Here is the latest installment of the story. Thanks as always to those who write about it - I'm embarrassed to admit I love getting the feedback, even the negative feedback (OK, that not quite so much, but I hope I can learn from it). Please keep those cards and letters coming!
As always, this is entirely fictional, though the places are often real to ground the story properly. All rights, of course, are reserved to me as author, except obviously for the license to Nifty, which I thank for publishing it. If this sort of writing is illegal for you to read because of where you live, your age etc., by all means you shouldn't read it. Thanks to you all for your continuing indulgence of this story.
Seal Rocks Part 21
Col. J. Booth Palmer, USMC, had been one of Jesse's dad's oldest friends. They had gone through boot camp and OCS at Parris Island together, they had served in the same unit during Desert Storm. Their careers had moved in a remarkable lockstep until his father's decision to retire rather than wait for a possible promotion to full colonel. If it had ever bothered him that Uncle Booth's promotion to that rank came within a few months of his retirement, he never showed it. Their relationship, though, had certainly been strained some since his father's retirement. Ben had noticed it, not Jesse, and it was only after Ben had mentioned the silences between them that Jesse picked up on the tension.
Uncle Booth had been part of their family since before Jesse had even been born. He was best man at his parents' wedding, a frequent houseguest, and a special playmate of Ben and Jesse's since they were babies. The news of Uncle Booth's return, in fact, set off a childlike excitement in Jesse that he had almost forgotten - like the approach of Christmas to an eight year old.
Jesse knew that, for his mother, one of the many painful parts of his father's death had been Uncle Booth's absence. He had been deployed with his brigade in western Anbar province, a nasty little hellhole of Al-Qaeda wannabes, black ops Syrian commandos testing their chops, and tribal gunmen on the make. Jesse's father had dissected the area, and Uncle Booth's predicament, for Jesse the previous summer, when Uncle Booth had first deployed there. "It's a God damned mess," he concluded after a long monologue on geography and logistics problems. "Everybody there wants to kill everybody else, because as far as they're concerned everybody else is the infidel. They don't give a rat's ass about their country - hell, it's not really a country to them anyway. They don't even care about religion, or clan, or family. Not really. They just cloak their God damned murderous souls in that sort of crap whenever it suits their purposes. It's every man for himself. The only thing the whole God damned group of them can agree on is that our guys are the enemy. We're the ultimate infidel, just because we're there." He had sighed, sliding his thin reading glasses off his nose. "At least in Desert Storm, the Kuwaitis wanted us around - for a little while, anyway. These God damned people don't want anybody there, but they want protection just the same. You can't win with them."
Jesse had been frightened. "Will Uncle Booth be all right?" I was so young, I sounded like a baby asking that, he thought to himself as he remembered.
His father had smiled, and tousled his hair - one of the few times, during those last few years, Jesse ever remembered any sign of affection from the man. "He's a God damned good Marine, Jesse. The question is, will the God damned Iraqis be all right once he's through with them?" But his father had spent a long time that night, and for several nights thereafter, at his desk, downing large amounts of scotch, with a large topographic map of Anbar spread out before him, staring at the photograph of himself and Uncle Booth from Desert Storm, the one that now sat on his mother's bedside table. He never told Jesse what he saw in the photo - a moment's record of two young, arrogantly confident lieutenants about to conquer a world, liberate a country, and fast track themselves to promotions right up to major. Opportunities missed, maybe, or youth fled, green bravado sunk by the burden of deeper middle aged understanding.
After a week, his father had burned the map in the fireplace, without saying a word.
Uncle Booth had called his father once a month until May of that year, when he apparently told his father that he was going into a more sensitive operation and would be largely unavailable for several weeks. The only word they'd received from him thereafter had been an e-mail after his father's death: WALTER WAS THE BEST MARINE I EVER KNEW. MY HEART BREAKS FOR HIM AND ALL OF YOU. I'LL SEE YOU ALL SOON.
His mother had printed it out, carried it with her. Sometimes at night, alone at the dinner table after Ben and Jesse had cleared plates, she would smooth it out in front of her and re-read it, swirling wine in a glass with her free hand.
Uncle Booth's return unleashed his mother's inner whirlwind. She was everywhere - in the kitchen marinating steaks, in his room directing a hasty cleanup, in the backyard cleaning the patio, in the family room ordering Ben to do more things than he could possibly remember, outside the door to Jesse's bathroom as Jesse cleaned up, begging him to hurry because she had things for him to do (actually, this news only inclined Jesse to take his time - he knew once he left the safe confines of his shower all hell was going to break loose).
But he was wrong. By the time he trotted down the stairs, running his hand through his damp hair, Uncle Booth was sitting in a chaise lounge on the back patio, sipping a Jack Daniels and patting his moth's arm solicitously.
Their backs were to Jesse, Ben was nowhere to be seen. Jesse regarded them for a second before making his presence known. Uncle Booth looked the same wiry jet black hair in a regulation Marine cut, barely visible on the sides, a thick neck, wide shoulders (Jesse recalled being tossed like a rag between Uncle Booth and his father in a swimming pool somewhere when he was a child), massive forearms with a heavy coating of black hair. Even in the lounge chair, he sat erect, his button down short sleeve shirt failing to lend him any air of being casual. He was a straightbacked thoroughgoing military man. Jesse knew the piercing look he'd get in a moment, and the anticipation scared him a little - so much like his father's gaze . . .
