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(Based on an incident several years ago in our favorite location in the Hawaiian Islands. Names have been changed and the setting may also be markedly different today than it was then. The love guru has probably moved on, although I could imagine his spirit still inhabiting the Kalalau Valley.)
It had been a long and tiring 12-hour flight from the East Coast to Lihue on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. Most people like to lay over on the West Coast to break the monotony and move around, but having only three weeks to tour four islands we wanted to make the most of our limited time, and flew direct. It was 3 am. New York time by our watches, although the sun was just going down in Lihue.
“I want to sleep for a zillion years,” Jessica said, throwing her backpack on a chair and collapsing onto the bed of a hotel near the airport. But I argued for something to eat and drink. Then we could crash at 10 pm. Hawaiian time, wake up refreshed nine or ten hours later and catch the bus to the Na Pali Coast to start our backcountry camping adventure.
After a sandwich and beer in the hotel bar, we came back to the room and showered. Jess looked good as always, prancing around nude between bathroom and bed, long auburn hair draped around shapely breasts, hips and firm butt swaying invitingly. Normally, on our first night of a new adventure, I would have ordered up an erotic movie to heighten stimulation and ravished her in the king-size bed. But that would wait. We actually needed the sleep.
Next morning, from the end of the bus line at Hanalei, we took an Uber to the end of the road at Ke’e Beach. Then, we and our 40-lb. packs embarked on one of the greatest hikes in the world along the storied Kalalau Trail. There were several other walkers in the first couple of miles, but hardly anyone after that as the trail was broken by deep and narrow valleys, resulting in steep grades and long switchbacks, often slick from cataracts or passing showers. Day trippers wore out fast. For those of us who intended to stay a few days, breathtaking views of the Na Pali coastline made up for the effort.
The further along, the more “optional” clothing became on the few people we did encounter, so after pitching our tent at Hanakoa camping area, about six miles in, we just stripped and took a cooling plunge in the rushing stream nearby. It revived us enough that we decided to stroll down to the beach, still au naturel except for flip-flops.
Jess’s fine form drew appraising glances from both the clothed and unclothed. I also noticed that she gazed discreetly through her polarized sunglasses at some of the male organs on display, while I did likewise at the female charms that we passed, and was pleased to see one or two ladies direct their gaze at my midsection, smiling in approval.
“I haven’t seen this much cock in one place since the frat parties in the old days,” Jess joked as we took a seat in the sand.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” chipped in a topless college-age woman who overheard. “Everything’s hanging out at Kalalau.”
We laughed and got into conversation with her. Sara was on her way back to civilization after a few days with friends at the Kalalau Valley campground five miles further on at the end of the trail.
“It’s a wild place,” Sara confided. “No inhibitions. And Kalalau is “the hangout of the legendary Rodrigues.”
“Why is he a legend?” Jess asked.
“You’ll see,” Sara answered, with a coy smile. “He has… something exceptional. I spent a few great days with him.” Her exposed nipples seemed to firm as she remembered, perhaps indicating how great those days were.
It turned out that Sara’s tent was pitched fairly close to ours. We shared a pot luck supper of dehydrated camp food and Hawaiian beer that evening, and sat around a bonfire as night fell. I visited the outbuilding to pee and on my way back saw Jess and Sara in animated conversation. The name Rodrigues was mentioned once more, Sara holding her hands about a foot apart to emphasize something that brought laughter from Jess. They quieted upon seeing me.
Perhaps influenced by the sights of the day, Jess and I soon entered our tent to enjoy the “welcome to Hawaii” activity we had postponed the previous night. It was an inspired performance, as confirmed the next morning by Sara, who was taking a morning bath at the stream when we got there for our ablutions.
“What with all the gasping, moaning and snorting, I was worried that you guys were being attacked by a feral pig or something,” she said. We all laughed.
After a light breakfast, Jess and I packed up for the onward journey to Kalalau. In keeping with the spirit of our new-found liberation, we donned minimal attire. She went topless but did wear a string bikini with her hiking shoes, while I wore only the shoes. We wrapped our pack straps and belts in soft cloth to avoid chafing where they would have rubbed against our bare skin.
