there’s twenty people. So, there’s two more in here just like us. And these types of relationships are healthy, as long
as you have a safe word
.”

“Wow, really? So you know a lot about this Where do you get all your, you know, information?”

She shrugged. “Reading. Munches...”

“What’s a munch?”

“A meeting with other people who are into it. It’s just a gathering. Like when the surfers gather around a bonfire. Only it’s Doms and subs at a hotel banquet room or whatever.”

“Really?”

“Yea, really.”

“Wow. Okay,” I said. “I really appreciate all the help.”

“Luke.” She shook her head and grinned. “Who would have guessed you’d bag Luke fucking Eagan. Wow. You know, I thought you’d just be besties forever.”

“I know, right?”

I wasn’t really embarrassed about it, but I decided not to tell her we were just fuck buddies.

“Okay, I need to get. So, what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”

“Uhhm. Safe word.”

She slid out of the booth and stood. “Give me a call anytime. I mean it.”

I gave her a hug and told her goodbye. After a moment of contemplation, I sat down in the booth and decided to stay for a few more minutes. I checked my phone for text messages, and upon seeing I had none, opened my browser and typed “safe word” into Google.

I read what popped up on the phone’s screen and scrolled down to the images. After clicking on a pair of handcuffs and opening all of the Google photos associated with the search, I began to click through the images.

Five minutes later, and I was anxious and horny.

Ten minutes after that, and I typed “how do I know if I’m submissive” into Google. A few minutes and one test later, and the results popped up:

Hello, subbie. You’re 88% submissive.

I stared at the screen and grinned.

I think it’s time Luke and I had another talk.

CHAPTER TEN

LUKE

I stood at the door of the paint booth and admired the contrast between white and orange. I may have been colorblind, but I wasn’t blind to beauty. The board was beautiful.

The door opening diverted my attention from the board to the other side of the shop.

“You Luke?” the man asked.

“Sure am. How can I help you?”

He appeared to be in his early thirties, had shoulder-length sun-bleached hair that resembled a cotton ball, and the skin tone of a man who spent his leisure time in the sun. Dressed in seasonal attire of shorts and a surf tank, he looked at home in the shop.

“I need a board built,” he said.

“If you’re in a hurry, you’ll need to go somewhere else.”

He glanced around the shop. “Waited this long, so a little longer won’t hurt.”

“You a local?”

“El Cajon.”

“Where’s your favorite spot?”

I found that asking people how well they surfed – or to describe their abilities – left far too much up to interpretation. A surfer’s pride in himself often caused responses to be slightly more braggadocio and far less accurate. The location of their favorite spot told me much more information about what types of waves they were able to ride, and how fast or slow the board needed to be.

“Right here,” he said, tossing his head toward the door.

“Good old Mission Beach. Ever hit Oceanside Pier, Scripp’s, Cardiff, or Black’s?”

“I could hit those spots, but I don’t. Well, all but Black’s.” He coughed a laugh. “I’m too young to die. Especially doing something I enjoy as much as surfing.”

His responses provided all the information I needed to hear to agree to make him a board. As always, however, I was curious.

“Why here?”

“Dude. Really? You’re Luke Eagan. I spent a lot of time wondering why you were so much better than everyone else, and after a few years of watching you at Black’s and up at Seal, it just came to me. You know, no disrespect, but everyone says you’re an arrogant prick.”

I placed my hands on my hips and grinned.

He ran his hands through his blonde fluff and continued. “When I surf, I try to get in a zone, you know, clear my head of everything else. Doesn’t really work, but it sounds good. But when I watched you for all that time, I realized something. For you, there
is
nothing else. Ever. You’re not a prick, you’re just focused.”

Many people watched me surf, but I had always been humbled by those who watched me out of desire and not out of interest.

“I appreciate it,” I said.

He brushed the sand from his shorts, and then looked like he was embarrassed for having done so. He glanced up and grinned. “When a man makes something with his hands, a small part of him is transferred to what it is he’s crafted. At least that’s my belief. Not too many making boards by hand anymore.”

