MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY
Chapter 4
by Donny Mumford
Charlie is eager to experience anal sex and wants me to do it with him. I'm pretty sure he means me as the 'top,' but to clarify that for both of us, I asked him, "So, you're ready to feel a hard cock in your ass, huh?" He said, 'yes, so that settles that.
Gesturing with my hand at our surroundings, I go, "Okay, Charlie, we'll do it here, although we'd be hard-pressed to find a more challenging spot. Ya know, sand isn't conducive to premium anal sex. We're Navy Seals though and used to challenges, so we'll make do." He grins and yells, "Hooyah!"
Haha, 'hooyah' is a Navy Seal battle cry that, in my experience, is used pretty much exclusively among fellow Seals as more of a joke than anything else. I mean, I've never heard a Seal yell it in an actual combat situation.
After yelling 'hooyah!', Charlie says, "Un-huh, I can see how sand could be a problem, yep." I go, "Not an insurmountable one, however," and I take my arm off his shoulders to pull my shirt over my head, adding, "I'll donate my shirt for you to lie your bare ass on." Charlie pulls his t-shirt off, saying, "My shirt, too."
Holding up my hand to stop him from putting his shirt on the sand, I tell him, "Not yet, Charlie. Um, for now, hold the shirt on your lap." We both carefully keep our shirts away from the sand, and I go, "Here's what I'm thinking, dude. We first smoke a joint to help you relax. Relaxing is tremendously important for a first-timer." He nods, "Yeah, sure. Fantastic idea, bro."
Taking the three joints from my shirt pocket, I hold one up, asking, "So, you agree, right?" He grins as he's doing another in his long series of nervous chuckles and says, "Absolutely! It's awesome working through this with a fellow Seal." He makes a gulping sound before adding, "Um, so, yeah, sure, light it up."
Taking my Bic lighter out, I say, "Fortunately, there's only a gentle breeze tonight. The wind tends to blow sand around." He grins, "Yeah,
and we've cleverly taken refuse behind this, um, hill of sand." I mutter, "Barely hidden too, but..." and again, I look up and down the street that's a mere five yards in front of our dune. I mumble, "We're good... nothing is moving."
As I'm lighting the joint, Charlie appears eager and nervous in equal portions, which seems the right combination of emotions for a first-timer. The 'eager' part needs to be present or, for me, this situation would fall under the category of too-much-trouble, and I'd bail out of it as gracefully as possible. Actually, if Charlie weren't a fellow Navy Seal, I'd have bailed out of this already. Breaking in a first-timer can sometimes be a pain in the ass... no pun intended. And, if he weren't at least a little nervous to go with being excited, I'd wonder about that.
Another thing I'm conscious of not making this seem as though I'm doing him a favor, even though I am. Well, some guys consider it a privilege to take a guy's cherry, so that's another way of looking at it.
Taking a drag off the joint, I hold the smoke in my lungs for a bit and immediately feel a jolt from the drug. Yeah, well, this is good shit, laced with a touch of cocaine. Exhaling, I pass the joint to Charlie, who says, "Thanks," and takes a 'tote' from it in a manner that tells me he knows what he's doing. This isn't his first marijuana rodeo, in other words.
We pass the joint back and forth without talking, which is a welcome change from spending time with talkative Joe. He and I didn't smoke pot together, but if we had, I know Joe would have talked his way through it and, thereby, ruining it for me. Not so with Charlie, who finally takes the last hit, finishing off the roach, and then flicking it over his shoulder, the roach sails over the dune. Still holding our shirts in our laps, we lie back against the dune looking goofily up at the night sky. Yeah, that fucking joint got us high.
A few minutes later, I'm coming down but still feeling really good, murmuring, "How ya doing, Charlie?" He goes, "I'm good, I'm ready. Tell me what to do, bro." No nervous chuckling from Charlie this time. Fucking pot rocks!
