I know you'll think this is all ho'omalimali, but I swear I'm not bullshitting you.

He pressed one hand into the back of my knee before I knew he was behind me. I was up on my tiptoes on the University of Hawai'i Library footstool, reaching for Haunted Hawai'i on the top shelf, looking for material to spice up my tour guide rap. His cold hand startled me, and I lost my balance. His other hand slid up the back of my cutoffs. He cupped my okole, the left cheek, and pushed me back upright. I'm sure he was expecting underwear, but once I strip off my bright, flowered work uniform, pau hana, I wear as little as possible.

He didn't take his hands away. He owned me with his touch. He could crumple me down or hold me up, however he pleased.

I don't know who he was, where he came from, or how long he'd been watching me.

His hand slipped down from my okole and crept into the tight cranny between my thighs, searching for my balls, but they were squashed tight and sweaty up under the denim inseam. My big legs make for a tight fit, and he gave up trying to extricate my ohana jewels. He ran his hands up and down my legs. I stared at those disembodied hands exploring my body, his skin on mine like white coconut meat against its tough brown husk. Even his long fingers couldn't make it all the way around my mountain-biking calves. He touched me like he couldn't believe I was real. I didn't turn around to face him. I didn't want to snap out of a surreal dream. Maybe this was Maui the Trickster playing a godly joke on me.

He had his nose right at my tailbone. He pulled my sleeveless tank out of my waistband. He ran his hands under my shirt, across my back and around to my abs. My nipples were on high beam, what with his icy touch and the air conditioning cooling my sweat. It didn't take long for his Braille exploration to find them, plus I've got big tits. He reached up and pinched them, hard. He touched both hands to my throat.

He dipped his fingertips down my belly and into my waistband. He paused as he encountered the tip of my ule, like a second glance with touch, surprised by its half-mast reach. No bragging, I'm a big dude, and my cock's proportionate. He popped open my fly. My shorts dropped easily to my ankles once he got them over my ass mounds — they're the size of the outer islands.

I had those sweet thong tan lines that come spreading out from your ass crack like embracing wings that reach around to cup your precious jewels. I could've sun bathed nude on my apartment's lanai, but I think those tiny lines look really hot on muscular bodies like mine. They make big asses look penetrable. Front and back, those lines draw the eye right to the point. That's one part of me I don't care to sunburn, plus I'm hapa, mixed race, and I like to think I've stuffed my white side right up my ass.

He pressed his lips, cold and dry and thin, right to my crack. I must have been real hauna, but he seemed to like that musky smell. He breathed me in and licked my salty skin. Fresh from a hard bike ride through the Manoa Valley, I'd hit the library more for the cold air than the books. My apartment's air conditioning was busted, but they kept the library a/c cranked because mildew is such a problem on the collections what with the humid climate.

His white hands snaked through my pubic hair, the same coarse dark curls as the ones on my head. He cupped my package, feeling its heft. My ule protested his freezing hands. I mean, I was naked in the library, for crying out loud. I've had some kicks before, but never anything like that. He laughed when I wilted. But with what his cold fist did to my uncertain ule, I was stiff as a surfboard in seconds.

He worked me over wiki wiki. I thought he rushed because he was afraid of getting caught. Later I realized he wanted to show me good and fast that I had absolutely nothing to do with it. All I could do was give up and follow his paces. He revved me up before I could really go, like peeling tires when you take off too fast. He laid a patch with my body, and afterward I felt like one of those retreads you see at the side of the road. I didn't have time to think about any of it. I gave up to him, just like that, pawing a little at the stool with my toes. His moving hand was a blur, like a white dove flapping her wings.

He bit my okole, and I erupted all over the book spines in seconds. So much for mildew.

I lost all strength to my legs. Weak kneed, I sagged back against him, and he lifted me down. Yeah, lifted, like in the Gone With the Wind poster, me looking up at him in a faintish, goofy sort of way. Nobody's hefted my sizable carcass since I was a little keiki. I'm big. And I don't act queenie or vamp it up, so I don't look mahu. How did he know he wasn't going to get a fist in his face instead of my sweet okole? His confidence and assumption were what really grabbed my attention, well, that and what he did to me in the stacks, only I guess he grabbed more than that.

