  in christmas vacation i went to maui. we took surf lessons - who doesnt in hawaii? it was brilliant to paddle around on our boards, and certainly more so the exquisite instructor. damn the luck. the most incredible guy i ever meet lives on an island too many thousand miles away. 'are you a cheerleader? ' another instructor asks as i lay prone on my surfboard in front of him; theyre standing.
i laugh no, 'a model? ' asks my own instructor. 'you guys want tips, dont you? ' i laugh back. trailing down his back like medusa's snakes were long sienna dreds, a number of them bleached white as the exalted white sand. they were just skinny, and he had massed them back with a rubber band. i loved them. when i went up to him after the lesson with an obscene tip, he was busy rinsing the coarse golden sand from his reef booties.
'do you have a pocket i can just stick it into? ' i asked. he directed me to a small pocket on his thigh, and proffered his leg. 'uhh listen,' he said, 'there is like, a party tonight for new years, its gonna be pretty sweet. wanna come? ' so i snuck out in hawaii. i do it at home all the time - is it worse or better while on vacation with the parents?
that was the first time id been drunk in a while. we had so much fun that night. it was on a beach, and we splashed and played in the water and by a giant bonfire. there were people everywhere, beercans, surfboards and a million cars in the lot and down the street. ive never had a better new years. kimo was pretty short, only a few inches taller than me (im not small.. 5'6).
wiry-muscular and dark tanned, a japanese style tattoo covered most of his lower back. he was hot. we took a sufrboard out (he took it out, i rode) and we surfed blind in the dark, partner style, for a while. i have to say, hawaiian reefs are a little sharp for night surfing. when one of his friends swam out and jumped on the board, scaring the shit out of me and capsizing it, we all went back in to the beach. everybody got wasted on heineken and guinness and tequila. theres nothing more fun than one night stands in a city thousands of miles of ocean from your home. theres no inhibition of any sort. everyone in hawaii drives a small pickup (if theyre native) or a 2004 mustang (if theyre not).
all of the pickups have surfboards layered in the back, and who would have guessed - they double as a mattress. another oddity - 9 inches, 5'8; 5 inches, 6'3. hmm. i guess its true - height has nothing to do with it. drunk and hyper and free, we landed in the back of kimos pickup. most of the cars near us were enjoying similar occupations. theres something inherently sexier about leaving clothes on to do it. it seems so much naughtier, so much more 'my-parents-could-get-home-any-minute-and-catch-us'.
we tried it side by side, we tried it missionary, we tried it flat doggy. he wasnt any 'better' than any other guy. the situation was. afterwards we partied more. he drove me home at four am, and we sat outside my hotel for an hour in the car, knowing we'd never see each other again. its a weird feeling, sitting with a guy youve just met and fucked and know youll never see again. we didnt know whether to laugh or cry. so we had sex again. in the cab of the truck. it was so good, straddling his lap with my hands on his shoulders and his arms around my waist.
i walked into my hotel, into the enormous lobby where the desk attendents looked at me in alarm. i tipped them not to say a word. who actually does that in real life, james bond? 
