Sophomore Year 27
In this chapter, Hank listens to Buck tell a story and learns about Mel's past as well as a run-down motel on the coast where enlisted men can let off a little steam.
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Sophomore Year 27
We got back in the car and rolled down the windows. Buck tossed the stuff he'd bought on the dashboard and said, "Hey, sorry about the suit, son. I know you had your heart set on it, but it's really gonna help us out tomorrow."
"That's OK, sir." And I meant it. "Thank you for getting me the football pants. I'm real excited about those."
"Yeah, me too." And Buck picked them up off the dashboard and held them up so we could both see them. "Bet these are gonna look amazin' on ya once we get `em cut off good and short."
"Not too short, though..." my modesty resurfaced.
"Not to worry, Sailor. Ole Uncle Buck knows just what he's doin'. See, guys with thick legs like yours," and here he reached over and squeezed my upper thigh, his fingertips gently grazing my balls, "look good in really short stuff. It's the skinny guys need to go longer."
I nodded along, my face flushed, thinking that made sense and wondering just how short Buck had in mind.
"Course ya gonna need help squeezin' into these babies, `specially at first." Staring at the lace-up panel on the front, he whispered, half to himself, "These gonna fit tight as a motherfucker."
I gasped a bit at the profanity. For some reason, this conversation had me feeling warm all over.
Breaking the tension, Buck joked, "Maybe we'll need to grease ya up real good all over so ya just slide right into `em."
That made us both laugh, but then the jumble of images Buck's words set off in mind had me lost deep in thought. I glanced over at the front of Buck's shorts and was surprised to see that the flap behind the front laces was back in place. When had that happened, I wondered.
Maybe noticing my silence, Buck paused before turning the key and looked over at me. "How ya feelin' there, Sailor? Ya doin' OK?"
"Yessir," I answered slowly, "Just my head's spinning a little."
"I'll bet it is!" Buck exclaimed. "You and Mel kinda had a little moment in there, huh?"
"Yeah," still speaking slowly, as though slightly dazed, I was trying to get my thoughts in order. "I like him. He's a really nice man."
"He is a really nice man," Buck agreed, "and he really likes you, in case you didn't notice."
"Really, sir?" I was always surprised to hear that anyone had taken much notice of me. "I just figured he was probably that nice to everybody."
"Not that nice," Buck laughed, "offerin' merchandise for free to somebody he just met? That's not Mel's usual M.O."
"Huh..." Buck's words were confusing me further.
"And," he went on, "if that's the suit I think he's talking about, he loves that suit. He's had it forever. He's crazy about it."
"Maybe, sir," I tried to think of an explanation, "maybe he's just tired of it and wants to get a new one?"
"Hank, baby," Buck turned in his seat to face me and gently touched my cheek, "that suit for Mel is about like that Bike #10 jockstrap cradlin' your balls right now is for you. Think you'd be likely to give that jock away to a guy you just met?"
I'm sure my eyes and my mouth popped open as Buck's words sunk in. I asked, "So, the suit is really special for him?"
"Special as special can be, little man." Buck tapped my cheek.
The notion that a swimsuit, or pair of shorts or a jockstrap could take on special meaning for a guy was something that had never really occurred to me before, but now after a few days at Buck's and inheriting a revered jockstrap that felt like heaven on my balls and modeling shorts with Buck and a swimsuit with Captain B and showing off in that singlet in front of Earl and then Sonny, well, the bond between a guy and what encased his privates took on new dimensions.
It was a very unexpected but exciting part of my recent growth. And it sounded like I wasn't the only one; that lots of guys had a piece or two of gear that was special for them. I was really intrigued to know how this worked with other guys. "So, why's that suit so special for Mel?" I really wanted to know.
"Oh," Buck sounded dismissive, "that's too long a story to get into now." And he leaned forward to turn the key, as though closing the subject.
This of course just sharpened my curiosity. "Oh, please, sir!" I grabbed the arm holding the key, as if to stop him. "Please tell it!"
"Now? Here? You really wanna sit here and listen to me yammer about somethin' happened years ago?"