His power and my unresisting surrender went straight to my groin, and I went stiff again. My thick ule has this way of looking purple and angry and demanding when it's awake. It's a mean cock. It surprises people if they know me. The head roars, like you'd better think twice about letting it down, and right now it was pointing straight at him in stubborn command. He liked the Second Coming. I could tell by his smile. Plus it was his first good look, like he'd had his face full of my twin volcanoes up 'til now.

He set my naked butt on the stool. It had one of those ribbed, non-skid rubber coverings, and it dug graph paper lines into my okole, smarting where he'd given me the ass hickey. Only now my cock pointed straight up at me, like to say, "You big dummy."

"Just let me go wash my hands," he smiled down at me. "I'll be right back."

I sat there 38 minutes, until the librarian kicked me out after the third closing announcement. I almost asked her if she wanted to play tic-tac-toe on my ass, but I'd hiked up my shorts by then. I left the books all kapakahi where I'd almost pulled them down on myself while he milked my poi-pounder.

That's how it started.

I should have considered it a one-night stand, like why else would he ditch me naked on a library stool? But I knew he had something else in mind. He had purchased me from the shelves with those hands. He had marked me. I had to sit with my right ass cheek cocked up off the seat for a week because of my bruised okole, had to sleep on my opu because sleeping on my back aggravated the sore spot. There had to be something in it for him. I mean, I hadn't even touched him.

I prowled the stacks every night after dumping off busloads of sunburned tourists at their Waikiki hotels. How else was he going to find me? I even tried to jerk off standing there, but the librarian cruised by so I packed myself away real quick.

Eventually I gave up and rode my bike to the other side of the island and up the trail to Sacred Falls. It was late by the time I got there, and no one was around, so I stripped. I climbed the rock cliff and dove into the freezing pool. The water was his body and breath against me. His icy touch, and his gaze, gripped and penetrated me. I frog-kicked across the pool, and the water fucked my ass crack.

I paddled my outrigger furiously under the water, needing the friction to heat my ule. I'd been sticking my hand in the freezer before masturbating — which was constantly — remembering his cold strokes. My waves splashed the surface as much as the waterfall.

I swam under the pounding falls. The avalanche of water beat at my body and suffocated me. I latched onto the rock ledge and splayed my legs. The cascading water slammed into my ass, making violent, fluid love to me. It pushed me down into the depths of the pool, drowning me as it fucked me.

I floated back to the surface in still water downstream, my cock bobbing up first like a shark fin. I hummed the Jaws theme. The cold water lost its grip, and the warm air caressed me. The mist from the falls was all I'd need to come, I was that close. But I splashed upright, taking in a lung full of water. My bike and shorts were gone from the rock bank. Not only had someone stolen my stuff, but they'd witnessed my little water ballet. And now I had to find my way back in the dark without my bike light. Naked.

I ran. My hungry cock led the way for awhile, until it got smacked a couple of times by stray branches. The dense mountain foliage scratched me, and I tumbled over exposed roots. My callused, luau feet could take the rocks. It was the fear of menehunes that bothered me. The evil Hawaiian version of leprechauns, they lurked at night, ready to attack. These creatures had haunted me since my old Tutu, who had raised me, told me ghost stories when I was a keiki. I hadn't outgrown the superstition. I had no idea how I was going to get home halfway around the island once I escaped the forest. I just knew I had to hele on out of those deserted woods before something grabbed me.

I staggered, naked, dirty, bruised, and scratched, into the dark parking lot. My bike was strapped to the trunk of his Porsche convertible. He didn't speak or wave, just watched.

Pissed, I strode over to him. Anger brings out my local features in hard lines, and I knew I looked mean. Only my tiki torch lit up, I was that charged by his reappearance, so I guess I wasn't all that threatening. He just smiled. I like his smile.

There was no sign of my shorts.

I climbed into the passenger seat and fastened my seatbelt. He touched my thigh, and I got chicken skin. He fingered a welt on my shaft. He shifted my gears and the car's as he drove. Without headlights. Pupule, man. Crazy. He took me to Paradise Park. The exotic birds squawked in their tourist trap.

