This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental. This story also contains explicit sexual activity between males. If such is offensive to you, or if you are below the age where reading such material is legal, please read no further. Your comments are welcome and most helpful. macoutmann@yahoo.com.
BEFORE "DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL"
by Macout Mann
Chapter 12
Morgan and Cockrill developed an elaborate method to signal when and how they would get together. Generally, they would meet at the same bar where they first encountered each other. Morgan had found a nondescript motel north of the city, where they could make out without fear of meeting shipmates or shore patrol. They enjoyed each other's company at least once a week, until the ship headed north to the Mare Island Shipyard for overhaul.
Before the "yard period," however, the two men developed an interesting relationship. There was never a relaxation of the social distance that separated them as officer and enlisted man. For instance, Cockrill always called Morgan, "Mr. Bowen." But they developed a real comradeship, telling each other all about themselves, without worry that the other would betray confidences.
No matter how big a city is, however, you are bound to run into someone you know sooner or later. So one night at "their bar" they encountered one of the Stough's sonarmen.
"What you doing here, Mr. Bowen, if you don't mind me asking?" the man asked.
"Oh, he's slumming," Cockrill interjected. "Was probably ready to flee until he saw me."
"Yeah," Morgan laughed, "you never know who you'll see where.
"Buy you a beer?"
"No thanks. I've got a gal over there I'm tryna get into. Just wanted to say `hi.'"
So, Morgan and Cockrill stopped meeting there, and afterward Morgan would pick his buddy up on random street corners.
Morgan was also interested to know whether any other guys in the O Division were gay. Cockrill said he was sure "Tender" was bi, but that he never did anything with guys for fear of getting caught. The rest were totally straight.
Not long after Morgan came by that information, "Tender," that is Bonner, his senior radarman, went AWOL. Several of the men had gone to Tijuana, Cockrill among them. They all said that they were leaving a "bar," and "Tender" had said the gal he was with had snitched his wallet. They saw him run down some steps after her, and that was the last anyone had seen of him.
It was ten days later that he showed up, saying that he'd been arrested by the Mexican police after confronting the girl and had been held in a jail in Tijuana. Morgan asked why he hadn't reported to the shore patrol at the border. He replied that he just wanted to get back to the ship as soon as he could.
He was in serious trouble, of course. A possible Special Court Martial. Morgan was appointed the Investigating Officer, and set about finding out what he could. He had verified the others' story with "Tender," before he could talk with his mates. So that much was true, he was sure. "Tender" also provided a diagram of the place where he said he was held.
The radarman had an exemplary record, not so much as a minor infraction or a "medical" restriction. Morgan found it difficult not to believe him. He drove down to the border and spoke to the senior Shore Patrol Officer, a middle-aged lieutenant. He was told that the diagram looked like it could be one of several Tijuana police stations. That such "arrests" were not unusual. That if the man had reported at the border, the matter could have been cleared up immediately.
So on the basis of the evidence, or lack thereof, Morgan wrote his report, exonerating the accused, and ending, "It is further recommended that Commander Cruiser Destroyer Force Pacific place the City of Tijuana off limits to Naval Personnel for thirty days to put Mexican authorities on notice that such police tactics will not be tolerated."
The Executive Officer did not seem pleased. When Morgan appeared before him alongside Bonner, he thundered that because Mr. Bowen had such high confidence in Bonner's integrity, he had no choice but to dismiss the charges. But he emphasized that a first class petty officer shouldn't have let himself get into such a mess.
The warm relationship between Morgan and his exec continued as before, however. Morgan was sure that his senior agreed with his evaluation, except perhaps for recommending that Tijuana be put off limits. His report would have to be sent to ComCruDesPac after all.
The sail from San Diego to Mare Island was uneventful. As they passed through the Golden Gate, Morgan pondered all the things that had happened since he had sailed out on the Shelby. And now he would spend three months in the Bay Area. He wondered if Dot or Jerry were still around. Mare Island was about twenty-five miles up the Napa River from the Bay, only an hour by car from San Francisco, and the following weekend Morgan planned to fly back to San Diego to retrieve his car.
Morgan left San Diego early, about seven. He saw a young marine hitching outside Camp Pendleton and gave him a ride. Fresh out of boot camp, the new private was headed to LA to sample the wonders of the movie capital.
Morgan was in civies, of course; and although the car would have to get a base sticker once he reached Mare Island, there was nothing about it to identify Morgan as a naval officer. So he enjoyed playing with his passenger's mind for the whole two and a half hours it took to reach LA.. He was gung ho MarCorps, and straight as the proverbial arrow. Morgan was sure he thought about asking to be let out a couple of times, for fear he would be molested by this California queer.
