Somewhere in the grand course of history, things had gone inexorably wrong for the people of the Hawaiian Islands. This, at least, was the prevailing sentiment among the Hawaiian people-the Kanaka Maoli, as they called themselves. It loomed like a rainstorm over the reign of the young king Kauikeaouli Kamehameha III. The plagues that had ravaged the islands in the seventy years since the white man had arrived shook the foundations of the monarchy. Why are we dying, the Kanaka Maoli endlessly debated? Whose fault is it?
In the king's mind, it all seemed to boil down to one preoccupation: the slippery, misbehaving bodies of the people. The missionaries told them that they had been doing all the wrong things with their bodies-wearing the wrong clothes, dancing the wrong songs, making love to each other in the wrong ways. They proclaimed that the people's lust for each other, the carelessness with which they made love, was dragging their civilization through the muck of moral and physical decline. The rules they proposed for how the Kanaka Maoli should have sex with each other at first seemed ludicrous to the people, who were accustomed to roaming from lover to lover with ease. To limit one's appetite to only one person throughout the course of an entire lifetime seemed profoundly unnatural. But, just as they learned to don the tight, hot, itchy clothing of the Europeans, many Kanaka were slowly inculcated to the missionaries' stringent sexual morals. Decades of biblical-style plagues was enough to convince many people of the salience of biblical virtues.
Kauikeaouli was beginning to be convinced by the missionaries' fervent claims. Not enough to refrain himself from sleeping with multiple lovers, male and female, but enough to make him feel guilty about it. The paranoia of Christian morality crept into his consciousness, interrupting him in the act of making love and making him feel dirty for the pleasure he took in the beautiful bodies of his lovers. The sweat, the moans, the hot, heavy breathing-these expressions of passion began to feel tainted. His own government had recently passed an edict banning promiscuous acts, under the influence of his Calvinist mother and co-ruler. It seemed like the inevitable direction of the Hawaiian islands: necessary for entry into modernity, for being a player on the world stage next to the European powers. Perhaps marriage was the way, he began to think; perhaps he should rein in his passions once and for all and submit himself to the restrictive contract of matrimony.
That is, until Kaomi entered his life.
His presence crept up on Kauikeaouli gradually. He could not pinpoint a single moment when he met Kaomi, but all of a sudden he seemed to see him everywhere. At dinner with other ali'i nobles, Kaomi would always be the person in the room with the most incisive, eloquently worded observations. Having both a European education and an impressive indigenous knowledge of healing, he had a distinct knack for seeming the expert in every situation. He inserted himself into discussions on matters of state with such subtle persistence that it began to seem self-evident for him to be consulted on any issue, from foreign trade with America to decorations for the new royal residence in Honolulu. He was one of those remarkable personalities who took up a disproportionate amount of space in any room he occupied. His wide smile spread over a crowd contagiously. His eloquent oratory shone in every conversation. And he knew how to work a crowd-how to play up the mystery of his Tahitian heritage, how to weave drama and humor into the most unassuming stories.
It was after dinner one night, in the warm twilight of the king's palace garden, that Kauikeaouli first admitted to himself his feelings for Kaomi. In the group of other palace regulars, Kaomi had commandeered a spot for himself right beside Kauikeaouli at the table. His relaxed posture conveyed none of the usual deference the people of the court usually showed to the king. His legs were spread with intentional carelessness, so that his left knee almost grazed Kauikeaouli's pant leg, but not quite. Kauikeaouli felt Kaomi's magnanimous confidence radiate outward from him. It made his heart flutter, Kaomi's effortless command of the room. Kauikeaouli's own power as king had always felt to him as if it did not fit quite right, like a shirt collar that was too tight; Kaomi, by contrast, seemed to inhabit the spotlight like a kihei shawl that had been sewn just for him. As Kaomi regaled the crowd with a story about a man he had healed just by touching his stomach, it came to light that he had recently composed a mele in honor of the monarchy. His captive audience insisted he perform the chant, a drum was produced, and Kaomi graciously assented.