"Ever been inside?"

"Not since elementary school." I told him how I'd gone home crying over the caged birds, had drawn up daring plans to free them.

I followed him to the entrance. He had my clothes. He jimmied the front gate.

The giant birdcage is two stories tall, and you enter at the top. We stood at the beginning of the descending path that zigzags down one side of the open-barred cage. The tropical birds, multi-colored and beautiful, flapped their wings and shrieked at the late night disturbance. I started to walk down the path, but he grabbed my hand. I jumped with its chill.

I kept walking. Now that his hand wasn't on my cock, I was mad again.

I couldn't pull free. He stood still and quiet, just holding me. I whiplashed back.

I liked the shock of it. I had really checked him out this time, and he looked too thin to push me around. He's almost as tall as me, and older, with washed out blue eyes and blonde hair slicked back, like one of those proper dudes on a boring public television movie about a different century. He wore light-colored linen clothes that whispered around his body in the tradewind. His style is expensive but simple, except he wears a few big-ass rings, like even on his thumbs, thick and gold and hammered. One caught on my cock head in the stacks, and later he liked to scratch me with the diamond one.

He's haole, real white. Like, white in a way even haoles in Hawaii just aren't. Walking between your car and the grocery store will give you color. I mean, how could you stay that white with a convertible in the tropics?

He stuffed my clothes into the cage, shoes and all. They fell to the bottom, two stories down, landing in crusted bird shit.

He grabbed my cock and led me down the path to the cage door at the bottom. He held it open for me. I stepped in, and the barred door slammed behind me with a clang. I tested it. Locked from both sides. I'd worry about that later. Right now he beckoned to me through the bars. I came up close, and he petted me. I thought I'd shoot instantly. I'd never been put in a cage before. But he wasn't about to allow that. He'd just started to play. Tonight wasn't about coming wiki wiki like at the library — it was about stretching out my torment.

He rattled a pocket full of change. The birds squawked for a midnight snack, expecting us to feed them treats out of the vending machines. He bought a pile of seeds for them, stuffing his pockets, and scattered them at my feet. They swooped down, screeching. The beaks and claws on those birds made me real nervous.

I stood with my back to him, my okole pressed against the bars. He reached into the cage to fondle me, the other hand alongside my ule with a hand full of seeds. I wanted my dick to shrink down out of the birds' way, but he made sure it stood up for them. They flapped around me, screeching and pecking. He balanced a seed right on my cock head, and a nasty white parrot swooped in and pecked it off. I yelped and slammed back against the bars. He laughed. I like his laugh.

I felt a nagging tickle up my ass. He'd fitted me with a plumed tail. It wagged whenever I clenched my cheeks.

He allowed me to turn around, cock thrust out of the cage and swollen balls hooked up over a crossbar. He walked a few more steps up the path and extended his enticing fingers into the cage. Up I climbed while he strummed my ukulele, until he stood at the top again. Two stories up, I clung to the cold bars, slippery with my sweat, my cock demanding a feeding through the cage. The height didn't bother me. I'd climbed a lot higher up mountainous rock that hadn't offered such easy hand and foot holds. But the parrots worried me. They screamed and beat with their wings, suspicious of this tailed beast in their sanctuary. He encouraged their raucous dance around me, sprinkling seeds on my hair and shoulders, on my ass hills, and wedged in my ass crack above my tail.

I wanted to climb down a few notches and have him feed me his shaft. Polly wanted some kau kau. I wanted him to pound down into me, his passion threatening to dislodge me, the danger of a high-rise blow job heightening my lust. But he just kept petting me, a slow, persistent stroke. He plucked one of my tail feathers and dusted my ule with it. That's how slow he went. He had me clinging to that cage, speckled in bird crap, squawking as loud as the parrots.

I trembled from the strain of holding my weight up for so long. I started to climb down. But he took such a hold of my dick it seemed he'd rip it out by the root if I moved, so I stayed planted, him working me over, my tail drooping.

He picked up the pace, and Polly sang.