"Damn, will you look at this youngster!" Uncle Booth shouted as Jesse slid the screen shut behind him. Poche bounded over, crashed against Jesse's shins, and fell onto his back, wriggling joyously and hoping for a tummy rub. Uncle Booth was on his feet, his shorts straining to contain his muscular thighs. He looked like a fireplug - a frighteningly well built fireplug, to be sure, but stout and comprised of iron just the same. He seemed shorter than Jesse remembered - or perhaps Jesse had just gotten bigger. He was upon Jesse in an instant, grabbing him into a rough and crushing embrace. "I can't believe how grown up you look, Jesse!" He stepped back and regarded Jesse at arm's length, his fingers digging into Jesse's biceps. "Yes, sir, quite the young man here." He looked over his shoulder at Jesse's mother, who had also stood up. "Ellie, it's a good thing he got your good looks and not Walt's damn mug." His mother laughed in a free manner Jesse hadn't heard in months - years, maybe. He found himself grinning stupidly. He threw himself back into Uncle Booth's arms, suddenly on the verge of tears. He smelled of Old Spice. Uncle Booth's hand was on his head. "I know, son," he whispered to Jesse. "Keep things together, we'll talk ourselves later on, all right?"
Jesse nodded and stepped back again, trying not to sniffle so loudly that his mother would notice. To distract himself as much as anything, he dropped to the ground and started wrestling Poche, who immediately started licking him all over and growling with pleasure. "You met the puppy?"
Uncle Booth laughed. "It's hard not to meet her. But what the hell is her name? 'Po-chee' or something?"
Jesse laughed rolling of the grass with the dog. "Poche - it's a beach at the north end of town. The one with the flag flying from the big driftwood log, just below Shorecliffs." Poche started running in large circles about the lawn, burning off her excess energy. "It's a pretty lousy beach, really - never any swell, and it gets dirty a lot - but it's the best we could think of."
Uncle Booth sipped his drink. "Well, it fits. She's got a whole damn ocean's worth of energy. But you have to get her trained - she's running around like a maniac. Poche!!" he shouted in a command voice that brought Jesse snapping back to reality. As he clambered to his feet, he saw Uncle Booth's eyes fixed on the animal, glittering and hard set as the rest of his face. Poche had immediately stopped running about, and was meekly approaching Uncle Booth. "Sit!" Uncle Booth ordered. Poche, thoroughly cowed, collapsed onto her back, offering her throat.
Jesse was amused, and a bit put off - he shouldn't bully her like that. "She hasn't learned that stuff yet, we're working on it."
Uncle Booth set his glass down. "No time like the present." He stepped forward and bent over, scratching Poche's belly. Her tail started wagging again. "Up, girl," he said, his voice now soothing. She rose, but as she started wriggling with happiness he extended his palm toward her face. "No," he said, still softly, but with an unmistakable air of control. She stopped moving, her eyes downcast. "Poche?" Their eyes met. "Sit," he ordered, and gently pushed just her rear end down. Poche obeyed, head up, never breaking eye contact. He stepped back from the animal, his palm still outstretched. "Good girl," he smiled, and she rose in glee. "Uh-uh!" he snapped at her, stopping her again in her tracks. "Now, sit," he said, in a voice that fully expected compliance. She lowered her head for a brief moment, then obeyed. They stared at one another for several seconds before his face relaxed. "That's a good girl," he cooed, and she leapt up at him. She was still small enough that he could easily catch her in his arms and swing her up for a close face to face (actually, Jesse thought, he could swing a full grown Golden around like that and never break a sweat). Poche, though, seemed mildly alarmed at being thus swept off her feet, so he set her down and let her dash away madly. "You see?" he said as he retrieved his drink, "you just need to be in command of the situation."
Jesse shook his head, laughing. The man, it seemed, could do anything.
Ben arrived back from the market. Uncle Booth greeted him as happily as he'd greeted Jesse, but his examination of Ben seemed more professional. "One year so far in ROTC?" he asked, pronouncing it as a word rather than an acronym - "rot-see".
Ben unconsciously stood with a military bearing, at ease but very precise. "Yes, sir. I do basic after my next year."
Uncle Booth nodded. "Treat you OK?"
"Of, of course, sir, they're great folks. I know it's all make believe soldier stuff for now, but it's a great group of guys."
Uncle Booth was visibly resisting the urge to walk around Ben and inspect him. "So you're taking this year off?"
"Yes, sir. I - I thought it'd be best, to help my mom out and all."
Uncle Booth took a long pull on his Jack Daniels. "Nothing pretend soldier about doing that, son. Family's more important, the Corps'll still be there." A short sigh. "Your dad'd be very proud."
Ben's Adam's apple worked once, very deeply. "Thanks. Thanks, Uncle Booth." And they embraced again, Jesse seeing that Ben was now as moved as he'd been. To move past that emotion, he immediately started showing Ben how Uncle Booth had taught Poche to sit. His mother stood very still, watching.
