without freaking him out? Better give it a while.
We stand, breathing heavily amid the Roman ruins, and I take his other hand, pulling us together. In the moonlight, Perry stares at me through his ski mask.
Looking into his eyes, I can see that he has touched the fire.
Five
W E SIT to catch our breath and discuss our strategy for returning to the camp. We sit as we sat before, me leaning against a wall, him leaning against me. We keep an eye toward the path above, waiting for the night guard. We need to know his exact position before striking out.
Perry says, “Can’t we spend the night here?”
“Our alarm clock is in the original camp.”
He nods.
A moment later, he says in a flat voice, “So I’m not getting killed on Alcatraz?”
“No, Sir, you are not. You are getting fucked, however, when we get back to camp.”
Perry leans back into me. “I think I might actually like that, you pervert. You perverted me in there.”
I wrap my arms around his chest and squeeze. “Didn’t take much.”
I feel his body unclench everywhere, even his legs.
“I can’t believe you. That guy was five feet away. He was right there.”
We recount our crazy sex game in the isolation cell, relishing the minute details, explaining what we each saw, what we experienced. Perry actually chuckles a few times.
He says, “I thought I was going to die.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, no, I meant, it felt like I would scream.”
“But you didn’t .”
He turns around and we kiss tenderly, with a new appreciation for each other’s courage.
When we break and pull back a few inches, a beam of light above catches our eye.
Perry says, “He’s back.”
His tone isn’t panicked; he sounds as if he’s announcing our bus has arrived.
We stand and put on our ski masks. I love this night.
“Why does the security guard turn around right there?”
“That’s the bird sanctuary for night herons. He turns around at the gate. We passed it on the way down here.”
“It’s too bad we can’t go through,” Perry muses. “It’s a straight shot. We could get back in about ten minutes.”
“There is a cement path right through the middle. And the gate’s easy to climb.”
“You’re kidding,” he says, blowing out the words with exhaustion. “Well, shit, Vin. Let’s do that.”
“Nope. We take the long route home. It’s one of the Alcatraz rules: can’t fuck with the birds.”
“So, federal laws—”
“Some rules should not be broken. The birds don’t get disturbed, even if it means we get caught tonight.”
Perry snorts and paces away, gazing at a slim corner of the San Francisco skyline.
I give him a minute to sulk before I say, “C’mere.”
I jog across the Roman safe house to one of the empty cement window frames, reach beyond it, and from the rocky ground below, drag up first one, then a second backpack. I hand the smaller one to Perry and keep the one with the frame for myself. He accepts it instantly, without surprise.
I could have hidden these Wednesday night in the Hammock, but where’s the fun in that? Tonight, we are adventurers.
He says, “Is that a sleeping bag attached?”
“Yup.”
“Won’t we need two sleeping bags?”
I shoot him a grin. “Nope.”
When we reach the bird sanctuary, he looks longingly in that direction, but only for a moment. Huh. I expected more of a fight than that. I point to where the guard’s beam of light is moving further away, and he nods when he sees it. I give him the “move forward” hand symbol, and he nods again.
After the guard is a safe distance away, I say, “Boy, I wish I ate one of those hot dogs on the boat.”
Perry ignores me, crouching.
I don’t really get why he’s crouching, but I join him down there.
Our trip back across the island feels different. Perry is now my partner, even giving me the “be perfectly still” gesture once. He no longer complains about the sweaty ski mask, and more importantly, he stopped
We stand, breathing heavily amid the Roman ruins, and I take his other hand, pulling us together. In the moonlight, Perry stares at me through his ski mask.
Looking into his eyes, I can see that he has touched the fire.
Five
W E SIT to catch our breath and discuss our strategy for returning to the camp. We sit as we sat before, me leaning against a wall, him leaning against me. We keep an eye toward the path above, waiting for the night guard. We need to know his exact position before striking out.
Perry says, “Can’t we spend the night here?”
“Our alarm clock is in the original camp.”
He nods.
A moment later, he says in a flat voice, “So I’m not getting killed on Alcatraz?”
“No, Sir, you are not. You are getting fucked, however, when we get back to camp.”
Perry leans back into me. “I think I might actually like that, you pervert. You perverted me in there.”
I wrap my arms around his chest and squeeze. “Didn’t take much.”
I feel his body unclench everywhere, even his legs.
“I can’t believe you. That guy was five feet away. He was right there.”
We recount our crazy sex game in the isolation cell, relishing the minute details, explaining what we each saw, what we experienced. Perry actually chuckles a few times.
He says, “I thought I was going to die.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, no, I meant, it felt like I would scream.”
“But you didn’t .”
He turns around and we kiss tenderly, with a new appreciation for each other’s courage.
When we break and pull back a few inches, a beam of light above catches our eye.
Perry says, “He’s back.”
His tone isn’t panicked; he sounds as if he’s announcing our bus has arrived.
We stand and put on our ski masks. I love this night.
“Why does the security guard turn around right there?”
“That’s the bird sanctuary for night herons. He turns around at the gate. We passed it on the way down here.”
“It’s too bad we can’t go through,” Perry muses. “It’s a straight shot. We could get back in about ten minutes.”
“There is a cement path right through the middle. And the gate’s easy to climb.”
“You’re kidding,” he says, blowing out the words with exhaustion. “Well, shit, Vin. Let’s do that.”
“Nope. We take the long route home. It’s one of the Alcatraz rules: can’t fuck with the birds.”
“So, federal laws—”
“Some rules should not be broken. The birds don’t get disturbed, even if it means we get caught tonight.”
Perry snorts and paces away, gazing at a slim corner of the San Francisco skyline.
I give him a minute to sulk before I say, “C’mere.”
I jog across the Roman safe house to one of the empty cement window frames, reach beyond it, and from the rocky ground below, drag up first one, then a second backpack. I hand the smaller one to Perry and keep the one with the frame for myself. He accepts it instantly, without surprise.
I could have hidden these Wednesday night in the Hammock, but where’s the fun in that? Tonight, we are adventurers.
He says, “Is that a sleeping bag attached?”
“Yup.”
“Won’t we need two sleeping bags?”
I shoot him a grin. “Nope.”
When we reach the bird sanctuary, he looks longingly in that direction, but only for a moment. Huh. I expected more of a fight than that. I point to where the guard’s beam of light is moving further away, and he nods when he sees it. I give him the “move forward” hand symbol, and he nods again.
After the guard is a safe distance away, I say, “Boy, I wish I ate one of those hot dogs on the boat.”
Perry ignores me, crouching.
I don’t really get why he’s crouching, but I join him down there.
Our trip back across the island feels different. Perry is now my partner, even giving me the “be perfectly still” gesture once. He no longer complains about the sweaty ski mask, and more importantly, he stopped
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