About a Bottoms (a Trilogy)

By Etienne

About A Bottoms (a Trilogy) includes three complete novels: Bottoms Up; Bottoms Out; and Bottoms Away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Etienne
• Release date: Dec 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005888824

Etienne

Etienne lives in central Florida, very near the hamlet in which he grew up. He always wanted to write but didn't find his muse until a few years ago, when he started posting stories online. These days he spends most of his time battling with her, as she is a capricious bitch who, when she isn't hiding from him, often rides him mercilessly, digging her spurs into his sides and forcing the flow of words from a trickle to a flood.

Book preview

Bottoms Up

(About a Bottoms, Vol. 1)

(an Avondale Story)

Revised edition

Etienne

Chapter 1

Somewhere at sea

CHRIS BOTTOMS WAS in heaven, or at least in his version of what he hoped heaven would be like. He was lying on his back on a stack of boxes in an out-of-the-way storeroom. He was naked, his legs were in the air, and his ass was being plowed by an equally naked seaman, who just happened to be quite splendidly equipped for the task at hand. The seaman was horny as hell—it had been a couple of weeks since they’d last gotten together—so it didn’t take him very long to climax.

The seaman rested for a minute, then said, I think I’ve got one more orgasm in me.

Go for it, Chris said.

The seaman mounted Chris again and started pumping away. It took him a bit longer that time, but he completed his task. Afterward, they dressed quickly without exchanging a single word—they were in a hurry, and they were both there for one reason only, so conversation wasn’t really necessary. The seaman slipped quietly out of the main door to the storeroom, and Chris locked the door behind him, then exited by the rear door, locking it as well.

What a way to begin my shift, he thought. All it takes is a sex-starved sailor and a bit of privacy. He headed to the sick bay, where he would spend his watch caring for patients in the inpatient ward, and dealing with personnel requiring medical services. And with some five thousand personnel on board the carrier, the sick bay was kept busy and the inpatient ward was almost never empty. There was a great deal of dangerous machinery on board, and the takeoffs and landings of jets on the sometimes rolling decks of carriers were inherently risky, so accidents happened frequently. Then there were the usual problems of five thousand people living in extremely close proximity to one another—if anyone came down with a bug, it tended to spread like wildfire. He loved his job and he was good at it. What he loved even more was access to several of the men on board, who were more than willing to service him when an opportunity presented itself. During his three tours of duty at sea, he’d never been caught in flagrante, although he’d had a couple of close calls. In fact, truth be told, Chris loved the danger almost as much as he enjoyed the sex.

In the ward, he found five patients waiting for him—three accident victims, one guy recovering from an emergency appendectomy that had been performed earlier that day, and another suffering from debilitating migraines. Chris privately suspected the last patient was faking it, but he wasn’t certain enough about that to question the doctor’s diagnosis. He finished his shift and was about to leave when Lieutenant Masterson stuck his head in the door.

Chris, can I see you for a minute before you check out?

Certainly, Lieutenant, Chris said.

Two minutes later, he knocked on the lieutenant’s open door, saluted, and said, Corpsman Bottoms reporting as ordered, Sir.

The lieutenant returned the salute quite casually and said, At ease, Chris. Have a seat.

Yes, Sir, Chris said, and took a seat.

The lieutenant sat for a moment, obviously lost in thought. Then he opened a file and glanced at the top document.

Chris, I don’t have to tell you that you’ve done one hell of a job since you came on board, do I?

Thank you, Sir.

The problem is—and it has been from day one—that you’re hugely overqualified for what you’re doing. You have a Master’s degree and you’re an RN First Assistant. You should be in an operating room somewhere helping save lives.

I go where the Navy sends me, Sir.

Yes, I know, and the Navy did its usual thing with you and placed a square peg in a round hole.

Yes, Sir. What the fuck is he leading up to? Chris thought.

Sometimes it takes the powers that be a long time to realize they’ve made a mistake, and to be perfectly frank, more often than not they never figure it out.

Yes, Sir.

But in your case, they’ve finally discovered that you’re being underutilized. The hospital at NAS Jacksonville as an urgent need for an RN First Assistant with your credentials, and the people at the Bureau of Personnel have decided that you’re the best man for the job.

NAS Jacksonville? As in Jacksonville, Florida? Chris said.

Just so, the lieutenant said. I was stationed there a few years ago; it’s not a bad city. A little on the redneck side, of course, but all in all, a pleasant place to live and work. Greater Jacksonville has a population of almost one and a half million these days, so you might find a little more social life there than you do aboard ship—especially given that you qualify to live off base.

But I like it just fine where I am, Sir.

Nevertheless, the Navy has, for once, decided to put a square peg in a square hole.

Yes, Sir. Effective when, Sir?

As soon as we make port. You’ll take a flight from there to Jacksonville. By the way, you’re authorized thirty days leave before your new duties begin.

What the hell will I do with thirty days?

You could go home and pay your family a visit.

Lieutenant, my only family lives in West Bumfuck, Arkansas, and I don’t have any reason to see them. In fact, I can honestly say that I don’t ever want to visit that particular hellhole again.

What about your parents?

My father has been dead for years. My mother is a drunk, and I don’t care to meet the deadbeat bum she’s shacked up with at the moment.

How can you be sure of that?

Because ever since my father died, there’s been a steady stream of deadbeat bums. That’s why.

I’m sorry to hear that.

Don’t worry about it. I’ve been dealing with it since I was twelve.

What about your grandparents?

I wouldn’t mind visiting my paternal grandparents, but they’ve been dead for a couple of years. If they’re still alive, my maternal grandparents are like my mother—trash, through and through.

I’ve wondered why you never talked about family, the lieutenant said.

Well, now you know.

Alternatively, you could use that time to explore and get familiar with the city of Jacksonville. Maybe even find an apartment—you qualify for that. You could stay on base while you do it. You do have a car, don’t you?

Yes, Sir. It’s in storage in Norfolk.

