The Summer of 2004

It was a gorgeous, late June day, 70 degrees and going to climb to 82 by mid-afternoon. "Easy day," I thought. I arrived early and as I walked up to Robert’s door, I heard some loud Led Zeppelin music down by the boat house, so I followed it. Robert was on the grass doing exercises. He looked so sexy. “Hey Robert, what’s going on, man?” I offered as my morning manly greeting.

“Same thing I do every morning, boot, PT at 0600 to 0800 hours.” Reading my expression, he added: “That’s physical training, boot.”

“Cool.”

“I’m glad ya think so, cause that’s what I got your college ass doin' today.”

“What? I’m not painting the boathouse?”

“No, not yet, I’m gonna have ya suck my asshole in the hot sun for five hours. I want your tongue up there as far as you can get it....Up for that?” He looked as serious as if he had just told me to clean out the boathouse.

I knew his bent humor by now. I thought I’d pretend not to notice the joke. “You’re going to pay me extra for that, right?” I asked incredulously.

Maybe he didn’t appreciate my one-upmanship of him, he abruptly changed the subject. "Don’t get smart-mouthed with your CO.”

“CO?”

“Commanding Officer, scrub. Look, I told you you’d be doing odd jobs. I’ll give you assignments that are benfecial not just to me but you and the earth as well." He continued his sit-ups as he spoke.

"Seeing your pussy-assed physique, PT would be beneficial to ya. We’re all connected, boot. Turn off the MTV once in awhile. Read up on some Zen and see the inter-connectedness of, and your place in, the universe.”

"Man," I thought, "Robert is so fucking manly and strange--and I’m liking him more and more. But I have a good body, what’s he talking about? If I can throw a fast ball at 90 mph, I can handle any of his PT shit, no prob."

I joined Robert in PT, the hardest fucking exercising I’ve ever done in all my years of hard-ass baseball coaches! He pounded my ass. The fucker blew a whistle and turned a fucking hose of frigid lake water all over me when I wasn’t performing "to satisfaction."

I wanted to impress him, so for two hours I did push-ups, sit-ups, and lunges until I was exhausted and either wet from sweat, the hose, or the cum in my shorts. (Try laying down and doing sit-ups when a handsome, hung, studly Marine is standing over you hosing you down.)

Just when I thought I could finally rest and have a bagel and coffee, he had me jog around the fucking lake holding a 5 foot tree he had picked up from the local nursery. He jogged alongside me with a shovel.

At the other end of the lake, he told me to “start digging, son, and give back to the earth.” While he sat on his beautiful ass and watched, I dug a hole and placed the tree inside. “Now, boot, you know something about meaningful work. Now move your sorry ass back to the commissary to the chow line.” We jogged back in silence and instead of thinking what a weirdo Robert was, I think I decided then that I was in love, absolute, mad, hot, passionate love.

We ate our bagels and downed some coffee while discussing the overdevelopment of nearby lake towns such as mine, how lucky this lake’s residents were to be adjoining state protected land. “Yeah, ‘cept I got one fucker for a neighbor who doesn’t value trees. Douche bag cut down 20 of ‘em to make way for a pool. You believe that shit? You live on a lake and you need a fucking pool? By the way, that tree you planted was on the cocksucker's property. I’ve been doing that morning planting run for a week now. So, if you ever see a guy on my property comin’ atcha with an ax---that’s prob’ly him.”

“Oh, that’s uh, good to know, thanks for the info.” I laughed. I think his eyes did as well; he wouldn’t admit I made him laugh. I wondered how much of what he had told me was true.

As the enigmatic Marine stud, with the hot ass and the bulging groin and the beautiful tan and the thick shiny hair and the nice teeth and the veinous forearms and the built chest and the sexy compact hands and the tight muscular legs and the boyishly rugged face, looked out over the lake taking in the beauty, I did the same with his body.

I sneaked a peek at his chest. I liked how it protruded from under the shirt, making the U.S.M.C. lettering more pronounced. I quickly followed the sweat trail to his bulge. When he leaned on his right leg, his bulge appeared even bigger, sexier, tastier. I wanted my mouth all over it.

I was more than excited. I was super rock-hard and opportunistically staring directly at his fly zone. I knew the uber-man could be quick with a fake-out military maneuver, but this time I was careful about it. I was prepared to dart my eyes away very quickly. After a minute of lusting after the beast in his zipper, I decided to practice how fast my eyes could run, just in case I'd need a quicky getaway.