There's no nervous chuckling, but Charlie looks at me, adding, "Um, unless you wanted to do another joint first." I take that as him wanting to smoke another one, so I pick up one of the two remaining joints and mumble, "Sure, one more." Then, we do the same quiet passing of the joint back and forth, and by the time we finish it, our heads are sort of lulling around as if we can't hold them up. That gets us laughing our balls off because pot can make things seem funnier than they actually are.
A few minutes later, shaking my head, I go, "Holy shit, we need to get it together, dude. You ready?" He nods, "Oh yeah. I'm as ready as a bitch, motherfucker," and he again yells, "Hooyah!"
We both bust a gut laughing at that too. Then, getting the laughing under control again, I go, "Okay, motherfucker, let's carefully make a shirt-blanket on this motherfucking sand."
After trying it with the shirts next to one another, we decide to put them long-wise, which would have been obvious from the start if we weren't high. With the shirts length-wise, his face won't be in the sand. Looking at the improvised 'shirt blanket,' Charlie goes, "Yeah, that looks inviting. I'll try lying my 'junk' a couple of inches below the insignia on your shirt's pocket."
Standing away from the shirts, he takes his shorts off, then his underwear, and, just like that, hanging in the breeze is his, um, aforementioned junk. He pulls on his dick once, then grins at me. Hmm, a very uninhibited young man. Well, the two joints have a little something to do with reducing inhibition.
Charlie has an average size penis, maybe five inches in its present state of limpness. Because we're surrounded by sand, the least amount of rustling around makes sense to me, so I'm not going to get undressed. I'll pull my pecker out through the fly of my shorts when I need it.
I go, "Okay, let me help you lie down on these 'effing shirts without kicking sand on them." We do that standing next to the shirts, me holding his waist as he drops his hands on either side of the shirts in a push-up position. With his feet outside the shirts, he drops down on them with his crotch settling down, leaving eighteen inches of my shirt stretching out below his ass and his face a few inches from the top end of his t-shirt. I mutter, "Bullseye."
Kneeling between his legs, I go, "Okay, Charlie, just relax. I'm going to massage your thighs, buttocks, and back. When I'm ready to move on from that, I'll tell you. No surprises." As I rub both hands up and down his back, I mumble, "We're going for a completely relaxed body. Um, your body, not mine."
With his chin resting on his crossed forearms, Charlie lies there listening to me quietly telling him what he can expect or might expect, including giving him the magic stop-word, which is 'stop.' As I quietly talk, I continue massaging the back of his thighs, then his plump but firm buttocks. He sure seems relaxed, and, as I already said, the 'pot' has a lot to do with that.
After maybe five minutes, hearing nothing from Charlie, I get worried I may have put him to sleep, so I stop rubbing his hot body and murmur, "I'm moving on to the next step, Charlie." He nods, murmuring, "Un-huh," and I take two condom packets from my shorts. Ripping one of them open, I tell him, "I'm going to get some lubricant from this condom and rub it on your asshole. This isn't, um, 'it' yet. I just want to be sure to use plenty of slippery stuff. Plus, I'm going to try relaxing the muscles in your rectum. Your sphincter muscles, in other words, the one inside and the one outside your ass. I'll be putting my finger in there too."
He murmurs, "I'm looking forward to that, Zach. Hell, I don't think I've ever been more relaxed. This is awesome, bro." Pushing lubricant with my fingertip around his asshole, I mutter, "It will eventually get better too." Then, as my finger goes around and around his anus, I tell him, "When I first penetrate, even with my finger, there will be discomfort initially, but not much." Charlie does his nervous chuckle, murmuring, "No problem, I've total confidence in a brother Seal."
Yeah, well. Putting my finger in the condom, I push gently on his anus, then a little harder, and my finger slips inside his body. He goes, "Ooh," but doesn't tighten up his rectum muscles; well, not a lot anyway. That's encouraging.
After gently pushing my finger in as far as I can, I pull it back and do it again, and again, and again. When I rub right on his button, his prostate, that gets his body squirming on the shirts with Charlie murmuring, "Umm, mmm, mmm," as he's lifting his ass. After more one-finger butt fucking, he settles down, lying flat again, and I slip my middle finger in the condom, joining my forefinger, and do it all over again. His body becomes tense at the larger intrusion, and I hear sounds indicating he's experiencing discomfort. That's another way of saying... it's hurting him.
