Fanworks: Fiction: Lost Weekend by Chris

Title: Lost Weekend: Daytona Beach Pier
Author: Chris
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ziggy/Original Female Character
Word Count: 7217
Summary: It’s Spring Break and two college co-eds aren’t quite sure what they’re in for in Daytona Beach.

Lost Weekend
Daytona Beach Spring Break: Part 1

I was sure (hoping) that lying in the sun on the hot Florida sand would sweat all the alcohol out. Mary Beth, my partner in crime on this trip, was lying on a towel next to me. Instead of being head down and almost comatose like me, she was propped up on her elbows, alert in her red bikini, people-watching from under a black sun visor with a Playboy bunny logo. I could feel the sun starting to burn the back of my legs and shoulders. I was going to have to move soon or blister.

“Hey Cat, what are we going to do tonight?”

I just grunted…at that point I just wanted to survive the hangover. My swimsuit, a two-piece retro-60’s Annette style was sticking to my skin, and I’m pretty sure none of the girls in any beach blanket movie I had ever watched as a kid had ever felt as crappy as I did right then. Did Annette or Gidget get hangovers? Yet I knew we were going to go out and do it all over again… if I could just get up off the ground.

We only had two nights left in the trip. We’d been here four days already, and until last night the experience hadn’t been what I’d fantasized it would be. When Mary Beth and I saw the flyer for the school trip to Daytona Beach for Spring Break I knew I wanted to go. This was our freshman year in college, we were ready to break out and have new experiences. The price was right. The flyer said the school would provide bus transportation and hotel accommodations right on the beach. We signed up.

Three hours into the twenty three hour bus trip and I was already a bit homesick. Mary Beth and I didn’t know anyone else on the bus, and one guy in the back was already on his way to alcohol poisoning from liquor smuggled on board. As a “Fine Arts Major” I felt I was a bit above the back of the bus shenanigans. Mary Beth was just in a bad mood, maybe a bit homesick herself. By the time the next twenty hours passed I was more than a little ready to get off the bus and put some space between us. We had been friends since freshman year of high school, and we had a pattern of getting on each other’s nerves. The bus doors finally opened and spilled us out onto a wet blacktop hotel parking lot.

We stood in the rain puddles with our suitcases waiting for our room assignments and keys. As soon as we had the room key in hand Mary Beth was ready to drop off our bags and find the nearest location to legally buy booze. The drinking age in Florida was 18, compared to 21 back home. Florida realized we were adults, time to go out and prove it buy buying alcohol! Our rumpled and stinky appearance was not going to inhibit or slow us down.

“Hey, hold up… before we can take off, I need to call home and check in” I reminded Mary Beth. She sighed.

“Cat, they are going to keep tabs on you from 1200 miles away, make you guilty for anything you do to have fun and ruin our trip,” she said, referring to my very overprotective family. We had plenty of experience with my family ruining our fun in the last few years. I just rolled my eyes, afraid to admit that I kind of needed to make the call, being a bit homesick and all. I picked up the ugly tan plastic handset from the hotel phone and made a collect call for the first of what would probably be many check-ins.

While I was on the phone describing our bus ride and the hotel room, the door to our room opened and two girls entered. Mary Beth was talking to them and gesturing, but I couldn’t hear what was up. I should probably mention that I am an expert at telling my family what they want to hear. I can be a bit wild, too, independent and downright snotty. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I get away with a lot just by avoiding some things (drugs) and keeping others on the down low (sex). My family may never come to accept that I am not a child, but I try not to let that slow me down too much. This trip was one way for me to get away and let loose.

Once I hung up from my call, Mary Beth introduced me to our “roommates.” Apparently one of the reasons the trip was so affordable is that the school booked four to a room. I eyed the two double beds and looked at Mary Beth; she just shrugged and headed out the door. We’d been there thirty minutes and already I was starting to realize that my expectations may have been a bit unrealistic.

I followed Mary Beth out the door. We walked across the now hot and steamy asphalt parking lot to the street. We stood on the sidewalk looking up and down at the endless line of hotels, restaurants, and beach gift shops. The combination of the long bus trip, homesickness, crabby friend, and unplanned roommates aside, I could feel the excitement of actually being there, at Spring Break, starting to creep over me.

“There’s a 7-11, they probably have beer, wanna check?” I asked.

