Page 46 of Spiral
We spent an hour or so eating breakfast, then decided the day was too beautiful to be spent indoors reading and/or fucking. We’d work those activities in, obviously. We took a ride out to Newport Beach and chartered a whale-watching tour.
The catamaran was sleek and modern. We settled in, bouncing softly over bright blue waves, with some light snacks and wine coolers from the charter company. Jamie slathered sunscreen all over himself, citing his aversion to sun freckles on his soft English rose skin. We were about an hour from the port when a school of dolphins decided to swim alongside us, leaping up out of the sea and then diving back into rolling white caps.
We moved out a little farther into the Pacific. Jamie and I strolled around to the back of the three-sixty walkaround deck at the behest of the first mate, a strapping fellow with hair bleached nearly white from the sun and skin dark and supple as old shoe leather.
Off the port, we got our first view of a blue whale. Jamie ran to the railing, his LA Storm ballcap blowing off his head right as the mighty mammal breached, sending a large flock of seabirds to wing. The whale was mere yards from the right pontoon. It blew out a geyser of water that flew into the air thirty or so feet.
“Holy shit!” Jamie yelled, his glasses wet, as were our faces and hair.
The whale disappeared under the water, coming up on the other side of the boat. We ran to that side, phones out, and got to record it. Then a smaller whale appeared, the fluke slapping at the water dousing us yet again. Cells wet, hair sodden, clothes damp, we grinned at each other before exchanging a salty kiss. The two whales, a mother and calf, the first mate assumed, spent at least fifteen minutes swimming leisurely along with us until we lost them after they dove deep and disappeared.
“That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen,” Jamie said on our way back to the harbor, a towel with the charter boat’s logo on it around his neck. His cheeks were pink from the sun as his hat was now sitting on top of a tuna. “I love you so much for picking that excursion.” The barking of seals and the raucous cries of gulls filled the air as we slowly made our way to the pontoon’s berth. “Next stop is my pick.”
“I’m all yours,” I said, taking a moment before departing to sign a few hats for the crew of the whale-watching boat.
Jamie, being the scientist that he is, chose to spend the next few hours at the Griffith Observatory. We stopped at a Mexican eatery for a late lunch before driving up to our second destination. The famed observatory sat on a south-facing slopeoverlooking Los Angeles, Hollywood, and the Pacific Ocean. We walked through several exhibits, all dealing with space and the stars, hand-in-hand. Jamie was in his element. We then made our way to the Samual Oschin Planetarium where we saw two live shows. We spent some time outside on the roof, using the smaller telescopes to look at LA as dusk settled over the city. It was truly breathtaking. I could see why so many websites said this was a great date destination. My date was so excited over being able to discuss science with the tour guides that he offered me a choice as to how to end the day:
A – a queer nightclub for a cocktail.
B – a chance to ravage his arse.
I was not a dumb man. I chose B.
The second andfinal day of our two-day whirlwind of romance and fun times was spent making the drive out to Valyermo—which meant barren valley in Spanish, according to Jamie’s mad skills in googling—to spend the day at a spa/ranch. This was totally my idea. Jamie had been less than thrilled when I sprang it on him over breakfast.
“Honestly, babe, when I said I wanted to spend the day riding a stud I didn’t mean a damned horse. Do I look like the type who ever once played polo?”
His pout was cute but didn’t sway me from the reservation I’d made late last night—after the ass-ravaging and when he was snoozing away contentedly. When he heard the word spa was part of the ranch’s offering his frown turned upside down. Until we were in the stables at the ranch-slash-spa.
“Have I mentioned that I don’t ride things bigger than me?” Jamie pointed out as two pretty brown mares were being saddled for us.
“That’s a fib,” I whispered with a randy wink. He sniffed in that delightfully British way of his. “Come on, admit it, you think I look pretty good in tight jeans and a Stetson.”
“I will concede that denimdoeslook good on your bubble butt.”
“Thank you. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”
He didn’t enjoy it. At all.
The mares—named Iris and Isis—were sisters and were the most docile beasts I had ever ridden. I’m not a master equestrian by any means, but I did like to get out into the sandy, rocky areas of California to ride when I could. Jamie was not a fan. He could ride, just barely, after an hour of basic instructions. We rode out with a guide named Paul who looked like Sam Elliott, right down to his silver mustache. Paul knew the trails well, as did the horses. After an hour, we stopped to have a light lunch alongside a narrow stream. There were some scrub trees to offer shade, and water for the horses. Paul made himself scarce after setting up our little meal on a redwood picnic bench.
When we lowered our backsides to the benches Jamie winced then threw me a glower over his dusty glasses.
“Let’s make a point of not scheduling horseback riding after a double-header of arse-ravaging,” he groaned while removing the cowboy hat he’d bought in the ranch’s boutique. The fact that a dude ranch had a boutique said a lot about their clientele.
“Oh honey, I never even thought,” I confessed then reached over to take his hands in mine. “We can turn back.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s a pleasant sort of pain,” he whispered over a lunch of cold baked beans, soda biscuits, crispy fried bacon, and some canned fruit. Water was bottled. A real cowboy meal straight out of the saddle bags. “Reminds me of last night.”
“Do you want me to ask Paul if he has a pillow?”
“Good God, no. He’s too much a real cowpoke. Imagine the look he would give me. I wager he would call me a tenderfoot!”
“More like a tender ass,” I teased softly and got a baking soda biscuit lobbed at my head.
With true British stoicism Jamie completed the ride back with a stiff upper lip. We hadn’t dismounted properly, and he was off, with a rather awkward gait, to the spa area. I followed along at a snail’s pace, checking my notifications now that we were back where there was some Wi-Fi. Nothing of any great import. A video from Claudia of her and Bruno visiting a dog park. Bruno wasn’t too big on other dogs, but he adored children and was sitting beside a small girl who was attaching some of her bows to the long fur on his head and ears. He just sat there, soaking in the adoration and pretty decorations like a true diva.
I was so engrossed in the video, I nearly walked into the backside of a horse. Apologizing profusely to the rider and the horse, I hurried into the massive spa building. Soft tinkling bells and the smell of jasmine greeted me. As did a lean man with bright red hair in a gauzy white outfit. He handed me a drink in a tall glass.