Dinner was a loud, long, and raucous affair. Uncle Booth regaled the boys with stories of the exploits he and their father had had when they served together, especially in Kuwait. One long tale, involving a local prince who tried to evacuate his herd of camels from the path of their armored column by tying the animals to the back bumper of his stretch limousine, had them all in stitches for what seemed like hours. "And then your dad decides to break the fella's balls a little - sorry, Ellen - so he drops an RPG round about 50 yards in front of the limo to halt it and starts interrogating him about whether the damn camels are contraband. He wanted - " Uncle Booth was heaving with laughter now " - he wanted to see their brands, like we were in a remake of some western cattle drive movie or something - damn city kid. And there's no Arabic word for 'brand,' so the translator is getting all flustered and the prince is about to pee himself and the camels are actually peein' and dumpin' all over the back end of this guy's limo, and he's trying to tell us how he loves Americans and at the dame time he's screaming at the driver to save the paint job on his car!" Uncle Booth made a series of mad gestures, imitating the unfortunate prince in a racially unflattering but funny way. "And your dad kept a straight face for about ten minutes before he lost it."
"What happened to the prince?" Jesse asked.
"Your dad sent him to the rear with a couple of Humvees for escort to protect him - and the camels. He wound up feelin' bad about hassling the poor guy. Me, I'd have commandeered the limo and let him ride his damn camels out of there, but your dad was a softie."
Ben shook his head. "I never thought of Dad as a softie." Their mother looked at him quietly.
Uncle Booth leaned back in toward the table. "He was, but in all the best ways, Ben. When we were in OCS, they used to tell us that as officers we had to be 'ferocious gentlemen.' Lots of us got the ferocious part pretty easy - I know I sure did - but your dad, he nailed the whole thing. He was always a gentleman. That's what made him such a damn good Marine - not the ferocity. Hell, that's drilled into you from the moment you join. The sense of honor, of integrity." He looked at their mother and drew a long breath. "I used to judge my actions by comparing them to Walt's standards. He taught a lot of men how to be a gentleman soldier, me included. That's rare."
The room was very quiet. Jesse's mother rose to clear the plates, quickly wiping at her eyes. Uncle Booth rose as well, motioning the boys to remain. "Let me help your mother out here, all right?" Poche, on her side near the kitchen door, whacked her tail on the floor a few times as Uncle Booth passed.
The boys sat silent for a few minutes, listening to the running water that was masking the adults' conversation. Ben was rubbing his temples. Jesse felt like he might throw up. "Does - does he know? Uncle Booth? What happened, and all? And, um, about - about me . . . "
Ben lowered his hand, looking very old. "Not all, no. Enough. He knows about the hitting, and how Dad died. I think Mom softpedaled the whole abuse charge thing, I don't know. They'll probably talk about it - probably are now."
"What - do I tell him, Ben? I mean about me?" The thought that Uncle Booth might be repulsed by his sexuality terrified Jesse.
Ben shrugged. "Let's just let it go for now, OK? I mean you're still just a kid."
"This isn't a 'just a kid' thing, Ben."
"I know, relax. I'm not saying that. I'm just - let's just keep things cool for now, OK? This is hard on Mom tonight. I mean she was really happy to see him, but I know it hurts too."
Jesse nodded Over the water's sound, he thought he heard a muffled sob. The boys looked at each other.
About five minutes later, their mother appeared, her face shiny, with dishes of ice cream, smiling broadly. Uncle Booth followed her out carrying his own dish, smiling slightly at the boys but clearly thinking hard. Jesse decided to fill the gap in the conversation with a long description, for Uncle Booth's benefit, of Erick's performance in the surf contest and his potential sponsorship. For his part, Uncle Booth at least pretended to take a keen interest in the subject, doing all he could to lighten the mood. "So what about you, Jesse? When do you get your sponsorships and what-not?"
Jesse found himself blushing. "I'm not nearly that good, Uncle Booth."
"Why not? It's not like you can't swim - I remember how Walt could never keep you out of the damn water, especially once you were living here. You're a fish."
Jesse laughed in spite of himself. "It's a beach town, Uncle Booth - we're all fish."
"Well then?"
Ben chimed in. "Surfing's a lot harder than it looks, Uncle Booth. It's a lot more than swimming. There's all sorts of balance and movement stuff, and reading the waves - it takes pretty total dedication to it to be that good." He glanced at Jesse. "I know Erick's been basically living at the beach since he was about 6 or something, getting dropped off at the pier most days after school for a couple of hours, and didn't he ride at Trestles every morning from second grade on with one of the teachers from Concordia?"
Jesse nodded. "Yeah, Mr. Paul judges surf contests. He rides every day before school, and a lot of the kids - guys, I mean - sort of informally meet him and ride with him. Sometimes you'd see all these wetsuits thrown over railings at Concordia drying out - it drove the principal nuts."
Uncle Booth smiled at the image. "So what are you passionate about, Jesse? What about volleyball? I know you were doing some club, with a friend, last time I was here."