"More than anything, sir!" and that was the truth. I had come to really appreciate Buck's skill as a storyteller and for some reason, his stories always left me feeling better. I suspected that maybe some flattery would help convince him.
"I love your stories, sir! You're such a great storyteller, it's like it comes to life the way you tell it. I'll bet your boys loved hearing your bedtime stories. I know I wish I had." I was now holding his arm in both hands and gently stroking the fur that covered it.
"Bedtime stories, huh?" Buck echoed my words and looked at me sideways, as if trying to assess how much I was telling the truth or bullshitting him. I think either way he was amused and started smiling. "Alright then, you asked for it."
This was music to my ears. I settled in for another good one as Buck leaned back in the seat and stared out the windshield collecting his thoughts.
"'Bout ten years ago, when Mel first moved here, he decided to drive down to the coast and do some `bikini watchin' on the boardwalk' he said, and he got some old Navy buds here to go with him."
"Now, of course, nobody had enough money to stay at a decent place right on the beach, so they stayed at this crappy old motel a few blocks in that mostly caters to servicemen."
"Place is like one of those motor lodges from the old days, y'know, before the big chains took over. Was probably pretty nice about 30 years ago, but now kinda run down. Old style. Built around a center courtyard with a pool. `Bout half the rooms are like a regular motel with their own bathroom and all, and about half are bigger shared rooms like in a hostel with toilets and showers down the hall.
"Kind of like some of the older dorm buildings." I remembered visiting one during a campus tour and freaking out at the prospect of having to shower in the open.
"Yeah, back then, it wasn't that unusual to offer cheap places to stay like "tourist camps." Most of `em been torn down by now, but a few still around. And it works perfect for this place."
"Owner's an old ex-army guy himself. Says he wanted a place enlisted men could let of a little steam without havin' to break the bank. So, it's pretty bare bones. In the shared rooms ya got bunk beds, card table, some benches and chairs, a trunk at the foot of the bed to stow your gear. All the comforts of home—if home is a barracks!" Buck laughed.
"Anything extra ya want, a fan, a tv, a hot plate, a mirror, ya have to rent out. Pretty smart, really. Guys have to leave a deposit for everything, so they take decent care of it. Cuz things can get rowdy. With all the military bases in that area, it's one of the few places ya see guys from the different branches hangin' out together. And, of course, always some fights startin' up, too."
"Owner's got the courtyard fixed up pretty nice, at least. Pool's still working, got some lounge chairs. Used to be a covered bar area at one end, he's now got that set up with free weights and some patio furniture and a TV with games goin' and of course, titty magazines out the wazoo."
Buck's tone describing the place was kind of disparaging, but it reminded me of that old print I'd seen in his gym of a Roman bath, with guys just hanging out and totally relaxed. For some reason, that print had entranced me, and I was intrigued that such a place existed in this day and age.
"So, anyway," Buck went on, "Mel and his buddies get there, take the cheapest option, beds in a shared `bunkhouse' with toilets and showers down the hall. But these guys are vets, they're used to the set up. They don't give a shit, they're here for fun," and here Buck pinched my nipple, making me jump, "just like you college boys on spring break."
I started to protest that I'd never been on spring break, but let the comment go so we could get on with the story.
"So, they throw on their suits and head out for the pool where's there already a bunch o' guys tossin' back some brews, playin' music, you know, lettin' off some steam."
"Now, believe it or not, Mel's the kinda guy can disappear in a crowd, so he's sorta hangin' in the background, checkin' things out."
"All the guys are barefoot and shirtless, wearin' just a swimsuit or their underwear, swimmin' and layin' around the pool, pagin' through titty magazines or liftin' or watchin' the game or playin' poker. Mel's gettin' into it, it's just what he was needin'."
"Yeah, sounds pretty nice to me, too." I add.
Buck cast a sideways glance at me, like assessing the impact of telling me this story. After a moment, he conceded, "Well, sure, all's goin' great right up until this big blowhard staff sergeant shows up and starts struttin' around, makin' lotsa noise, showin' off on the weights, beatin' everybody at poker, cadgin' beers off guys. A real jerk."