There you go, problem solved. I’ll arrange for you to fly to Norfolk instead of Jacksonville, and you can drive down to Florida at your leisure.

Thank you, Sir.

Chris headed out of the sick bay not in the best of moods. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought, I don’t really want to leave this ship. Later that evening, just before he climbed into his rack to call it a night, he decided to take a shower, so, wearing only a towel around his waist, he stepped into his shower shoes, gathered his soap and shampoo, and headed in the appropriate direction.

When he entered the head, it appeared to be unoccupied, although he could see steam coming from the direction of the showers. He stepped around the corner, hung his towel on a hook, and surveyed the shower area. He could see two guys in the far corner. Their backs were to him, but he could tell by the position of their arms and the motions they were making that they were having a mutual masturbation session. He headed for that corner of the shower area and made a point of standing under the nearest showerhead.

The guy closest to Chris looked over at him and said, Want to join us?

Chris looked pointedly at the guy’s erection and said, I’d rather have that up my ass.

Sure, as long as we can take turns fucking you while the other one stands as a lookout.

Got condoms? Chris said.

In the pocket of my towel wrap.

Then what are you waiting for?

Half an hour or so later, Chris returned to his berthing area and crawled into his rack feeling much better about things.

THE WEEKS PASSED by all too quickly for Chris. On the eve of his departure, he was once again on his back in the storeroom being serviced by Seaman Jones. Chris usually jerked himself off while being fucked, but for the first time ever, the seaman bent and took Chris’s erection in his mouth. After Chris was spent, the seaman kissed Chris with his final thrust.

You’ve never done that before, Chris said. Why now?

You’ve never wanted to do anything but get fucked before, the seaman said. Why? Don’t you like oral? You seemed to enjoy it just now.

That was because you were pounding my prostate at the same time, Chris said. I like oral sex well enough, but getting screwed is the only way I can really get off.

Really! How come?

To make a long story short, I had a stepfather who screwed me from the time I was twelve until I turned fifteen. Let’s just say that I’m conditioned to really enjoy it one way, and one way only.

What happened when you turned fifteen?

I was a runt at twelve, but during the next couple of years I had a growth spurt. I waited until one Saturday afternoon when my mom was passed out drunk in her bed and he came after me like he always did. After he finished, he passed out in my bed and I cut his balls off.

You didn’t!

Cross my heart. He was out cold, so I tied a cord around his scrotum, hacked them off and flushed them. Then I called 911. As soon as I heard the sirens, I cut the cord and flushed it as well—even at that age, I had enough sense to know that it would be better for me if it didn’t look premeditated.

Good for you. Did you get into trouble for it?

No. What were they going to do to a naked and crying fifteen-year-old kid standing there with his attacker’s jism still leaking from his butt? They did a rape exam in the hospital and found plenty of evidence concerning the rough way he’d always used me. One of the cops actually congratulated me for taking care of the guy.

I hope he went to prison.

Oh, yeah.

He still there?

As far as I know, unless he’s met a bad end in prison. I’ve read that prisoners can be pretty rough on child molesters.

I’m sorry.

It’s ancient history. I was sent to another city to live with my paternal grandparents, and that, as they say, was that.

How can you be so casual about such a thing? the seaman said.

I’ve had thirteen years to get over it.

Yeah. I’m going to miss you, Corpsman.

And I’m going to miss you, too.

They’d been dressing while talking, and the seaman added, Well, I guess I’d better go.

Yeah.

The next day, the ship made port, and a few hours later Chris was in the air to Norfolk by way of two intermediate stops.

Chapter 2

Norfolk, VA

WHEN THE PLANE finally landed at Norfolk, Chris was more than happy to once again have his feet firmly planted on terra firma. He’d been on a different plane for each of the three hops he’d made across the country. Military transport planes offered little, if anything, in the way of amenities, or for that matter, comfort, so what little sleep he’d gotten was, at best, fitful. When he arrived at the entrance to the base, he called his old college roommate, Mickey O’Donovan, to let him know he’d landed.

Chris, glad you’re finally here, Mickey’s familiar voice said. I’ve been juggling my schedule at the bank ever since I got your call the other day, and I’m happy to report that I have two whole days freed up.

That’s great, Mickey. How far are you from the base?

Fifteen, twenty minutes tops, buddy. Are you at the main gate?

You bet.

See you in a few, then.

How’s Mabel? Chris said.

You can see for yourself in a few minutes, buddy. I retrieved her from storage a couple of days ago, and I’ll be driving her.

Great.

Other than getting screwed as often as possible, Chris had one indulgence in his life—a vintage Mustang he’d affectionately named ‘Mabel’. He’d spent countless months working on Mabel in his spare time: rebuilding her engine; repairing dented fenders; restoring her interior; and giving her several coats of what Ford had grandly termed ‘Presidential Blue’ lacquer back in 1968 when she’d rolled off the assembly line. The end result was that she looked as though she’d just been driven off the showroom floor. He’d entrusted her care to Mickey when he’d shipped out for his first overseas tour, knowing Mickey would treat her with the kid gloves she deserved. When Mickey’s job with First Bank and Trust had required a move from the West Coast to Norfolk, he’d towed Mabel behind his own car and stowed a great deal of his clothing and personal belongings in her during the trip. Then, with Chris’s consent, he’d put her in storage.

Chris glanced at his watch, and fifteen minutes later he stepped outside and looked down the road. A couple of minutes later, a familiar dark blue car slowed and then stopped in front of where he was standing.

Mickey hopped out of the car and said, Want to drive her?

I’m too tired from being in the air for what feels like days to appreciate the experience right now.

Your wish, my command, Mickey said.

Chris opened the passenger door, put his duffel bag in back, and settled down in the comfortable bucket seat.

She smells good, he said.

You bet your ass she does. I had her thoroughly detailed yesterday.

I thank you, and I’m sure Mabel appreciates it.

That drew a laugh from Mickey, who said, How are you, buddy?