It's not hurting him enough for him to say 'stop,' though, so I continue doing it while quietly encouraging him to persevere. For me, this is tedious, but, as I said, I like this guy, and he's a Navy Seal, and, therefore, I'll do it for him.
His rectum gets used to my fingers, and Charlie relaxes again, the tension in his body no longer present. Lying flat on the shirts, he murmurs, "I feel as if I need to take a shit." I reassure him that it's a false alarm, then add, "It's time for the main event, Charlie," and pull my fingers out of his ass.
Even though it's been a bit tedious getting to this point, messing with a hot guy's body as I've been doing with Charlie's has me partially aroused, and after pulling my cock out, it only takes a few strokes to get it firm enough to roll on a new condom easily. Now I'm beginning to feel the sexy thrill of fucking a guy's ass. I'm noticing that I'm aroused much more than I get when fucking Joe. That's because I'm more into Charlie than I ever was with Professor Smith. Charlie is a sweet, naive Navy Seal, younger than me, and extremely likable, while Joe isn't any of those things.
A desirable sex partner such as Charlie adds that delicious thrill of anticipation before the actual sex act. That's the brain's influence. It creates arousal, and I realize now that I experience that with Cowboy too, but with someone such as Joe, it isn't present. And, it's not Joe's fault. It's a matter of personal preference, and perhaps his young friend, Ricky, feels the thrill of anticipation before being fucked by Joe. That's hard to imagine, but we're all different.
Charlie tenses a little, so I'm like, "Easy, Charlie," and he murmurs, "I'm good, Zach. I'm anxious, actually." Fuck, maybe I dragged things out too long. Yeah, maybe, but we'll soon see about that. On my knees, I lean down, guiding my boner to his asshole. The condom's nipple hits first and then the head of my boner. Charlie tightens up for just a second, then relaxes, and I put pressure against the partially loosened lips of his anus. A little more pressure and, obligingly, the anus spreads open a bit more; then, with a bit more pressure, in goes my cock... just the head.
I stifle a moan at how good that feels as Charlie grunts, "Ahh! Ow, ow." I murmur, "You're doing good, Charlie." He squirms on the shirts, mumbling, "Hurts." More groans, then his body tenses, even more, when I slowly push my cock further and further inside him. While it's not too cool from Charlie's perspective, for me, nothing feels as good as this.
The tightness of his rectum surrounding my boner is an obvious reason it's feeling good, but playing a bigger part is what's going on in my brain. There's the cognitive component grading the sexiness of who I'm having sex with, creating stimulus in areas of my temporal and occipital lobes. Obviously, the physical sensations coming from my hard penis are registering pleasure in my somatosensory cortex that's connected, sort of, to my genitalia. Also, stuff such as dopamine being produced in the limbic system, also known as the paleomammalian cortex, and... well, fuck, I don't know what all is happening in my brain but, whatever it is, it is creating fantastic sensations, so intense they're impossible to articulate.
The sizzling sensations, both physical and mental, are buzzing deliciously from my hard penis. Hell, did I say hard penis? That's an understatement as it's a full-fledged steel-boner by now. I can see cords in Charlie's neck bulging as he strains to endures the initial penetration pain. Obviously, Charlie isn't a fan of the pain/pleasure dynamic as Cowboy and Joe are during sex. Nothing to be done about that, though, so, as long as Charlie doesn't say 'stop,' I'll continue.
For me, this already feels beyond fantastic, although I won't be able to fully, one-hundred percent, appreciate it until Charlie gets past the hurting point. Hurting that I'm causing by unnaturally stretching his rectum. The pleasure he'll eventually feel, mostly from his prostate gland, is presently overwhelmed by the pain. If all goes as planned, the pain won't last long. Or, it shouldn't last long.
I can't say that as a positive fact because there are people, both male and female, who cannot abide a hard cock in their rectum, period. One of the few times I had sex with a girl, one of them, Nancy Whitinger, sticks out in my mind. She could not stand to have my cock in her ass, even for a second. As a college freshman, the situation was me trying to prove I was bisexual, which I've discovered I'm not.
