Demetrio has found the good life, putting his devastating past behind him and investing his hard-earned money into a gay bar on the island of Ibiza, or as the locals insist on calling it, Eivissa. With celebrities and other stunning beautiful men roaming the hot-spot island, Demetrio thinks he’s found a slice of heaven. When a strange man’s small boat capsizes in the Mediterranean, once he’s rescued, he seems to be attracted to Demetrio.
The man, however, has amnesia. He has no memory of his name, his life and has no ID. His boat is registered to a Philip Gordon, but the handsome stranger says he doesn’t think it’s his name. After picking the name Océano, the Spanish word for the sea, he and Demetrio begin an impassioned affair that soon turns disastrous. Océano may not be amnesiac. He may not be the good guy he seems to be and…he may not even be gay.
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Eivissa
Copyright © 2011 A.J. Llewellyn
ISBN: 978-1-55487-850-5
Cover art by Angela Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
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Smashwords Edition
Eivissa
By
A.J. Llewellyn
Dedication
To my lovely and wonderful Lisa Cunningham whose new friendship has been made possible thanks to the internet and the power of the written word. Thank you for being my friend!
I would also like to dedicate Eivissa to the memory of my cousin John whose disappearance inspired this story. Though we found his body a year after he vanished, exactly as described in this tale, we still have many unanswered questions.
To all the families of lost men in the world, no greater pain is known than the unknown. My heart goes out to all of you.
Chapter One
Demetrio leaned back in his chair, casting his gaze over the impossibly blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Even the foam was whiter and brighter here. He craned his neck to scan the horizon. Nothing but birds, boats and beautiful people as far as the eye could see. He still couldn’t believe this small strip of paradise was his. Clear as glass, the sea screamed health and vitality. Even now he could see a yachting family in the distance, the women bobbing in the water, their bright bathing caps looking like gigantic flower heads cast into the waves.
He stretched, tilting his head up, his gaze fixed now on the sky. Blue and more blue. He felt his neck muscles unkinking. Ah, that was better. A couple of bones snapped back into place as he shook out his shoulders and rolled his neck. Ten a.m. and his day was actually just ending…or should have been.
But who could sleep with paradise so near?
Now was the time he’d usually be in bed, but since moving from London to Ibiza, or, as all the locals and knowledgeable travelers called it, Eivissa, six months ago, he found that he got by very well on catnaps. An hour here, two hours there, and he was good to go.
Demetrio enjoyed a leisurely, delicious breakfast of pan de orno, the local island bread, and a couple of hard boiled eggs at his favorite table. For a moment, he felt a small twinge of regret that he’d sent his date from earlier in the morning back to his hotel room. Silly goose was probably still sleeping off the chupito shots.
He bit into a small, warm, buttery loaf from the café, Espardel. He could detect the scent of olive oil in the bread and he put his nose to the loaf in his hand. Ah, bliss. He enjoyed the quiet luxury of having his nightclub terrace empty and all to himself after a long and busy night. It had been a bit jarring, crossing over from the off-season winter months to full-scale service once April rolled around, but now, he found he liked the madness. Demetrio didn’t care that he had an early license and had to close by three a.m. each day. The gay couple with the building in the old Eivissa town square opposite him had a late-closing license and they were welcome to it.
Their license, however, expired at seven o’clock in the morning and the law of the island was that clubs were forced to close from seven until four-thirty in the afternoon. This left a lot of club goers feeling aimless, but a lot of beach places had opened up with beds and sofas and did well in the summer months with day-long breakfast menus.
He watched the Sugar guys now, sauntering past his terrace with cheery waves. Man, they were sexy. Demetrio was intrigued by the gay porn star, Juan-Juan, whose real name was Chenche, and his husband, Stefan, owners of Sugar, the hottest gay bar on Eivissa. They had a six a.m. license and there were still people lingering on Sugar’s main terrace. That’s how Eivissa rolled. The quaint Spanish island with its ancient, crumbling walls and dedicated pockets of fishing villages had a hard-partying heart.
The old town center had become the gay capital and rumor had it Chenche and Stefan had called in numerous favors for their coveted license.
It didn’t bother Demetrio. In fact, he was surprised how much he didn’t care. As a real estate property developer back home, he’d been a very competitive guy working himself into an early grave. Diagnosed with a multitude of anxiety and stress-related illnesses, he’d taken his physician’s advice and taken a year off work. It was astonishing that at the age of thirty-five he could be in need of rest…not that he was getting it.
He was working harder than ever in some respects, but for the first time in his adult life, Demetrio felt real pride and satisfaction in his work. He felt sincere joy in each and every day he spent on the island. He loved the surprises each night brought as he opened up and served his customers at Club Dino. He was already getting rave reviews on internet travel sites from the more staid Frommer’s to the newer and hip Trip Advisor and Lonely Planet. All the online travel magazine sites had sent freelance writers to the island and his club had its own iPad downloadable application. He’d been pleased that in a couple of short weeks, his club was getting such positive attention. Even foodies rated him highly on Yelp and local Spanish blogs.