Completely satisfied by his response, I stood silently and let it resonate within me.

“So, that’s why I’m here,” he said.

“Why do you surf?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Yeah, why.”

“Kind of hard for me to explain,” he said.

“Give it a try.”

He gazed down at the floor. After a moment, he shifted his eyes up to meet mine. “I don’t know that everyone would agree with me, but I think I’m part of this earth. You know, nature. I mean, I’m not some man-made piece of machinery. For me to embrace life, I need to embrace nature. Become one with the earth. There’s two ways to do that as far as I’m concerned. Floating through the sky or surfing. I’m afraid of heights. So, I surf. Or I try at least.”

I cleared my throat. “You like short, mushy waves?”

He nodded.

“I can make you a fishy little board that’ll be easy to ride, and give you a lot of speed if you want it. I can make the rocker flat enough to go fast, and have enough curve to get the turns you want. Something with a low entry, a little bit low through the center, and then the tail will need to drop out,” I said.

“What are you? About five nine?” I asked.

“Exactly,” he said.

“I’d recommend about four inches shorter than you are tall. About five-five. Single concave in the center, and into a double at the fins. It’ll be an easy board – but have a lot of maneuverability – and it’ll be fast on low waves. Everybody wants to go fast.”

“How much time are you thinking?” he asked.

I shrugged. “How’s two weeks from Friday sound?”

“Sounds awesome. Depending on what time you get it done, I might get some surfing in. I’m off on Fridays. We’re working four tens right now. By the way, I’m Perry,” he said as he extended his hand.

I shook his hand and grinned. “Luke. And I’ll have it done late on the Thursday night before. So, you can pick it up Friday anytime.”

He reached for his wallet. “Pay for it now?”

“Pay when you take it out of the shop. After you’re sure you want it, I said. “Six hundred sound good?”

“Sounds cheap for a Luke Eagan custom.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “After you pick it up, we’ll go down to the beach and I’ll give you some tips.”

He folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned back as if waiting for the punch line to a joke. “You’re not serious. Are you?”

I clenched my fist, extended my thumb and pinkie finger, and twisted it back and forth. In Hawaii the gesture was called the
shaka
, in California, we surfers called the
hang loose
or
hang ten
. In any culture it was a greeting, a departure and a smile – all in one.

“My girl works till 3:30, so whatever time you get here, we’ll just head down there,” I said.

“Dude. Wow. Yeah. I’ll uhhm. I’ll be here at like. Yeah, what time do you open?”

I chuckled. “I live upstairs. I open when the sun comes up.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and grinned. “Right on.”

“Okay. See you two weeks from Friday,” I said. “And it was nice to meet you, Perry.”

He reached toward me with his open hand. “Yeah, same.”

I shook his hand and he walked away, gazing around the shop as he left. All of the surf shops I had ever been in sold boards, leashes, shoes, shirts, trinkets, necklaces, sunglasses, and everything else a person may want for a day at the beach.

Other than the desire, my shop sold everything needed to surf.

Surfboards and fins.

And that was it.

The walls were lined with surfboards, none of which were for sale. Each one held with it a memory. A place in time, an accomplishment, an unavoidable situation, or a turning point.

I glanced at the most recent addition to my collection.

Placed on the wall on the day Liv and I had sex for the first time, the board was one of my personal favorites. A long high-performance step-up with a single concave throughout, it was the board I began riding the day after the previous year’s big storm. I glanced beside it. A high performance short that was flat at the feet and had a slight “V” at the tail was one I had ridden from the time Valerie and I broke up until the day of the storm. Some of the best waves I had caught were on that particular board, and the memories held with it were rich.

I grinned as I turned and admired teach of the boards. The memories they brought with them was better than a photograph or an embellished story that changed as it was told over time.

My life, one board at a time, was on display for all to see.

But, no differently than when a person watched me surf, the observer had no idea what was beyond the surface of what they were seeing.

None at all.