Hawk Hunting


This is an excerpt from a novel I am publishing here at Literotica. Just for fun, I have been releasing some of the sex scenes for those not interested in a long read. Following is a brief setup to the scene.


Gwen Yoshimura’s world is falling apart. Her long time best friend, the Honolulu socialite, Betty Nagata, has cast Gwen out of her life. Distraught by her best friend’s unexplained shunning, Gwen approaches Hawking Detrick, Betty’s handsome boyfriend in hope of finding some answers.


Weeks after my big blowout with Betty, I ran into Hawking Detrick. Well, it was more of a sighting really. I saw him in my post-modern history class. Ironically, it was the very same class that Betty gave me the textbooks for. Hunting for the textbooks in her closet had led to Hawking’s secret porn stash and the porn had somehow led to Betty shunning of me. I could count the times I had met Hawking Detrick on one hand. Although, our last meeting should have made me quite memorable since I had been totally naked, posing for a painting Betty was working on.

His taste in sleazy porn aside, the guy was hot and his face has dominated many of my late night bed fantasies. My latest is me running into him at the end of the history lecture. We would be alone in the lecture hall. He didn’t know who I was so to spark his memory, I strip naked in front of him and then he would say, “Oh yeah … it’s you, Gwen … Betty’s friend.”

Anyway, back in the slightly less absurd real world …

The class was held in a large auditorium. I keep a distance from him. I had no idea what went down between him and Betty and I didn’t have the strength to deal with any more Betty fallout. Also, I was still deeply embarrassed about the naked modeling thing. What I knew about the guy was pretty sketchy: handsome, serious surfer, A grade student … I think.

Like any modern twenty first century woman, I Googled his name. Hawking Detrick-Heinz is his full name but he dropped the Heinz part a while back. It seemed that he was distancing himself form his Grandfather the famous physicist Eisenhower Heinz. Hawking completed his graduate work at San Diego State at the unbelievable age of seventeen. He did his grad studies at George Mason University where he cut his anthropological teeth at important archeological digs in Norfolk and Roanoke. At twenty seven, he is considered brilliant in his field and is now the coordinator for several archeological digs in the Hawaiian Islands. At the university, he wasn’t quite an instructor, more of a long-term guest lecturer at the physical anthropology department. Betty had mentioned his frequent island hopping and I had assumed that he was looking for the endless summer on a surfboard. It was his job that moved him around a lot it seemed.

Even the guy’s love for surfing was way above par. A couple of Google searches told a story of a world-class surfer winning his share of surfing tournaments worldwide. In his interviews, he insisted everyone call him Hawk.

He had an arrest record too. In California, he did two months in jail for chaining himself to the fence of an electrical power plant protesting the plant’s habit of pouring pollutants into a local river. Goggle images popped up with endless shots of the guy looking good on the covers of countless surfing magazines. But I didn’t need Google to tell me that he was hot; I saw that every Tuesday and Thursday for myself in the history department’s main lecture hall.

I made the decision to stop stalking the guy and meet him face to face. So, on the morning of the next post-modern history class, I wore a snug skirt and a nice white top. I even put on my hardly used contacts and some makeup.

Looking good, I thought with a nod as I admired myself in the mirror at home.

“What you up to Japanee girl?” I asked my reflection.

“I simply don’t want to approach him in my usual, grungy, Bohemian state is all,” I answered back.

Yeah right.

At the lecture hall, I sat in a seat behind the row that Hawk usually sat in. My plan was to get his attention before the class started—after that I had no idea. As the minutes oozed by, I fearing that he picked today of all days not to show up. Just as the instructor showed up, Hawk appeared and moseyed to his his habitual spot. I slumped and held a notebook up to cover my face with just my eyes showing. His six-foot form looked good in a light blue polo shirt, khaki shorts and worn sandals. I admired his athletic build; apparently surfing kept him fit. Real fit. His blond hair was a little longish and sun-streaked, his skin a pleasing light bronze.

Since the lecture had already started, I decided to make contact at the end. Before the lecture ended, I slipped out to avoid the bottleneck and found a spot just passed the door to wait for Hawk to emerge. Not accustomed to wearing my contacts, the late morning sunlight made my eyes ache. The double doors of the lecture hall slammed open and students spilled out in a torrent. The flow of people soon turned to a trickle but Hawk wasn’t among them. Apparently he had taken escort kartal some other exit out of the building. With dueling emotions of disappointment and relief, I hefted my backpack and made to go just when Hawk exited the building in the company of the instructor, the cool and sexy Professor Piedmont. They stopped a few feet from me to talk.

