There’s a drag show going on inside, the place is packed. We squeeze in through the crowd, and because I’m walking behind Griffin, I see the way every man in the place stops and gives him the eye, some with their mouths hanging open.
A makeshift stage has been set up in the corner, and the MC is a six-foot-tall, burly man, wearing a pink wig and a lace corset. The music thrums and we have to shout to hear each other over it.
The drag queens are actually having a contest, to see who will be on the cover of next year’s annual drag calendar. They come out in all sorts of get-ups: sequins, lace, leather, with spike heels and feather boas. Griffin laughs and claps; at one point he whistles loudly with his fingers, and that gets the MC’s attention.
“Merciful lord in heaven!” she gasps. “I do believe I am looking at the finest specimen of male I have ever seen! Are you a mirage? Maria, shine the light over there; I must find out if my eyes are deceiving me!”
Then all of the sudden, there’s a blinding light on us, and the whole place erupts, and there are wolf whistles and cat calls and someone starts shouting: GET ON STAGE!
And then it seems like the whole place is chanting it, and Griffin is standing next to me just losing his shit laughing. He leans toward me. “Should I do it?” he shouts in my ear.
The spotlight is still on us. I have a feeling if I tell him no, the men in this place would rip me to pieces.
“Yes!” I shout back.
The chant dissolves into jubilant cheers as Griffin makes his way from where we were standing to the stage.
“Well, hello,” the MC says when Griffin finally gets up there. The MC makes a big show of blinking, rubbing his eyes, blinking again. “You really AREN’T a mirage. Because honey, let me tell you, I’ve seen—and been with—a few good-looking men in my day, but you . . . you take the cake, sweetie.”
The crowd roars. Someone near me starts shouting, “STRIP!” and pretty soon, the whole place is screaming.
“I bet you can dance, too,” the MC says. She sticks the microphone in Griffin’s face.
“I’ve been known to bust a move or two,” he says in between laughter.
“You certainly can’t tease us like that!” the MC says. “And I think I’m speaking on EVERYONE’S behalf when I say we’d like to see one or two of these moves.”
The DJ is spinning some upbeat club stuff, and Griffin doesn’t hesitate. He starts dancing, and he is actually quite good. Without missing a beat, he pulls his shirt off and flings it out into the crowd. Perhaps it’s the lighting, or the way he’s moving his body, but he looks so incredibly hot, it’s almost breathtaking. And clearly I am not the only one who thinks so. When the song ends, the noise from the crowd is deafening. Griffin gives the MC a hug and then jumps down off the stage.
“How’d I do?” he asks when he gets back over to me.
I’m still laughing. I’m laughing so hard, in fact, that tears are rolling down my cheeks, and I can’t remember the last time that I had so much fun. Without even thinking, I put my arms around him and give him a hug.
“You were awesome!” I shout into his ear.
I let go of him, and the guy standing next to me nudges me with his elbow. “You lucky bitch,” he says.
When we get back to the ranch, Griffin wants to take a walk on the beach. It’s late, but we’re both still too pumped up from the evening to go to bed, so I agree. He takes my hand as we make our way down the trail, and we walk down onto the sand, the waves crashing in front of us.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says. “Thanks for letting me take you out.”
“You’re a riot. That thing at the café? I seriously can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. And those guys loved you.”
We stop, and he lets go of my hand. He turns so he’s facing me; we’re close enough to embrace but for a moment we both just stand there. He smiles.
“You’re beautiful.”
I look down at the sand, then back at him, trying to ignore the tingling feeling that’s swirling in my chest. “For someone who’s been with as many girls as you have, I’d think you’d have a better line than that.”
“It’s not a line,” he says. “It’s the truth.”
He brings his hands up to either side of my face and waits until I meet his eyes before he speaks again. “And yes, maybe I have been with a lot of girls, but that only means I happen to know what I’m talking about. And you, sweetheart, are beautiful.”
He brings his hands down to my shoulders and lets his head drop toward mine, slowly, his eyes falling halfway shut. But he doesn’t kiss me; he stops, his mouth maybe an inch from mine, lips parted slightly.
We stand like that. He’s not going to kiss me. He’s going to let me kiss him, if I want to. If I choose not to, maybe he’ll give my shoulders a squeeze and then back away, tell me to keep my chin up or something.
I tilt my head back a little, closing the distance. Less than an inch.
He stays still. His breath is warm on my face, something tingles in the air between us. I touch my lips to his and kiss him very softly. His eyes fall closed the rest of the way and he lets out a noise that’s a cross between a sigh and a groan. He moves his head away and I feel his mouth near my ear.
“I want you,” he whispers. “Give me more.”
His grip tightens on my shoulders, his hands moving down my arms to my waist. He slips one hand under my shirt and his palm is warm, first on my hip, then moving across my abdomen. He brings his face to mine again and this time I pull him toward me, wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him, mouths wide open, tongues entwined. We pull apart only so he can slip my dress over my head. The feeling of our bare skin touching is electric. He tilts my head back so I’m looking up at the sky and he slowly kisses the length of my neck. His fingertips trace lightly over the contours of my ribcage, my shoulder blades, and then he’s unfastening my bra and it falls away.
“Very nice,” he says, gently squeezing my breasts.
I can’t help the groan that escapes from my mouth when he takes my nipple into his mouth. He runs his hands down my back, he squeezes my ass and then slaps it gently.