"In honor of the Kamehameha bloodline," he explained, taking off his dinner jacket and getting up to dance. "To your virility and longevity," he told Kauikeaouli. Kauikeaouli watched with fascination as Kaomi brought his body into alignment and began to chant the mele in a clear, true tenor. The words, cunningly crafted, melted into each other with the same ease of expression that Kaomi inhabited in his persona. He sang of power, pleasure and procreation-of the strength of the body and the fertility of the royal loins. There were hidden meanings in the song, too, as there were in all good meles, lyrics that carried echoes of war and unsettled power. As Kaomi chanted, his body moved in harmony with the rhythm and the lyrics. His pelvis moved in and out and side to side with masterful liquidity; his arms illustrated each stanza with heavenly clarity; and his feet instilled the rhythm deep into the ground. Kaomi brought the power and procreation he sang of into being through the movements of his body. His gyrating hips conjured it into existence.
Kauikeaouli was utterly and thoroughly captivated. He could not take his eyes off of Kaomi's figure. The man's beauty was undeniable: the smoothness of his skin, the broadness of his shoulders, the intensity behind his eyes. The dance complimented his features perfectly. Kauikeaouli took note of the outlines of Kaomi's legs and chest beneath his collared shirt and trousers. It made him wonder what Kaomi would look like if he were to dance without the restrictive European clothing, as his predecessors had done only a generation earlier. In watching Kaomi sing and dance, Kauikeaouli realized that he wanted to make love to him, that perhaps he always had. An inkling of Christian doubt tugged at him: there was a rule in the Bible about making love to men, wasn't there? But he did not heed the doubt at the back of his mind. He could not, not in the face of Kaomi's intoxicating magnetism.
Kaomi sat down next to Kauikeaouli after he finished his dance and song. He smiled at Kauikeaouli knowingly, as if he knew perfectly well the effect his dancing had had on the king, and was not surprised by it. Kauikeaouli smiled back at him. "Would you like to have sex with me tonight?" Kauikeaouli offered, getting straight to the point.
Kaomi tilted his head up as if considering the offer. Kauikeaouli awaited his response with bated breath. Was it really a difficult decision for him, Kauikeaouli wondered, or was Kaomi perhaps taking his time to assent because he liked the idea of making the king wait? "Yes," his answer came finally. "I'd like that very much."
The two left the gathering conspicuously, arm in arm. As Kauikeaouli led Kaomi toward his palace suite, Kaomi spoke. "I'm surprised you took an interest in me, your majesty," he began. "Am I mistaken, or wasn't it your government that recently banned so-called 'promiscuous' acts?" Kaomi's smirk showed that he knew how great of a presumption it was to question the king's motives, and that he was confident enough in his own influence not to fear retribution.
Kauikeaouli blushed. "Well, we have to seem respectable, don't we?" He defended himself.
"They say it isn't pono, love between men-that it isn't righteous. That's what they teach you in missionary school." Kauikeaouli glanced at Kaomi, trying to deduce the seriousness of his observation, and found that Kaomi was grinning. He was teasing Kauikeaouli, making fun of his government's ambiguous relationship with the Christian missionaries. Kauikeaouli didn't mind. In truth, he found Kaomi's boldness attractive.
"Do you believe it?" Kauikeaouli asked him. "Did the missionaries convince you when you studied with them?"
"I believe that the Christian god frowns on sodomy, yes," Kaomi responded thoughtfully. "But he is not the only god we Kanaka Maoli have to contend with. We mustn't let our allegiance to Jehovah keep us from our responsibilities to the other akua in the Hawaiian pantheon."
They had reached Kauikeauli's suite. Kauikeaouli opened the door for Kaomi and followed him inside. The rooms were dimly lit by candlelight, and a sumptuous bed lay in the center of the bedroom, framed by blue velvet curtains. Kauikeaouli sat down on the bed and took off his jacket.
"Well, Kaomi," he said, "how do you propose we honor the Hawaiian akua tonight?"
Kaomi was unbuttoning his shirt. "By honoring the power and pleasure of the monarch," he said matter-of-factly.