Tired, pissed off at the fucking Navy—you name it.

Pissed off?

I was perfectly happy where I was, and had no desire to go to NAS Jax, but Uncle Sam doesn’t ask you where you want to go—he simply tells you.

I tried to warn you about that before you enlisted, my friend.

Yeah, but I wanted to join the Navy and see the world. Besides, being a noncommissioned officer isn’t such a bad thing, and that’s not counting the availability of all those horny men on board ship. Anyway, I’m not looking forward to living in the South.

Don’t be so down on Jacksonville, my friend. There are a lot more men on that big base than there are on a carrier, along with several thousand civilian employees. And there’s a thriving gay community in the city… they even have a bathhouse.

No shit?

No shit. It’s been there since forever. In fact, I think it was once part of the original club baths chain back in the sixties and seventies. And get this: it’s right across the street from a big Southern Baptist Church.

You’re kidding!"

I shit you not. Those Baptists can climb up in the belfry of their church with binoculars in hand, and see what’s happening on the nude sundeck on the roof of the baths.

Wow! Wait a minute, how do you know all this stuff? You’ve never lived in Florida, let alone Jacksonville.

No, but I had a fuck buddy for a few months who’d lived there a couple of years ago, and he gave me the lowdown on all things gay in that city.

Fifteen minutes later, Mickey stopped to enter numbers in a keypad.

I never pegged you as a guy who’d live in a gated community, Chris said.

It’s not gated in the sense that there’s a security guard. Besides, I got the deal of a lifetime on this condo and couldn’t say no.

I never pegged you as a condo dweller, either.

There’s a first time for everything, buddy. It has a master suite, and you’ll enjoy the en suite guest room with a stall shower instead of a bathtub.

Guest room! Since when do I get relegated to a guest room by you, of all people?

I wasn’t sure how things stood, buddy, and you’re more than welcome to share my king-size bed.

That’s more like it, Chris said. Besides, after sharing sleeping quarters with twenty or more of my closest friends for the better part of the last six months, I’m not at all certain that I’m ready to sleep alone.

Mickey drove a couple of blocks and pulled into a two-car garage.

This place looks more like a town house than a condo, Chris said.

That’s because it’s laid out like a typical town house—one floor on top of the other, and there’s a well-insulated party wall on each side—but it’s a condo.

Lead on.

Mickey led Chris from the garage into the first floor of the house, then upstairs, where he pointed at the nearest door.

Master suite is right through that door.

Good. I’m more than ready for a shower.

Everything you need is in the bathroom.

Thanks, Mick.

Chris set his duffel bag on the floor and stripped. Then he retrieved his shaving kit and headed for the bathroom, where he shaved before doing anything else. After that he stepped into the large stall shower and was enjoying the spray of hot water when the shower door opened and Mickey joined him.

Just like old times, Mickey said.

Yeah, Chris said.

How are you really, buddy? Any problems?

None at all. You don’t know how glad I am to see you, Mickey.

We’ve talked on the phone occasionally, and we’ve e-mailed back and forth every day or two.

I know, but all of the above are a poor substitute for your warm and extremely friendly body in my arms.

Mickey hugged him tightly as they kissed and their bodies began to respond.

Like you said, just like old times, right? Chris said.

Ready to take this to the next level?

You bet.

They stepped from the shower and began to towel themselves dry in front of the huge vanity mirror.

Look at you, Mickey said. You haven’t gained an ounce since the last time I saw you. Heck, you haven’t gained an ounce since college, as far as I can tell. Your body is just as fit and trim as it ever was.

That’s me: five feet ten inches of solid something or other. I wish I could say the same about you, old friend. From the look of you, I’d say you’ve been spending entirely too much time riding a desk. You may have a couple of inches in height on me, but you’re carrying more weight than you once did, and it shows.

Unfortunately, most of the exercise I get these days is from jumping to conclusions.

Any good places to run around here?

You bet, Mickey said.

Good. I’ll see if I can’t run some of this off you while I’m here. Chris demonstrated by squeezing the beginnings of love handles.

You’re on. Meanwhile, I think the bed is calling.

Definitely.

Later they sat on the second-floor porch, drinks in hand, wearing only boxers.

This is nice and secluded, Chris said.

Isn’t it? I think it’s my favorite place in the house, and the fact that the porch looks out onto a tidal marsh makes it that much better.

Yeah, no people across the way staring back at you, right?

You said it. What would you like to do for dinner?

Nothing special. My body clock is still dealing with having just crossed several time zones.

How about a chicken Caesar salad? Mickey said.

Sounds good—and healthy, which is just what you need, my friend.

Mickey ignored the jibe and said, I know just the place.

Are you in a hurry?

Not at all, why?

Because I’m quite comfortable at the moment. It’s really nice just being here with you after all those months.

Yeah, me too, now that you mention it.

CHRIS WOUND UP spending the better part of two weeks with Mickey, and he saw to it that they ran every morning. By the time Chris left, Mickey was beginning to show some results from the running.

Chapter 3

Somewhere on I-95

CHRIS HAD REALLY enjoyed the two weeks he’d spent with Mickey and had been a bit reluctant to leave when the time came.

We’ll get together again soon, Mickey said.

Yeah, I’ll come up here or you’ll come to Florida, or—

Or what?

Maybe we could meet somewhere in between.

Where in between?

Geez, I don’t know, Mick… maybe in the mountains of North Carolina. Someplace like that.

Sounds good. I’ll hold you to it.

They were standing in the foyer of Mickey’s condo, so they were able to share a good-bye kiss without unduly upsetting the neighbors. Chris finally broke off the kiss.

As much as I’m enjoying this, it’s time for Mabel and me to hit the road.

Yeah. Have a safe trip—call me when you get there.

Chris had purchased a cell phone during his visit, and it was already programmed with a Jacksonville number.

I will, he said, and you’ve got my number.

