The cold handcuffs were cutting into my wrists where calluses had already developed. But I didn't care. I was smiling. My attorney had gotten me another bail hearing, and though it was a lot of money, it would give me what I wanted.

Freedom.

A first time offender, they couldn't hold me due to a current "high prisoner count" and according to my attorney, intent to harm with no actual harm induced was considered low priority. They however, the Judge rather, still screwed me on bail. My attorney argued about it being a first strike and being a business owner but for some reason this chick judge kept it high due to my brandishing of an unlicensed firearm. Blah, blah, blah.

My trial was set and I was free to go. But where would I go now that I was away from that cesspool known as the Los Angeles Court System.

Disneyland?

I wanted peace and quiet-someplace where I could be alone. A place where I could get my head together and think about what I was going to do next. Or rather, who I was going "to do" next.

I hopped into a cab, flashed the smelly driver my credit card, and said, "the beach." I knew the ride was going to cost some money, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything except seeing that beautiful blue Pacific.

I was dropped off in the parking lot near Santa Monica Canyon, the beach shimmering in the bright sun, tanned volleyball players tossing their balls in the sand. I removed my shoes and crossed across the beach.

I rolled up my pants legs and stuck my feet in the water, feeling the moving tide rush across my toes. I took my shirt off, feeling the warm sun pelt my back.

And then I saw it.

The "gay beach" had people on it, about three dozen or so, all laying there with their bronzed bodies in Speedos. It was a weekday so the beach was fairly empty; except for the lavender section of the sand where men relaxed before heading to their night jobs I assumed as waiters, bartenders, or hustlers.

I thought of Peter, wondering if he was going to cause me any trouble upon my release. We had had fun that night after I spotted him walking his dog. Little did I know he liked the rough stuff--- S/M, T&T, B/D.

"Just get off work?" asked the male voice.

I turned, seeing a man in surfer swim trunks, bending over and skipping stones across the water. He was mid-30's, dishwater blonde hair, and carried a very nice set of pecs and biceps--- not to mention knots of abs.

"I...uh..." I paused, thinking what I should say, when I simply decided on telling the truth. "Actually just got out of jail."

He didn't blink. "What'd you do?"

I paused. "Intent to harm."

"They send you to County?"

The way he said it, he was reacting out of familiarity--- knowledge.

"Yeah." I responded.

"Welcome home."

He handed me a flat stone to toss across the water. He didn't seem phased by my story at all. Either he knew it, or he was doing that California liberal casual talk as to not offend me.

My rock bounced across the water several times before finally landing in the water with a plop. I turned and extended my hand.

"I'm Steve."

"Matthew."

We continued skimming stones in silence, audible excitement when we found a really flat rock that we knew would sail across the water like an effortless silver dollar.

"Have you been inside?"

Matthew nodded, handing me another rock.

"What'd you do?"

"Dealt drugs."

"First one's free, tell your friends."

"Bingo. But it was more like, tell your wealthy movie friends."

I liked this guy. He had a nice manner about him--- honest and real, something you don't find much of anymore.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked. "Now that you're out?"

"Get back to work."

Matthew walked over to his beach umbrella and towel, handing me a card. It had no address. Simply his phone number. "Call me sometime."

Either this guy was na•ve, co-dependent, or into some really weird scene. "Yeah, sure." I walked away, putting his card in my pocket.

This was going to be interesting. Either as a possible romance or a partner in crime.