Sounded like some of the guys on my swim team, I thought. My stomach hurt to recall it.
"At one point," Buck continued, "this sarge guy gets up on a table and starts posin' like a body builder on stage, tryin' to be the center of attention. And it's not like guys never do that. They actually call this particular table the stage' and do all kinda crazy shit on it after a lot to drink, but nobody's interested in feedin' this guy's ego. So, instead of praising his muscles, some airman hollers, Oh, look, a fashion show. Hey, who designed yer suit?'"
"And the sarge is kinda pissed off that guys are snickerin', so he starts braggin' about how he worked security on some fancy yacht in the Mediterranean and ended up fuckin' the boss's wife and how she just gave him the suit as a present, how's it Italian or some shit and cost a fortune. The guy's bein' a real asshole."
"And truth is, says Mel, the suit don't even fit the guy all that good. Says it was a size or two too small and just squished him flat in front, like a storefront mannequin, so it wasn't lettin' `im show any kinda decent profile, kinda sad for a guy who's trying to play the big hero."
"Huh?" I said before I realized it. "Not sure I follow, sir..."
"Well, let's say he's actin' like a bull but lookin' like a cow. That make sense?"
"A cow?" I'm more confused than ever. "You mean, like `fat as a cow?"
"OK," Buck settles back, "let's see if I can put in this terms you might understand: When you're actin' like," and here Buck held up his palm up as though jiggling a large ball, "ya got some big `cojones,'" and he pronounced the Spanish surprisingly well, "but they are nowhere in evidence."
"Oh," it was slowly dawning on me what Buck was saying.
"Particularly when you're wearing a suit that oughta be showcasin' `em."
"Oh..." I was starting to catch on.
"Showcasin' `em," Buck repeated for emphasis, "like when ya wear that singlet."
"OH!" this caught me off guard.
"Or those nice white shorts."
"Ahh," I flashed on the memory of modeling them in front of him.
"Or, from what I'm told, that sweet little swimsuit the captain lent you the other night."
"Yeah, but," I started to disagree, "it didn't really cover..."
"From what I heard," Buck interrupted, "it covered absolutely every square inch it needed to, and..." here he gave me a little wink, "not one inch more!" Buck's comments had me blushing.
Switching into a Groucho Marx voice, Buck went on, "So, stick with me, kiddo, and we'll make sure all that good stuff," and here he pinched my nipple again, "is showcased to perfection." So now he had me laughing and blushing at the same time, he had such a way of teasing me.
"But, back to our story." Buck straightened in his seat. "So, this guy spots Mel laughin' with his buddies and figures he's an easy target so starts pickin' on him, givin' him shit, makin' fun of Mel's suit which is just his old standard issue Navy swimmer, doesn't fit him all that good, kinda saggy and with rips and tears from years of use. And Mel feels bad cuz he doesn't have a lot of money and that's all he can afford.
So, after a while the sergeant's getting' pretty tanked, he's been playin' poker for a while and winnin' money off a lotta guys, getting' louder and more obnoxious and none of the guys wanna play with him anymore."
"So, he looks over, spots Mel and challenges him to a hand, and, like everybody else, Mel's pissed at this jerk, but smart enough to play like he don't know much about cards, when truth is, he's a total shark."
"So, Mel says Sorry, I'm no good at cards and I ain't got no money to bet, all I got's the suit on my ass." And the staff sergeant's laughin' to himself, thinkin' he's gonna leave ole Mel bare-assed, y'know, get even with im for laughin' at im earlier. So he goes, Alright, let's play for our suits then."
So, all the guys who know Mel's real sharp at cards stand around watchin' this game, hopin' finally somebody'll show this blowhard, and sure enough, Mel creams him and wins that damn swimsuit right off his ass in a single game of five card stud!"
"The staff sergeant tries to backpedal and talk his way out of it, but the guys start chantin' `Strip! Strip!' and he sees he got no choice, so he slowly starts peelin' it off, pissed as hell, and the guys bust out hootin' and clappin'."