Jesse hesitated - the 'friend' was Mike. He avoided his mother's eyes. "Um, yeah, my bud Mike and I - and a bunch of other kids, too - we do stuff with the Laguna club. I'm kind of not tall enough to really be great at it, though."
"You probably have some growth left in you. What are you now, almost 6 feet?" Jesse nodded. "You'll probably wind up around Walt's height - 6'4", maybe a bit more. That tall enough?"
Jesse laughed. "Maybe. I need to move to outside or DS though. Mike - " another glance at Ben " - Mike thinks I'd be a good libero cuz I like throw myself around on the court digging balls."
Jesse's mother was smiling slightly at him. "I don't know why you do that - you're going to kill yourself. Here I thought we were getting you into a nice non-contact sport, and you come home every night from practice bleeding from some new scrape."
The compliment - and Jesse knew she meant the statement as a compliment - made him blush again. "Mom, its no fun if you don't try."
"Exactly!" Uncle Booth said with a chuckle. "If it's worth doing it's worth doing as damn well as you can. Lots of people are talented, Jesse, but not all of them are passionate. They don't all care. That's the difference, that's what separates people eventually. Are they passionate about what they do? I'll bet you wind up playing in college, you watch."
Jesse smiled, looking at his lap. "That'd be cool," he admitted.
He took Poche for a long walk a little later, allowing his mother some time with Uncle Booth. Ben had gotten a half time night stocking job at Costco (telling their mother it was a second job, still unwilling to tell her he'd been laid off), and had left around 9. He was surprised to see Uncle Booth leaning against his car when he returned. He was watching Jesse intently - the boy could feel the gaze from several houses away. "Do you have to leave?"
"I need to do a lot of paperwork, debriefing, you name it. I really shouldn't have come by tonight - too soon after getting back - but I thought it was important."
Jesse nodded. "I - I know Mom really was glad to see you."
Uncle Booth looked at him very hard, right in the eye. "How about you - are you doing all right?" Jesse nodded. "Right," Uncle Booth snorted. "Well, I thought we might talk a bit, just the two of us. Your mom's told me some of what happened, but it sounds like you need someone to talk with too."
Do I have to, Jesse thought. Do I really have to go through all this, and hide so much, all over again? "Sure, whatever," he said.
Uncle Booth nodded. "Your dad was wound pretty tight there at the end. Did he ever tell you why?"
Jesse shook his head. "He - he wasn't like that - you know to share feelings or anything. I know NevaCal laid him off - the bastards," he added, unable to hold it back.
Uncle Booth nodded. "I know Bart Niederhaus - he was in the Corps." Jesse nodded; he knew that. "I told him what I thought of what he'd done. Hell, I helped your dad get that job with Bart when he retired - did you know that?" Jesse shook his head. "Well, it sounds like Bart's trying to make things up, in some ways - paying some of your mother's bills and such." Jesse looked up, trying not to reveal anything in his expression. "Did you know someone is paying off your mom's bills with cashier's checks, no indication who it is?" He shook his head again, looking at Jupiter, setting toward the ocean, over the roof of his house. "Probably Bart's way of saying sorry," Uncle Booth noted, "but he owes you all more than anonymous charity. He owes you all a damn apology."
Jesse shrugged. He never wanted to see anyone associated with that company again, ever.
"But my worry," Uncle Booth continued, "is with you. That was some hurt you took, your mom says. And Jesse? I know what the doctors thought." Jesse had to look at Uncle Booth now; he was unable not to. His eyes were filling up. "Not true, was it, son?"
"No, sir. It wasn't. But - but the Social Services people aren't letting it go, they think Mom may not be like fit or something - "
"Relax," Uncle Booth said soothingly. "I can handle that for you." Jesse cringed, waiting for the next question. But it didn't come. Instead, after a few endless seconds, Uncle Booth pushed off the side of his car, stood very straight, and patted Jesse's shoulder. "We'll talk again soon, Jesse. I know things are complicated."
You have no idea, he thought.
Uncle Booth pulled him again into an embrace, tight but not so crushing this time. "Don't be too hard on your dad, Jesse - or on yourself. We'll talk about all of it soon." It felt odd to be the same height as Uncle Booth - maybe even taller, all of a sudden.
He released Jesse, stepped in to his Xterra, and drove away. Jesse felt weak.
Jesse spent the next day doing various chores, and trying not to think about the meeting with Ernie coming up. He and Mike texted numerous times, but didn't see each other - Mike was off with his parents on a school clothes shopping trip to the outlet mall in Carlsbad. Erick called him once, excited that Taylor Castilla had already gotten interest from a board shaper for Erick, and was discussing a sunglasses deal as well. Jesse could hear from the background noise on the phone that Erick was calling him from the beach. He laughed to himself about that a little - practice makes perfect, I guess. He wondered if Erick would get bigheaded about stuff - he had a tendency to mask his insecurity in braggadocio, as recent history had proven. It would be a shame to lose him again, into another bout of self-promotion, now that he'd only just been back to normal for a couple of days.