I’ve had your number for years, buddy. Oh, you mean telephone number. Not to worry, it’s right there in my speed dial list.

Little bit of humor there?

Yeah, mighty little. Are you planning to drive straight through?

No. I’m going to take my time, and I’ll probably stop somewhere in the Carolinas for the night. I want to arrive in Jacksonville tomorrow with enough daylight left to check the area out just a bit. With that, Chris headed for Mabel, who was waiting for him in the driveway.

It took him quite a while to drive over the secondary roads from Norfolk to I-95, but once he was on the interstate he let Mabel out a bit, finally setting what Ford had, at the time Mabel was built, called the fingertip speed control at a steady seventy. He made a brief pit stop at the welcome station in North Carolina, and when he was about to get in the acceleration lane leading back to the interstate, he saw a young man standing at the edge of the pavement. The guy was hitchhiking and had a duffel bag not unlike Chris’s at his feet.

Chris pulled off the pavement, rolled the passenger window down, and waited.

When the guy walked up to the window, Chris said, Heading south, sailor?

How’d you know I was a sailor? the guy said.

Because I’ve got a duffel bag just like that in my trunk.

I’m headed for Mayport Naval Station.

Then this is your lucky day, because I’m headed for NAS Jacksonville. Hop in.

The guy threw his duffel in back and climbed into the passenger seat. Chris extended his hand. My name’s Chris—Chris Bottoms.

The guy took Chris’s hand. Irving Spenser. Most people call me Irv.

Good to meet you, Irv. Let’s hit the road. By the way, you’re riding in Mabel.

Mabel?

That’s my car’s name. Didn’t you ever hear of anyone naming their car?

Now that you mention it, no, Irv said.

The two men talked the miles away until Chris finally realized that he was hungry. I think it’s time to stop for dinner, don’t you?

Sure, and I know a great place just down the road.

You do?

Yes, Sir. My aunt and uncle used to live in this area. Do you like barbecue?

Sure.

Then watch for the Selma exit. We get off of I-95, jog over to US 301, and it’s about a mile down that road.

What is?

Smithfield’s Chicken ‘N Bar-B-Q restaurant.

Works for me.

Following Irv’s directions, Chris located the restaurant, and he had to admit that the food was some of the best barbecue he’d ever eaten. They talked over dinner, and Chris began to sense possibilities in his young companion.

When they were once again on I-95 headed south, Chris said, That was a great meal. Thanks for telling me about that restaurant.

No problem.

They drove on, and by the time they neared Florence, South Carolina, Chris had begun to yawn.

Sorry about that, he said. I’ve been visiting a former college roommate in Norfolk for a few days, and we stayed up until the wee hours last night. I think I’m going to find us a motel. That okay with you?

Sure, as long as it’s not too expensive.

No problem there, Chris said. I’m traveling on a shoestring. Now, why in the world did I feel the need to lie to this kid? Chris thought.

As they approached Florence, Chris began to watch the billboards. Eventually he saw one for a budget chain that offered a low price.

How’s that, Irv?

How’s what?

That motel billboard up on the hill ahead of us. Price looks pretty good.

I agree.

Chris watched for the appropriate exit, left the interstate, and made his way to the motel. He and Irv went in to register, and Chris asked the clerk if the price shown on the billboard was correct.

It sure is, the clerk said. Times are tough, traffic is down, and we’ve got rooms to fill.

We need a nonsmoking room with two beds and we’ll pay with cash.

No problem, Sir. I just need to see some ID.

Chris handed the clerk his military ID and Irv produced his. The clerk looked at the IDs and said, Why didn’t you say you were military? I can knock ten percent off the rate for military.

Thanks, Chris said. Every little bit helps.

Don’t you know it! the clerk said.

How long will it take us to get to Jacksonville tomorrow? Chris said.

Five hours, if you’re lucky.

If we’re lucky?

You know how it is on the interstate, especially I-95. Traffic can slow down to a crawl at a moment’s notice, and often for no particular reason. I’ve heard that I-75 between Atlanta and Florida is just as bad.

Yeah, well, we don’t have to report in right away.

Report where? If you don’t mind my asking.

I’m headed for NAS Jax and my buddy will be checking in at Mayport.

I was stationed at NAS Jax a long time ago… great place.

That’s good to know.

The clerk gave them each a key and said, Do you need a wake-up call?

Are you kidding? Chris said. My eyes will open at five, no matter what.

Yeah, the clerk said, after I got out, it took me years to overcome that habit.

They returned to the car and Chris drove it to a parking spot in front of their room, after which it took only a minute to carry their two duffels into the room.

Are you hungry, Irv? Chris said.

I’m still kind of full from all that barbecue. Maybe after a while.

That sounds good, Chris said. Meanwhile, I need a quick shower.

Yeah, I could use one of those myself.

Chris settled in an easy chair. Go ahead, then. I don’t mind sitting here for a bit in this comfortable chair.

Are you sure?

I never say anything I don’t mean, Chris said.

Okay, then.

Chris settled back in the chair and through half-closed eyes watched Irv open his duffel, retrieve clean clothes, and place them carefully on the bed. Then he stripped and headed into the bathroom without closing the door behind him.

I wonder if that was an invitation? Chris thought.

Chris waited until he heard the shower running, then removed his own clothing and headed for the bathroom. When he raised the lid of the john, it banged against the tank.

Irv stuck his head around the shower curtain. Is that you, Chris?

Yeah. Nature calls. I’ll be out of here in a minute.

No problem. In fact, there’s room in here, if you want to join me.

Shit! Chris thought. Who’s seducing whom here? He finished what he was doing, flushed the john, and stepped into the shower with Irv.

They washed each other’s backs, then moved on to other things, until Chris said, I’ve got some condoms, but they’re regular size. Will they fit that big thing?

I think so.

Why don’t we go into the bedroom and find out?

Much later, they decided it was time to grab a late-night snack, so they cleaned up and went in search of a place to eat. When they returned from the restaurant it was late, so they stripped, crawled in bed, and did their best to wear each other out.