“Sure, I guess so.” I should probably also mention that at this point Mary Beth and I were already barely speaking, as twenty three hours in a bus had put significant strain on a friendship that can get pretty rocky. If either of us had known a single soul, we’d probably have taken a break and gotten away from each other for a couple of days. Since we were pretty much stuck with each other, we leaned toward short answers, heavy silences, and teeth grinding. Relaxing with something to drink could only improve the atmosphere at that point. With that thought firmly in mind, we crossed the street to 7-11.

So, our first legal purchase of alcohol consisted of two six packs of Budweiser in cans, already cold from the quick shop beer cooler. By mutual agreement we went back to our hotel room and sat side by side on what was now “our” bed, and each popped a top. Did it occur to us that we could take our beer and sit on the beach? Nope. Not sure if that was because we were zombie tired or just not ready to venture into the party scene. Water running in the shower was the only sound in the room. Almost halfway through our first beers the bathroom door snicked open and our roommates came into the room in a cloud of steam and nothing else. Not even towels. As they passed us holding each other’s hand they smiled. I don’t know if we smiled back, but I’m pretty sure we had twin looks of shock and embarrassment on our faces. Without making eye contact, Mary Beth and I jumped up like we were harnessed together, grabbed the beer, and almost ran out the door.
For the third time in little over an hour we once again found ourselves standing on the black top parking lot.

The following days consisted of us trying to avoid our roommates and strategically planning our showers around when we were the only ones in the room. We developed this elaborate system of guarding the bathroom door. I don’t know why we thought that was necessary, but we basically made a game out of it. It felt like we were being assholes, but it also felt like we had to act that way for some reason, like it was the only appropriate response to finding ourselves stuck in a room with these strangers, a bit like being trapped in a crazy pajama party. To stay away from the room we spent our days on the beach sun bathing and listening to pop music. At night we experimented with hotel bars and local restaurants that served alcohol. It became pretty clear we were lame and didn’t know how to party outside of our natural environment. We were both bored and I didn’t know if we’d even still be friends by the time we got back home. I was thinking I needed to do something to improve the tense situation but was at a loss for how to find or create fun.

At dusk, we found ourselves strolling down the main drag, once again dressed up, makeup club-ready, and I turned to Mary Beth and asked, “What else do you wanna to do while we’re here?” I felt like time was running out. I wanted to accomplish what I’d come here to do, even if I didn’t have a clear idea what that thing was. And I kinda wanted Mary Beth to start talking to me again. I love to talk, so the “radio silence” was starting to get under my skin.

Mary Beth looked at me out of the corner of her eye and admitted in a low voice, “I want to find a guy. I want to be totally wild and crazy, at least one night. I’d like to have hot Spring Break sex. Get laid. Have a story to brag about back home.”

Okaaay. That was the most she’d said to me in a couple of days. How hard could it be to find a guy to get laid during Spring Break? Really, she was a cheerleader in High School, this should be a slam dunk. I started to think and hum Tears for Fears “Shout”, because for some reason when I’m nervous I hum music. If I could carry a tune I’d sing, but I know my limitations. I started looking around us at the crowded sidewalk. A glance over my shoulder landed on two hot guys who were walking just behind us. I turned and starting walking backward and without further thought asked, “Hey, you guys know anywhere fun to hang out? Maybe dance?”

Hot Guy #1 smiled and said, “We’re heading to The Pier”. Hot Guy #2 added, “There’s a band playing tonight and drinks are a buck.”

I stopped in my tracks. Mary Beth also stopped and then turned to stand next to me effectively blocking the sidewalk in front of Hot Guys 1 & 2. “Sounds cool. Can you point us in the right direction?”

As I’d hoped, Hot Guy #1 offered to escort us to The Pier. Within the next block, Hot Guy #1 was walking with me, and Hot Guy #2 was walking with Mary Beth. I was actually a bit surprised, because I thought Hot Guy #1 was actually the hotter of the two. Mary Beth was always the more popular of the two of us in high school, and I’d just assumed that she’d automatically get the cutest guy. Of course, I’d had a steady boyfriend since I was old enough to date, but from a confidence perspective it doesn’t help when your closest friends are cute and popular and you’re the “artsy one.”

Yes, Boyfriend. I had convinced him that an “Open Relationship” was the way to go. Anything I could think of to be able to have fun and not feel like I was cheating. John knew I slipped off for some fun with quite a few of his friends; he tried to ignore it. I went out with plenty of guys back home, but never in direct competition with my friends. I tended to poach guys from John’s school. I never really stopped to think how that might have made him feel, I could be like that, never really thinking of how what I did made others feel. Unfortunately the bad did not outweigh the good when it came to the excitement I usually felt connecting with someone new.