Ben spent the day with Uncle Booth, who was taking him to meet various local Corps contacts he knew in the hope of landing Ben a new job. Jesse felt deeply relived. It was like having Dad back, he thought, only better - without the anger and bitterness. It can all be OK with Uncle Booth looking out for us, he thought. He'll find Ben a job, he'll take care of us. And in fact, Ben returned that evening glowing, to announce to his mother that Uncle Booth had found him a position with Irvine Company that paid even better than his former job had. He didn't stress Uncle Booth's role, but Jesse could see his mother's misty eyed gratitude.
Mike called him later that night, audibly nervous. "So, um, when do we meet up tomorrow?"
"Same place and all. You OK?"
"Ya, sure. How, uh, how's your uncle?"
"He's fine, same as always. We were always like his family cuz he never got married or anything."
"That's cool."
"Ya." Jesse hesitated. "He, uh, he was asking about my mom's bills getting paid."
"Like he suspected something?"
"Don't think so," Jesse answered, still mulling over that part of their conversation in his mind. "He said he thought it was the guys from the place where my dad worked. Which, y'know, is fine by me, if he thinks that."
"What happens when they deny it?"
Jesse sighed. "Dunno. I guess I just have to be careful - cover my tracks and stuff."
A long pause. "Well, we'll make some real money off this thing tomorrow, maybe we can make things all right so we don't have to worry about it any more."
"Ya." Jesse again felt guilty for pulling Mike into this, for keeping him in it. "I - Mike, we're still OK, right?"
"Course. Why do you think - "
"No, it's OK, I just - I guess I didn't see you today and all, and - it just gets weird sometimes, to me. You know?"
"I know, Jes. It's cool." Another pause. "Besides, if we had seen each other today, we'd be too fucked out to do anything tomorrow," he giggled in a whisper. "I been thinking about you all day, dude."
Jesse smiled. "Oh yeah? About what?"
Mike chuckled. "You know, stuff. Doing stuff, with you. What we do together." He took a breath. "Fucking, and all. Making love."
Jesse lay back on his bed, smiling. The breeze off the water was very strong through his window, and cool. He wrapped himself in his comforter. "I know. I was thinking about it a lot too. All day." He rolled onto his side, facing the window to let the breeze hit his face. "Even with them watching, it's pretty cool, isn't it?"
Mike laughed. "You like being watched - admit it."
Jesse returned the chuckle. "Well, sort of - I mean it's like we're sex stars or something. It - it's, I dunno, weird . . ."
"But you like it."
Jesse was growing tumescent. "Ya. I like it. When we were doing it with Erick, and that day with Kate, and - and getting filmed, and all - it's all pretty intense. Knowing that someone else is there, and sees it all."
Mike grunted softly; Jesse knew he was adjusting himself as well. "Ya. I, um, I like it too, actually."
"Pervert." The both giggled.
Jesse squinted through his window. Scorpio was wheeling across the southern sky above him - he could see its sidelong T formation, and Antares gleaming reddish in its curling tail. Jupiter hung above the constellation like a lantern. It's really clear tonight, he thought - you usually can't make out star colors this close to the coast. Too much haze. It'll be hot tomorrow. "I'm gonna crash here. Manana."
"Ya. You too. Jes?"
"Ya?"
"You know I'm like so in love with you it's sick, right?'
The coolness left Jesse's cheeks, all the chill breezes on earth couldn't stop the color and emotion that rushed upon him. "Yeah," he whispered. "I do. Me too, OK? Like even more, Mike - lots and lots more."
"Say it, Jes. I - I want mushy shit tonight."
Jesse closed his eyes, basking in the heat of his feelings. "I love you, Mike. I fucking love the ground you walk on, and the feet you walk on it with. I love your smile and your hair and your eyes and your lips, and I love the little like mole thing you have on your neck that I can nuzzle on - "
"That's just a freckle, dude."
"Whatever - I love it. And I love your chest and your belly and your arms, and - and your cock, that you fuck me with and that I can suck and make you yell and squirm and come. And - and your ass, and your legs . . .Aw Christ, Mike, if I'm not careful I'm gonna start like loving your shit or something, just cuz it's yours."
Mike giggled. "OK, that's a little too far."
Jesse laughed. "I know, sorry - but you get the point, right? I - I love everything about you, dude. I want to be yours, like - for always."
Mike sighed deeply. "Dude, you already are. And I'm, I'm so totally yours it's pathetic." Another sigh. "Thanks for that. Night."
Jesse slept deeply, but conscious as he'd seldom been that he was, in that place, incomplete. He was alone. Mike wasn't there, he should be there, Jesse wanted, needed him there to hold and be held and to kiss and quietly fuck in the middle of the night. The longing for Mike rang through Jesse's slumber, and ached in him the following morning.
He slipped out of the house early, and ate a burrito at Pedro's before biking down to Carl's for the meet-up. He took along a disposable razor, which he used in the Carl's bathroom to trim himself in the manner Ernie and Falcone had shown him. He wanted to be perfect today, for Mike, for himself, for the people who'd watch the website and get off on his body. He wanted it all to be perfect.