"And the sergeant's so pissed he takes the suit and tries to throw it on the ground in front of Mel, so he'll have to stoop down to get it, but one of the other guys standin' nearby intercepts the throw, and holdin' the suit up with both hands, marches over to Mel to present it, like it's the crown and this is a coronation or somethin'."
"Mel can't believe this is happenin', but he goes along with it and bows and takes the suit, and just stands there tryin' to figure out what to do next. And the guys start clappin' for him `cuz everybody's so happy to see the jerk sarge get his fair due."
"And they start shoutin' for Mel to put the suit on, but he just hesitates, kinda stunned by it all, and the guys finally gang up on him and pull his suit off and start slappin' his bare ass and grabbin' his balls before puttin' the new one on him and pullin' it up. They're just playin' with him, y'know, like lettin' him know he's now one of the gang."
I can't imagine what it must have felt like to be Mel in that situation. I was pretty sure I'd be thinking about that a lot.
"And turns out the damn suit fits him tons better than it did the sergeant. The guys are teasin' him, whistlin' and makin' cat calls and pinchin' his ass. He's actin' like he's tryin' to escape, but really, he's havin' a blast. And then they lift him up on the table and start hollerin' `Flex! Flex!'"
"So Mel starts flexin' a little and the guys are goin' crazy with the cat calls, and somebody turns up the music and they start yellin' `Shake it, baby, shake that moneymaker!' and handin' him shots and tuckin' dollar bills in his suit, like he's a stripper. Mel says it was one of the wildest, craziest nights he can remember."
"Oh, and so feelin' generous, Mel tosses his old suit to the sarge who's still just standing there naked, watchin' it all, half in shock, and the sarge catches it, shrugs and pulls it on, and the guys start clappin' for him, too, cuz it seems like some kinda peace treaty or somethin'."
"And turns out, Mel's old suit fits this sarge really good, gives im some room to move, ya might say, and he's happy now, dancin' around in Mel's Navy speedo. And the suit's not just givin' im some decent profile, there's also some pretty fun skin peeks from the rips and tears. So, the sarge is feelin' all darin' and cool. Guys are comin' up and stickin' their fingers in the holes, ticklin' him, and all that puts him in a good mood."
"So, anyway, Mel ends up bein' kinda the hero, and ever since he calls it his lucky suit. Ask him about it sometime. He loves tellin' how he got it. And he wears that damn suit everywhere in the summer. Invite him to a cookout, volleyball game, watch a game on TV, Mel shows up in his suit."
"And he takes real good care of it. Busted out the seams a few times and had `em repaired. Then he took a damn sewin' class to learn how himself! If ya tell Mel to get dressed up in the summer, to him that means his suit with a polo shirt and shoes and socks." Buck laughed.
"Wow," I'm amazed at so many elements in this story. I'm fantasizing about having a lucky suit of my own. "I can't wait to see this suit. Think I could get Mel to try it on for me?"
"Oh, my little Boy Scout," Buck started teasing, "at this point, I don't think there's much you couldn't get Mel to do for you!"
I laughed along, although I wasn't exactly sure of what Buck meant by that. I decided to shift the topic a bit. "So, you've been to this motel at the beach? It sounds like a fun place."
"Yeah," Buck gave a heavy exhale. "Been there like twice. Can be fun but it gets really rowdy sometimes, too much for me even."
"Does Mel ever go back there?" I asked. "Seems like that would cheer him up."
"Well," Buck explained, "he doesn't really have anybody around here to go with. Not since his buds took off. And he's not up to goin' by himself. He's tried to get me to go with him, but between the boys and work and the gym, I can't get away."
"Maybe I could I go with him sometime?" I was starting to warm to this idea.
"Jeez, Hank, I'd be afraid of Mel taking you there. Not sure he could protect you from those beasts." He halfway laughed.
"Protect me?" I was surprised. "Why? What would they do to me?"
"Well, those guys love playin' games, see? And they always lookin' for innocent guys they can play pranks on, and sometimes those pranks can get pretty...well, let's say, I don't think you're quite ready for `em yet. But tell ya what, next summer, you still wanna go, we can talk about it."