Besides, so far on this trip the only thing I had to feel guilty about was eating Krystal’s and maybe saying they might be better than White Castles. Mary Beth had no boyfriend, so this was really about making sure she got to do what she wanted on this trip. If helping her meant that I had to hang with Hot Guy #1, I guess I could manage. Take one for the team.

The Pier Bar was just that, a Bar on the end of a Pier. As we walked down the pier we could already hear the loud music and feel the vibration through our feet. I was dancing before we even made it through the door. The Hot Guys went to the bar to get us all drinks, while Mary Beth and I found a table. As soon as we sat, I leaned over and whisper/yelled in her ear, “Hey, did ya notice I got the hotter of the two dudes?” I was nodding my head and grinning to underscore that indeed I had the hotter of the two guys. I can be annoying like that. In return I got a flat stare.

Hot Guys returned with drinks, and we drank up and headed to the dance floor. I love live music, so I started to work my way closer to the stage. Once we cleared some of the dance floor crowd, I saw the band. Okay now the night is seriously looking up. The lead singer was HOT. He made Hot Guy #1 look like Lukewarm Guy. Black hair, wild and teased up and a bit long, eye liner, tight tee shirt and even tighter jeans. He was a bit on the small side, but all lean muscle. He was wearing boots with extra thick soles, maybe a fashion statement or maybe to get just some added height. He was growling Tom Petty into the microphone. I wanted him to make eye contact with me. I wanted him to sing just to me. I wanted him to take me home and let me have his babies. My dance partner pulled on my arm indicating we were going back to our table. Party Pooper.

And so the night progressed. Drink, Dance. Drink, Drink, Dance. All I wanted to do was watch the band. At some point, I turned to Mary Beth and said, “Holy Shit, did you see the…” As I said Singer she said Guitar Player. I spun my head around, and yes, the guitar player was also “Holy Shit Hot.” But like with the guys now known in my head as “The Not-As-Hot Guys,” I felt like we could divide and conquer and both be satisfied with the division of property. The guitar player had sandy brown hair, on the long side, and he played looking down with his hair mostly hiding his face. What I could see of his face was pretty. He was also thin, and in tight jeans. His tee shirt was baggy and he was wearing tennis shoes. For the rest of the song my eyes bounced from the singer to the guitar player. Yeah, I could be satisfied with either one. Unfortunately, the band ended the set and canned music started blasting over the speakers. I was bummed the band was gone. I was also pretty drunk.

I looked around for Mary Beth on the dance floor from my spot at our table and didn’t see her. Guy #1, whose name I didn’t remember from our sidewalk introductions, told me that she had left with his buddy, and he would be happy to walk me back to my hotel or his, my choice. I picked his, for the very reasonable reason that I was so drunk I didn’t remember where our hotel was or the name.

Luckily for me, the hotel where I was taken was a couple of miles from The Pier, and the guy I was with stopped to get some food to help me sober up a bit. Probably to keep him from having to carry me, but I’ll give him brownie points anyway. Between the walking, fresh ocean air and food, I was not as drunk when we finally got to his room. I found Mary Beth in one of the beds. “Hey Stranger, funny meeting you here” I said, followed by “You ready to go?” For some reason I couldn’t get away from these guys fast enough. I was hoping she’d feel the same. I didn’t want to stay and I didn’t feel like more arguing.

“Sure” she said as she leaned over the side of the bed to scoop her jeans off the floor. I huffed out a relieved breath and turned my back while she pulled on her clothes and we started the long walk back to our hotel.

“Have fun?” I asked while we were walking.

“Eh” then, “How ‘bout you? Not interested in him? Thought you were so thrilled to get the cute one.”

“Noper. Can we go back and see that band again tomorrow… uh…. Tonight?”

Mary Beth leaned in and wrapped her arm around mine and laughed, “Oh yeah! Absofuckinlutely”

Thanks to Mary Beth getting some and sexy musicians, maybe our friendship was on the way to being restored.

This is how we ended up sunbathing under a scorching March Florida sun, trying to sweat out the alcohol and get rid of a hangover, so that we could go back and see the band play at the Pier on our last night of Spring Break.