“Dude, that bit about the Maoists was total bullshit,” Hawk said.

Piedmont laughed. “That’s what history’s all about, dude. The most persistent bullshit gets printed.”

Hawk laughed too.

“See you at Waimeha Sunday,” Piedmont said, waved and walked away.

Hawk turned and walk right into me. He staggered back and said, “Gwen?”

“Hey,” was the best response I could come up with. Then after a silence the size of the Molokai channel, I finally said, “I’m surprised you remember me.”

A microscopic smile appeared on his face that seem to say ‘I never forget a naked body.’

“Betty talked about you all the time,” he said. Evoking Betty’s name made his face flush red. He looked in my eyes then turned his head aside and said, “You know we broke up.”

For weeks I rehearsed a whole slew of things to say to this man, from haughty to demanding, even seductive, but all I manage to squeak out was, “She broke up with me too.”

An unreadable expression clouded his face and neither of us spoke for a long time.

To break the ugly silence, I asked, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

He didn’t speak for several beats more then he said flatly, “No.”

My heart sank like a stone in water at the rejection.

Then he said, “I’ve had my cup of the day, make it a lemonade?”

My heart soared like a sea turtle in a warm current.

“Sure,” I said.

We headed to a nearby food kiosk and didn’t speak until we were seated on a concrete bench shaded by a monkey pod tree.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your glasses,” he said with a smile.

I liked his smile; it made me want to smile back.

“Well, last time you saw me I’m sure you weren’t looking at my face.”

He smiled and nodded.

Oh-my-God I can’t believe I just said that!

To move the conversation far away from my naked posing I asked, “I thought you were a lecturer? Why are you taking this history class?”

“Charlie Piedmont is a surfer friend of mine and this summer he’s going on a book tour. He’s paying me to critique his lectures to help him get ready for the big show.” After another short pause he said, “Betty told me you found my movie stash.”

“She told you about that, huh?” I sighed internally, glad that it was he that brought up the subject.

He took a sip of lemonade. “Betty said that you were totally freaked by it.”

Months of pent-up anger bubbling in my chest. “I was not!” I said too loudly. My outburst took Hawk by surprise and heads turned in our direction. I stood up, crossed my arms and spoke through clenched teeth. “She and I found the porno movies while looking for some text books. She begged me not to tell anyone and I didn’t. Even when she tossed me aside like a pair of old shoes I kept my mouth shut.” Close to tears, I took a deep breath to calm myself.

“I don’t understand why she’s mad at you. Makes no sense,” Hawk said.

A bit calmer, but no less angry, I sat back down. “I don’t know, but I think it had something to do with her mother. Camille hates me and somehow she talked Betty into dropping me from her life. I know that it sounds fucked up and paranoid but I’ve seen Betty do that to other people just to appease her mother but I never thought that it would happen to me.”

unable to hold them back, the tears came pouring down my cheeks, my contacts swam around in my eyes blurring my vision.

“Why didn’t you blab to the world about the movies after Betty blew you off?” Hawk asked. “She and her mother would have deserved it.”

I wiped at my eyes with the back of my forearm. Unexpectedly, Hawk handed me a handkerchief. I took it and after a rude snort of my nose, said, “I didn’t know people still carry handkerchiefs.”

“Habit I got from my granddad,” Hawk said simply.

“Eisenhower Heinz, the physicist right?” I asked.

Hawk nodded but didn’t elaborate. I found that odd. “He wrote all those papers on time and relativity and wormholes and stuff.”

Hawk shrugged, clearly he didn’t want to talk about his famous grandfather. If Eisenhower Heinz were my grandfather you couldn’t stop me from bring him up every other sentence. Must be some bad blood there I figured so I backed off.

I got out my contact kit and took the stupid things out of my eyes. “There are rumors flying around that you and I are sneaking around Betty’s back,” I said as I put on my no-nonsense Buddy Holly glasses.

