Where Oceans Meet

By Gabbo de la Parra

Salvador Lorenzo must choose between Leo and Max, two men as different as the oceans giving life to the Isthmus of Panama— while fighting archaic (but often permissive) morals, family dramas, and corporate ultimatums.

Love decisions may seem easy in a tropical paradise where beaches are never too far away and partying is basically a law written in the constitution. Still, you can’t go salsa-dancing and drink-chugging to make life-altering choices when your heart is at a crossroads; you need to put your big boy pants and focus on the future— an obviously complicated future but perfectly Salvador’s.

This is a love story between men and includes M/M and M/M/M foreplay and intercourse scenes. Adults Only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabbo de la Parra
• Release date: Jul 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463544297

Gabbo de la Parra

Born a Sagittarius in the fabulous year of the Rooster of ’69, at the hour when his cat was about to become a complete dragon, Gabbo de la Parra landed on the Caribbean Coast of the outlandish Republic of Panama to start the adventure of life.Love and the Internet brought him to Middle Tennessee to embrace the American Dream and his husbandly romance. Writing has been an important part of his life since a very early age, and it’s a pleasure to share his stories with others thanks to the wonderful opportunities this land provides. His main genres are Historical and Sci-Fi, and he's been combining both lately. Still he dabbles in all genres that embrace hot guys and their search for Love in the most descriptive ways possible.Close to a man-made lake and in a townhouse (crowded with the spirits of his novels' characters), Gabbo cherishes Life with a southern gentleman, and their pets: street-smart Russian Blue Bella and rambunctious Rottweiler Alex.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENT

This book is a love letter to that place where I learned to be myself.

Te quiero, Panamá.

ONE

SALVADOR

FAT TUESDAY

"I may not have gone where I intended to go,

but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."

Douglas Adams.

The guy manning the hose on top of the tanker didn’t look like a gym bunny; he looked like a construction worker gone centerfold, and Salvador (thanks to his job) knew the difference very well. They shared dark hair and well-developed muscles, but any similarity ended there; the hunk was a swarthy, hairy specimen while Salvador was naturally hairless and light skinned.

Revelers got wet, jumped, drank, and sang in the park as the last afternoon of Carnavales entered its first hour. Salvador had been here since Friday night, and Fat Tuesday had started without him getting his rocks off in this usually sleepy town turned a veritable twenty-second century version of Sodom and Gomorrah. He was more than ready to throw caution to the wind.

Brazil had Rio. Panama had Las Tablas.

People around the world had changed directions and moved their sights not to the famous orgy, fueled by samba and caipirinhas, but to the less known but equally perverted fiesta— smack dab in the middle of the continent, where North and South America collided.

Taking a swig of the beer he held in hand, Salvador sang to the beat of the Murga band along with the hundreds around him,

Influencer in your head

Model in your mind

Silly little girl, followers you buy.

Everyone kept jumping and waving, calling for Construction Centerfold’s attention. He dutifully hosed the partygoers, moving the jet of water from left to right, but using a very suggestive up and down motion every time he reached Salvador’s area, eyes sparkling and plump lips smirking.

Viviana elbowed Salvador. "Is that mango hitting on you?" Soaked to the bone, her double Ds barely held by the bikini top, Salvador’s best friend looked like something out of overdrawn manga.

I hope so, said Salvador. I’ve been poked, smacked, pinched, and butt-kneaded by at least a hundred dudes but not one’s gone further than that, and I need release pronto! He’d just finished his seventh beer and was in that euphoric moment when all your inhibitions had been sucker-punched and sequestered into your car’s trunk.

You pig! Viviana smacked Salvador with the Twitter Blue Bird cutout she’d been waving.

Las Tablas divided into two factions during Carnavales, each with a Queen and a Royal Court. Although they called themselves Calle Arriba and Calle Abajo, it was more of an East Side/ West Side situation. Salvador and Viviana supported East Side, and the year’s taunting campaign had focused on making fun of the West Side Queen’s popularity on social media.