My eyes shot off him to a random safehouse, the coffee urn laying on the small table to the right of Robert's erection-inducing body. I noticed the intricate shades and texture of this 1940's looking mechanism. The sides looked silver. I also noticed, later than I wished, an alarmingly clear reflection of Robert's face--and his eyes were looking right at me.

"FUCK! How long was I looking at his bulge, his ass? How long was he noticing?" I thought. I jumped from my seat in a panicky, knee-jerk reaction. I needed to distract. I think my hard-on was obviously breaking out of my jeans. Now I felt my hidden lust was even more transparent. I scrambled for something to say. “Hey, I’m....”

But he stopped the conversation dead, told me, “Alright sweet-pea, time to get to work.” He dismissed me with an austere, commanding expression and a hitchhiker’s thumb, and I walked down to the boathouse feeling dismissed and rejected.

As I walked down the hill my thoughts raced: "He called me “sweet-pea.” Now that is without a doubt some type of sissy put-down because he caught me looking at his body. Or am I misinterpreting? I don’t think so. Why did he dismiss me all of a sudden? Did he see my hard cock bulge? Hey, maybe he didn’t notice I was looking right at his dong?"

As I painted the boathouse, I was getting more worried. "Robert is no dope. He saw me, clearly. He cut me off when I tried to explain, too." I figured I wouldn't be working for Robert for long.

"All for being a faggot, a mother-fucking faggot. What’s wrong with me, anyway? Why am I chasing something that I not only can’t have but shouldn’t have, anyway? The gay life is not a viable option for me. And Robert ain’t gay. I need to block Robert from my mind and try to find a girl. I don’t want to give up the fantasy though. But I got to straighten my act out. I’m 20 years old, damnit, and I’ve never fucked a girl. I’m a 20 year old virgin. I need to fuck a girl and forget cock."

That night I met my high school buddies at McBirdy’s. Rich had been the captain of the high school baseball team and was now playing for Rutger’s, studying pre-law. He had a gorgeous girl he’d been fucking since the tenth grade.

Steve goes to Villanova. He was always into hockey and guitar playing. He’s had several girls over the years. I remember his parents paid for an abortion for one of them when we were only 15.

And Derek is at Steven’s Institute of Technology in Hoboken and a heavy drinker. He was always the computer geek, didn’t have a steady girl, but he had a body that was mouth-watering. I had always fantasized about sucking his nerd cock. At the town pool when we were 13, it was his speedo swimsuit, and the way it would outline his cock and balls, which made me realize I was different from my peers--and very, very horny.

After laughing about old times, chomping on chips and drinking for quite a while, the conversation turned to the upcoming wedding of Derek’s brother. We had all been invited, and I mentioned that my girl is in California, that I’d be going stag. We were all a bit drunk at this point, Derek especially. He looked at me shaking his head. “Dude, who you kidding?”

“What?” I asked.

“Ever since I’ve known ya, your girls are always invisible."

“The fuck you talkin’ about?” I did not like where this was going. I had been very accustomed in my fraternity to tense moments like these on the sexual interrogation hotseat.

“In high school, you were s’posely goin’ out with some girl, uh, ‘Terri’ in Paramus. None of us ever saw Terri. Hey Rich, you ever see that girl, ANY of Mike’s girls, ever?" He chuckled, snidely. "How ‘bout you Steve? You ever see any of Mike's alleged girlfriends?”

“Hey, lay off the guy,” said Rich.

“Yeah, what are you doing man?” Steve sounded as firm but more compassionate, and I was hurt by the compassion. It meant pity. It meant they must all have been in agreement over the years about this.

Derek continued. “You guys think the same shit....don’t fucking...now. No, let’s get to the truth here guys, it’s time.” He continued, looking right at me: “Then we go to college and we’re all fucking girls at the lake on our summer breaks and you conVENIENTLY stay faithful to your girl in California. Now, that’s just a bit too noble of ya, dontcha think?”

“Fuck you, ya drunk,” I shot back.

“I may be a drunk, but what are you? Huh? What wouldja call you? I used to see you checking me out on the swim team. Don’t think I don’t memba that shit."

"Cut it out, Derek!" Steve pleaded.

"Yeah, guys, he used to stare at my cock every day. Then he did it a lot more sneaky like, but I always was hip to it. Fuck, I saw him looking down once off the barstool tonight at my shit. Once it could be an accident. But a hundred times over the years? Come on.”

I felt attacked. My brother makes comments, Robert seemed to be suspicious, and now my high school friends, people I’ve known all my life, were going to cast me out? I couldn’t take the pain any longer. I lunged at Derek, to reclaim some shred of masculinity or dignity.

I got two good shots in, knocked him off the barstool. Rich and Steve started shouting. "Whoa, whoa! Take it easy, Mike!"