Ernie's van was parked at the outer edge of the lot when he emerged. Mike was already there, in a loose T shirt and shorts. The sun was already bright, and hot. Jesse was wearing an older aloha shirt, unbuttoned and properly faded, with a tank beneath, and boardshorts. Ernie nodded approvingly at him, and they set off.
"Where's, um, Joe?" Mike asked as they pulled onto the freeway headed south. It took him a beat to recall the second camera/sound guy's name, from their last shoot.
"Already there, setting up," Ernie purred, his voice as always unnaturally pleasant and calm. "We have a few more people involved today, because of Julian and Kevin, and because of the outdoor location. It's more complicated, in terms of lighting and sound, to make you all look your best."
Who are - oh, OK," Jesse sank back into the back seat, remembering that there was going to be another couple filming with them. Mike and he exchanged glances.
"They're very nice boys, relax," Ernie said, sensing their apprehension. "Not their real names, of course, but they are legal, for real. So it's important for you boys to keep up appearances with them - with everybody. All right?"
"H - how old are they?" Mike asked.
Kevin is 23, and Julian is 22. I've worked with them quite a few times, for Falcone and for other people. They're very cute, and very giving, and very hot - you'll have loads of fun." He handed back a folder of photographs.
Mike and Jesse gasped. Julian and Kevin were the two guys they had seen on the Voyeur site, riding bikes and making love, back before they'd even agreed to be photographed by Ernie. "They both love your work, by the way," Ernie called back to them.
Neither boy had ever gotten off the freeway at Las Pulgas, a deserted offramp in the middle of the stretch through Camp Pendleton. They sat up, scoping the area out, as they were waved through a checkpoint by a uniformed guard. Jesse remembered Ernie's description of the area as an old RV beach, and squinted to see where there might have been campsites as they trundled over a pretty bad dirt road amid tall rushes. Through the creekbed, Jesse thought - good thing it's summer.
The rushes suddenly parted, and they drove onto an open deep beach washed by long rolling shore breakers, mostly rights. There was clearly room for at least fifty RVs here, but no facilities - hookups for power or waste disposal, campsites, anything - in sight. It was, to all intents and purposes, untouched and unspoiled. "This is the California coastline," Ernie said, a bit wistfully. "This is what it all used to look like. Imagine." They drove along the sand at the upper end of the beach, northward, where the coastal bluffs rose and the beach narrowed beneath them. The bluffs were honeycombed with small cave nests dug by birds, who burst forth in the hundreds as they approached and passed. Jesse's grandfather had taught him some basic birding skills, and now he spied sparrow and Cooper's hawks, redtails, stilts and avocets, linnets, at least three types of grebes, turkey vultures, sparrows, a few egrets, sandpipers, some ruddy turnstones, gulls innumerable. The whole coast, he thought, like this. God's bounty, wheeling and crak-kawing above them in grey-brown clouds before settling back into their hard pan homes in the cliffside. The thought made him inexpressibly sad. So much lost, we'll never get it back. They cheated us out of it, all of them. Our heritage. The marina builders and the home developers and the oil drillers and - and us, too. We cheated ourselves. It took the damn Marines, with their missions of death and destruction, to preserve even this little bit of it. The irony was painful.
The beach beneath the bluffs looked exactly like the stretch along San Onofre where Ernie had originally filmed them. The cliffs here and there ran almost down to the waterline, then curled back to form secluded hollows. They saw some other cars and SUVs ahead, with various items of apparently random equipment standing about them, and people moving about. Ernie pulled up to the ocean side of this grouping, and they got out.
There were about seven tech guys, including Joe, who waved amiably at them, moving lights and parabolic reflectors about on stands. Three other people were piecing together long microphone booms and parabolic sensors. Introductions were fast and confusing, with everyone seeming to know Mike and Jesse and to have some effusive praise for their "work." Everyone seemed drawn, or at least felt entitled, to casually touch or grope them as they chatted.
Mike gestured northward, where another small cluster of cars and equipment appeared set up perhaps a quarter mile away. "What's that?"
"That's where Kevin and Julian are shooting for the morning," Ernie replied. "We're going to get some work on both of you as individual couples, then have you do some things together this afternoon - well, later on, anyway. The sooner the better, after all."
"Right," Jesse said absently as he stared down the beach.
"So," Ernie said, clapping his hands together, "let's get started. We'll have you walk up the beach - say from about that point there - just casually, you can ouch each other a bit id you want, whatever feels natural, and when you get to about here -" he motioned to an area of sand that was semicircled by sound and lighting equipment "- you can throw down your towels, lie together and just do what comes naturally. No real dialogue here, I just want you to go with it. A nice sunny day, two hot boys hot for each other, and let it happen. All right?"
The boys nodded. "Um, do you want us to, like, do anything in particular?" Mike asked. His cheeks were a bit flushed.
Ernie smiled. "Let's keep it to just oral for now, Jamie, OK? I'll sort of lead you along once you start playing. Just like last time." He stepped to them and spoke confidentially. "I trust you boys, you're so natural together. Falcone up there practically has to tell Julian and Kevin to inhale."
The boys recoiled. "F - Falcone's here?" Jesse asked.