And…he was even beginning to have a life. On the rare occasions he had a date, they’d slip over to Sugar where Demetrio enjoyed the luxury of somebody else mixing him a high-voltage cocktail. Partying was fun, but not expensive on Eivissa. The restaurants were also sublime. Packed into small spaces, they each produced an astonishing array of mouth-watering and decadent meals. Nothing, however, compared with Chenche’s hand-mixed drinks. He and his fellow waiter-boys were always gorgeous and like the owner of Sugar himself, half-dressed.
Demetrio returned his attention briefly to his iPad and the article he’d been reading on the evolution of underwear. Underwear was considered way too much clothing on Eivissa. Demetrio approved of loincloths and minuscule, cock-hugging underpants. He studied the medieval images of codpieces on his screen. They were quite alluring, too.
He cringed as he studied images of long johns. Since he’d left London, the harsh weather, frozen pipes, chilblains and thermal wear were but a distant, horrific memory.
Sipping his coffee, he found himself smiling. He’d just spent the last three hours dancing with a hot, handsome traveler. They were all just incredibly sexy on Eivissa. Demetrio and his pals liked to joke that ugly people were turned away at customs.
Demetrio savored the gritty sediment on his tongue. He loved every drop of coffee, even the dregs. Why did everything taste better on this island? His gaze drifted over to the venerable Can Alfredo, one of the oldest restaurants on the island. It had changed hands twice since it opened in 1932. Many places were like that. In spite of the gay, party atmosphere, there was a staunch tradition of service and customer pleasure here. Mind you, this was typical of Spain in general.
Eivissa, which came to life on April 1 and quietly went to sleep each October, had been a real eye-opener for Demetrio. After visiting each summer for the last few years, he’d hankered to move here. He’d found his club via an online ad on Craigslist and bought it after taking a comprehensive virtual tour. He’d moved here, shocking his friends and family, and spent months renovating the place. He’d been open exactly two weeks and was already seeing the beginnings of a swift return on his massive financial investment.
He watched Chenche and his crowd of friends jump into the sea. He thought about joining them. Truth be told, he kind of had a crush on Chenche who had an open—very open—marriage to Stefan. They had been together ten years before marrying in Madrid the previous summer. Demetrio had met them on one of his trips to Eivissa and they’d encouraged him to move here.
Demetrio knew that when Chenche made trips to the US to shoot porn during the island’s off-season, he also booked himself out as a rent boy. He attended each client accompanied by Stefan. Demetrio knew all this because he read the online gay blogs…and because, like on any small island, there was gossip.
Chenche didn’t rent himself out on Eivissa. Demetrio didn’t quite understand, since a lot of gay travelers knew who he was and looked him up, but there was a line and he’d drawn it. Eivissa was home. That didn’t mean he didn’t fool around. He did. But his porn star career was a big, open secret.
As hot as the guy was, Demetrio couldn’t have handled a guy like Chenche as a long-term mate. He wondered how Stefan did it…then realized Stefan was so enamored, he’d probably put up with anything just to keep the guy close.
They were a great couple and in spite of their high-flying sex life, they were good businessmen, terrific friends and great hosts. Their bar was super-hot for a reason.
“Demetrio!”
He heard Chenche calling him and laughed, waving back.
“Come and swim with us,” Chenche called out, not taking no for an answer.
A swim would be nice, now that he thought of it. He held up a finger, shut down his iPad, depositing it inside the club on the bar and closed up everything. He’d resisted his date’s efforts to stay and have some fun in the sack, namely because the guy had been wasted. Now, Demetrio was happy he’d exercised good morals. He wandered down Carrer Santa Lucia in his shorts and flip-flops, sunglasses pushed high on his nose.
The beauty of his new home never failed to astonish him. The once-walled city built by the North African Carthaginian empire in the seventh century was topped on his highest peak by a cathedral and the still-walled city square. Both were equally impressive and were Eivissa’s calling cards.
Once the Romans had taken over the eastern portion of the Mediterranean, a new empire was ushered in and Eivissa embodied the unhurried, uninhibited passion one associated with a tropical island. In recent years, gay travelers had begun to flock here and gay men and women moved here to find themselves. Here, they found freedom, acceptance…even love.
Demetrio had found the first two things and secretly hungered for the third.
Perspiration dotted his forehead and the back of his neck by the time he reached the tiny curve of the bay that denoted the gay stretch of Eivissa’s white sands of St. Eulalia Beach.
Thanks to Sugar, Demetrio’s bar attracted a good, steady stream of spillover clients who liked trying new places and enjoyed the more relaxed atmosphere of Dino’s. Demetrio had kept the name when he bought the club and tried to keep its crumbling Spanish interior, but had been forced to do a lot of work to keep it looking that way. His patrons loved his cheese and wine nights and he loved their appreciation. He really did owe Chenche and Stefan a great deal. They were friendly, supportive and encouraging. They’d even given him the number of a fantastic electrician who’d helped rewire his building.