Daytona Beach Spring Break: Part 2

Mary Beth and I were putting more than the usual preparation in getting ready for going to The Pier tonight. However, our sense of style was completely different. Mary Beth was wearing a pair of jeans, and an oxford shirt. Shirt was tucked in, skinny belt and coordinated jewelry—what I liked to refer to as the Prep Uniform outside of her range of hearing. I was also wearing jeans, but with a peasant style top with multi-colored embroidered flowers. The blouse didn’t quite reach the top of the jeans to cover my stomach. Over this I wore my new hooded sweat jacket, bought just for this trip at The Limited. It was navy blue and had a city scene silk-screened like a very fine line drawing in white. I thought it was perfect for me, since this semester I was focusing on silk-screen techniques. I was wearing my Kangaroo tennis shoes, which I thought were very clever, since I could put my room key and money in the little shoe pockets so I didn’t need to carry a purse. (I also slipped in a small note with the name of the hotel, just in case I forgot again.)

We left for The Pier, each with $20 to spend on drinks. At $1 a drink we should be able to have plenty of fun. When we got there, the band had not started yet, and we were able to find a table closer to the stage area. We grabbed a beer each and settled down to wait. By the time the band took the stage we had danced together and also been asked to dance by random guys. We also continued our pattern of dance/drink. We were feeling pretty good by the time the band took the stage and started playing covers of popular songs for the mostly drunk college crowd. I spent the first few songs mentally humping the lead singer. I eventually let my attention drift from the stage to the dance floor.

The dance floor was crowded with a mass of undulating bodies. My eyes focused on a guy dancing in the middle of the crowd. He had shaggy black hair, which he was throwing around from side to side as he danced. He was moving with the music, his body beautiful in motion, like a professional dancer. He was wearing skintight jeans, low on his hips. His plaid flannel shirt was open, his chest was bare, and I could see the “V” of his stomach even from across the dark floor. His hands were in the air and the unbuttoned cuffs of the sleeves were flopping as he danced. Every part of him was is in motion, and the overall result was pure sex. He was sweaty and his skin had a golden, dewy sheen, the hair around his face looked wet from sweat. I thought he looked like some kind of Imp, the way he looked and moved looked like so much more, while at the same time he looked like he dressed from whatever he picked up off a floor. I had an urge to go to him and brush the hair back out of his face. As I stared at him mesmerized, he looked up and opened his eyes. They seemed to be looking right back at me. In the mass of guys wearing polos or OP tees, he stood out, and not just for wearing flannel in Florida.

Embarrassed to have been caught blatantly drooling over him, I turned back to Mary Beth and my drink. I took a big gulp of my beer hoping it would cool me down. I glanced back to the stage reminding myself I am here tonight to drool over the band. I felt the hair on the back of my neck raise; a shiver ran down my spine. I slowly swiveled back toward the dance floor to find that the guy I had been watching had in my direction. His eyes were still on me, he was still dancing like a charmed cobra. As I made eye contact, he raised his hand and motioned to me to come dance with him. I looked around, sure he couldn’t be asking me. When I looked back he was even closer, still dancing, still motioning for me to come and dance. Maybe he’s the charmer and I’m the cobra. Before I could do the dumb “who me” gesture, he was right in front of me.

“ ‘Mere…, come dance.”

It wasn’t a question and I went.

We were on the dance floor, him writhing around me dancing and touching. I don’t know how many songs we danced through: I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His hair either had some blond, blue and maybe red blended into it, or the lights from the club made it look that way. Either way I loved it and started to run my fingers through, pushing it back from his face the way I first wanted to. We were both hot and sweaty so finally we went back to my table, where I took my sweat jacket off and draped in on the stool. He brought back two drinks in each hand and passed two to me. I glanced and saw it was some type of mixed drink, but it tasted good so I gulped the first one and started the second. He had not looked at Mary Beth other than to just acknowledge her with a nod.

His hand slipped over to my waist and his fingers stroked the skin bared below my top. I leaned into him and kept moving to the music to encourage him to keep petting me. We finished our second drink at the same time and he pulled me back to the dance floor. This time, we were both touching; moving our hands all over each other, sometimes pressed front to front from shoulders to knees and sometimes he was behind me, chin on my shoulder pressed against my back as he moved me to the rhythm. I usually liked having someone hold me from behind, but with him I preferred to be face to face. His eyes were a deep brown, and he had just a bit of smudged eyeliner or maybe smudged mascara that intensified their size and color. I loved how the makeup looked on him. It made him look like more of a rock star than the lead singer on the stage at my back.

