Aaron Smith's Life Adventures

The sound of waves crashing on the shore and the water tickling my feet made me smile. The cloudless blue sky stretched out in all directions. Mitch Epstein walked over to me and stood in his bare feet with his toes curling into the sand. My back, warmed by the sand, relaxed. My head rested on a rolled-up towel. Mitch’s muscular torso flexed as he bent forward and kissed my knee. His tight Speedos accentuated his swollen manhood; I responded in kind. My desire for him had never been higher.

His kisses reached my inner thigh and he pushed my legs apart. My swimsuit was gone, and my erection stood straight up. Mitch buried his nose at the base of my shaft, and his tongue brushed over my scrotum. More blood rushed into my cock, tightening the skin even further. The tip of his tongue moved up my rigid member and circled the head. He clamped the tip with his lips and pushed his tongue into the orifice. My body shuddered, exhilarated by the gentle teasing.

My hands gripped sand as they formed fists when his mouth slide down an inch and he applied pressure with suction. He knew that drove me crazy, and I wanted to force my dick completely into his mouth, but I resisted. My back arched up as he traversed a little farther down before pulling back. He never released the head but held it tightly with his lips.

His moans were melodious and intensified my desire for him to take me completely. His mouth moved up and down while his tongue danced across the bottom of my cock. One of his hands gripped my ball sack while the other played with my nipple. I felt myself getting closer when suddenly cold air slapped my hardness. Mitch pushed my legs back and raised my ass in the air. His tongue waltzed over my manhole.

He pulled back and looked at me. “I love this hairy hole of yours,” he grunted in a low, almost animalistic, voice. His tongue went back to my rosebud, and I felt him push it farther in than he ever had before. His hands spread my cheeks farther apart, and his tongue fucked my ass. I wanted to grab my cock and jerk, but the pleasure immobilized me. I could almost feel the sperm lining up to shoot forth into the world.

Mitch released my legs and covered my mouth with his. I grabbed his head and crushed our lips together. His huge erection was free and pushing at my backdoor. I relaxed, and he entered me. His fuck was gentle and slow but soon sped up. He held my hands above my head as he kissed and pounded me. My dick throbbed, and when I could hold back no more, Mitch pulled out and sprayed his seed over me as I ejected my cum into the air. Our sperm mixed together and rained down over my chest.

Unable to hold back the tears of joy, I wept uncontrollably. His warm arms encircled me, and he whispered, “I love you with all of my being.”

The raft carrying Mrs. Epstein, Stuart, and me rubbed against the sandy rocks of the beach and startled me. Everything was blurry, and my throat ached from screaming. Mitch had not answered, and I had collapsed into a daydream to escape the nightmare. Stuart pulled me out of the raft and out of the water. I scanned out again. The ocean was again still. The bottom of the boat was barely visible in the distance. Deck chairs and other debris floated on the surface. I couldn’t comprehend what had happened. My legs did not have the strength to stand but I forced myself upright anyway.

I opened my mouth and croaked, “Mitch.” But my voice was gone, my vocal cords strained by the shouting. I stepped closer to the water. I was sure I saw something. I pointed, but no one reacted. I looked back to see Mrs. Epstein vomiting. Stuart was holding her head. Amelia stared straight ahead, her eyes glazed over. I looked back at the water and moved closer to it. I was sure that I saw something. I willed myself back into the water and toward it. Something white bobbled closer to the shoreline. I went deeper and reached out, grabbed a piece of white cloth, and pulled it.

I tugged and when I was in about a foot of water, the body rolled over. I clutched it to me. Mitch’s dead eyes stared toward heaven. His skin was cold and pale. I tried to scream but nothing came out. I kissed his face and prayed, but the only movement was that of his body being pushed by the waves.

Stuart noticed me and began to scream, “No!” over and over.

I don’t know where I got the strength, but I lifted Mitch from the water and carried him as far from the edges of the waves as I could. I sat and put his head onto my lap. I pushed his bangs back. He always hated how they would come forward. I thought they made him look cute, boyish, sexy. Now, he just looked lifeless.

Stuart kneeled beside us. He closed Mitch’s eyes. I would never see them sparkle again. I looked up at Stuart. Tears streamed down his face. Stuart's lips were trembling; his fingers vibrated quickly back and forth. “Aaron, why don’t you let him rest here and we’ll go over there.”

I shook my head and pulled Mitch closer to me. I was still there holding him eight hours later when the rescue helicopter arrived. I kissed him again, one last time before they forced me onto the seat next to Stuart. I never saw Mitch again.

Misery became my middle name. The helicopter had taken us to a navy ship; from there I was transported to Miami. With no credit cards, no ID, and no clothes, I had to call my parents to help me get back home. Once home, I stayed in my bedroom. I wouldn’t tell my father what happened. My mother was nowhere to be seen.

No one at the Epstein house answered my phone calls. On my first day out of the house, I drove there and was told that the family would not be returning to the house anytime soon and that I was not welcome there when they did return. I was unable to get any information on Mitch’s funeral, and I began the school year bitter and angry.

I remained bitter and angry. I filled my day with classes that I didn’t enjoy. I crammed my head with facts that I’d never use and solved problems for my assignments. I stopped in the dining hall on my way to class or back, but the food seemed more tasteless than usual.

I was working toward my computer degree, but my life goals had evaporated. Knowledge no longer gave me joy. I was empty.

I only participated in class as required. I worked with partners as required, always doing more than my fair share. I had no friends. I wanted no friends. If invited to a party, I declined. “I need to study,” was my reply.