Ernie nodded. "He's taken a very personal interest in today's shoot. I think he knows how much money it'll make if we do it right. Besides," he shrugged, "I can't be in two places at once. Somebody has to shoot them." His bland smile, if intended to comfort them, didn't do the trick.
Jesse and Mike were at it soon thereafter. They chatted idly as they walked to the designated area, as instructed, trying to ignore the cameras pointing at them and the guy walking parallel to them down by the surf line pointing a parabolic mike at them to catch their conversation. Once they were on their blankets, Mike became aggressive, as Ernie gently urged him on, stripping Jesse and sucking him lovingly for several minutes before lifting his lover's legs high and rooting his face into Jesse's crack. For his part, Jesse surrendered himself to the feelings, loving Mike's mouth and hands on him, and barely conscious of the people moving carefully about them. He arched his hips upward to give Mike deeper access, pawed at Mike's head with his hand, groaned. Suddenly Mike moved into a 69 position, his crotch above Jesse's face, and Jesse hungrily pulled him downward. They rolled around like this for some time, fellating and rimming each other, as Ernie led them through the various poses and positions he wanted in order to get the most explicit footage possible.
Jesse felt himself approaching the boiling point. "Oh God," he panted, "gonna come soon if - "
"That's fine, Ronnie," Ernie whispered. "Go for it. Jamie, we need to see it, let it go on your face, all right?" Mike nodded, continuing to suck on Jesse as Jesse clutched at Mike's hips, unable to suck him any more, moaning and unable to control the bucking of his hips. He squeezed Mike a little to give him a final signal - the last rational act he could muster - and Mike moved back from Jesse's cock to stroke him the final few seconds before Jesse exploded, with a keening cry, all over Mike's face, throat, and upper torso. Cameras were very close to both their faces, he was conscious of how loud he was being, how much he was thrashing about. Part of him was embarrassed, but he realized that they didn't care, that in fact this was exactly what they wanted. He let go completely, let his orgasm knife through him. It took him nearly a minute to recover.
When he did, he sat up and kissed Mike deeply, gratefully, licking his ejaculate from Mike's face as best he could, letting the rest smear over both of them. Then he dove back down to Mike's erection, determined to give him as awesome a time as he'd just had. It didn't take long - Mike was already pretty turned on from having Jesse come on him like he had, and had been sucked to a fairly advanced state of arousal before Jesse had lost control. Within two minutes Mike was in his turn bucking beneath Jesse ministrations, his belly contracting and expanding in a series of loud "huh - huuh - HUUUHHHH" cries as he rode over he crest. Jesse took his mouth off Mike's cock just in time to get the first massive spray of his orgasm almost in his eyes, a second directly into his gasping opened mouth, at least three more over his lips, chin and throat, and finally smaller globs that drooled onto his neck and chest. He was smiling beatifically, and rolled onto his back, licking his lips. "God, Jamie," he said, "you taste go good," before Mike appeared above him and they kissed. Funny how we can use those names so naturally now with each other, he thought. Like we're not really us.
Ernie's applause, which the rest of the crew joined, ended that portion of the shoot several seconds later. Suddenly embarrassed by their nudity and the mess on their bodies, the boys huddled together, unwilling to separate. Jesse was still winded, and he could feel Mike's chest heaving. "Oh baby," he whispered into Mike's chest as Mike ran a hand ran through his hair, "Oh Mike."
Ernie was on his knees next to them on the blanket. "You boys OK? Why don't you clean up in the ocean while we reconfigure for the fun part. There's food in the van, you should get out of the sun." He ran a hand down each of their backs, and briefly fondled each of them on the ass. Mike stared hard at Jesse. Ernie had never touched either of them like that - erotically - before. The spell was broken. They pulled their boardshorts on quickly and moved away, down to the breakers.
The other shoot had apparently ended - the RVs and equipment were gone. Jesse and Mike looked warily at each other as they glanced back inshore at the group that was walking toward their encampment. The joint shooting was about to begin.
They met Kevin and Julian at the van, when they waded back in to get some food. The two were lounging in the rearmost seat, legs casually entwined with each other, and apparently not much interested in small talk. Kevin was very blond, and tan, but it was an orangey looking version of a tan - the kind that gets sprayed on rather then burned in by sun exposure. When he smiled politely at Jesse when they appeared for their sandwiches, Jesse noticed that several of the small crinkle lines of his smile remained after the smile faded, especially around his eyes. He seemed, despite his pseudo-tan, to be wan - worn out, somehow. Julian was little better. His hair was jet black - again, not entirely a natural black, but an over the top shade that seemed not altogether natural. He was very pale, with a thin, pinched face and sunken eyes. He didn't return Jesse's smile of greeting, gazing absently past Jesse at some point in the middle distance, scratching the inside of his forearm.
Both of them were wearing extremely small, lime-green Speedos, which highlighted their genitals. The look was mildly ridiculous to Jesse, especially for young people supposedly lounging on the beach on a surf town. You wore those things for swim meets, Jesse thought, not here. At the beach, you wear boardshorts. The lack of authenticity seemed to amuse Mike as well, who subtly rolled his eyes at Jesse as they turned away to eat their lunch in the front seat, Jesse on the seat itself, Mike propped on the doorsill. Against his better nature, Jesse snorted to himself: That's so gay.