Hawk looked surprise. In fact, he looked a bit dismayed. I guess the rumors never came his way, probably because he didn’t share the same friends as Betty and I do. I’m sure that Betty didn’t start the rumors,” I said. “I blame it on her mom.” In my angry state I wasn’t about to concede anything to my ex-friend uğur mumcu escort so I quickly added, “When it came to her mom’s will Betty has no backbone. I bet she let her mother plant in her rich kid’s head that YOU having an affair with ME, her best friend, was less damaging in the public eye then YOU whacking off to a thousand porno movies.”

Hawk looked around to see if anyone had heard me.

“I’m sorry!” I said quickly. “You want to go somewhere more private to compare notes on Betty and her evil conniving mother?”

With an expression that I could only decipher as confused, he said, “I have a class to teach. I’ll take you to dinner tonight—if that’s okay?”

I smiled. It was totally fine with me.


That evening at the Colombia Inn in Kaimuki, I sat across from Hawk. He looked good in faded jeans, a tasteful blue and silver silk aloha shirt and Birkenstock sandals. I wore a denim skirt cut just above the knees, a snug black top and enough makeup for aesthetic appeal. I had abandoned the contacts settling for the comfort of my glasses in anticipation of more crying.

Over big bowls of Japanese noodle soup called saimin locally, we talked about Betty. Hawk tried to sound casual about his relationship with her, but I could tell that he held a deep, honest affection for her.

“Betty’s father hated my guts,” he said. “He never once tried to hide his contempt for me, but Camille adored me and gushed whenever I visited.”

“Really?” I said close to shock at that bit of news. We had polar opposite relationships with Betty’s parents apparently. Her father treated me like family but Camille always looked at me like something she had accidentally stepped in. The talk moved on to other subjects. The guy was funny, charming and really smart. After dinner Hawk drove me home in a giant white Ford Bronco.

“This gas guzzling monster is not my choice,” Hawk said in defense of his car. “The department provides me transportation. Some of the sites I have to get too are only assessable with four-wheel drive.” We pulled into my street.

Not wanting to end the evening just yet, I asked, “You wanna talk some more?”

He went quiet and I was sure he was going to say no. After all he’s an instructor and I a student, not to mention the fact that he dated my best friend less than a month ago.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked at the next stop sign.

In no mood for a bar or anyplace public, I directed him to a little park that overlooked the city. The park had been the number one make out site of my youth. A particular night flashed into my head of me and Aaron Fernandez kissing at a concrete picnic table in a drunken, giggly state with the Honolulu city lights as a backdrop. Aaron and I never told anyone about that night for technically, he was dating Betty at the time.

Hawked parked in the tiny parking lot of the little park. A weird dizziness enveloped me as we got out of the Bronco. The dizziness quickly passed as we walked to the infamous concrete picnic table. We sat side by side at a respectable distance, with the table to our backs, the memory of the kiss with Aaron, the darkness and Hawk’s closeness triggered a strong urge to touch him. On the heels of the urge came a powerful wave of raw sexual craving for the man.

I closed my eyes to the city lights below us to collect myself. The night was a little cool for the islands, somewhere in the low seventies perhaps, a tiny breeze made it even cooler. Then I felt warm all over as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud. But it was after ten in the evening? How could that be? I opened my eyes to find myself bathed in sunlight and looking down at a lush river valley. Shafts of orange and red light struck the foliage covered cliff walls around me.

What the fuck?

I turned my head to look around but the swooning returned. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop my head from spinning. My head settled and I opened my eyes again. I was back in the hills overlooking the Honolulu city lights on a chilly picnic bench. The vision was brief but powerful—and so amazingly real! My heart raced a million miles an hour. Am I losing it? Overriding the panic of my mental state was the longing for the man sitting next to me. It was powerful, raw, not right but totally consuming. To keep from slipping into a state of panic, I said the first thing that came into my head, “You still have the box of porn you left at Betty’s?”

“No,” he said.

“That was a shit load of porn,” I went on rudely persuaded the subject still reeling from my weird—hallucination? Vision?

“No more than most guys,” he said.

“No Hawk, that was a lot of porn.”

He laughed. “Well maybe,” he conceded.

I Laughed too and the laughter seemed to sooth my mind a bit. In fact with every passing second the weird little vision lost its potency allowing my freaky desire for the guy to to take center stage.

I asked, “Since we’re on the subject, can I ask you about the movies?” I heard him shift in discomfort. “I’m not trying to be mean, but ever since I saw çavuşoğlu escort the your box of movies, I’ve been sort of curious as to why guys like that kind of stuff.” It was more a fixation then curiosity, but I kept that to myself.