Rich held me back in a full nelson while Steve held Derek, who was bleeding at the left nostril.

A few of the locals, drunks and whores, were gathered around holding beers, some smiling at the free show.

I felt Derek humiliated me more than I’d ever been in my entire life. In front of everyone, half of the lifeguards at the lake and half the town, he had no mercy: “You are a fucking faggot! You suck guys’ dicks and you know it! That’s why you ain’t workin’ the lake this year, buddy. The lifeguards heard you were queer. They don’t like faggots checking 'em out in the showers. Everybody thinks you’re queer! Ask Rich, ask Steve. They have THEIR jobs at the lake, I have MINE!”

“Eat shit you low-life drunk!” I shouted, hoping the bystanders would dismiss his accusations as the delusions of a drunk. Rich pulled me outside. He didn’t have to try hard. I was so embarrassed, he wouldn't have been able to keep me inside.

Once in the parking lot, I started my car and told Rich I’d be alright. My eye was hurting a bit. “I’m alright Rich. He’s an asshole. He don’t know shit about me. But I’ll be alright.”

“It’s all good, Mike. Give me a call tomorrow.”

“Lata man.” As I pulled out, I asked Rich through the driver’s window, “Hey Rich, that true? You guys weren’t layed off from the lake? You guys are working there?”

His silence hurt more than my eye. I burned a patch of gravel waste into the air, vowing never to set foot in McBirdy’s or the lake again. I couldn’t take anymore disgrace. I was hurting. I was hurting real, real bad. I went home, put some ice on my face, and lay in bed wishing I could disappear. Instead of jerking off and thinking about Robert, I just quietly sobbed.

The next morning I thought about taking the day off, but I felt compelled to go to that peaceful, gorgeous other lake and be with that handsome, rugged stud. Even if I might face more humiliation, Robert’s place seemed to be a sanctuary. After telling my mom that my black eye was from a wild pitch on the ballfield, I started off towards the only place where I felt peace lately.

My mind was so heavy on my sexuality issues that I almost ran off the winding roads of Robert’s town. I thought that maybe I should intentionally do just that, hit a tree and be done with it all. I thought a lot of things.

"I’ve got to, above all else, make a solid committment to be straight. It’s obvious people are wondering about me. It’s time to show these fucks that I’m as straight as they are. Who the hell do any of them think they are? When I get back to college, I’m finding a girl. I should pick up some slut at the lake this week, walk around town with her for everybody to see. That will show Derek, that fucking geek. Maybe I should knock up some townie slut and parade the toothless kid around town. That’ll shut-up these small-town, ignorant fucking assholes."

I got to Robert's and walked around back to the deck, where he would probably be putting out some coffee about now, just 5 minutes shy of 0800. “What up Robert?” I spotted him sitting there sipping black coffee, probably thinking about some babe he fucked. He had a black headband draped around the forehead forming a sexy tail. He looked like he was communing with nature.

He was wearing light colored denim, paint-splattered jeans today, tattered converse sneakers for PT and his usual U.S.M.C. t-shirt. He looked so fucking manly and alluring, but I was not going there anymore. "I’m no faggot!"

“What’s doin’ boot?” He spied my face. “Whoa, well, well, well, what the fuck happened to my top dog recruit?”

“Just had to kick some ass last night, that’s all, put some piece of shit in his place.” For a second, I thought I registered disbelief in his eyes. Was I coming on too strong, too overtly masculine?

“Well, I got some chow for us here. Do PT later. Eat, son.”

He had made scrambled eggs and bacon for us, me and the dogs, Laurel and Hardy. They were content down on the grass eating. "They have a stress-free life," I thought.

I sat on a deck chair facing the lake and gingerly tasted the food. I just wasn't hungry. I felt so depressed, beaten, defeated. I tried valiantly to remain strong, but I was dying inside. Robert placed himself almost directly across from me, six feet away, leaning sideways against the deck’s railing. I tried not to notice the lump. In those light jeans of his, especially at profile, it was difficult not to spot--and desire--but I tried like hell.

We talked about the day’s upcoming activity. After PT, I’d be sanding the lake pier, getting it ready to be varnished. He told me that one day last year his girlfriend and he were sitting on the pier late at night for a naked swim and both got huge splinters. “Can’t have any of that shit this year, son. That kind of put a damper on pumping the pussy that night.” He laughed.

“Yeah, I know what ya mean. It’s fun taking your girl for late-night swims, pumping that cunt! I do it a lot with my bitch in California. I fuck the shit out of her on the regular.”