Sara, on the other hand, was returning to Ke’e, and donned a Sıhhiye Escort tank top and modest skirt, grumbling a little at this concession to civilized sensibilities, but she wanted to look “acceptable” enough to hitch a ride to Lihue. “Just enough cover to not offend the prudes, but still interest some guy with a car.”
We said our goodbyes and set out in opposite directions.
“Tell Rodrigues I’m thinking of him, will you?” Sara called out from a distance.
The trail was in pretty good shape, if terrifyingly narrow in places, with a long drop-off to the sea. It was only another five miles to Kalalau, so we reached our destination around mid-day. A park ranger, looking overdressed in shorts and a shirt with two open buttons, asked to see our permits, which we dug out from the packs and showed him. After an admonition to beware the undertow off the beach, he bid us a friendly aloha and went on his way, after a surreptitious glance at Jess’s beautiful breasts.
Sara had advised us the best campsites were to be found toward the waterfall at the very end of the designated camp area, and we followed her advice. There were a couple of other tents nearby, but the place seemed a lot less occupied than I would have thought, given its beauty and reputation as a popular spot.
As the afternoon went on, that changed. New campers trickled in to set up, while others who had apparently been there a while emerged from the forest and from the rocky beach area. Judging by what we overheard, many of them lacked permits and had been lying low until the ranger left. We got into conversation with a few people who said they had been living in the valley for a lot longer than the five-day permit limit, leaving only to get food and other provisions they could not obtain from the land or the sea.
Attire in Kalalau was even more “informal” than it was on the trail. Scarcely a scrap of cloth or nylon to be seen. “When in Rome…,” said Jess, shedding her string bikini to show her sculpted bush. Flip-flops replaced our clunky hiking shoes.
After freshening up in the stream, we set out to explore our surroundings, heading toward the beach first. While there were a lot of old lava rocks along the sea, there was also an ample expanse of fine sand. And even the rocks held surprises – several concealed caves carved through the millennia by pounding surf. One cave may have been the size of an Olympic swimming pool, filled with still, clear water. Not worried about undertow there, we dove in and cooled off.
On our way back to the camping area, we passed by a few people going to the beach. One in particular stood out – a tall, muscular fellow with sun darkened skin and long tousled black hair. However, it was not his physique or hair that first caught my attention as he approached with an easy stride. From his midsection dangled the longest cock I had ever seen. Now, I don’t generally go around staring at other guys’ cocks, but this one just commanded attention. It had to be at least eight inches long in an apparent flaccid condition, longer and larger than most guys’ dicks are when erect.
Jess also noted. She had her sunglasses on and was trying to hold her head in such a way that she appeared to be looking straight ahead, but being at her side I could see that behind the glasses her gaze was directed down at the guy’s amazing appendage. Her lips were slightly open – in awe?
If he noticed our amazement he did not let on, just bid us aloha with an easy smile and continued on his way to the beach. We returned the Hawaiian greeting. After he passed Jess stopped and turned to look after him, although from that perspective there was nothing to see but his firm ass. When he was out of hearing range, she looked at me, mouth still ajar.
“I didn’t think it possible,” she said.
“Me either,” I admitted. “I feel sorry for the dude.”
“Why?” she asked, animatedly. “It’s magnificent!”
“Well, it’s exceptional, to be sure,” I told her, “but I bet it causes him a lot of grief. I mean, if it’s that much of a weapon when soft, women must flee in terror when they see it ready for action.”
“Oh my god, I would love to see it like that,” she said, all but licking her lips. I felt a stab of penis envy.
“You wouldn’t be afraid it would rip you apart?”
“I didn’t say I want to fuck him. I just would love to see it hard,” she replied, still staring after the now-distant figure. “Then I’d decide if I wanted to fuck him.”
I had to laugh. This kind of talk coming from Jess did not bother me. We had a good relationship and I was secure with my status in it. Our success was partly due to not setting limitations on each other. In the three years we had been together we had occasionally “seen” other people. After all, there were wild oats to sew, and all that. Sometimes we would take a short vacation from each other to do our sewing, but after things ran their course – usually a pretty short course Tandoğan Escort – we got back together again, having learned a little more about the world, other people, and ourselves.
By letting each other run off leash we had actually grown closer, satisfying our roving instincts and becoming less distracted by temptations. We were now both 26, and in the last year Jess had not shagged anyone else that I knew of, while I had spent only one afternoon diddling an old girlfriend who I ran into unexpectedly.