At some point we were just swaying to the music, my hands on the bare skin of his back and neck and his hands were on me squeezing my hips between the blouse and top of my jeans. He was rubbing his crotch against mine and I realized he and I were almost the exact same height at 5 foot 4 inches. It makes for such perfect alignment and the friction felt good. I could tell he was hard and the way he was moving was blatantly sexual. He had been looking directly into my eyes and he finally pulled me in and lightly kissed me on the lips. The kisses quickly turned from sweet pecks to dueling tongues and lip bites. I felt a poke on my shoulder, and pulled back enough to see who was poking me. Mary Beth was standing there and leaned in to holler in my ear, “You need to stop; you’re almost fucking him on the dance floor. Come sit down!” I couldn’t tell if her voice was strained from trying to be heard over the loud music or if she just wanted to kill me.

He must have heard what Mary Beth said, or at least read her lips or expression, because he took my hand and started leading me from the dance floor toward our table. However, once there, he just grabbed my sweat jacket from the stool and kept pulling me toward the exit door, never looking back. I looked over my shoulder at Mary Beth and realized for the first time she was sitting with some guy. Apparently she had not been alone the whole time I’d been on the dance floor, so with a wave over my shoulder I let myself be pulled out the door and into the ocean-scented night.

As we started walking back down the pier to the beach, the wind off the ocean was cold on my damp skin. He held up my sweat jacket and helped me put it on. His actions reminded me of old black and white movies, where the men helped the women to put on their mink coats and opened car doors and lit cigarettes. I looked at him and smiled and said thank you, and when he responded with “You’re welcome” I realized it was the first words we’d spoken since he’d said, “ ‘Mere”. He must have realized it too because as we stepped into the sand and started walking he asked if it was okay to stick to walking the beach instead of the sidewalk next to the street and when I agreed he introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Ziggy.”

“I’m Cat…short for Cathy, but I hate Cathy, no one calls me that, I prefer Cat, so that’s what everyone calls me.”

Ziggy put out his hand. I thought we were going to shake hands but he just twined his fingers with mine, palm to palm, and we started walking down the beach next to the ocean holding hands.

“Uh, do me a favor?”

“Sure, if I can.” He stopped to look at me, and maybe to better hear what favor I needed.

“Don’t let me forget that I can’t swim and that I’m afraid of the ocean. Somehow I just feel that being with you might make me forget all my fears, and I seriously can’t swim.”

Ziggy looked surprised for a second, and then started laughing. “Sure thing, no swimming in the ocean, but just so you know, I do know how to swim so I could save you.”

Since we’d stopped walking I noticed goosebumps on his exposed skin and I reached over and buttoned two of the lower buttons of his shirt over his tummy. I couldn’t seem to help myself from touching his hot skin. I ran my hands under where I’d just buttoned to stroke my fingers up his stomach to his chest.

He shivered, “Ugh… your hands are cold!”


“It’s okay, here…” He pulled my hands to his sides and pressed them into his warmth with his arms. They instantly felt warmer. We stood like that for a moment, then turned and started walking again. “So where are you from?”

“New York mainly, but I’ve moved around some. You?”

“St. Louis. Are you here just for Spring Break.?”

“I’m here spending a few days with a cousin, who lives here. It just happens to be Spring Break. That’s when they bring in the best bands, so it seemed like good timing.”

“I’m here with a group from school.”

“What are you going to school for?” Although stilted at first the conversation started to flow comfortably the more we talked. The buzzing in my ears from the music and the buzzing in my head from all the drinks were also starting to fade.

“Really? I was going to school for art, too. I really love it, but you don’t really have to go to school to do it, do you? At least I didn’t feel like it was necessary. So, I don’t. Anymore. Go to school.”

“Well, you do have to go to school if you want to teach art. I’m not good enough to think that I could support myself as an artist, commercial artist maybe, but… anyway, I’ll still get to do it and get paid.”

As we walked and talked more, we eventually filled the silences with kisses and touches that were once again becoming more heated. Ziggy looked around and saw a low wall between a hotel complex and the beach and pulled me onto the sand in the shadow of the wall.

Ziggy pushed me onto my back and leaned over me and started to kiss my lips, my face, and my neck. He had one palm against my face, the other again tickling the skin between my top and jeans. He ran a finger around my exposed belly button and I started to writhe under him His hand dropped to the top button of my jeans and toyed with it. When I didn’t make any move to stop him, he pulled the top button free and moved his hand lower. I felt his lips quirk up against mine and he pulled back long enough to say, “501’s… I fucking love 501’s”. With that his lips once again covered mine and his hand pulled each button from its buttonhole.