He made me turn around, a dangerous execution, my back to the cage as I clung to it, arms above me, heels tucked into an opening. He reached around to my cock. I rocked in his motionless fist, the dance up to me. The bars rattled as my ass beat back against them, crushing my tail. He crouched and bit my ass again. I yelped, almost losing my hold, but instead shot an impressive arc that fell like warm tropical rain. I lost my tail.

I turned around. I should have guessed. He was gone. Only this time he'd left me in a trickier spot than bare-assed on a library stool.

Muscles quivering with exhaustion, I climbed down, slipping off my foothold a couple of times and dangling dangerously. I pulled on my cutoffs, swearing as the white parrot crapped on my head. I'm not sure what made me look up, but there he stood at the top, expressionless, next to an unlatched cage door. I had to climb back up to get out.

Flopping through the door awhile later, seal-like, I heard him screech out of the parking lot. He left me a present with my bike, the most brilliant, multi-hued feather I'd ever set eyes on. I'd heard a hell of a shriek, and suspected it was fresh plucked.

I could hardly make it home. With twin hickeys on my ass cheeks, one fading and one fresh, I coasted into the sunrise standing up on the pedals.

After that I masturbated with the feather instead of ice cubes.

He stopped making me wait so long between visits. He showed up without warning, always at night. Whenever he appeared, I hele'd on over as fast as I could, no matter where I was. I'd ditch my friends. Like takeout from Zippy's Drive-In couldn't compare to his pupu platter. After awhile my buddies gave up on me and quit calling.

He drove me all over, often to the same places I took jackass happy tourists during the day. While the pink herds milled around outside snapping photos, I jerked off on the tour bus, remembering what he'd done to me on this very spot, hours before. I was marking his territory — namely, me. I preferred his package tours to mine. Despite the daytime crowds, the places were deserted at night. One look from him, his narrow nose flaring, and any strays scampered. He wasn't physically threatening, like I could be. There was just something about him, a powerful mana. Like auwe, dude, if you crossed him wrong. I did my share of scampering.

Our dates consisted of one thing: me naked and him touching me, watching me. No small talk.

He'd tease and torture me all night. When I staggered into work the next morning, my boss thought I was stoned on pakalolo. I started calling in sick. I was afraid I'd wreck the tour bus, shouting, "Alooooo-HA!" as I rid the island of myself and a gaggle of tourists. I went surfing. The ocean purified me, his scratches stinging in the salt water.

By the time he took me up to the old heiau above Waimea Bay, I was cranky. I was getting tired of this routine. All he did was push me around and watch me squirm. I had yet to touch him. He hadn't removed a scrap of clothing. He hadn't even kissed me. He paid my dick lots of attention, but that's it. I reached for his crotch in the car. He smacked my hand away, and I sulked. I thought about dumping him, moving on and finding a real relationship.

I knew I couldn't. There were worse things than a guy paying too much attention to your dick. But the thought made me feel like I had a choice.

The heiau's not much more now than a low, crumbling, rectangular wall of fist-sized rocks overgrown with weeds. Wandering around the sacred temple of the ancient Hawaiian kahuna witch doctors really creeped me out. Humans had been sacrificed to the gods here, but he prowled around like he owned it, no fear. At least at night we didn't have to worry about throwing our shadows across the kapu rocks. The taboo would have brought a death curse down upon us, or so the old people believed. I wrapped a ti leaf around one of the rocks and set it down amidst similar offerings left by others. Plenty enough still believed.

"For good luck," I explained sheepishly.

"Amazing the power the dead have over us, isn't it?" he asked. I felt pretty stupid.

He couldn't get me off, though on the way over my cock had been raging. I was too intimidated by my childhood superstitions, and he seemed to like that even better than my unfailing hard-ons. He smacked my soft meat around a little bit, and I asked again if we could go someplace else.

He pushed me face down, naked, of course, across the kapu rocks I'd always avoided even with my shadow. He finger fucked me, his first penetration of my body. I bucked at the shock, mostly because I hadn't expected it after all this time, and his finger was dry and cold. I wanted up, but couldn't push him off. I struggled a moment, then gave up to him. I couldn't refuse him. He explored my insides a long time, brutally, adding fingers. I tried to crawl away, but he was leashed to my insides. He pulled me back, scraping my torso and cock on the volcanic shrapnel. I knew he wouldn't stop until I broke down and accepted that my body must obey him. I tried to relax and open myself to the invasion I'd been craving.

