PRIME - 1. Sunrise Surf

Fingertips pruned and nearing numbness, I clung to the board’s edge hard enough I was certain there would be indentation marks for a while. Winds from the approaching tropical storm whipped the Atlantic Ocean into a swirling froth, and the accompanying spray forced me to keep my eyes slitted. The crazy grin my cousin flashed when I looked at him egged me on. I hoisted myself into a better position and paddled towards the magic spot. That perfect place for catching and riding a wave. We had been at it since just past dawn after watching the sun rise above the horizon from the deck behind the house. This was our last surf of the day. We had afternoon plans, so it was time to call it quits.

Mother Nature’s timing was impeccable. As soon as I stood, the dark clouds overhead let go. Fat raindrops lashed at us, and visibility was almost nonexistent; it was definitely time to head in. We could see lightning strikes further out at sea, and thunder reached our ears moments later. Riding the swell towards shore, I did not see the rock until it was nearly too late. With a grunt, I bent my body to swerve around it. I rode the swell until it petered out, whooping and hollering the rest of the way.

“Man, that was in sane! I love these late summer storms. Best surfing in New Jersey!” I shouted while collapsing onto the wet sand with water lapping at my feet. Rolling over on my stomach, I stared at my cousin. “You ready to go in?”

“Hell, yeah! Wind and waves I can deal with, lightning scares the crap out of me.” This was new. Dante was a couple of inches shorter than I but outweighed me by about twenty pounds. My fireplug of a cousin often crowed about his fearlessness, and I had never heard him admit he was scared.

“Pussy!”

“Yeah, well. I’m not the one who spreads his legs for other guys. I’d say you’re more pussy than I am.” Laughing, he grabbed his board and ran towards the house.

We had spent Labor Day Weekend with the Martellini family at our grandfather’s beach house on the Jersey Shore. Dante and I remained behind when the others left Tuesday morning. Days we spent riding waves, nights we partied at the bars lining the boardwalk. Unfortunately, we would miss the Friday night crowds today. Grandpa had summoned us. When Don Vittorio Martellini invited you to lunch, you showed up. And you did so on time. Maybe Dante and I could hit a club in Chelsea or Brooklyn for happy hour after we were done.

Behind the privacy lattice enclosure, we stripped and rinsed off under the cold, outdoor shower. One of our grandfather’s idiosyncrasies; Grandpa refused to connect the damn thing to the water heater. Something about cold water building character. Always sounded like bullshit to me.

After hosing down and storing our boards, we made a mad dash inside. The clouds had kept temperatures down, and the wind was making it feel downright chilly. “What time are we supposed to be there?”

“Late. He’s meeting us at the restaurant at two. He said his driver would take us around afterwards.” Dante was the one who had spoken to our grandfather.

“Then we better get going, the drive into the city shouldn’t be bad, but I don’ want to risk it. Let’s share the shower.” Large enough to accommodate both of us; dual heads pelted our bodies with hot water. I stood under it with my eyes closed and sighed as the cold seeped from my body. “Damn, that feels good. Wash my back?”

“Fuck off! I ain’t putting my hands on you. You’d probably molest me. Anyway, I’m done. I soaped up and rinsed while you daydreamed.”

As Dante stepped out and reached for a towel, I luxuriated under the warm spray. I shouted so he could hear me. “Just enjoying the heat. You know damn well if I molested you, it would be the best piece of ass you ever had.”

“Spare me.”

Dante’s heterosexuality did not prevent him from claiming me as his favorite cousin, gay or not. We had grown up together, and I thought of him as a brother. One night, when one of his friends made a homophobic remark, Dante stood up to him on my behalf. “You better watch what you say, asshole. My favorite cousin’s gay and if you have a problem with him, you have a problem with me.”

We often joked my cousin was not the brightest bulb in the family chandelier, but he was a good, solid, dependable guy. He always had my back. Until I hit a growth spurt late in high school, I was a small kid hanging out with older ones; Dante made sure no one picked on me.

Standing next to him in front of the mirror while shaving, I could not help smiling when I looked at our naked bodies together. Even though there was a family resemblance, he was older, stockier, shorter, and hairier.

My cousin was a hot man, with a carpet of hair on his chest, and a line of the same dark fur running between lightly defined abs. His treasure trail ended in a thick bush, above an above average-sized endowment. I had as much interest in him sexually as I had in women―none. He was the older sibling I never had, and most importantly, he was not my type. I drool over blondes. If a golden-haired muscle boy crossed my path, chances were I would chub up or spring a full boner.

He stared at me when I ran the razor over my chest. “Jesus! Why do you do that? Why do you shave your body? I’m only doing my face because of Grandpa. If we’re not clean shaven, he’ll give us shit.”

“Summer.” My one word reply did not suffice; he looked confused. “I only do it during the hot months, cuz. This time of year, if I don’t, I’m always hot and sweaty. Not to say anything about the sand stuck in the hairs when I’m at the beach.”

“You gay boys are too damn high maintenance.” Done patting his face dry, he tossed the used towel at me. “Hurry up already. Damn rain hasn’t stopped, and traffic’s probably gonna be a bitch now.”