My father knew that something was wrong, but he had stopped prying. I assumed he didn’t care. Until Tristan called. My father told him that something was wrong, and my brother called me. He knew I was staying on campus during Thanksgiving break and made arrangements to visit. When he asked whether to get a hotel room for us or if there was room for him in the dorm. I started to feel emotional and told him I wanted him to stay in my room. My roommate had dropped out halfway through the semester, so I simply needed to make the other bed for him.

He arrived Tuesday night, and since we didn’t have classes on Wednesday, we could spend the day shopping for food to microwave on Thanksgiving Day. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell him, and I had decided that it was my business. I wasn’t going to share any of it. He arrived a few minutes past six with a small suitcase and three large pizzas. We went up to my room; he put the pizzas down and immediately hugged me.

When he released me, he opened a pizza box and handed me a slice. “This reminds me of when I was about twelve and we got pizza and watched scary movies. You said you weren’t scared, but you snuggled up next to me.”

I felt like a boy of eight years old with my big brother holding me and telling me that everything would be alright. I started crying, but he didn’t say anything. Tristan put his arm around me and simply held me. When I finally stopped sobbing, the tears continued to fall. He took my tissue box and handed me three sheets. He always pulled out three sheets when I was little.

“Oh, Twisty, I’ve been so miserable.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Tristan. “You could have called me.”

“Because you left and never looked back. I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

Tristan’s eyes teared up. He said nothing for almost a minute. “I had to get away. I couldn’t talk to you about it. But I never thought that it would make you think that I didn’t care. I’m so sorry.” He grabbed me again and pulled me to him. “This isn’t about me right now. Dad told me you were fine at the beginning of summer, but when you ended up in Miami with no money and no anything, you were different.”

I felt my lower lip begin to tremble. “I was happy at the beginning of summer. I was so really happy then.”

“So what happened?”

I reached over to my desk and pulled out the folder that I looked at every day. I opened it. Inside was a professional portrait photo of Mitch and a photo of the two of us just after our wedding.

“This is about a guy?”

“He’s more than that,” I said, my hand shaking.

Tristan took the folder from me.

“What did he do?”

“He… I…” I touched my wedding band hoping it would give me the strength to tell him without going to pieces.

“Did he give that to you?”

I nodded. “When we got married.” I began to cry again.

“And now he’s gone?”

I covered my face with my hands.

“So you married a guy who left you.”

I looked up at Tristan. “No. Twisty. He didn’t run out on me. He died. We were on a boat with his family. It was our secret honeymoon, and the boat sank and he drowned. And I just want to die.” Tristan held me, and I cried until I didn’t have the energy to shed another tear. The rest of the pizza got cold, and he continued to hold me. He was still holding me when I fell asleep in his arms, and when I woke up the next morning, he was lying next to me on my bed. His arms were still holding me.

I spent the next two days telling Tristan everything I could remember about the time that Mitch and I spent together. When I recounted our last minutes together, I showed him the images retrieved from the camera that was still tied to my wrist when I was rescued. I told him all there was to tell.

Tristan looked at the photos. “I wish I had had the chance to know him. You were blessed to have known him. And I can see by the smile on his face that he was blessed to have known you. I can understand why you grieve so.”

I stopped for a moment. I was lucky to have known Mitch–no, I was blessed to have known Mitch. He taught me how happy someone can really be.

“When you’re ready to think about it, Aaron, and I don’t think you’re ready yet. Consider this. If you had been the one to drown, what kind of life would you have wanted for Mitch?”

I thought about it. I wouldn’t have wanted Mitch to be inundated with misery and sadness. But I missed him so, I couldn’t help it.

I looked at Tristan. I wouldn’t want him to feel the pain I’m feeling now.”

“You’re grieving right now, Aaron. I think he would have grieved just as hard. What’s going on now doesn’t count.”

“But I’m always going to be grieving,” I replied.

“Don’t confuse grieving for your loss with missing him. You’ll always miss him. And there’s no timetable. His death is like an injury to your soul, and it needs time to heal. I will say this, and I’m being honest with you, if the grief is not better at about six months, you need to talk to a therapist. One who specializes in grief. If you are beginning to feel better at six months, then you’re on track. If you don’t feel like you, like you felt before you met him, at the end of a year, then you definitely need to talk to a therapist. It complicates things that you didn’t get to go to a funeral and that his family won’t talk to you. But I’m here for you. You need people who understand, and I do understand.”

From that moment on, Tristan and I talked at least once each week, and we often texted one another. I did feel less alone, and it began to be easier to be around people.

On the drive to the airport, I asked Tristan a question that had been burning in the back of my mind. “Why did you leave?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you, Aaron. I don’t want you to feel different about our parents.”

“Let me tell you what I feel about our parents. My father loves me, but he’s withdrawn a lot of the time. Mother doesn’t like me at all. If I disappeared, she probably wouldn’t notice. I told Mitch once that Mom liked you better than she liked Dad or me. I don’t think you could say anything that would make that worse.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see that he nodded. “I didn’t leave because of you or Dad.”

Tristan was silent for a while. “Mom came home drunk one night and came into my room. She grabbed my dick and told me to have sex with her. I told her she was drunk and in the wrong room.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

“The thing was… she said she knew she was in my room. She called Dad a few choice names and told me again to have sex with her. I pushed her out of the room, and I packed up my clothes and left. I can’t go back there.”

“Does Dad know?”

“No. I didn’t tell him. Their relationship is weird. Hey, I want you to stay with me for Christmas. Let me know the dates, and I’ll pay for your flights.”

“How can I refuse?” I laughed. For the first time in months, I laughed.

At the airport, I stopped the car and got out. Tristan didn’t need help with his luggage, but I wanted to hug him one more time. I kissed him on the cheek; I’m not sure I had ever done that before. He kissed me back. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” I replied, and as I drove away, I saw him wave.