Chapter 4

Jacksonville, FL

THEY’D SLEPT LATE, for a couple of Navy guys, but were on the road by eight and had stopped for lunch near Brunswick, Georgia. Later, a few miles after they’d crossed the Florida-Georgia border, Irv said, That sign says we’re in Jacksonville.

That’s what the sign says, all right, Chris said, and it’s technically correct.

Why technically?

Because the City of Jacksonville and Duval County formed a consolidated government back in the sixties. So, except for four small municipalities that opted out of the consolidated government, once you’ve crossed the county line into Duval County, you’re in Jacksonville. Look at the terrain. Does that look like a city to you?

All I see are woods and water.

Exactly.

How do you know all that stuff?

It’s called research, my boy. Research. I’m going to be here for quite a while, so I did some reading up on the subject.

Oh. I guess that means you know where Mayport is, then, don’t you?

Yeah, and I’ll take you there.

You don’t have to do that.

Nobody has to do anything. I said I’d get you to Mayport, and I’m going to do it.

Thanks.

Just south of the airport, Chris turned off of I-95 onto I-295, and a few miles later he left the interstate and proceeded east on Heckscher Drive.

Ever ridden on a ferry? Chris said.

Irv giggled slightly and said, I seem to recall riding one a couple of times last night and again this morning.

That’s F-E-R-R-Y, smartass, Chris said.

Then no, I’ve never ridden on an F-E-R-R-Y. Why do you ask?

Because this road takes us almost to the ocean, then we take a ferry across the St. Johns River, and we’ll be in Mayport.

Sounds like fun.

We shall see.

There was a short wait at the ferry terminal while the incoming ferry docked and unloaded, but they were soon aboard and crossing the river. They got out of the car and walked across the deck to the railing. On the other side of the river they could see the mast of an aircraft carrier in the distance.

We really are close to Mayport, aren’t we? Irv said.

Yeah. That carrier is docked in the Mayport Basin.

I really appreciate your driving me right up to the gate, Chris.

My pleasure, I assure you.

Where’s NAS in relation to Mayport?

On the other side of the city. Probably a good twenty-five miles or more.

Then I guess I won’t see you again, Irv said.

We might run into each other at the baths.

Oh, yeah. You told me about them. I’ve never been to a gay bathhouse before, have you?

A couple of times.

What are they like?

They’re all a bit different, but they’re also all the same, in that they offer a chance for anonymous sexual encounters.

I’ll have to give it a shot, once I learn my way around.

I think you can take a city bus to a downtown transfer point, then change to a different bus to get to the baths.

Damn, Chris. How much time did you spend doing that research?

Several days. Looks like they’re pretty close to docking this thing, so I guess we’d best get back to Mabel. They returned to the car and were soon on a road that led to the entrance of Mayport Naval Station.

At the gate, Irv said, No need to go on base, Chris, I can make it from here.

Are you sure?

Of course. I really appreciate the ride—and everything. Especially the everything.

Me too, buddy. Maybe I’ll see you at the baths one evening.

Stranger things have happened.

Chris gave Irv a mock salute, then headed down the road to Atlantic Beach. From there he drove inland, eventually crossing the St. Johns River once again, getting a good view of downtown Jacksonville from a high-rise bridge in the process. He drove across town, made his way to US-17, known locally as Roosevelt Boulevard, and eventually came to the main entrance to NAS Jacksonville. Then he drove a couple of miles farther south to the suburb of Orange Park and checked in at a budget motel.

He stowed his duffel in his room and set out to explore the area. He’d asked Mickey to introduce him to the former fuck buddy who’d once lived in Jacksonville, and acting on advice from that guy, he began his exploration with the Riverside and Avondale neighborhoods, liking what he saw. He decided to have his evening meal at a local restaurant called The Loop—another recommendation—and pulled into the restaurant parking lot next to another Mustang just as two men were getting out of it. The other pony car was decades newer than Mabel, but not nearly as well kept. The two men were obviously waiting for him to exit Mabel, so he walked over to them.

Two pony cars side by side, Chris said by way of breaking the ice.

Yeah, but yours looks like it’s in showroom condition, the older man said. I’m Quentin Quasar and this is my partner, Nate Braddock.

Hi. I’m Chris Bottoms. Partners, huh? I guess that means you are, as they say, family.

Yes, we are, Quentin said.

Good. So am I, Chris said. And speaking for Mabel, she thanks you for the compliment. She’s not as clean as she usually is right now, because I just drove her here from Norfolk.

Your car has a name! Nate said. That’s so cool. Care to join us for dinner?

Sure.

Chris followed the two men into the restaurant, and while they waited in line he studied the menu.

What do you guys recommend?

Everything is good, Nate said. But their grilled chicken sandwich is the best in town.

Sounds good to me.

They placed their orders, and when the sandwiches were ready, they carried them out onto a deck that ran along the side of the building.

We come here a lot, Nate said. The food is good, and the creek can be interesting when the tide is out.

Interesting how?

When there isn’t much left but mudflats and little pools, the sea birds get very active.

Oh.

Chris learned that Quentin was a self-employed private investigator, and Nate split his time between teaching at a high school and helping Quentin with his business.

Quentin keeps after me to stop teaching altogether and help him full time, but I enjoy the teaching almost as much as I enjoy working with him.

Quentin asked Chris what had brought him to Jacksonville, and Chris told him. When he mentioned he was looking for a place to live, Quentin said, Are you looking for an apartment?

Only if it includes a garage for Mabel. I was thinking more of a small two-bedroom house with a garage.

Give me a minute, Quentin said.

He took out his cell phone and made a call. Hi, Tom. Quentin here. … We’re both fine, how about you and Noah? … Didn’t you tell us that your rental house in Murray Hill is about to become vacant? … First of the month? … That’s good, because we have a prospect for you. We’re at The Loop right now, and he’s with us. Can we come by? … Good. See you in a few.