In addition to my super-sweet fleece sweat jacket, I’d also purchased a brand new pair of lace bikini underwear for each day of this trip. I was happy about that when I felt his hand skim over the outside of the lacey (damp) bikini. I gave a little wiggle to let him know I was on board, and brushed my thigh against the very hard bulge in his jeans. When he continued to just skim his hand over the lace, I reached between us and pressed my hand against his zipper and felt the hardness and heat through the denim. He gave a little moan… or maybe it was me, but we started to move together again, like we were still dancing to the music from the dance floor.

“Get a room assholes!” I heard someone say as they walked past where we were lying. We were in no way hidden, just shaded at best. Ziggy pulled his hand from my jeans just long enough to hold his arm up without turning around and flipped off whoever made the snide comment. He leaned more across me, and sheltered my face in his hair and neck. It felt very protective, like he was hiding me from censure. When there were no more comments, he moved his lips back to mine and slipped his hand back inside my jeans, this time under the elastic and lace. But now I was aware of how exposed we were on the beach and I tensed up. Ziggy pulled back and I reached down to button my jeans. Once I was buttoned up and pulled my top down (I actually hadn’t noticed it had been pushed up), Ziggy got to his feet and reached down to pull me up to mine. Disappointment outweighed embarrassment.

With his arm around me we started walking down the beach again. “So, where are you staying?”

“My cousin’s house. It’s on the other side of the inlet.”

“I haven’t been off the main strip, is that far, the other side of the inlet?”


“How did you get to The Pier?”

“My cousin gave me a lift over to hear the band.”

“I liked the band…”

“They were okay. Would have been better if they had played original material and not just covers, but the bars here only want bands to play covers while the college kids are in town. Where is your hotel? Are we even headed in the right direction?”

“Just down the beach a bit more. You know where the Pizza Hut is? Just past that but on this side, beachfront. The Quality Inn. I wish I could have you come back with me, but I have 3 roommates, and have to share the bed with Mary Beth.” I expected some kind of response from him about being okay with sharing a bed, but he didn’t go for the obvious comment. Maybe we were both feeling a bit embarrassed after the “Get a room assholes incident”.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“How will you get back to your cousin’s house? You can use the phone in my room to give your cousin a call to come get you.”

“I’ll walk. I’m used to walking. I don’t have a car at home. It’s all good.”

We walked slowly and I was surprised at how easy Ziggy was to talk to. When we got back to my hotel I was not ready to let him go. He seemed to feel the same way. We found a chaise lounge behind the hotel on the patio, and both of us crammed on it and kept talking and cuddling. As we talked Ziggy was sometimes very animated, using his hands and arms, sometimes he sounded almost hyper, and at other times he came across as very sad. He talked like he hadn’t been able to talk to someone in a while; like it was all bottled up inside and now it was coming out in spurts. We talked mostly about art, where we had grown up, and a bit about music. Ziggy had definite ideas about both art and music. I was enjoying laying in his arms listening to him. I was really enjoying the making out in between.

As it got closer to morning the conversation started to slow down, and the making out more serious. Once again I felt him reaching for the buttons on my jeans. We were facing each other, but moved more to lie side by side, making it easier for each of us to have access to the other. I reached my hand to the front of his zipper, but instead of unzipping his jeans, I just pushed my hand down the front. He was skinny enough that even with the tight jeans and significant bulge, my hand fit. As I wrapped my fingers around him he flinched.

“Fingernails” he said.


“S’okay, happens. Do you know that guitar players sometimes grow out fingernails to use to pick the strings?”

Sometimes my mind works like that, connecting barely related or totally unrelated things, kind of like a mind jump. I like it when I meet people who have random mind jumps like that. I feel like we have a better connection or ability to communicate. “Do you play guitar?”


We were still lying side by side, hands in each other’s jeans, but with our heads turned to look at each other and I kept talking. Ziggy had pulled my sweat jacket off me to use as a short blanket over both of us. Anyone walking by might have been able to guess at the action under the fleece, but not see, and it was clear at least we were NOT having sex. Uh… intercourse sex. Hopefully it would look like we were just having a conversation. Right.

“You like to talk, huh?” Ziggy asked. Maybe he wasn’t used to having someone continue to chat in these situations.