Salvador whacked Viviana with his Instagram Camera Square in return. Sweetie, this town is a bacchanal for five days, and I refuse to be the only gay dude going back home without having some prostate stimulation! A jet of water made him sputter the last two words, but he was sure Viviana had gotten the message. The offending water jet focused on him for an entire minute, and he turned to look at Construction Centerfold decidedly. The guy did a Hey you, moving his chin upward once. Salvador snorted, shaking his head, and answered with an I’m watching you, jerking his index and middle fingers from his eyes toward the guy, grinning like an idiot the whole time.

Construction Centerfold winked and continued his watering duties.

The frenzy neared its climax as the mob jumped, swirled, waved, and sang with more intensity,

Always thinking she’s a doll

But you clearly see a troll

Leave your dreams at the door

C’mon, girly, take a stroll

Libido and levels of alcohol rocketed skyward under the constant spray of water and the scorching sun. Salvador got distracted, dancing entwined by the arms and shoulders with other shirtless guys in a circle when an arm snaked around his waist and yanked him from the group. He had stopped on his seventh beer, but he was still intoxicated enough not to be immediately angry; he leaned onto the solid hairy chest behind him, canting his butt onto the also solid groin with a happy sigh. Another tanned arm surged and pressed him harder to the muscle wall. A spark of shame flared; he had been flirting with Construction Centerfold all the while— now this random was going to get the prize?

Water still fell amid the crowd, so Salvador’s eyes moved to the tanker, just to realize a different guy manned the hose. Sha’madre. That was even worse; Construction Centerfold could be in the crowd looking for him. He tensed, straightening up, ready to extricate himself from whoever was so deliciously keeping him prisoner.

Reacting to Salvador’s sudden stiffness, the man holding him whispered in his ear, Shh. It’s me.

Me who? asked Salvador, finally wrangling all his surviving neurons to act like a normal person and turn around to find out who had been holding him with such familiarity. Construction Centerfold’s grin was downright charming, and the man was even hotter and bigger now that they were hairless chest-to-hairy chest. Fuck, was all his recuperating neurons were able to conjure up.

Construction Centerfold snickered. I don’t think we’re in the best place for that.

Double fuck.

As much as they were in the middle of a very permissive situation, just the way they were standing (shirtlessly embracing and with nuzzling groins) would eventually make someone react and raise a stink.

Salvador broke them apart and grabbed Construction Centerfold by the wrist, towing him away from the swirling crowd. He’d already agreed with Viviana their meeting point if they got separated, so he didn’t even try to find her amid the dancing and singing tumult.

They left the park, found an almost deserted side street and stopped. They could still hear the Murga band and the revelers’ drone, but it was inconsequential background music. Salvador leaned against the adobe wall of a low, stooping building. Construction Centerfold caged him; his hands on the wall at either side of Salvador’s head, bright hazel eyes roaming over Salvador’s still wet body.

It was time to stop calling all that hotness Construction Centerfold. Tell me your name. Salvador licked his lips and rested his hands on the mango’s hips.

Adán Leonardo, he smirked, but everybody calls me Leo.

I’m Salvador. He pulled Leo so their groins could tell each other secrets again.

Leo moved forward, brushing his lips over Salvador’s. It’s very nice to meet you, Salvador, he murmured softly, punctuating every word with a feathery touch of lips.

Salvador’s arms circled Leo’s waist, bringing their torsos together as the kiss evolved from delicate and languid to rough and scorching.

It wasn’t just the mouth colliding with Salvador’s mouth— it was also the furry pecs tickling his pecs and making his hips undulate in a we need to do something about these clothes in the way motion.

Leo’s hands finally left the wall (he’d been practically doing sensual standing push-ups over Salvador), and they slowly trailed down Salvador’s flanks until they reached the cargo shorts’ waistband and went in.

Salvador moaned into Leo’s mouth as the big, square hands kneaded his ass in tandem with the mental rhythm motivating their hips and hard cocks. A finger sought Salvador’s hole as the opposite hand moved one of the cheeks concealing it. The curious digit found its prize and slowly teased, bringing all the things that had been stirring in and out of Salvador’s body to the boiling point. Still, from some arcane recess of his overloaded brain, one noble neuron yelled, Hey, grab some cock, you selfish asshole!

Salvador’s right hand followed the command and dove into Leo’s denim shorts, swiftly finding the rock hard, chunky son of a squirt gun cock. He squeezed it, making Leo growl and add another finger to the assault on Salvador’s pucker.