I figured I'd have to make do with that and meanwhile would contemplate all I'd heard about this place near the beach. Despite Buck's cautions, as he had talked about it, I couldn't help but think about that framed art of a Roman bath in the gym, of all the guys just hanging out together, totally at ease and comfortable.
I said as much to Buck, which made him chuckle a bit. "So, do the guys ever hang around...naked there, like in the picture?" I ask sheepishly.
"Aah, lotta em'd love to, but the owner says he's gotta keep from gettin' shut down, so he has signs up around the pool, No Skinnydipping!' Keeps a basket of used suits in the office in case a guy needs one and ain't too picky. Says his three biggest problems are fights, glass bottles, and nakedness. If you're stayin' there and willin' to help keep order, he'll give ya a discount."
"So, at any rate," Buck returned to his tale, "that's why the suit's so special to Mel. Can't figure out why he'd be ready to give away his favorite suit ..." Buck mused, sort of speaking to himself, "...unless..." an idea seemed to be forming in Buck's mind.
"Unless what, sir?" I was eager to hear.
"Unless he thought...or hoped..." Buck seemed to say the words as they took shape in his mind, "that he'd be...sharin' it somehow."
"I don't understand, sir." I was genuinely puzzled.
"Listen," and Buck settled in for another explanation. "Mel had a girlfriend for a long time and last year she moved away and took their dog and most of their stuff and his two Navy buds moved off before that, so poor guy's been really lonely and just trying to...'connect' with people, I guess is the way I'd put it."
"Aww, that's sad. I feel sorry for him," I said.
"Yeah, me too," Buck agreed, "Mel's a real sweet guy, generous, affectionate, just full of love. Thing is, he don't got a way to express all that now, so sometimes it comes out all...jumbled, let's say, and leave it at that."
"I think I understand," I nodded, "I mean, that sounds totally understandable."
"Oh, yeah," Buck clarified, "I'm not judgin' or criticizin' one bit. A lot of us guys find ourselves in similar situations. Jack says me and Mel are like two peas in a pod. Says we're charter members of the Lonely Hearts Club."
Buck laughed and before I could ask him to elaborate on that topic, he turned serious again and added, "Just be a little careful around Mel is all I'm sayin', Hank. You are a very sweet, gentle boy who for some reason makes a lot of us guys feel all warm and...paternal, and that can get mixed up with a lot of other feelins' for a guy like Mel, especially when he's drinkin'."
All sorts of feelings flooded through me at hearing Buck's words. A father figure was exactly what had been missing my whole life, and despite my best efforts to ignore and deny it, I was starting to recognize it more and more.
And here Buck was saying that I was triggering paternal feelings. It sort of sounded like a dream come true.
Perhaps sensing that I was not reacting with sufficient sense of caution, Buck held my chin firmly for emphasis. "Do NOT get caught drinkin' alone with that guy! Unless you want him slobberin' all over those pretty little nips of yours moanin' `Donna, Donna, Donna'!"
Buck laughed again, leaving me more befuddled than ever. I tried to make sense of his words and was so engrossed that I was shocked to realize I'd been rubbing my nipple and gotten hard again. What was wrong with me?
Hoping to quickly distract Buck and change the topic, I grabbed the stuff we'd just bought off the dashboard and set it on my lap, then blurted, "So, tell me about this parking lot adventure Mel mentioned."
"Jeez, I was hopin' to forget that little episode. `Misadventure' is more like it."
"Aww, c'mon, sir!" I pulled on his arm, and recalling what he'd just said about feeling paternal, put on my best little boy voice, and said, "Please, Daddy, please!"
Buck looked at me, both surprised and pleased. "Whoa, you sure know how to get your way with the ole man, huh?"
Daring to take it a bit further, I grabbed his hand, batted my eyes and said, "Baby wuv Da-da!"
We both burst out laughing and Buck said, "OK, OK, I'll tell it. Just no more baby talk! Or I'll have to put ya in diapers!" More laughter. "And drop ya off on Mel's doorstep!" It was amazing how Buck and I could get each other laughing so hard, especially around topics that might otherwise be awkward.