Kauikeaouli's pulse raced as his eyes perused the outlines of Kaomi's chest. "Sing and dance the mele you wrote again, please," he entreated.
Kaomi smiled. "Of course, your majesty."
"You don't need to call me that."
"Very well. Kauikeaouli then."
"You don't need those," Kauikeaouli added, gesturing to Kaomi's trousers. Obligingly, Kaomi removed them. There he was, in all his nude glory. The king took in the image of his naked friend, who gazed back at him, unabashedly erect. Kaomi was endowed with a sizable penis. It was solid and corporeal, like Kaomi himself. Like every other aspect of his being, Kaomi's genitals seemed as if they really and truly belonged to him, and he commanded over them the same effortless synthesis that he did with every other limb in his body.
Kauikeaouli beat a drumbeat onto the wooden bedpost. Kaomi began to chant the mele. For the second time that night, Kauikeaouli felt himself becoming lost to the magnanimous power of Kaomi's performance. Kaomi's clear, decisive voice mingled with the multilayered poetry of the words. The absence of the mediating damper of clothes increased the synthesis of Kaomi's mind and his body. His gyrating body-the uninterrupted skin, the gently bouncing genitals-carried forward the meaning of the mele, with its explosive, joyful celebration of sexuality. Gone from Kauikeaouli's mind were the repressive doubts of missionary morality. This procreation chant was an unabashed ode to the very vitalistic functions the missionaries eschewed-to penises, to semen, to seeds sown in the ground, to blossoming dynasties and reciprocal relationships. Kaomi's body conjured connections, with the past, the future, and the throbbing, tangible present. And Kauikeaouli felt himself swell with arousal as he observed the momentous ceremony taking place before his eyes.
Kaomi finished the mele, looking flushed after the exertion of the dance. He looked up at Kauikeaouli, as if waiting for the king to decide what to do next. In response, Kauikeaouli got to his knees and brought his mouth to Kaomi's penis.
"Oh..." Kaomi exclaimed softly, "so this is what you want."
Kauikeaouli brought his mouth down the length of Kaomi's staff. It felt like the only appropriate thing to do after the illustrious performance Kaomi had given. He wanted to be as close as humanly possible to Kaomi's body, to welcome Kaomi into him and give his body the deference it so clearly deserved. He felt Kaomi's penis fill his mouth, pressing on the back of his throat, and he brought his mouth down even further, as if to consume Kaomi, to melt into him. He felt Kaomi's hand rest on the back of his head, a steady presence as he gathered momentum moving up and down the length of Kaomi's member. Kaomi's hand tightened around his hair, guiding the movements of his head. Kauikeaouli could tell that Kaomi sensed the submissive current coursing through his movements, the relish with which he followed Kaomi's lead.
Kaomi brought Kauikeaouli's head up and looked at him quizzically. "I would have thought that as king, you'd be used to being in charge," he observed, a knowing smile playing across his lips.
"Oh no," Kauikeaouli laughed. "I am quite used to letting other people make decisions for me," he admitted. "My mother. My cabinet. My lovers. I am yours, Kaomi. All of me is yours tonight."
Kaomi's smile broadened. "I know." His grip on Kauikeaouli's hair tightened, and with it he brought Kauikeaouli up to a standing position and kissed him on the lips, fully and thoroughly. "All mine..." he mused, running his hands up and down the length of Kauikeaouli's body. "Take off your clothes for me."
Kauikeaouli obeyed readily. He unbuttoned his shirt and trousers, took them off, then removed his underclothes. The warm air that floated in through the open window tickled his skin. It reminded him of how corporeal he was, how he inhabited a breathing, moving, copulating body. He felt Kaomi's eyes take in the sight of his nudity. Kaomi surveyed the strong, supple terrain of Kauikeaouli's body with a kind of effortless dominance. Everywhere he looked, Kauikeaouli's skin seemed to tingle under Kaomi's gaze, coming alive as Kaomi observed it. Kaomi ran a single finger down the center of Kauikeaouli's chest, across his stomach, and down the length of his penis. "You've got a good cock," he observed.
"Thank you," Kauikeaouli blushed. "So do you."