Quentin looked at Chris. That was a friend of ours, Tom Foster. He’s organist and choir director at the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd. He also performs in concert all over the place, and he’s a full professor at UNF—that’s the University of North Florida. His partner Noah is an opera singer and has performed at the Met in New York, at La Scala, and other places around the world. They’re a great couple.

And the rental house? Chris said.

It’s a two-bedroom brick bungalow in Murray Hill, and it has a garage.

Where’s Murray Hill?

You told us you’ve been exploring Riverside and Avondale, right?

Yeah.

Then you’ve been down Roosevelt Boulevard, which runs parallel to the railroad?

Sure.

Murray Hill is just across Roosevelt Boulevard, and the house is located in a nice middle-class section.

Sounds good.

Is everyone finished? Quentin said.

I’m good, Chris said.

Me too, Nate said.

Then let’s go see Tom and Noah, Quentin said. You can follow us, Chris. It’s only a few blocks from here.

Mabel and I will be right behind you.

Chapter 5

Jacksonville, FL

QUENTIN STARTED HIS car while Chris was opening Mabel’s door. That sounds like an interceptor engine, Chris thought when he heard the telltale deep-throated sound coming from Quentin’s Mustang.

He fired Mabel up and followed his new friends out of the parking lot. Quentin had been right when he’d said it was close, because they’d barely gone more than half a dozen blocks when the other pony car pulled up in front of a two-story brick residence and came to a stop.

Chris parked Mabel, opened the driver’s door, and walked over to where Quentin and Nate were waiting.

You’ve got an interceptor engine in that thing, don’t you?

Yeah, Quentin said. The engine is a lot younger than the car, and it’s saved my ass a couple of times. The car looks shabby because that makes it easier for me to be inconspicuous when I have to follow someone.

That makes sense, given your profession.

Yeah.

Quentin went up the sidewalk and rang the doorbell. There was no porch, only a brick stoop, and the outside light was on. The door opened and Quentin said Hi, Tom, to the man who opened it.

They were invited inside by the man Quentin had addressed as Tom. When they were standing in a foyer with the front door closed, the man said, Quentin, Nate, how good to see you. It’s been too long since we’ve gotten together. Come on through to the living room and introduce me to your new friend.

In the living room, Chris was introduced to Tom Foster and his partner Noah Webster. Noah had blond hair, green eyes, a swimmer’s body, and a perfect bubble butt, and now that Chris could see Tom in proper lighting, he noted black hair, black eyes, and a trim figure. After some preliminary small talk, Tom said, I understand you’re in the market for a house to rent, Chris?

Yes I am, Chris said. My requirements are simple: two bedrooms and a garage for Mabel.

Mabel? Tom said.

Mabel is a vintage Mustang that looks like she just came off the showroom floor, Quentin said.

Yeah, Chris said. Quentin says you might have a house that meets my requirements.

That we do, Tom said. It won’t be officially vacant until the first of the month, but I think the tenants moved out yesterday or maybe the day before. Would you like to have a look at it?

What’s the rent? Chris said.

Tom told him.

Sounds great. My housing allowance will cover that with room to spare. I’d love to take a look at it as soon as I can.

Would right now be okay, then? Tom said. We can go in my car.

I’ll stay here and visit with Nate, Noah said. That way, the car won’t be so crowded.

Tom said, Follow me, and led them through the kitchen, out the backdoor, and to a garage behind the house, where he opened the door to one of the two bays. Give me a minute to back the car out; this garage was built in the twenties and modern cars have wider doors than cars did in those days, so it isn’t as easy to get in and out of the passenger door as it should be.

Tom disappeared inside the garage and reappeared a minute later at the wheel of a late-model Jaguar sedan.

Tom’s mother keeps giving him her old cars, Quentin said, when he saw Chris’s reaction to the Jag.

Lucky Tom, Chris said.

Chris was instructed to sit in the front seat with Tom, and Quentin got in the back. Tom drove through part of Avondale, then turned left onto Edgewood Avenue, which he followed until he came to a railroad crossing.

For the record, Chris, Tom said, Avondale ends right here at Roosevelt Boulevard, which runs parallel to the railroad. Once we’re across the tracks, we’re in Murray Hill.

Got it, Chris said.

Several blocks later, Tom took a left into the neighborhood, ultimately pulling into the driveway of a small brick bungalow. The first thing Chris noticed was the screened-in porch that ran across the front of the house. Then he saw tall pine trees around the house and a detached garage at the far end of the driveway.

This is it, Tom said. Let’s see how the tenants left it. The city hasn’t had time to turn off the lights, so we can do a walk-through.

They stepped onto the porch, and Chris said, I love that swing already.

Yeah, Tom said, Noah and I have often wished for a porch like this on our house.

He produced a key and let them into the house. When he flipped a switch, Chris saw polished hardwood floors in the living room that continued through an archway into the dining room. The kitchen was small, and the appliances looked to be fairly new.

The kitchen appliances are still here, Chris said, so I guess they come with the house?

You bet, Tom said. And here’s the master bedroom.

The bedroom was more than adequate to hold a king-size bed, and the attached bathroom was fairly luxurious—there was a large tiled shower instead of a tub.

I hope you’re a shower kind of guy, Tom said. The only tub is in the other bathroom.

Shower kind of guy, that’s me, Chris said. I could sit in a bathtub all day without feeling clean.

The second bedroom was small, but adequate, and its bathroom was very small.

Laundry room is on the enclosed back porch, Tom said. Washer and dryer are included with the house.

They arrived at the backdoor, and Chris said, Can I see Mabel’s quarters?

Sure, Tom said. You take good care of her, don’t you?

You bet I do. When I bought her she wasn’t in the best of shape, and I’ve got a lot of money and a ton of effort tied up in rebuilding the engine and restoring her to her current condition. In fact, as a classic pony car, she’s worth a lot more now than she was when she was brand new.