I thought I heard breath coming from his nose. Was that a slight laugh? “That’s funny, boot,” he said.

“What is?”

“Your posturing. Hey, you want more coffee?” He walked over to the urn to fill his cup. I made sure not to look at his ass.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I shot back.

“Peace out, son. It’s just funny, hearin' you talk like that, that’s all.”

How much more pain can one dude take, I thought.

“It’s honestly funny to you?” I implored.

“Whoa, who pissed on your cornflakes this morning?”

“Alright, it’s cool,” I mumbled as I focused on eating, and avoiding additional pain. "Did he think it was funny that I was talking like a macho man, that my 'posturing' was the macho talk? Or did he mean that my posturing was pretending that I was with a girl?" I tortured myself for an answer. "What the fuck did he mean by that!"

I thought I would find some solace here today. No such luck. Nowhere is safe. I’m destined to be in misery for the the rest of my life. Will this sexuality shit ever end? In Jersey, in California, wherever I go, I’m doomed to struggle with this. It follows me everywhere, high school, college, McBirdy’s, the lake, my home with my brothers.

We continued eating in silence, drinking our coffee in silence. I sneaked a couple of quick views of his bulge. It looked comforting. He didn’t catch me. "But what’s the difference. He must know, like everyone else, apparently, anyway. I’m such a fucking faggot!"

Feeling overwhelmingly beaten, I tried to articulate how confused I felt about things. I didn’t know how to do it. I just was so fucking hurt and Robert was so very attractive to me. I wanted a connection. I wanted help from this strong, handsome, worldly man. Would he understand?

“Robert,” I began, “what, um...if you, um. Shit, I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess I, well I....Things are not good with me. Things are not good at all.” I looked down, trying to remain strong, but I felt confused, weak and hopeless.

Robert walked towards me and sat right next to me, on my right, on the bench. His leg was almost against mine! I just kept silently looking at the lake. From my peripheral vision I thought he was looking right at me. I didn’t know what to say or what to do. It was a long few moments of anxious silence, aside from the overhead branches cascading the leaves in the wind.

I turned to him for a second to confirm if he was looking at me. He was. I quickly turned. “I’m not doing too good today, Robert. I’m just feeling kind of shitty. I’m sorry I’m sounding like such a pussy today. Maybe I should head on out....I’ll feel better tomorrow.” I stood up.

“Sit down,” he calmly commanded. “Sit down and talk to me.”

I reclaimed my spot, but I must have sat an inch closer to him this time. Our legs were now touching. I had never been this close to him. I was getting very excited, and that was part of my problem. I couldn’t go there. Robert wasn’t gay, nobody’s gay but me. I need a new life or something. But the feel of his left leg pressed against my right, was driving my cock to insanity.

I looked down at my sneakers as I softly spoke. “I just don’t know what to do man, ya know. I have all these people putting demands on me, my friends, my brothers, my fraternity. And I’m real, real embarrassed that I’m appearing weak in front of you. I admire you. I respect you so much. You’re the epitome of a real man. I think the world of you. You’re everything I wish I could be....I mean, I just don’t know what to do, ya know. I just don’t know what to do. I love coming here, it’s peace, it's excitement, it's fun. You're fun. But, now, it’s feeling like every other fucking place, pressure, fucking pressure all the time. I mean, if you were me, what....”

I could tell he was still facing me, studying me. I felt too ashamed to look at him, though. There was a long pause where I just looked out at the lake wondering how my words would be received. I was feeling so desperate, hurt and alone.

And then my spine felt a jolt of unexplained current as I realized a hand was gently placed on my left shoulder. “Ya know, I’m proud of you, son. Look at me.” I was afraid to. I was so open emotionally at this point. I wouldn’t be able to hide my inner-desires if I had to look in his eyes.

We were sitting so close that he’d see everything in a nanosecond. "Robert ain't stupid. I’m too exhausted to pretend, too tired to fight my massive urges. One second in my eyes and he’s going to know. He’s going to know everything. Will he understand? Will he mock me? I don't really know him. I know he has brute force and an aggressive nature. He might gay bash me, kill me and toss my body to the lake."

He shook my shoulder, and somewhat sternly ordered me: “Look at me I said."

I lifted my head with dread and timidly turned, cautiously turned, to him. When our eyes met, I saw the same stoical, handsome mug I'd fallen for. But I think he looked angry. "The rough, rugged, handsome animal, the on-edge stud, is looking unpredictable. I'm scared shit," I thought. My eyes were on the verge of welling up with tears. I turned away. I just felt such fear, I knew he could be seeing everything about me, the truth and all of its dark, perverse secrets. "How would he react?"