He shucked off his shorts, leaving only his bright yellow Speedos on. He caught Chenche’s predatory grin as he jumped into the sea. Chenche reached out to him as Demetrio plunged into the initially frigid water, planting a big wet kiss on his lips beneath the rolling waves. Demetrio hoped his cock didn’t reveal the huge attraction he felt for Chenche. He was cold, but his dick was still on red alert. That’s how hot Chenche was. It also, not for the first time, struck him as very telling that the man’s name, Chenche, meant conquer. How apt.
Demetrio noticed on a regular basis that Chenche sought seduction of every man he met and dammit, the gay porn icon was an astonishing kisser. He liked kissing Demetrio a lot for some reason and put a lot of passion into it. His mouth roamed Demetrio’s face as Demetrio fought to keep the guy’s hand out of his tiny Speedos below the water’s surface.
Demetrio struggled to raise his head and get some air. As he did so, Chenche’s mouth moved to his ear.
“One day,” he whispered in Demetrio’s ear, “one day you will beg me to fuck you.”
His hand curled around Demetrio’s huge cock under the water. He hardened even more, to the bursting point. Damn. In Demetrio’s mind, he begged Chenche to fuck him morning, noon and night. He’d never met anyone as good looking as Chenche or as hung. The guy was very slim, a twinky kind of guy in fact, with a massive, ten-inch weapon between his thighs. He made no bones about wanting Demetrio. Even Stefan had tried to persuade him to play with Chenche.
“I wouldn’t be jealous of you,” Stefan had said more than once. “And I would know where he was.”
Demetrio felt sorry for Stefan. He wanted to chastise him for pimping for his lover and for putting up with his slutty ways, but hell’s bells, here Demetrio was, having the time of his life making out with the son of a gun in the ocean.
Chenche might have been thin, but he was all lean muscle. He dragged Demetrio to the water’s edge, lying on top of him on the sand, kissing him.
God help me, I think I’m gonna come. It was like the gay version of From Here to Eternity and each time the cold waves lapped at his body, he felt a fresh tug of sexual tension in his body as Chenche writhed on top of him, grinding his cock against his.
Demetrio tried not to think about how sexy Chenche was. The guy was taken. A whore. Man…nothing worked. He wished now that he hadn’t bought the deluxe package of twelve of Chenche’s movies and his life-size sex dildo from Chenche’s website. All he could think of now was the mingled pleasure and pain that he’d derive from getting fucked by the hottest whore this side of the whole planet.
Chenche’s tongue plumbed his mouth. If the guy had wanted to fuck him right there and then, Demetrio probably couldn’t have and wouldn’t have stopped him. The others were laughing.
“Now, that’s my idea of a wake-up call,” one of the other guys said.
Chenche turned off the porno power instantly. He rolled off Demetrio, sitting next to him on the hard, wet sand. He had a hard-on, too, Demetrio was pleased to see. Chenche always confused Demetrio with his way-out greetings. He sat, feeling dazed and horny as all fucking hell. He tugged at his Speedos, sitting up now, feeling foolish.
He watched Chenche kissing one of the other guys before plunging into the water in his tiny swimsuit, paddling over to his lover, Stefan, who happily took his wayward man into his arms and kissed him.
Allowing the water to wash over him, Demetrio scooted back into the sea, happier now that his raging erection was hidden from view. He smiled at Stefan who came over to bob beside him as the others frolicked, splashing each other with eager, childlike glee.
“Did you get any sleep?” Stefan asked.
Demetrio knew that Stefan was a born worrier. He was the daddy of the bunch. People dismissed him as a Muscle Mary because he was a big guy with a ton of muscles and he was so quiet, they assumed he was dumb. He was far from it. An attorney by trade, he still practiced law in the off-season. Real estate law was his passion and thanks to Stefan, Chenche’s porn star earnings had been poured into real estate investments throughout Spain. They owned commercial and residential properties and lived well off their investments.
He had figured out how to make a living off cell phone applications like VMS. It was all foreign to Demetrio, but as far as he understood, every time Stefan’s cell phone rang with a certain ring tone indicating it had been delivered via VMS, he made money. People asked him questions and they paid by phone. It seemed easy and yet, when Stefan tried to explain how it worked, Demetrio quickly lost interest in trying to understand the financial aspects.
Stefan was also the go-to guy for all the club owners on the island, mostly British, who spent the winter months here, planning and negotiating big-name musical acts for the summer months. In June, the hottest month on the island in more ways than one, Eivissa would launch its annual music festival. Every club DJ in Europe would make an appearance and the hottest musical acts would come and do their thing. Thanks to Stefan, Demetrio had a few DJ’s booked, including the wildly popular Fatboy Slim.