Anyway, Nancy screamed a scream that's been hard to forget, and I pulled out immediately. Actually, at first, I thought a siren had gone off. I'd only been able to get a boner in the first place by concentrating in my brain that she was this cute guy in one of my classes, Nathan Whitehead. I pretended, with my eyes closed, that it was he who was sucking my dick, not Nancy. Anyway, when she calmed down, I changed condoms and was able to fuck her the conventional way, although neither of us ever climaxed. The worst sex of my life.
Unlike Nancy, a Navy Seal would never scream, and Charlie doesn't, and he doesn't say the magic 'stop' word either. He suffers the discomfort until his rectum finally accepts the idea that being stretched isn't so bad after all.
Several slow penetrations and slow withdrawals later, Charlie and his rectum realized they're past the pain, although not quite to the pleasure point yet. Clenching my jaw at the awesome sensations coming off my boner, I do three or four quicker thrusts, and that's when I hear the first moan of pleasure coming from Charlie. Now I can totally enjoy myself. His pleasure moan, "Ummm, ooh..." sounded as if it surprised him. As if he couldn't believe it actually was going to feel good. His body is now as relaxed as it was during my massage of his ass. Jesus, with first-timers, you never know how it will go, ya know?
I feel so good, happy for Charlie and myself. Picking up the rhythm of my thrusting, getting into steady penetrations without worrying about hurting Charlie, I grip his hips and pound my cock in his ass. Holy shit, my cock gets harder still as all around my groin nerve endings pulsate with pleasure.
Sure, this began as an unspoken favor for Charlie, but now I'm enjoying the hell out of fucking his ass, enjoying myself tremendously. In my brain, I'm seeing each inch of my hard condom-encased boner diving into the blackness of Charlie's body and then coming right back out as fast as it went in, and, Omigod, does it feel good!
God, this has turned into a hot "slap, slap, slap," fuck as my crotch slaps into his buttocks with each thrust. Charlie isn't especially invested in our sex as he continues just to lie there absorbing the pleasure, but it is his first time, and he doesn't know any better. With Cowboy, he immediately gets invested, starting with delight at his spanking, and then, while getting fucked he's very verbal with his moans of sexual pleasure and saying things indicating the pleasure, plus he humps back at my thrusting, which further emphasizes his enthusiasm for our sex act. Awesome sex with him.
None of that with Charlie. Well, now he's begun making quiet grunting sounds, "Aah, aah, aah." Moans of sexual pleasure with each thrust of my cock. Yes, perhaps he's experiencing an intense pleasure of a type previously unknown to him. And, he's my first Navy Seal sex partner, which means a lot to me and, therefore, it's a unique experience for both of us, and sexy as hell. Christ, my cock feels very fat and heavy as it continues putting out vibrations of pleasure that make all the earlier tediousness irrelevant.
Every time my crotch smacks against his buttocks, I go, "Um," and shudder a little, then again and again, over and over as my eyes close to further enjoy this pretty 'effing good fuck. It must be 'effing good to Charlie as well because, less than two minutes after we really got it going, his body becomes as stiff as my cock, he goes, "Ahh, ooh, shit..." jerking his hips and climaxing. Then lots of deep breathing sounds as he reaches under his body to pull on his dick.
As he's doing that, his ass is off the ground and wobbles at my thrusting until, with a sigh, he drops down on the shirts and is again a stable platform for my thrusting boner. I continue enjoying his ass for another three or four minutes until, Omigod, my climax bursts onto the scene in a powerful manner, leaving me shaking like a leaf... wow, an awesome climax. It leaves me gasping and shaking to a degree I haven't experienced since one of Cowboy's and my better fucks.
Pulling my cock out, I inhale a huge breath, trying to do it silently as Charlie mutters, "Christ, I'm lying in a puddle of cum." He lifts his crotch off my shirt, adding, "Never mind that, though. Omigod, Zach, that sex was everything I hoped it would be. Hell, better than I imagined." I plop backward, sitting in the sand pulling off the condom, mumbling, "It was a pleasure, Charlie. A really good fuck, bro."