Heading out of Los Angeles on US101 he picked up another hitchhiker. He looked to be just out of high school. Good looking kid in tight, threadbare jeans and a form-fitting, faded polo shirt. Bleached hair and ruddy tan. Headed for Sanfran. No luggage, except for a ditty bag.
"Thanks for stopping,'" he said.
The kid had to be from South Carolina. There had been a guy at OCS that talked just like that. Said "Care-line-ah," like he had a mouth full of cotton candy.
"Glad to have some company," Morgan said. "What part of South Carolina you from?"
"Around Columbia. How'd you guess South Carolina?"
"Used to know a guy with your accent. He lived along the coast. A place called `Hilton Head,' I think."
"Musta been a rich fucker."
"Probably was. I didn't know him too well."
Morgan's passenger didn't seem too talkative. They drove in silence for five minutes or so. Then Morgan introduced himself and learned that the boy's name was Clarence. "But everybody calls me Beau," he said, "'cause there was a character named Beauregard in some story or other that was always in trouble, and I'm always in trouble."
"Oh? How's that?" Morgan asked.
"I just like doing things," Beau replied. "Tryin' new shit. Don't worry about no consequences. Hell, if it feels good, do it."
"So how you happen to be out here?" Morgan continued.
"Trouble. This ole gal claimed I knocked her up. Hell, I didn't even fuck her. But my old man said I had to face the music. So instead, I just took off. Hitched 80 all the way across. Haven't done too bad livin' by my wits."
"Oh?" Morgan was noncommittal.
"Yeah, you run into some good people on the road. I guess `cause I'm young, they feel sorry for me. I get invited to spend the night some. Folks'll let me have a few bucks. Sometimes I can get work, like mowing lawns or washing dishes.
"I get picked up by queers lotta times, but that don't bother me none."
"Oh?"
"Shit, they'll treat ya better than most, and I don't see nothin' wrong with having sex with another guy. Feels a hellova lot better than jackin' off."
Morgan laughed. "You're right about that."
"You queer?" Beau asked. "No offense."
"Well, let's just say I also like to mess around with other guys sometimes."
"I got a ride with this old faggot out near Midland, Texas. I stayed with him over a week. He bought me some clothes, gave me enough scratch to get all the way out to LA."
They continued to chat, getting to know each other better. It was past one o'clock, when Morgan saw a roadside restaurant with a "recommended by Duncan Hines" sign out front. He pulled in.
"Past lunch time," he said.
"You go on in," Beau said. "I'll just wait for ya."
"No problem, Beau, Morgan responded. "If you don't order everything on the menu, I can handle lunch for both of us."
Back on the road Morgan asked Beau what plans he had when he reached San Francisco.
"Not any," was the reply.
"Well, I may know someone who'll put you up for the night, if you don't mind getting together with him. He's a real nice guy. Bartender. Good looking, too."
"Why not," Beau said.
It was only three o'clock and Morgan thought he might catch Jerry before he left home. He found a pay phone and stopped to make the call.
"Billing another number," he told the operator, and gave her his folk's number in Cinci. He and his parents had had that arrangement ever since his college days. Soon, Jerry was on the line.
"Hi, Jerry. This is Morgan Bowen. Remember me?"
Jerry responded that he sure did, and they exchanged greetings for a couple of minutes. Morgan told him that he was going to be at Mare Island and hoped they could get together some.
"But the reason I'm calling," Morgan finally told him, "is that I've got a kid that I gave a ride to back in LA. He doesn't have anyplace to stay in the city. He's one cute boy. I think you'd love to be with him. And he's willing."
Jerry was willing too. He said he'd be at work when they got to Sanfran, but he'd tell the doorman his nephew was coming. They'd know that was a lie, but they'd let him in and stick him in back in the office `til closing time.
Morgan got back in the car and told Beau the good news. Beau reached over and grabbed his dick and said, "Well, I guess I owe you."
It took a while for Morgan to find a place along Rte. 101 private enough to pull over. But he did. Beau wasted no time. He gave a super blow job, working his lips and tongue and throat like a pro.
"You didn't just learn to do that on the road," Morgan teased.
"Nah," Beau answered. "Like I said, I like doing things. All sorts of things. There were a couple of fairy boys back home I used to play with. Nobody else knew about it, but I learned plenty."
Morgan also took time to see what that neat bulge in the younger guy's jeans would reveal. He wasn't as long as Morgan, but thick and tasty.
They were almost to San Francisco, when they stopped for supper. That and the time their playing around took meant that it was after nine before Morgan dropped Beau at Jerry's club on Broadway, and it was almost eleven, when a very tired but happy Morgan arrived at the shipyard.
Now, however, he had wheels to go anywhere he wanted to go in the Bay Area, and since he would be relieved while the Stough was in the Far East, he'd leave his car in San Francisco, when the yard period was over.
Copyright 2011 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
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