He rolled me over. My body rotated around his fist like a huli huli chicken. He licked at my stinging scrapes. I was still limp, playing slack key. He spread my legs, made me hike my ass up. He pulled his hand out and shoved my ti leaf-wrapped, sacred rock right up my shameless okole.

"Dance," he said.

I don't know how he knew about my hula. I never talked about it. It was sacred, pure, the best part of me. I had refused to earn better money at it by entertaining the tourists.

"Why do you do this?" I rarely asked questions. When I did, he rarely answered.

"Because I'm bored."

Beats television.

I knew he wouldn't ask twice. If I said no, I'd never see him again.

I rose up on my knees and chanted in the ancient language. I knew better than to drop the rock.

Real hula isn't smiling girls in grass skirts shaking their skinny okoles for the tourists. Nobody danced that crap 'til the haoles came. Ancient hula used to be a preparation for war, serious business, men only. The kanes stomp and chant, mele, telling a story with their hands. It's real macho, but graceful and beautiful.

I danced in the dirt and weeds inside the decomposing wall, the soil rich with ancient blood. I danced and danced, but I couldn't get it up. I knew I couldn't stop dancing until I'd proven that he ruled my body. He'd fitted me with the proverbial red shoes, only they were up my ass, and I was dancing where the spirits could kill me.

So instead of the rain and sea and volcanoes and ancient gods, I made up a chant, a dance, about him. He possessed and penetrated me, even when he wasn't near. I beseeched him, paid homage to him, offered myself as sacrifice for his pleasure. He filled my mind and body, invading every crevice. He could kill me with his curse, or rule me with his mercy.

My cock obeyed, growing as hard as the rock inside me. I felt huge and primal, like the petroglyph stick figures the ancients carved in rock, their phalluses monstrous and out of proportion.

I danced faster, building a crescendo with the kaholo, the "vamp" step. My muscles quivered with the struggle of holding the rock inside me. My insides were violated. My guts cramped up and I collapsed to my knees, but I didn't lose it. I crawled over to him. He made me squat over the crumbling wall and lay my rock. I sank down, my head in my hands.

He'd broken me. He had tested me and discovered no limits. He was god over me, akua and aumakua, greater and lesser. His worship left room for no others.

He didn't touch me.

He took me up to Waimea Falls, and I dove off the high cliff into the deep pool of water. I felt cleansed and let him fondle me when I climbed out. I wanted to come, desperately, a release for my conflicted emotions. But he wouldn't take me there. It pissed me off. The turmoil had exhausted me, and I reached down to finish myself off. He grabbed my wrist, but I was so close and the struggle such a turn-on I knew I would come without direct contact. He threw me into the cold water. My cock retracted like a frightened snake.

He wound me up again on the ride home, then dumped me out of the car in front of my crummy apartment right on the brink.

He had never deprived me of satisfaction before. I guess I expected a tip for my performance.

That's when he told he I couldn't come anymore when he wasn't around.

Yeah, right.

He waited a long time before turning up again.

When I next saw his blinking headlights, I trotted over, deserting the luau dinner package tour. He saw I'd obeyed. My barometer wouldn't lie. I bulged right out of my pineapple-print malo. The loincloth's wedgie wasn't helping matters any. I couldn't keep the front flap down, and the ladies were tipping well. He reached over the car door and ripped it off, leaving it in a heap on the pavement. Tourist jaws dropped wider than the kalua pig's. I climbed in. He backed over my outfit before peeling away.

His hands gripped the steering wheel. I wished they'd grip something else. I ached. I needed him now. I didn't care about reality tomorrow.

He took me to his place for the first time. He has this massive house right on the water, with automatic gates and everything.

"You live here alone?"

"I keep a few house guests."

I laid back on a scarlet couch, the type where fainting ladies in corsets stretch out. The chandelier over us actually had candles.

He kissed me. That was a first. I drank it up like crazy. I tried to rub against him, but he pulled away.