Bottom line: While we were sewing fewer oats and usually content just to jump each other, I would not be insecure if she met someone she wanted to fuck, even a freak with a King Kong dick, although I doubted she would do so once she saw it fully erect and considered the possible medical complications.
We continued on our way to the campsite and the freshwater stream to wash off the salt and sand from the beach. There were some other people there, and Jess got into a conversation with a girl of 19 or 20 who introduced herself as Meagan. She said she came frequently to the valley, and had been there about a month at present. Meagan was blond and had a nice tanned body, her strategic spots not defined by pale shadows from swimsuits. She was doing some yoga stretches and gymnastic moves that accentuated her curves.
“I have to ask you,” Jess said, “do you know anything about a tall, good looking guy with a huge dong? I mean, like horse-huge.”
“Sure,” Meagan laughed. “There are a lot of good size dongs around here, but you probably mean Rodrigues.” She held her palms out, about a foot apart.
“Rodrigues,” Jess and I both exclaimed. “We heard a little about him from someone we met on the trail,” I added. “She described him as something of a legend.”
“Yeah, he’s like the unofficial love god of Kalalau,” Meagan said. “He emphasizes the spiritual aspect of sensuality, and uses guru talk while he’s turning you on and getting you off.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “But everyone is informal around here, so his nickname is ‘The Portuguese Sausage,’ even though most people don’t use it in front of him.”
I had to laugh at that. From what we had read, a large number of Portuguese migrated to the islands in the late 1800s to work sugar cane fields, bringing with them one of their staples, a smoky, reddish, large-sized pork sausage. Considered a delicacy, Portuguese Sausage is featured almost universally at Hawaiian eateries, including even McDonald’s.
“It certainly is a big sausage,” Jess said. “And the guru knows how to use it?”
“He sure does,” Meagan replied, nodding with conviction, then adding playfully, “He follows the Tantra in using that big, natural gift of his to spread ‘spiritual enlightenment.’ Women flock to him, eager to experience that spiritual tool, and he considers it is his mission in life to enlighten all of us.”
“Chris here seems to think it could be a lethal weapon.”
“You know, I worried about that at first, but we females have an amazing ability to stretch and adapt,” Meagan said with a smile, doing a handspring and somersault. “I’ve suffered no adverse effects,” she added.
Jess laughed. “Do you know someone named Sara?” she asked.
“Sure! Sara was being ‘enlightened’ by Rodrigues just recently, but she left yesterday. That gave me my chance to set up camp next to him. I was ‘enlightened’ a few months ago, and am back hoping for more light.”
Jess laughed again. “And neither Sara nor Meagan seem to have any difficulty walking, do they, Chris?” she asked me sarcastically.
I took that as an opportunity to visually inspect Meagan’s pubic area. “No, she appears to be in fine shape,” I admitted, resulting in a snap of Jess’s towel. Whoever said honesty pays was a liar.
The conversation drifted into other Kalalau subjects. Meagan suggested we hike up the stream the next day, saying there were many small pools for swimming, some flumes for getting “waterfall massages” and several waterfalls, including one she called The Sacred Steps.
“That’s the name Rodrigues gives it, and it’s an awesome place to make love,” she confided. “It’s in a sort of gully surrounded by steep cliffs, heavily vegetated. There’s a pool about waist deep and the waterfall that fills it flows down a series of small ledges resembling a staircase. You can find a ledge you like and join yourselves together as the water flows over and around you. It is just so cool.”
No doubt about it, Kalalau was shaping up as a sensual place. We thanked Meagan for her tips and invited her to join us for dinner. She hesitated.
“I’d love to but have already accepted an invitation. I’m expecting to have Portuguese Sausage for dinner tonight,” she said mirthfully.
It turned out that Meagan’s tent was the one closest to ours in the little clearing near the stream, while Rodrigues had the third one. The Portuguese Sausage showed about a half hour later with Tunalı Escort a couple good-sized reef fish he had speared. He lit a fire and began to cook. After a short conversation with Meagan, Rodrigues called us over to join them for fish and taro and to “make talk.”