He brings his hands back around and pushes at the waist of my skirt, lowering himself to his knees. He slips my underwear off, running his hands from the innermost point of my thigh down past my knee, down my calf, the way you would to a horse to get it to lift its leg. I step out of the bathing suit; one leg, then the other. He brings his hands back up to my thighs and pushes my legs apart, lowering his head, his tongue making slow circles over my clit. He slides one finger, then another, easily into my vagina and I feel my stomach muscles contract as my breath catches in my throat. My legs have been reduced to jelly and I’m not exactly sure how it’s physically possible that I’m still upright.
He reaches a hand up to my breast and squeezes my nipple.
“I need to lie down,” I gasp.
He lifts his head but keeps his fingers inside me. “Whatever you want, baby,” he says.
The sand is cool on my backside. He repositions himself over me, his forearms on either side of my head. He leans down and we kiss; I run my hands over his shoulders, his biceps, the skin warm, stretched smooth over the thick muscles.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he says.
I do, and I feel the head of his cock brush lightly against my labia. He shifts his hips and the head slides in, less than an inch. He holds it there, and I arch my back, trying to get him to go deeper.
“What are you doing to me,” I say, pressing my face into his upper arm. He swivels his hips in slow figure 8s as he kisses my throat. Suddenly, he pushes himself all the way in so our pubic bones touch and my body jerks underneath; the sensation is so intense, I think that I’m about to either black out or explode in pleasure.
“Come for me,” he whispers in my ear.
I’ve never been able to orgasm through straight sex, but I can tell that I’m close. There’s a tingling warm sensation filling my pelvis, traveling down my legs all the way to my toes. It builds like a crescendo, with the ebb and flow of his movements, and if he stops now I’ll lose it, it’ll be gone, even if he starts again, so I dig my fingernails into his back and say, “Don’t stop.” It comes out breathless and my voice catches in my throat and I wrap my legs around him tighter and right as the feeling is about to peak he shifts his hips upward slightly and he hits some new spot, some place that Sean and the handful of other guys I’d ever been with never even came close to finding and I’m arching my back, trying to keep him in me as deep as he can and my brain is buzzing, a million beautiful fireworks exploding in front of my eyes.
“Good girl,” he says when we’re finished. He rolls off me and onto his side and props his head up on one hand. “You’re a lot of fun.”
It still feels as though there’s an electric current running through my body, everything is tingling, there is a residual buzz that seems to have settled over me like a fine mist.
I wrap my arms around his neck and he tilts his head forward so our foreheads are touching.
“I want to tell you something,” I say. Usually I am not so direct, not so willing to just put something out there. But there is something different about him. He feels safe, yet also exciting, and it’s like this wall that I didn’t even know I had up is starting to crumble. “I am really happy you washed up on the beach that night.”
“And that you got to be the one to rescue me. I always wanted to be rescued by a beautiful lady.”
“And I’m the one that got to rescue you.”
“Thank God it was you and not Allison.”
We both laugh, and then he leans down and kisses me. I don’t think I have ever felt so good.
But the next morning when I wake up, I don’t feel good. I feel nervous, or anxious, and I skip breakfast so I won’t have to see Griffin. I hadn’t been with anyone since Sean, and while the experience with Griffin was about a million times better than anything I ever had with Sean, I can’t help but wonder how this is going to change things between us and I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with the idea of that.
Or maybe it meant nothing.
That, if I’m to be honest, is scarier than anything else, but of course I can’t admit that outside the confines of my own head. It’s been so long since I actually liked someone that I can’t quite believe it’s happening, or, if it is, it’s not going to last.
So, I drink a glass of water and head down to the barn. I feed the horses, and in the distance, I can hear some of the campers talking and laughing as they make their way to the lodge. I’m letting the horses out to pasture when Karen comes in and says good morning.
“Griffin was looking for you,” she says. “I told him I figured you’d be down here.”
“Here I am,” I say. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“No.”
“Well . . . if he comes down here, tell him you haven’t seen me, okay?”
She gives me a funny look. “Why?”
“Just—”
“You really should give him a break, you know. He’s not a bad guy. In fact, you want to know what I think?” She leans in toward me. “I think he likes you. Like, a lot more than Allison. Which kind of doesn’t make any sense, because you’ve been so mean to him. Is that the secret?”
“What? What secret? What are you talking about?”
“That if you want a guy to like you, you should be a giant . . . bitch to him.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” I wave my hand. “Let’s just get to work, okay? And seriously, Karen, I’m the last person on earth you should be asking for advice in that department.”
We start mucking stalls. It’s monotonous, but the repetition is calming and if I focus on what I’m doing, there really isn’t much room for other thoughts to intrude. I take my wheelbarrow out back to dump, and on the way into the barn, I can hear Griffin talking to Karen.
“Is Jill here?” he’s saying. I stop and take a few steps backward, away from the barn door.
She stutters. “Um, Jill? No, no, I don’t think so.”
“Oh. I figured she’d be down here. You need a hand, then? How many stall you have left to do?”
“Is there . . . is there a message you want me to relay to her?”
Nice, Karen, I think, and try not to roll my eyes.
“That’s okay,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll run into her eventually. Here, I’ll help you finish up. Where’s the other wheelbarrow?”
Hearing that, I leave the wheelbarrow where it is and turn and run around the side of the barn, all the way back to my cabin.