They all sat in silence for about fifteen minutes, until Denny Falcone suddenly appeared. He looked even more ridiculous - a breathtakingly loud aloha shirt, open and flapping, revealing a flabby chest and belly covered in dark hair, with very short shorts and tennis shoes. "Here's all my boys!" he called out, slapping Mike on the shoulder (and leaving his meaty hand there an extra second, causing Mike to shrink away slightly).
Kevin and Julian both immediately sat up attentively. "Hi, Denny," Julian said, in an exaggeratedly feminine voice. Jesse and Mike exchanged another glance. Julian was clambering up toward the front, where he embraced Falcone awkwardly, running his thin hands under the aloha shirt. "How did it all look?"
"Fabulous, baby," Falcone cooed, stroking Julian's lank hair. Julian stepped past Falcone onto the beach with a self-satisfied smile, and Kevin is his turn embraced Falcone, giving him another once-over with his hands. "You boys are just money together. Just like Ronnie and Jamie here!! Can always count on you boys. We're going to have some hot times this afternoon!!" The prospect seemed to have Falcone on the brink of losing all control. He hurried away. "Let me see if Ernie's ready for you yet."
Kevin joined Julian outside the van, and the two for the first time looked directly at Mike and Jesse. "So," Kevin said, running his hands with forced casualness through his blond curls, his left hip cocked provocatively outward, "you're the new trade, huh?" Julian smirked.
"Um, no. Well, yes, actually, I guess," Mike stammered. Jesse was too embarrassed to answer. "I mean, we're like new - to all this, and stuff. Th - that's all."
Julian smiled condescendingly, scratching at his arm. "Well, you sure look like you've got the hang of it so far."
"Yeah, I guess," Jesse managed to mumble. Both Kevin and Julian had tucked their cocks pointing upward in their Speedos, making them completely visible now that they were standing before him. The sight was somehow unnerving. "So, um, how - how long have you guys been - y'know, doing this?"
Kevin and Julian glanced at each other and shared a slight giggle. "Long enough, baby," Julian simpered. "We started 'posing' - " he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers as he said that - "for Denny back in high school, 'waited tables - " more quotation marks - "at his restaurant in Hollywood for a couple of years, the whole trick. This Voyeur thing is only about a year old now."
Kevin grinned. "The whole 'caught in the act' thing was our idea, actually. Denny likes to walk in and see us fucking - to watch, pretend we don't know he's there - and we figured if he got off on that there're probably thousands of other guys who'd get off on it too. We just needed content. So . . ." He extended his arms outward. His voice wasn't effeminate, exactly, but it had some edge to it that rang false in Jesse's ear.
"So after we gave Denny the initial 'content,'" Julian added, "Ernie started combing the countryside. He got some nice stuff - you've looked all through the site, of course, I'm sure - but he and Denny just busted a nut when they got you two cuties."
The way he said it made the term very uncomplimentary. He kept cocking his head to one side, as if twitching slightly.
"It's all good," Kevin said airily, waving his hand. "Lots of money for everybody. Besides, we're getting too old for the chickenhawks."
Julian slapped Kevin's shoulder lightly. "Speak for yourself, bitch."
They both looked again at Jesse and Mike, gesturing them to step out of the van. Nervously, the boys complied. Julian and Kevin walked slowly around them both, in turn, occasionally running a hand over a shoulder, a pectoral, a flank, the small of the back. "So," Kevin said upon completing his inspection, "tell us how you're treated at your high school."
Mike and Jesse glanced at each other. "We, um, we're, we're like -" How old am I supposed to be, Jesse tried to remember "- we're 19 and all, we're way out of high school - "
"Oh, darling, be real, it's just us girls here!" Julian giggled at him. It was now officially impossible for Jesse to blush to any deeper shade. "We're not that stupid, you know. So do you get treated OK as a gay couple in high school?"
"We - we're not, like - we just, um, got together, like, over the summer, so- "
"Aaahhhh, and school opens next week," Julian nodded. "So ,are you going to hide it, or are you going to be out and open?"
Jesse and Mike exchanged nervous glances. The thought of how to act at school had ever really entered their heads. We'll just be like always, won't we? Jesse thought, before he realized how profoundly things had changed over the summer. Would it show? Would they get harassed, beat up . . .
Julian seemed to sense Jesse's sudden preoccupation. "You'll be fine, baby," he cooed, placing a cold hand on Jesse's arm. "You both look straight as a Boy Scout. No sign. Much easier that way."
Kevin took Julian by both shoulders from behind. "Juli here was the gayest thing North Hollywood High ever saw," he smiled, pulling Julian back into an embrace.
"Mmmmm, but I had a big strong man to watch over me," Julian said, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed into Kevin's embrace. His head, however, kept jerking subtly to one side every few seconds. Kevin was smiling, but the smile seemed to make his face looked parchment-like.
Jesse noticed marks on the inside of Julian's forearm, just below the elbow. Holy shit, he thought.
Ernie was suddenly standing next to them all. "Ready, boys?"