Charlie stands and uses his t-shirt to wipe cum off his belly and crotch as I gawk at the mess on my shirt. Oh man, though, the hell with the shirt, I feel dizzy. Dizzy, but good too. That was good sex, and I can't imagine anyone breaking in a virgin better than I did with Charlie. Just saying...
Putting my dick back in my shorts, I stand and look around. Nobody has appeared on the street, and no one is looking our way from the beach. Sitting against the dune again, I light the last joint, saying, "Let's celebrate, Charlie. You were my first Navy Seal sex-partner, and I can't imagine a better one." He sits next to me, leaning against my shoulder, saying, "Well, ain't you nice to say that. Seriously though, I sure lucked out bumping into a hot-shit motherfucking Seal like you, Zach."
As we smoke the joint, Charlie is obviously excited, proud of himself, and being a little cocky describing each phrase he experienced during his first gay fuck. Jeez, I remember my first time. Well, I was the 'top,' so I was naturally feeling extra cocky after fucking that fat ass of Ollie Wright. It wasn't the first time for Ollie, though. Christ, no. That pudgy boy was the prep school slut and was well known among us other gay sluts. We were a small gang of four out of the hundred and ten in our class. Obviously, there were more than four gay-leaning boys out of a hundred and ten, but the others were cleverly hiding in the closet and, therefore, missing out on all the sexy fun.
Finishing off our third joint and enjoying Charlie's enthusiasm for our sex, I can't help thinking he could have been a tad more complimentary of how I managed everything. He is mostly thrilled he finally 'did it and did it his first attempt without wimping out. I go, "Before you pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, I wonder if you'd want to have another go at it?"
He has a good sense of humor and laughs at my reference to him patting himself on the back, then he says, "Hell, yeah, motherfucker. Us queer Seals ain't gonna be no one-and-done pussies." The good manners he claimed to have apparently have been affected by the stimulus of marijuana and sex.
By now, we've kicked sand on the shirts so, using the last condom, I fuck him doggy style and let it all out to the degree I get Charlie walking on his hands and knees grunting at every thrust up his ass and, every once in a while, he'd hump his ass back against my thrust. Excellent sex, and we both hold off climaxing for almost ten minutes. I'm exhausted after that and lie on the sand, taking deep breaths as Charlie does the same.
Finally, we sit up, and he laughs, saying, "Christ, that was a better workout than morning calisthenics at basic, huh?" I nod, mumbling, "I'll say. Um, let's skinny dip in the Atlantic to get this sand off and maybe have a few beers after that." He shrugs, "Good idea, but our shirts are fucked up with sand and cum. It's doubtful they'll let us back in the club."
Leaving our shirts behind, we walk up the beach until we're the only ones in the vicinity, then strip completely and take a swim. Charlie's an excellent swimmer. Well, he's a fucking frogman, for Christ's sake, so he better be an excellent swimmer. He swims out too far, and that's a concern, but he manages to swim back, and I go, "Let's get the fuck out now, showoff." He grins a cute grin and says, "Yeah, I was showing off, trying to impress you."
Smoking, me a Marlboro, and Charlie a small cigar, we walk on the beach carrying our shorts and shoes as Charlie reflects on his first two anal sex acts. He's very excited, finally giving me credit, saying, "Seriously, Zach, I think running into you was one of the luckiest happenstances of my entire life. Really!" I'm like, "Yeah, it probably was," and we chuckle as he leans against me.
When we're air-dried, we put on our shorts and docksiders, then turn around and head back to the club. We'd walked a mile or so away from Butterfly's, and walking in the sand is getting on our nerves, so we go up to the street and walk back to the club on the sidewalk.
By the time we reach the club, the buzz of the three joints has vanished, and so has any effect from the drinks I had earlier. Well, I'm sure there's some alcohol in my system, but it isn't noticeable, so, for all intents and purposes, I'm sober. That's too bad because, in my sober condition, I realize Charlie and I are a mess. We don't have shirts to wear, our short hair after the ocean swim has dried, sticking up all over the place, and there is dried salt on our bodies from the ocean water. Swell.
