Chapter 5: Pier 19
817 Words
Chapter 5: Pier 19
The Beach
Pier 19
10:17 P.M.
Hand in hand, we left The Rawhide Bar & Grille, stepped onto Meridian Street, made an immediate right, and headed west. The night was balmy and sweet and smelled of the Gulf. A light wind blew against our faces and bare chests. The sky was filled with glitzy stars and the moon was bright white and almost full, making me feel romantic and comfortable. Our destination was on our right: a not-so-secret place where two men could kiss intimately without being arrested, shot at, or beaten up by fag-haters.
I was in the lead now. My right hand clung to his left and I led him toward the beach under the canopy of stars.
He asked again, “Where are you taking me?”
“The beach. Pier 19.”
“You’re going to have your way with me, aren’t you?”
“Only if you want me to.”
“What if I want more, Bradley?”
“Then you’ll have to work at it.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Something’s hard on me, but it’s not a bargain.”
He was shoulder to shoulder with me now. He squeezed my hand, tipped his hat to me, and said, “Thanks for tonight. I’m having a good time.”
“We’re just warming up,” I replied. It was true.
“How so?”
“You should stick around and find out.”
“I think I will.”
We followed Sandcastle Way toward the beach, passing the typical waterfront hotels, homes, and expensive shops. Other couples—mostly male and female—were coming in the opposite direction, returning from Pier 19. The Gulf and the night’s heavens made a picture-perfect postcard for us.
When we got to the beach, Cord gave my hand an abrupt squeeze. “Listen to that,” he said.
I heard the Gulf’s anxious rise and fall. Sometimes it sounded like newspaper being crunched into a ball. Other times it sounded like static on the radio. But it was always soothing, a delight, and I’d enjoyed it during my years along the coast. I said, “Magic to my ears.”
“It’s a lot different than the sound of corn in an Oklahoma field. That’s something we have oceans of.”
“What kind of sound is that?”
“Maybe someday you’ll find out. But to tell you the truth, it’s just as nice.”
We were halfway to the water when Cord reached down for a handful of sand. I knew it was still warm after the day’s sun. Cord said, “It’s sort of soft.”
“Just be careful. A piece of shell can slice your finger open.”
“Thanks for caring, man. That’s nice.” He let the sand drain through his fingers, and said “this isn’t a field of corn flowing in the wind, but it’s beautiful in its own way.”
He was right. Silver-white moonbeams lit the smooth white sand, the shells that always rolled in and out, and the occasional scuttling crab. The wind tingled our bare skin while the stars flickered.
To the right, off in the distance, a group of young men, sand queens, partied around a fire pit. They were all drinking and giggling. One of them was naked, and hooted like a boy in The Lord of the Flies as he danced around his friends.
Cord nodded at them as we walked toward the water. He said, “They sound like they’re having a good time.”
“The two of us can have that much fun.”
“How so?” he asked, obviously titillated.
“Make a left and I’ll show you.”
* * * *
Pier 19 was far away to our left. Its wooden skeleton rose some thirty feet above the Gulf, stark black against the stars. It stretched at least a hundred feet out over the night water.
“Keep walking,” I said. “There’s a ladder up to the top from the beach.”
“Is it safe?” he asked. His question sort of surprised me. I’d always thought cowboys liked to take risks and didn’t ask many questions.
“No, if you fall. Yes, if you don’t fall.”
“Nice,” he grinned, heading toward the ladder. Now that he’d asked, it looked narrow, rickety, and weather-beaten in the dim light.
Never in my right mind did I think I’d be climbing Pier 19 on a work night. I had to admit that cowboys, particularly one named Cord Darringer, made me go a little crazy. Bottom line: he had me, whether he wanted me or not, and I told myself that I was his in full—no lies.
I thought of Melanie for the first time that night. What would she have said if he knew I was walking the beach with a cowboy, about to climb Pier 19? What advice would she have given me? Would she think I was acting like a teenager? Would she have praised me for chasing d**k (she was a great supporter of my s****l hunger for cowboy c**k)? I wasn’t sure. Melanie was pretty open-minded, but was much safer than me. Maybe she’d have been disappointed in my adventure. Maybe not. I could only find out by telling her my Oklahoma-man tales tomorrow. I’d certainly want to tell her the whole story about my fun with Cord Darringer.
We’d reached the battered ladder. Cord took hold of its rails and gave it a shake. It rattled a little against the pier. He turned to me and said, “You’re lucky I have insurance in case I fall.”
“I’ll catch you,” I said, meaning it. “Now get your ass up there.”
“You’re pushy, man.”
“You like it.”
He laughed a little, and confessed, “You know me pretty well, Bradley, even though you don’t know me at all.”
- Writer