Understood, Tom said.

They walked across the small backyard, and Tom opened the garage door and flicked a light switch.

Great, Chris said. There’s even a workbench across the back of the garage.

Do you have a lot of tools? Quentin said.

Not with me. A buddy of mine in Norfolk has been keeping them for me. In fact, he’s the one who took care of Mabel while I was at sea.

Must be a really good buddy, if you trusted him with Mabel, Quentin said.

Yeah. We were roommates in college and graduate school, and we’ve been fuck buddies off and on ever since.

Been there, done that, Quentin said. At least back before Nate and I became a couple.

You’ll have to tell Chris that story one of these days, Tom said.

What story? Chris said.

Quentin had never met Nate until he rescued him from kidnappers. The rest, as they say, is history.

I’ll tell you about it another time, Quentin said.

I’ll hold you to it.

Seen enough? Tom said.

You bet I have. Where do I sign? Oops, I guess that’ll have to wait until I can go back to my motel and retrieve my checkbook. Wait a minute. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Do you guys need references and such? Because if you do, I don’t have many. I went straight from college into the Navy, and the only time I lived off campus during my college days was when I was working on my Master’s.

You’ve already been vetted by Quentin, Tom said, and I happen to know that he’s a very good judge of character. As a matter of fact, I’m no slouch in that department myself, so we’ll hold it for you on your signature for a couple of days until you can get back to us with checkbook in hand. I have lease documents back at the house.

Let’s go, then, Chris said.

In the car, Quentin said, Do you have furniture, Chris?

Nope, but all I need are a bed, a chest of drawers, and maybe a table and a couple of chairs to start. I can add more things as time permits. I’m guessing there are used furniture stores in the area?

Several, Quentin said. There are also a couple of low-end furniture outlets that might be a better option. Call me when you’re ready, and we can use my utility trailer. It’ll save you some delivery charges.

Thanks.

Hey, we’re family, and as such, we stick together, right?

Tom let them out of the car by his backdoor, then put the Jag in the garage. He caught up with them a couple of minutes later and led them through the house.

My desk is in the studio, Tom said. It used to be known as the sunroom.

The studio was a spacious room that opened off the living room via a large arched doorway. Windows covered by louvered shutters marched around three of the walls. A huge grand piano occupied most of one end of the room, and there was an organ between it and Tom’s desk.

That’s an impressive piano, Chris said.

It’s a Steinway concert grand model C dating from 1910 or thereabouts, Tom said. It belonged to my great-grandmother, and it was her mother’s before that, so it’s sort of a family heirloom.

Yeah.

Tom went to a filing cabinet in the corner, opened a drawer, and retrieved a folder.

Here we are. He pulled a sheaf of documents from the folder and handed them to Chris.

Have a look. It’s a standard lease form that requires first and last month’s rent.

What about a security deposit?

One month’s rent will do it.

Fill it out and I’ll sign.

Give me a minute or two. Can you stop by tomorrow afternoon?

Sure. Why?

Noah and I have to do an inspection before we refund the former tenant’s deposit. That’ll give you an opportunity to look the place over in broad daylight for any problems you’d like noted on the lease.

Just tell me when.

My last class tomorrow finishes at three, so add an hour to get home and change. How about four?

Hold on, Tom, Noah said. I have a class that doesn’t wrap up till four, so why don’t you set the appointment for five? We can do the inspection, then we can take Chris to Five Points and introduce him to the Pizza Italian.

Sorry, babe, I keep forgetting that you’re teaching part-time these days. How’s five for you, Chris?

I don’t have a schedule until I report for active duty, Chris said. Five is good. What’s the Pizza Italian?

It’s a sort of hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant run by a Greek guy, Noah said. It’s been there since forever and has the best lasagna in town.

And the best meatball subs, Quentin said.

Sounds good, Chris said. Now, where do I sign?

Tom handed Chris the lease documents, which he skimmed through quickly before signing.

Chapter 6

Jacksonville, FL

CHRIS SPENT MOST of the next morning exploring the area around his new residence, then expanded his exploration to include Riverside and Avondale. Around one, he stopped at a small restaurant behind what he’d learned was the Five Points shopping area. The sign said ‘Richard’s’, and the building looked like it might have begun life as a 7-Eleven. There was a large menu board on the wall behind the counter, which he read while waiting in line.

When he reached the cashier, he said, What’s a Camel Rider?

It’s a local specialty. Some lettuce, slices of tomato, cheese, and cold cuts served in a pocket of pita bread.

Sounds good to me. I’ll have that and some iced tea.

Sweet or unsweet?

Un.

He carried his tray of food to a vacant table and settled down to try it. Then he saw a familiar face enter the restaurant, so he left his table, walked over to Quentin, and said, Fancy meeting you here.

Nothing fancy about that. I have lunch here at least three days out of five, if I’m not out of town on a case.

Why don’t you join me, then?

You got it.

Chris politely waited for Quentin before he actually took a bite of his sandwich.

When Quentin had settled down at the table, Chris said, What did you order?

Same thing I always do—the best Camel Rider in town.

That’s what I ordered, only I got it by accident. I’d never heard of a Camel Rider until now. What’s the story?

Let me give you a bit of history.

Okay, fire away, Chris said.

"Jacksonville has one of the largest Middle Eastern communities on the East Coast. There are a number of sandwich shops around town operated by people whose ancestors fled the economic decline and religious persecution of the Ottoman Empire. They’re mostly Christian and came from Syria, Lebanon, and other parts of the Middle East during the early twentieth century and shortly before.

All of the sandwich shops offer sandwiches in a pocket of pita bread. The Camel Rider is a pita pocket stuffed with lettuce, slices of tomato, cheese, and cold cuts with some mustard and a dash of olive oil. It’s a very simple, but amazingly satisfying sandwich.

Chris took a bite of his sandwich, munched on it a minute or so, then said, Damn, that’s good. And you’re absolutely right—simple, but satisfying.