None of that matters to the bouncer at the door, however. He mutters, "Ten-dollar membership fee, guys." I hand him a twenty, and in we go. My earlier plan was to get hammered tonight, but I have a different outlook now, so I only order a beer. Charlie follows suit. We have two draft beers, ice-cold draft beers, while we talk mostly about our Navy Seal experiences. We pretty much talked out everything there was to say about our sex while walking here.
After his second beer, Charlie holds out his hand, saying, "That's it for me tonight, Zach. I'm hoping to get back to the hotel before my buddies." I shake his hand, saying, "It's been a pleasure to have met you, Charlie." Letting go of my hands, he goes, "I never thought this night would turn out like a, um, like a motherfucking dream come true, but because of you, that's what it's been. Thanks, dude," and we do a guy hug as I mumble, "Good luck to you, Charlie. Keep your head down, buddy."
We sort of nod at each other, and then he says, "It's been real," and he walks off without looking back. There was no sense in me talking him into staying longer. He had his agenda of fooling his fellow Seals, plus I'm on my way out of town first thing in the morning. Yeah, well, that was one of my better pickups, although I'm not clear on who picked up who. Not that it matters.
Very pleased with tonight, feeling bloated from the twenty-four ounces of beer I basically chug-a-lugged, I order a jack on the rocks and carry it with me as I cruise around, not looking for anything in particular, just looking at all the gay guys, and glad to be here among them. Tonight, enjoying myself with Navy Seal, Charlie, makes up for the last day and a half traveling with Ricky and Joe and all that's entailed. Ha, if it weren't for them, I'd have skipped over Virginia Beach altogether and never met Charlie.
Out in the smoking section, I smoke a cigarette and finish my drink while observing Joe, who is still with the crewcut boy, and still talking a blue streak. I'm purposely staying hidden behind a column as I do not want to join those two, but it's interesting to witness someone besides myself enduring Joe's nonstop monologues. Smiling to myself, pleased with the Charlie hook up, and pleased that the crewcut boy is keeping Joe busy, I step on my cigarette butt and go back inside for another drink.
At the bar, a man in front of me turns around and steps over a little, saying, "Here, let me make room for you at the bar, good-looking." I nod, muttering, "Thanks," and hold up my hand, getting the bartender's attention. "Where you from?" asks the man. He's probably fifty or thereabout and neat. He has a trimmed gray mustache and short hair, a well-dressed fellow with a tight body... and, um, I'm not the least bit interested in him.
I smile politely, then say to the bartender, "A double jack on the rocks and get my friend here whatever he's drinking." The guy says to the bartender, "Burbon and branch." Then, as the bartender mixes our drinks, the man taps my arm, saying, "Thanks. Where did you say you're from?" I say, "All over," and drop a twenty-dollar bill on the bar, pick up my drink, and add, as I'm backing away from the bar, "Thanks for making a space for me at the bar." He mutters, "Stuck up," as I walk away.
One pick-up per night is enough for me. Well, not that that guy held any possibilities anyway. I prefer to stay within a reasonable range of my age group when picking up strangers. Joe is on the outer edge of that, and a fifty-something-year-old guy is about fifteen years outside the range. I don't blame him for trying, though. Hell, I'll be there in twenty or so years and probably trying for a younger guy myself, but I'm not there yet.
I've got another nice booze glow working for me by now, so I'm only sipping on my latest cocktail and feeling smug about my short affair with Charlie. That went pretty well, so it's good to know I've still got it. Ha-ha, just kidding. I mean, Charlie is only two years younger than me, so that's not an especially remarkable conquest, and he was a virgin, so I'm not sure that it was much of a conquest at all. I mean, Charlie was there looking for someone to fuck him. Whatever, I helped out a fellow Seal and enjoyed myself in the bargain; I'll leave it at that.