I brought over a bottle of wine that was in my pack to celebrate arrival in the Kalalau. Rodrigues seemed delighted, but no more than we were to eat his delicious fish seasoned with valley herbs. As we dined, sitting on logs around the fire, I observed him discreetly. He was of indeterminate age – perhaps a weathered 35 or a well-preserved 50 – with leathery skin darkened by the sun, laugh wrinkles, tousled dark hair and of course his giant member, which Jess was surely contemplating. After dinner, as the sky darkened, Rodrigues fed the fire and began to “make talk.”
He delighted us with his wealth of knowledge about the valley, revealing ways of surviving in the bush, including a little garden and taro patch which he had been cultivating for some time, and snares to catch wild pigs. Fruit trees were abundant – mango, papaya, banana, passion fruit, guavas – and even coffee plants producing beans.
“One can live just off the sea with a good spear,” he said. Physical needs satisfied, the valley and coastline offered beautiful views and numerous chances to “commune with each other and ponder the mysteries of the greater world,” he added.
“I took a course in Hawaiian Studies at college, and read about the valley, which made me want to visit here,” Jess volunteered. “Aren’t a lot of the fruit trees and edible plants the remnants of plantations, some dating back to Polynesian settlement? Many of the rock walls we’ve seen in Kalalau and on the way here were built to make garden terraces, I believe.”
Rodrigues brightened. “Your understanding is correct. The spirits of previous generations are palpable in our valley.”
“Why did they ever leave such a paradise?” Jess asked.
“Disease brought by the haoles – white men – was partially responsible, resulting in a great loss of life,” Rodrigues said, sadly. “The so-called Spanish Flu of the early 1900s was especially devastating. Aside from sickness, the population diminished due to the lure of ‘civilized comforts’ – running water, electricity, schools – in more easily accessible locations. This area of the coast was abandoned almost a century ago.” But he brightened again. “In recent years, it has indeed become a paradise once more for knowledgeable and respectful visitors like yourselves and people like me in quest of a simpler life in harmony with the natural world, and for the spiritual enlightenment that offers.”
When I asked him to recommend highlights for us, considering our limited time, Rodrigues seconded Meagan’s recommendations to follow the stream, which was traversable for about two miles before becoming too steep where it flowed off the tall pali cliffs. He described to us where we would pass the rock wall remnants of an ancient heiau – a native Hawaiian temple – which sparked Jess’s interest as she had minored in anthropology. She brought up a couple of points about the old Polynesian religion, which Rodrigues acknowledged, again complimenting her understanding.
“The heiau has a spiritual feel to it,” he said. “The presence of the ancients is palpable, making one wonder if they are still there, in another dimension perhaps. They seem at ease with us visiting, but be respectful and don’t leave a rock wrapped in a Ti leaf, as so many visitors do, believing it a sign of respect. It is actually an affectation of the tourist trade, and the gods do not relish false offerings.” We promised to respect the site.
“Did Meagan tell you about the Sacred Steps?” We confirmed that she had. “A most spiritual place, only a short way past the heiau, and the best location in the valley to follow the Tantra, practice life and love,” Rodrigues said, rubbing his hand lightly along the underside of his massive cock. I wondered if that was a gesture for dramatic effect. Perhaps it was unconscious or a response to an itch. Either way it had an impact on Jess. I felt her shudder as she was leaning against me.
Rodrigues went on to describe the beauty of the Steps, and how their varied dimensions accommodated people of any height “seeking to join their bodies in the flowing stream of life.” Before he was finished on the subject, I was sure Jess was as wet as if she had been sitting in the falls. Meagan probably was too, judging by small gyrations of her thighs as she sat on the log next to Rodrigues. Even I was going through mental gymnastics trying to keep my dick from growing. Unlike the girls, there was no way for me to hide male arousal.
As darkness closed in, the mosquitoes became bolder. Rodrigues smiled in the flickering firelight, asking us to excuse him as he had “a special spiritual communion” to make in the tent with Meagan. Jess shuddered again. We rose to take our leave, thanking him for his advice and hospitality, as well as supper.
“Oh, before I forget, on the trail we met someone named Sara, who said to give you her greetings,” I added.
“Ah, Sara,” he responded. “A lovely lady. As are those here tonight.” He looked directly at Jess as he said that, and as I was holding her hand I felt vibration a third time.
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