“Yes, too much. At least that what John says.”

“Who is John?”

Oh shit.

Sometimes things just strike me as amusing, usually at the most inappropriate times. I bit my bottom lip and kinda giggling I said, “My boyfriend.”

Ziggy’s hand stilled, but after only a second or two started moving again. So did mine.

“Really not the time or place to talk about that…but he knows me, and he knows that I’m going to do what I’m going to do. I don’t hide it from him. He’s cool with it.”


It sounded like maybe he had more to add, but I had started to wiggle a bit from him hitting just the right spot, and consequently my hand had started to tighten and move faster on him. I could feel him getting really wet, lots of pre-cum. He was hot and hard. With the angle and his jeans I was limited to just going up and down, but that seemed to be enough. I started moving faster, pushing onto Ziggy’s hand and fingers, my breathing faster, heart pounding. I squeezed my legs for maximum contact and soaked Ziggy’s fingers. His hand stopped moving, like he knew it would be too much to keep rubbing me and then closed his eyes. He tensed. I felt him start to pulse, and then my hand filled with hot jets of cum. I waited until the pulsing stopped and then he sucked in his stomach so that I could extract my hand. He took my hand and used the tail of his flannel shirt to wipe my fingers and palm. Then he placed a kiss in the middle of my palm.

As if there had not been a break in our conversation he said, “It hurts when they don’t say no, doesn’t it? They think they are doing us a favor by not limiting or trying to stop us from doing things like this, hooking up, getting fucked, but I’d rather be told no, and know he cares. Wouldn’t you?”

We talked quietly a bit more; Ziggy mentioned that he sorta had someone back home, too. We admitted that this was kind of a pattern for both of us. Monogamy just didn’t seem like it was possible right now, and we both agreed that maybe it was a bit sad. We both knew that by sunrise our time together would be over. Still, I felt like I had half fallen in love with this man. This entire encounter seemed so surreal. He was so beautiful, and how he had found me out of everyone in that crowded bar, seemed like it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. At least for me.

As our conversation died out, although I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from drifting off to sleep. I heard Ziggy start to sing quietly in my ear. He had a beautiful voice. Emotions were pouring out of him, even in a whisper-quiet song. I wanted to ask him so much more about himself but as much as we’d talked, I really didn’t know much about him at all. As he sang quietly in my ear, I fell asleep in his arms.

I felt the sun on my face and a jab in my shoulder. I sat up and looked around to see where the hell I was. Oh… on the hotel patio, sleeping on a chaise lounge. Mary Beth looked concerned. “What are you doing sleeping out here?” I could hear the annoyance back in her voice.

I looked next to me. Ziggy was gone. So was my sweet new sweat jacket.

“Uh… forgot my room key, didn’t want to wake up the ‘twins’ without you there to ‘protect me.’” I could almost feel the key burning my foot in the little Kangaroo tennis shoe pocket as I lied.

Mary Beth was with the guy from last night. Turns out he was the manager of the band from The Pier. He walked us both back to our room and kissed Mary Beth goodbye as I waited, leaning up against the metal door to our room. Once inside I asked, “Did you get to meet the band?”

“No, it just didn’t seem important anymore. I did find out they are from Canada.”

I had to agree, I didn’t mind not meeting the band. I didn’t think I could ever top last night. It was amazing. The entire encounter with Ziggy seemed like something out of a fairy tale.

Within hours we were packed and once again on the asphalt next to a bus.

Our roommates, who we had treated like lepers, approached. I kinda dreaded whatever they might have to say to us. “Hey, just wanted to say thanks for giving us some privacy last night. Just uh, if you see us at school, it would be cool if you didn’t mention it.”

Neither of us had stayed out all night for their benefit, but whatever. Mary Beth looked at me and shrugged. I was relieved they were not mad about how shitty we had treated them by avoiding them all week. “Do you think they are together together or maybe they had some dudes over?” I asked Mary Beth. She typically just shrugged. In the Cat mind-hop way the questions buzzing around my brain about our roommates were abandoned for other random thoughts and the dread of another twenty three hour bus ride. Possibly another twenty three hours of Mary Beth’s silent treatment to endure. I was wishing I could remember the song Ziggy had been singing in my ear when I feel asleep.

The bus was much more subdued as we headed home. Everyone looked tired and hung over. Mary Beth looked at me as we turned left off the A1A to head North, “Best trip ever.”


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