Leo’s cockhead was wet and sticky (and oh so thick), and Salvador debated between keep pushing onto Leo’s fingers or drop to his knees and swallow the meaty piece in his hand whole. Then he remembered they were in broad daylight, in a public street, where people would eventually walk by, and stopped, breaking the kiss.

Leo groaned in frustration as their eyes met. What?

Can you hear that?

I can’t hear anything.

Exactly. There’s no music, only people’s voices.

Shit. It’s over. People are about to come this way.

They removed their hands from the other’s body parts and stood there, panting and staring at each other, both sporting huge grins and unyielding hardons.

We kind of got carried away, huh? Leo commented, scratching the back of his head.

We did. Salvador nodded. We should have found a more private place.

I honestly couldn’t have gone too far from the park, Leo said sheepishly. I’m with the Seco Seco Pub. You know— the tanker’s sponsors.

Oh. Right. What was I thinking? Salvador snorted. You wouldn’t have been up there unless you were working!

I’m off tonight, though.

Dang it, Salvador sighed. We’re supposed to leave before sunset. I came with a group of friends that never stays for the last night. They prefer to avoid the traffic mess all day tomorrow as everybody goes back to the city.

It makes sense, Leo nodded, although it’s messing with all the naughty ideas I have in store for you. His eyes moved from Sal’s face to lower areas with a look that clearly stated, I wish I could unzip those shorts with my mind.

Salvador’s hole clenched, imagining all the things that could happen if he stayed. Should he ditch his friends for a willing, hunky guy after he’d been in Pork Town for almost ninety-six hours without some porking? In his early twenties he wouldn’t have thought about it twice, but now at twenty-eight he was not that irresponsible.

Luckily, Leo took the decision for him. I live in Arraiján. We could meet later this week. It’s only Tuesday. He winked. Where do you live?

Since people from all over Panama and other countries congregated in Las Tablas for Carnavales there was always the chance those you met were from faraway places.

Panama City, answered Salvador, smiling. They basically lived an hour from each other.

Leo fished his smartphone from a pocket and took it out of a Ziploc bag. Gimme your digits and we’ll see what happens.

Salvador told Leo the number. Leo dialed it, and Salvador’s smartphone rang from its own Ziploc bag in one of the back pockets.

You know what, Leo moved his face closer to Salvador’s and angled his phone for a picture, I’m gonna take some. Just to be sure I didn’t dream this. He took several photos, pocketed his phone and pushed Salvador against the wall, crowding him with all that tanned, muscled body and kissing him so thoroughly, not only Salvador’s toes but also his cargo shorts zipper curled in response.

Sha’madre.

For the road, Leo said huskily as they separated. He winked, his fingers tracing the edge of Salvador’s jaw. He about-faced and walked away— dark-haired, square-jawed, broad-chested, narrow-hipped and hot like seven bonfires blazing side by side.

Leo slouched against the wall, looking upward and counting the beams protruding from the adobe building, trying to bring his body and breathing under control.

After a while, perhaps due to the hubbub of the people moving around, heading for their houses or to the afternoon dances, he finally came to his full senses and bounded for his friends.

****

TWO

SALVADOR

FAT TUESDAY

You let him finger you in the middle of the street! Viviana clutched imaginary pearls. You were not kidding when you said you needed it bad!

Not the middle of the street. A discreet wall.

The Pan American Highway was virtually deserted as most of the cars that would cause the massive traffic jam on Ash Wednesday were still parked, their owners squeezing the last hours of Carnavales hard as sunset quickly approached.

Leave him alone, Viv, Benito commanded, looking at her from the rearview mirror. Just last night you were sandwiched between two guys and no one knew where their hands were.

Well, I saw some hands on those freaking melons, added Boris with a snicker from Salvador’s left.

Shut it, Boris, barked Belinda, who rode shotgun. "We barely saw you. You never slept in the house, and you just casually surfaced to see those guys with Viv. You’re no saint, girl."

Salvador was in a sandwich last year and no one said anything! Viviana tried to save face by throwing Salvador under the proverbial bus, most probably the last standing Rio Abajo - Veranillo Diablo Rojo.

"Because we knew it happened,