Bumping into people occasionally, hearing occasional pick-up lines, and ignoring them, I wander over to the dance floor where clapping and shouting are going on. Being taller than most, I don't need to get very close to see two young guys dancing in the middle of the crowd that's surrounding them, encouraging the two guys on.
Huh, why am I not surprised the two guys dancing are Ricky and Cowboy? It's a scorching tune they're dancing to, and, fuck, they are wicked cool dancers too. Well, there's the novelty factor of both their hairdos. It's pigtails and bangs on Cowboy, while Ricky's hairdo is a woman's bob; I think that's what it's called, but who the fuck knows?
Plus, Ricky is cute in an odd way, and Cowboy is, um, beautiful for a guy. Oh fuck, Ricky just pulled his t-shirt over his head, covering his face, dancing blind. Oh, nice hairless, well-defined torso on that kid, but I already knew that from seeing him at the pool. My goodness, they both do look eatable, and they're getting the kind of cheers from this gay group of men that Chippendale-type dancers receive from women as they dance around a pole at straight bars.
Now, grinning like mad, Cowboy pulls his shirt up, covering his face too, revealing his body's perfection with all its pinkness-definition. Jesus, I've been taking him for granted. Any of the men here would cum in their pants at the thought of traveling with Cowboy the way I've been doing these past five weeks.
It's hard to take my eyes off those two. It's as if they practiced dancing together. Now they both pull their shirts off completely, and some guy in the crowd just put a cowboy hat on Ricky. Jesus, look at the joy on Cowboy's face. He's having tons of fun tonight. He's having a lot more fun being nineteen than I ever had at that age. I was too busy trying to be bad-ass as Ronny's wingman.
Turning away, shaking my head, I gulp the rest of my drink and head for the bar to get another one. What am I going to do about Cowboy, though? I mean, thank God we'll be leaving Joe and Ricky behind in the morning, although that will probably be a huge letdown for Cowboy. And, fuck, what if he wants to stick with Ricky and go on to Baltimore with him? Maybe looking out for Cowboy, as Ronny made me promise to do, means letting Cowboy decide what's best for him. He is nineteen, after all.
Realizing I'm drunk and not thinking straight, I decided it'd be better to think about that tomorrow. Decisions made while under the influence, so to speak, usually don't work out well. Anyway, I'm not sure there is a right answer to the Cowboy dilemma drunk or sober, but I'll have a better chance of coming up with one sober.
At the bar, I find there are vacant stools now as guys left the bar to see what the commotion was on the dance floor. I sit on one of the vacant stools, and immediately someone grabs my arm, saying, "Oh, good. I was looking for you, Zach." It's Joe, and standing with him is the crewcut boy who is goofy looking now that I see him close up. His mouth is too wide and his eyes too close together, or something.
I'm like, "What's up, Joe?" He looks over at crewcut boy, then puts his arm around the kid's waist, pulling him next to him, saying, "I'm spending the night with Phillip, but, um, could you lend me like fifty bucks? I've got the money at the hotel, so I'll pay you back tomorrow."
I'm so thrilled he won't be sleeping in the room with me tonight; I'm like, "Yeah, sure. Is fifty enough?" As I'm pulling out my roll, I ask, "Can I buy you guys a drink?" Jesus, I must sound as thrilled as I feel because Joe looks at me funny-like before saying, "Yeah, sure. We're drinking beer." Phillip says, "How nice of you," sounding exactly like a little girl.
Never mind that I hold my hand up, getting the bartender's attention, then give Joe a fifty-dollar bill. He mumbles, "Thanks, dude," and then, with a grin, he adds, "It's worth fifty bucks to have the room to yourself, huh?" I go, "Noo! I'm just happy for you two." He laughs and pats my back, "Just joking with you, Zach. No problem, we're good."
Yeah, I'm good too, except, because I bought them beers, they apparently feel the polite thing to do is drink the beers with me. What the fuck? The idea of having the room to myself tonight is worth listening to Joe talk for fifteen minutes. Phillip doesn't say anything, not that he could get a word in if he tried as Joe is telling me his, Phillip's, life story.
