My Bestie

Calvin warmed the underbelly of his forearms upon the sun baked bar. Inside a 2018, hot summer's theater; he has wheeled the Key West curtains open for new characters and plots. The bartender brought him his third gold, plastic beer wearing grinding white teeth and an open red Hawaiian shirt. Calvin knew the bartender, Chuck; he owned the bar and a very large boat kissing the surface of the water on the other side of Duval Street.

"What are your plans on this lovely Saturday," Chuck said.

"To get drunk," Calvin said.

"That is everyone's plan. You have to add to it," Chuck said.

Calvin often hid his bisexuality especially in front of silver daddy Chuck. He knew Chuck would extort young men a morning ride on his boat if they couldn't carry their bar tabs. Conversely, that was Calvin's plan for the day. He had dollars bundled in his pocket for three beers and he would be ordering many of those domestic piss puddles: cold enough to drown out the urinated taste. Calvin waxed every hair off his body; like a smooth vinyl doll with a rubber bubble ass. And one hot freckle on that bubble ass like the North Star for Chuck's greedy eyes.

On the sixth beer, Calvin rose off the stool to reach for it, animating his bottom onto Chuck's imaginary eight-inch cock as he slid back down. The sixth beer doused his hunger pains as he contemplated his endless sexual cycle of unintimate sex and superficial friendships. He knew his body would wrinkle up with age and in his twenties; he wanted to be drunk, naked, and fucked by many; but it was also risky, and he thought about finding "the one" that summer so he could stop.

Chuck reminded him of his father: grey hair, doubled chin, hard beer belly, and white hair spilling out his 68-year-old ears. He watched him listen to Jimmy Buffet as he poured drinks as the sun swapped places with the moon. He was not in love with Chuck, and even found him repulsive, he just wanted to be spanked and punished from an old pirate. But he also wanted a tough and sensitive man like Earnest Hemingway, who lived years ago twenty yards from Chuck's bar: The Old Parrot.

It had been twelve hours since Calvin ate lobster and crackers at 4PM. He lost his beer count and walked in a blurry maze to the bathroom. He returned to his warm stool as the Atlantic breeze swam up his cargo shorts fondling his ass and nuts. His cock grew.

"I am closing up Calvin. You need to settle, 45.00, ok?"

"Fuck, I thought I had more..." Calvin said.

"What do you have?" Chuck said.

"Ten bucks," he said

"You need to get your ass in here at 8AM and do some dishes. I'm serious," Chuck said.

Calvin fretted about no mentioning of a morning boat ride. He cringed at the idea of manual labor. "I can go to the ATM once my funds clear tomorrow afternoon."

"I've heard that before. Once I let you out of here, I'll never see you again," he said.

"Can I do anything other than the dishes? I'll do anything," Calvin said.

He didn't want to say: Take me out on the boat in front of your buddies and bend my ass over at the bow while they watch.

"What are you good at?" he said.

"I rather wash your boat then do the dishes. My drunken ass will break dishes," he said.

"Who told you I have a boat?" he said.

"I heard you did," he said.

"From who?" he said.

He watched Chuck change from Jimmy Buffet to a New York mob gangster. And Calvin reciprocated the accent and everything: "I'll wash your fucking boat, polish it, what do you want from me?"

"You know where it is?" Chuck said.

"Sure."

"Meet me at the dock in twenty minutes."

Calvin walked the crooked streets in his island clothes: A red Billabong shirt, beige cargo shorts, a thin black thong, and a pair of lime green Crocs. He smoked a Marlboro light and paced the cement seawall. Chuck and 3 other beer bellied men: balding, wearing sunglasses; carrying grocery bags and fishing poles boarded.

"You coming?" Chuck said.

"Do you have any crackers?" Calvin said.

The men mumbled and laughed as Calvin hopped onto the shimmying stern.

The motor buried its sound into Calvin's blurry soul. Captain Chuck handed him a turkey sub and a glass of red wine. The tip of the sun peaked above the horizon. Two miles out, they started drift fishing.

"There is cleaning supplies under the sink in the kitchenette down below. Start working off your bar tab," Chuck said.

"Do you have any rags I can wear? I don't want to get cleaner on my clothes," Calvin said.

"Out here, you don't need clothes. Clean the boat naked if you want," Chuck said.

Calvin went down below. The men cracked Bud lights and casted their reels into the bouncy ocean. He came back up with two towels and a blue bottle. The sun gleamed off the top of his bubble ass as he waddled around them. His thin black thong, tight between his cheeks was all that covered his body beside the Crocs. He flattened both knee caps on the stern fiber glass with his ass puckered out.

The three men gulped their beer and watched; forgetting they had lines in the water. Under their pants: burning erections pushed out their zippers. Calvin was an exhibitionist and he loved the freedom of his ass displayed on the open sea. His cock hardened like marble and exploded out the front of his thong. He did the best to hide it as he polished the salt off the windows.

He saw Chuck in the reflection. His hand slid inside between Calvin's cheeks absorbing his warmth. Calvin kept shifting back and forth as he scrubbed the window. Chuck peeled down his skimpy thong and licked his ass. Calvin ignored it; he kept cleaning feeling the cold wet sensation of Chuck's tongue inside of him.

Calvin saw his reflection in waves over the sparkling Atlantic. His sockets were dull grey, and his head bobbed up and down. All three cocks have been buried inside him as they palmed and smacked his bubble ass and moaned louder than the passing seagulls.

"This little pussy, it just feels so fucking good," Calvin's giant friend said.

"Whose hot little ass is this?" Calvin's tiny friend said.

Chuck's eight-inch cock slid back in and he screamed and flooded inside and all over Calvin's bubble ass. He felt the explosion of come and jumped off the boat. He couldn't believe he was a boat whore. He hated himself. He submerged his head three feet under the dark green swirls. The saltwater burned out and cleaned his ass. "I am sorry, I want to go home," Calvin said. The men yelled and threw him a life preserver.

"We will get you home handsome. Just get your ass back in the boat," Calvin said.

A wave came and pushed Calvin's head about six feet under. He couldn't understand how that was possible. A grayish force erupted out of the suds and moved him like a lightning bolt. A row of teeth roofed with red gums slid by his face. Followed by a dorsal fin that blocked the sun. Calvin grabbed the fin and his naked body skimmed the water twenty yards out.

The three strangers on the boat yelled. The three that used his body like a sex toy. He didn't love them. He thought about feeding the shark. But he didn't. He wanted to find "the one" that summer. The shark skimmed the bottom of his feet as he grabbed the life preserver. The men pulled him up. Under his wet bubble butt, it rained saltwater on a gasping twenty-foot great white's smile.

Calving hugged the men and walked the crooked picket fence to his bed and breakfast. He showered off his tears and walked down to the lobby and drank the entire pot of coffee. He called his ex-girlfriend Racheal.

"Where are you?" Rachael said.

"I am a closet homosexual and I need help," he said.

"I know this," she said.

"You do?"

"Yes. Where are you? I am coming to you," she said.

"Thank you," he said.

Calvin walked to the front desk and hammered down the bell.

"How can I help you," a lady said.

"Can you brew a fresh pot of coffee," he said. "My best friend is coming."