“This is not the kind of thing a guy feels comfortable talking about, especially with a beautiful woman,” he said.

His comment took me off guard and I was glad for the dark because my face must be beat red with embarrassment—and excitement. Silence followed. Just when I was about to apologize for my rudeness of bring up the subject he spoke.

“What do you want to know?”

“Um … wow … Why facial cumshots?”

“Why do guys like that kind of stuff?”

Why do you like it? I really wanted to ask but didn’t. Keep things general, my lizard brain warned me. Don’t come across as accusing and scare him off! But my logical side just wouldn’t back off and said, “You had several movies just about facial cum shots and it’s plain that it turns you on.” I cringed.

“You saw the box, it was full of my weird fetish cravings. So break out the feminist handbook and bash away,” Hawk said.

So much for keeping it general! Lizard brain complained. No making out tonight!

Because of the dark, I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or joking. I silently cursed my feminist indoctrination.

“Sorry,” I said and reached out to brush his shoulder. The feel of him made me want to … lick him … any part of him. I removed my hand to short circuit the urge to shoved my tongue in his ear. A little shaken by the spike of hot lust, I stupidly continued my questioning about his porn stash. “When was the first time you realized you liked the…um … facial thing?”

Oh my god you stupid cow! My lizard brain screamed. Get off the subject!

“I thought you were an art major not a psych major?” he joked.

Apparently incapable of changing the subject, I kept at it, “Truly, I wanna know. “

He laughed. “This is all off the record and you can’t use my name,” he said.

“Deal,” I said. “Os off the record, tell me about The Best of Butt Fuckers 4?”

He covered his face with his hands and moaned theatrically.

“Do you own The Best of Butt Fuckers 1, 2 and 3?” I persisted.

He moaned again.

I laughed. “Sorry, just tell me about the facial thing.”

He dropped his hands from his face and spoke.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. It started a few years ago when I was a grad at San Diego State. A bunch of us guys got together to drink beer and watch some porn. The porn was interesting at first, but we watched so much of it that the edge wore off and the beer became the true center of the party with the porn rolled on in the background.”

He stretched out his long legs and leaned back on his elbows next to me on the concrete picnic table. I kept my eyes on the city lights for it took all the willpower I had not to swing a leg over his lap, kiss his face and grind my crotch against any part of him.

He continued. “At some point in the evening, I glanced at the TV and saw a freckled redhead on the screen enthusiastically going down on two guys. She was pale, pretty with long red hair and a slim figure. She reminded me of someone I knew.”

It reminded me of someone I knew too. Venus, the redheaded model I posed nude with for Betty’s painting. I remember Hawk liking how she looked. It annoyed me how that redhead chick seems to be popping up in my life lately.

Hawk continued. “The scene in the movie was an orgy and kept switching from the redhead and two other sets of couples making it. I focused on the movie anticipating the scenes with the redhead. As is the way of all porn films, the money shots started and when it got to the redhead’s turn, the two guys she was blowing ejaculated on her face.”

A delicious tingling that started at my fingertips spread throughout my body. The degrading fetish wasn’t what was turning me on. It was Hawk and the obvious sexual tautness in his voice that had me going. “Tell me in detail,” I prompted, wanting to hear him speak more.

With a crisp edge to his voice, he said, “One of the guys she was blowing stepped back with his erection in his hand and shot a load of semen down the middle of her freckled face from her chin, over her lips, up the left side of her nose and on to her forehead. A small pool gathered under her left eye. The guy had let loose five shots in all … I counted. The second guy pushed into the scene and unloaded on the left side of her forehead. A lot spattered into her hair … I liked that. The redhead laughed and looked down at the mess of fluid that had dripped onto her freckled breasts and said, ‘It’s everywhere,’ then she gave the camera a big grin.”

I was impressed (and a little disturbed) by the detail he gave. Either he’d seen the movie several times after the party or he had a very keen memory. My first twinges of doubt surfaced about what I was doing with this beautiful stranger. Also, I had to sternly reminded myself, this guy was my ex-best friend’s lover and she dumped him for having a huge filthy pron collection. Yet, underlining the doubt was the simple fact that Hawk turned me on. I wondered if he had an erection right now. A drunken conversation with Betty surfaced in my head. She had told me that Hawk’s penis was way above average; pushing nine inches.

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