"Live with me," he said. "Be mine."

"Okay."

A hell of a deal. So what if he couldn't get it up? Since I'd seen no action behind the fly of his tailored slacks, I'd guessed that impotence forced him to get his kicks through other displays of power. I could live with that.

He flipped me over and poured a bottle of celebration champagne up my ass. The liquid bubbles made me squirm and laugh, and he fucked me with the bottle. It was a hell of a lot better than the rock. I erupted just like the uncorked bottle. He didn't worry about ruining the velvet settee.

My groom led me — by my hand — to my suite of rooms. Yeah, suite. He had totally decked out my bedroom for a real wedding night, everything in white, and candles and flowers all over — he knew I'd say yes. A filmy canopy floated over the bed. We'd never done it in a bed before.

He shoved me face down on the mattress, just dug right into my neck with his shark's teeth. He'd always nibbled at me, licking at my scratches, but nothing could have prepared me for this rabid penetration of my flesh in his intense lust and hunger. I went rigid, like in a paroxysm.

His cock bulged against my backside as he grew hard on my blood. I pressed back, wanting it in an unbelievable way. He was warm against me. I had my mouth open in one long, non-stop moan. Despite my sudden anemia, I stayed pumped up and wanting it, his expert hand reaching around to fondle me.

I wasn't surprised once it happened.

And I wasn't afraid.

He wanted a lover, not a victim, make, a corpse. I guess quickies had lost their flavor for him decades ago, just like they do for most of us. He wanted me to want it, passion returned in his all-consuming embrace. I would hunger for it like he hungered for me. I was addicted, infected, incurably diseased.

I knew what I was going to be.

It's not so different from what his type's been doing to our people for centuries.

Maybe you think I'm lolo, crazy, but what kind of future was I giving up? The land has been stripped and paved. No sugarcane. Everything's endangered, even water. What's left? I'd been serving haoles my ass on a plate all along, only I preferred the way he fed off me.

He turned me over so I could watch him. He undressed. There was nothing wrong with his anatomy as far as I could see, his white pecker swollen with my own blood coursing through his ancient veins.

He fucked me, missionary style, just like the first religious invaders to the islands taught us. I gave myself to him. I am his. My body is kapu to all others now, off limits, sacred, property of my king and god, ali'i and akua. He rammed hard and deep and cold, ruthless, his dick inside me, and latched on again with his mouth to my neck. It was like his two body parts, his dick and lips, connected somewhere deep inside me, like I could feel his dick straight through my body from my asshole up to the top of my spine. I went limp, and it was like an orgasm all through my body, like jamming my finger into an electric socket.

I bucked and gasped, body spasming, brain and body screaming, him half full and me half empty, helpless to anything he desired. His hard cock coursed with my own blood.

He knew my pace, my rhythm, when he could push me and when I couldn't take anymore torment. All this time he'd been testing, training, wooing, punishing, and rewarding me, simultaneously. Because he had to time it just right, leaving me enough to stay hard while taking enough to pump up his lust and fuck me. He liked to make it last, but he didn't want to kill me.

He couldn't climax. The pleasure he got was the sensation of the fucking, of being alive, of the body beneath him wanting it, of sex linked with live prey.

We are symbiotic, the perfect couple. He needs me, and he's my dream lover. Would you leave a man who fucks you all night long and doesn't care about his own orgasm?

So, you see, no ho'omalimali, I lived to tell the tale. And I'll go on living. I'm not what you think I am. I'm not like him, not one of his kind. My body replenishes what he needs. I eat lots of steak. Watching me eat turns him on. Sure, he snacks on the occasional tourist, but their sunscreen makes him sick. As I gain in strength, his hunger and lust for me grows. And when I've healed from his lovemaking, he saps my strength again with a passion no human lover can match. But first I dance for him, singing his tale in the oral tradition of the ancients. The traditional dog-tooth anklets clatter as I chant, only I know these are no poodle canines. These others were disposable, human sacrifices. But me, he keeps.

 

©2002 J.D. Roman - Contributor's Bio

'Vamp' was anthologized in Best Gay Love Stories 2005