They ate their sandwiches and talked for quite a while. Then Chris asked the question he’d been pondering. I’ve heard that Jacksonville has a gay bathhouse. What can you tell me about it?

A bit. I’ve been there a few times, but that was B. N.

B. N?

Before Nate.

Gotcha.

It’s not bad as bathhouses go. I think the building was originally built back in the sixties as some sort of spa. In addition to the usual warren of rooms, there’s a huge Jacuzzi sunk in the floor, a nice little indoor pool, and a steam room.

Any problems with the police?

Not in recent years. The manager of the tubs keeps an eye on things, and sexual activity isn’t allowed in the pool area or the Jacuzzi. It’s restricted to the private rooms and the steam room. If the cops can’t catch you doing something, they can’t arrest you, so these days they don’t bother trying.

What’s the clientele like?

The usual. A few aging queens here and there, some young studs, and a fair number of middle-aged—probably married—men.

I’ll check it out. Can you direct me to it?

Sure. If you’ve got a few minutes, I’ll drive you over there and back. It’s right across the river from where we’re sitting.

They finished their lunch, and Chris followed Quentin to the parking lot.

Can I leave my car here? Chris said.

Sure. Richard’s closes at two, but that doesn’t matter because you’re parked in a public parking space on the street. I spotted Mabel when I drove up.

Yeah. I couldn’t decide whether to try the place or not, and sat there for a minute or three thinking about it. When I finally decided to go inside, I simply left Mabel where she was.

Chris climbed into the passenger seat of Quentin’s Mustang and buckled himself in.

Quentin drove a few blocks to a thoroughfare and headed north. You have to go a bit out of the way to get on the bridge. The Fuller Warren Bridge started life as a drawspan bridge, but in recent years it was replaced with a high-rise bridge.

I’ll bet a drawspan on I-95 gummed up the traffic during rush hour.

You have no idea, Quentin said. The original bridge was built in the fifties, and I’ve read that the drawspan had a habit of sticking when it was open—almost from day one—and it was still sticking once in a while when it was finally demolished some fifty years later, give or take a year or two. It had reached a point at which the bridge was carrying something like twice as much traffic as it was designed for. There were even a couple of incidents when huge chunks of the bridge roadway fell into the river before they finally replaced it.

They reached the rather steep up ramp, and Quentin hit the accelerator. The pony car leapt forward under the thrust of the huge engine.

Quentin grinned. I still get a kick out of turning all those horses loose.

Yeah, I can see that.

The trick when you’re going to the tubs is to work your way over to the right-hand lane while you’re still on the bridge, because we exit the bridge almost immediately.

They left the bridge almost as soon as they were on the other side, and Quentin said, This is San Marco Boulevard. Instead of taking a shortcut, I’ll show you the San Marco shopping area, which is just a block from the tubs.

He drove down a street that was a long gradual curve through a mostly residential area before coming to a neighborhood shopping area.

Lots of gays live in the San Marco area, Quentin said. Not as many as there are in Riverside and Avondale, but quite a few.

They came to a traffic light, and Chris could see a large Baptist Church on the corner.

The guy who told me about the baths said that the Baptists could climb up to their bell tower with binoculars and see the rooftop deck on the baths, Chris said.

Pretty much.

Quentin turned left when the light changed, drove past a building, then turned right into a long parking area.

The entrance is there on the side of the building, he said, and this parking area ends at the next street. It’s a fairly safe neighborhood, so I don’t think anybody will bother Mabel.

That’s good to know. Thanks.

We’ll go back a different way, so you can see more of the city.

My time is your time, Chris said. At least until five when I have to meet Tom and Noah.

They’re a great couple, aren’t they?

Seems that way.

Trust me, they’re precisely what they seem to be. Nate and I have a circle of friends that includes Tom and Noah, an attorney and his Realtor partner, a captain in the sheriff’s office and his partner, a sergeant in that same office and his partner, and a couple of former army rangers, who are self-employed CPAs. Everybody in that group is on the good side of forty, but I don’t think any of them are under twenty-five.

All of them are couples, right?

Yep. No single guys, but that’s by accident, not by design. You’ll fit right in with the group, and I have no doubt that the first thing they’ll do is try to fix you up with someone.

Whoa! I’m not sure I’m ready to settle down with one person, unless— Chris said.

Unless what? If you don’t mind my asking.

I told you about my best friend Mickey, right?

The guy who took care of Mabel for you while you were at sea?

Yeah.

What about him?

Deep down, I’ve always hoped that he and I would get together permanently.

Why haven’t you? Quentin said.

The subject never came up, and I was afraid to ask.

Afraid he might say no?

Exactly.

Then sample whatever merchandise is presented for your inspection and enjoy yourself. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Right.

I’m going to take us back to Riverside by way of the Acosta Bridge. There are three bridges near downtown—the Fuller Warren, which we crossed earlier, the Acosta Bridge, and the Main Street Bridge. The Main Street Bridge is an elevator bridge and the other two are high-rise bridges.

I have a pretty good sense of direction, Chris said, so I expect I’ll know my way around fairly quickly.

Good for you.

They turned left off of the Acosta Bridge onto Riverside Avenue, and Quentin said, Coming up on your left is the main branch of the YMCA. They have an indoor pool, all the exercise equipment anyone could possibly need, and a steam room and sauna. They returned to the restaurant, so Chris could retrieve Mabel. Before he drove off, Quentin said, Don’t forget about my utility trailer.

Thank you, I won’t, and thanks for the tour.

No problem, buddy.

Chapter 7

Jacksonville, FL

CHRIS WAS getting tired of wandering around the area killing time, so he drove to The Loop, ordered a glass of iced tea, and carried it out to the deck. The tide was in and he sat sipping his tea and watching the tidal creek and the river beyond until it was time to visit Tom and Noah. Across the creek he noticed a number of fairly nice-looking houses, all of which seemed to have either a dock, a boathouse, or both.