He says, "Phillip is a genius. He's a landscape artist, but because of jealousy by other artists, he can't get a gallery to highlight his paintings." Then he turns to Phillip, who Joe possessively keeps his arm around, saying, "Show Zach some of your paintings, Phillip." The goofy Phillip does some kind of female body movement as he pulls out his cell phone and taps on it, then he holds it out to me. There's a picture, obviously a painting in watercolors, of a windmill with farm animals. It's okay, although the genius aspect of the painting alludes to me.
I nod, mumbling, "Awesome, um, painting." Joe says, "Phillip is only twenty-one and already as skilled as established artists in his genre." Then he goes on to tell me how Phillip is an orphan, and, well, I've stopped listening by now.
I consider gulping my drink, but if I do that, I'd need to order another, and I'd need to buy them two more drinks. Instead, the first chance I get to say something, I go, "Excuse me, Joe, but I need to get to bed. I've been pounding down Jack all night, and I want to be able to drive, ya know?"
He's like, "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry for bending your ear, Zach. Thanks for the fifty bucks. I'll see you at the hotel for breakfast and pay you back." I'm nodding as I gulp down the rest of my drink. Getting off the barstool, I mumble, "No, it was interesting, Joe. And good luck to you, Phillip. You're very talented." He says, "I know," and Joe giggles, then says, "He's not shy about his genius, ha-ha." He kisses Phillip on the mouth as I squeeze by them, mumbling, '"Yeah, okay, um, I'll see you tomorrow."
What a feeling of relief when I walk out the front door into a very nice night. Ricky will drive Cowboy back to their room, so he's okay. And, I don't know or care how Joe and crewcut will get wherever they're going, so it's all good.
Plenty sober enough to drive carefully, but I know not to drive too carefully as that attracts the attention of the cops. I don't want to need to explain to a suspicious police officer why I'm driving without a shirt with my salty hair sticking up while I try convincing him that I only had two beers all night. Anyway, I make it back to the hotel after getting slightly lost at first.
Parking in the hotel parking lot a little after one o'clock, I'm almost giddy at the silence. It's an awesome change not needing to listen to Joe talking as I go up to my room. Yes, my room, not our room.
After spending time on the beach and ocean, I don't even consider getting in bed before taking a shower. I do that, plus other necessary functions in the bathroom, and then slide into bed in between clean sheets. Nice!
Before falling asleep, I realize I miss sleeping with Cowboy, and that brings back to my mind the problem of what I'll do if he wants to stay with tricky-Ricky. Hooking up with those two was a huge mistake that's complicating an already sort of awkward situation. Well, it was getting better, actually. Cowboy and I were starting to talk more, and...
The next thing I know, I'm sitting up in bed gasping at a horrific nightmare. Yeah, I have an occasional nightmare about some of my Navy Seal operations that were, um, questionable, or, well, stuff I'd rather forget. My fucking subconscious mind, though, has other ideas.
The nightmare was convoluted as many are, but it obviously was about a covert operation Ronny, and I participated in. Not a real one so much as a combination of experiences we encountered. I got the sense it was a covert operation to rescue al Queda operatives who had been helping with information about the whereabouts of leaders we wanted to eliminate. These two operatives were discovered and held hostage at a location in some random small dirt town. How we discovered where they were or how we got to the town isn't covered in the nightmare. What was covered is one of the hostages was Cowboy dressed in al-Queda terrorist clothing, and he was on his knees about to be decapitated. That's when I woke up in a sweat.
Balls! I did not need that visual!
My hand is shaking as I light a cigarette in my no-smoking room, trying to get that picture out of my head. Huh, I don't recall what Ronny was doing in the dream, although I somehow knew he was there. What does it mean? Well, the obvious and simple interpretation is Ronny's gone, and I need to save Cowboy on my own. Fuck, dreams aren't that obvious, though, right?
I look over at the other bed, I guess to reassure myself Joe isn't in it, and he isn't. Getting out of bed, I take a piss, drop my cigarette butt in the toilet, then brush my teeth again. Back in bed, I force myself to think about Charlie and me on the beach and fall asleep thinking about that.
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.
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