Flashback: The greeter — April 8, 2003

23 Dec

Maybe I’m already nostalgic for the island-culture vibe I felt during my recent stays in Miami and Fort Lauderdale, with their large Caribbean populations. Or maybe with yesterday officially marking the start of winter I wish I was somewhere warmer, though the weather has been unseasonably mild. But the likeliest explanation for today’s flashback is that I got word yesterday one of my favorite characters in the original Devon’s Diary may be joining me for part of this open-ended road trip, which I plan to extend all the way to the West Coast after I’m done retracing the 2004 wild ride that led me to the loony bin. The entry below marked his introduction to readers as I wrapped up my first — and thus far, only — visit to Honolulu. The brazenness of our encounter startled me as I reread this today. But if you ever get the chance to have sex in an airport restroom, do it. Previous flashbacks are here and here.– Devon Britt-Darby

Devon and the greeter - 2003

Got up early this morning to pack, send a few emails and take one last walk along the beach before returning to my hotel for the 9:45am pickup for the airport (my Expedia package included transportation each way). To my horror, we arrived at the airport three hours before my flight’s departure, but this turned out not to be a bad thing. They have a beautiful garden with Japanese, Chinese and Hawaiian sections you can stroll around, and I was doing just that when I saw one of the cute Polynesian greeters who had met my incoming flight on Thursday. He was sitting by himself, writing in what looked like a diary, and I slowed my pace to a crawl and kept looking back at him till he glanced up and raised an eyebrow in recognition.

“Did you check out our tiny bar scene?” he asked by way of an icebreaker, not that one was necessary as I already had rather warm feelings for him. I repeated a few observations which were fresh in my mind from last night’s entry and he said that he’s dying to escape this paradise that so many mainlanders wish to escape to. “It’s great to visit,” he said, “but it sucks to grow up here.” He’s already lived on every island, to, and can scarcely go anywhere on any island without running into someone he knows.

Although I love the local speech patterns, which are slow and musical and sound like a fusion of the accents of Native Americans, French Canadians and ‘Fargo’ cast members, I also liked that he didn’t have one. I could relate to the rebellion against parochialism, to the desire to flee a smothering environment. (This is not to say that he isn’t proud and fond of his native culture: he said he hates the thought of leaving and then Hawai’i getting blown up since it’s the number one strategic target in the US. I asked if that wouldn’t be better than NOT leaving before Hawai’i got blown up, and he looked sad and said that everyone he loves lives there.)

He said he was considering a move to San Francisco and I did my best to encourage him. We bemoaned the fact that we hadn’t flirted when I first arrived; he said he would have been my tour guide and shown me around town. “I’ll be your tour guide when you come to San Francisco,” I said, and he said he’d take me up on that.

Money is a consideration; he’s not sure what he’d do for it in SF. “You could always do what I do,” I said, and he replied, “Been there, done that.” He does still go-go dance, and I relished the thought of watching his tall, slim, toned body writhing around onstage. Then I started — or, more accurately, resumed — relishing the thought of his tall, slim, toned body writing around in my arms, and asked if there wasn’t anywhere we could go.

He briefly brainstormed, then took me to a few places where he and some of his co-workers sneak off to smoke pot between greeting flights. Honolulu International Airport is better suited than most airports for transgressive activities due to the comparatively small number of flights that depart and arrive, especially since the airlines started reducing the number of trips. But everywhere we went there were still one or two people around, until we found a little nook that was under construction and empty.

We began kissing and I was instantly in heaven; he snogs with the best of them. We groped and caressed and began to undo each other’s belts and zippers. He dropped to his knees and fished out my cock.

At which point we heard a security guard approaching.

“Shit,” we hissed and swiftly put ourselves back together. We assumed casual, hanging out positions and waited for the guard to walk up.

“I’ll just tell him you’re my boyfriend and we were saying goodbye and didn’t want to make people uncomfortable,” the greeter whispered. I was tempted to respond that he qualified as my third longest relationship but thought it wasn’t the time for witticisms.

The guard came into view, saw us, nodded and said, “Howzit?” (as in, “How’s it going?”) and kept on walking.

“That is so fucking hilarious,” the greeter whispered, and we began picking up our bags. The guard swung back by and asked, “You guys leaving?” and we responded in the affirmative. “He has a flight to catch,” the greeter added. “Okay,” said the guard, and we made on our merry way.

“That is the funniest thing that’s ever happened,” said the greeter as we made our way to the nearest bathroom. We really were in a virtually empty part of the airport, and we had the loo to ourselves, so we went into the wheelchair stall and made out and exchanged blowjobs. Every inch of him is beautiful, and I loved taking his cock out of my mouth, slapping myself across the face with it, and sticking it back in. Finally he whispered, “You’ve got a flight to catch and I’ve got one to meet,” and we began buttoning and zipping ourselves back up.

At that point someone came in and used the stall next to ours, and we smiled at each other and kissed softly until he left, then we slipped out one at at time and headed over to the sinks.

“I have broken so many company rules and airport regulations today,” he said with satisfaction as we walked to catch and greet our respective flights.

Our gates were nearly adjacent. The greeter arrived at his just as the first passengers were deplaning and I barely caught my flight.

One Response to “Flashback: The greeter — April 8, 2003”

  1. Hoax December 31, 2011 at 9:50 pm #

    AT least someone will remember me as I was…HAHAHAHA

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