Chapter 1

It was time for the "committee meeting" as I had come to call it. As we walked through the movie lobby, Nick was saying that he wanted to go to Martin's because "his" bartender was extra generous with the double shots of Jack he ordered with his beer. Mike vetoed that; he got nasty looks from the bartenders at Martin's when all he ordered was coffee or iced tea. That made me the tie-breaker. It was an unspoken rule that if I didn't break the tie, I had to offer an alternative so we could continue the selection process.

Personally, I don't care where we go. I'm just along for the ride. I don't have a life anyway. We're not going to Martin's; that's for sure. Too much of an older crowd, not enough young college guys showing off their buffed, athletic bodies. Mike won't want to go there either. Who wants to look at a room full of guys our age anyway? I wanted something to ogle, something to drool over, something I knew I wouldn't be taking home with me.

"How about Brandy's? We haven't been there for a while."

"That's because it's been closed almost a year now. Jeez, you've got to get out more. Try again."

"Sunset Boulevard?"

"Too far," said Mike.

"The Gray Fox?"

"Too many drag queen wannabes," groused Nick.

Time to play my hole card. "How about Jocks then? One of my customers told me they have free food on Saturdays up 'til 6:00 PM. That gives us a little more than an hour if we stop quibbling." They didn't stop quibbling, but I knew I had 'em both. Mike likes fratboy types even more than I do. And if there's one thing Nick likes more than healthy shots of Jack with his beer, it's free food. But then, who among us doesn't. We have the waistlines to prove it. At least my 36-inch waist doesn't hang over my belt. Well, not too much.

I held the door for them, and when I finally looked outside the theater, that's when I saw him. I can still see him standing there at that moment; the image has been permanently etched onto a non-destructible brain cell. Short, sandy-colored hair set off nicely by an orange and blue shirt faded to pastels. Despite the fact that it was one of those oversized shirts, you could tell that he had a well-developed chest underneath. His back was ramrod straight and he held his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts. His calves were muscular in a strange way; there didn't seem to be any roundness to them. They were all straight lines and sharply cut angles. His legs looked like a cubist painting come to life. He wore short white socks and sandals, and on him they looked good. Hell, a burlap bag would have looked good on him. He was stunning!

As he listened attentively to one of his friends, evidently telling some kind of joke, he showed a polite smile. When the punch line came, he tilted his head back and let loose a deep baritone laugh. That was the cherry on the ice cream sundae of my lust. Okay, that sounds stupid. But believe me, he went from "stunning" to "drop-dead gorgeous" in one split second. I could feel my jaw hit somewhere around my shin. This guy just tripped my trigger.

He was saying something to his friends when he turned and looked straight at me. Did his smile get a little brighter? Probably amused at the middle-aged guy getting ready to step on his tongue. I really shouldn't ogle somebody like that and try to walk at the same time. Mike and Nick had stopped walking and I rammed right into Nick's backside. I looked back at Golden Boy and could feel my face turning seven shades of red. He was still smiling.

I faced Mike and Nick and said, "Okay then, it's settled." Then I turned to Golden Boy. "So we're going to Jocks." Was I shouting? I could have been shouting, because the guys gave me a look like I had just announced that I had had unprotected sex with the Pope last week. "So c'mon! Let's go! Let's move!" And I started pushing them toward the car. And I gave Golden Boy my Best Smile Ever.

When we were out of earshot, I couldn't wait to ask. "Didn't you guys see the kid in the khaki shorts back there? Jesus, but he was absolutely beautiful! This sounds so trite, but when he smiled, he just went to a higher level of beautiful. He'd probably wear me out in about five minutes."

"Bob, you get worn out opening a can of Spam." Mike is so sympathetic. I may have to kill him tonight.

"That's because I realize I'll have to eat all that shit. And speaking of eating, I'd eat his ass at 6th and Pine at noontime. As long as the cops don't mind, I certainly wouldn't mind." My friends don't share my enthusiasm for the "nether regions" of a man's body. I, on the other hand, developed a taste for it when I hooked up with a co-worker a few years back. I had joked once with him that my tongue would get hard sometimes instead of my dick. He said he'd like to see that, and well, the rest is history.

"And what about the nuns walking around downtown?" Nick asked.

"I'd tell them they could have a shot too, but they'd probably give up after waiting about an hour or so."

"You are one sick puppy, Bob."

"True. But at least I'm drop-dead homely." We pulled into Jocks' parking lot.

I like Jocks. Always have, always will. Unless it gets sold to some schmuck who thinks he can improve it. And I like it not just because of the shirtless hunks running around either. It's one of the few places in town with some real personality. The upper level has the dance floor and restaurant and the game room filled with pinball machines--I'm an admitted junkie--pool table and foosball. Of course, there are TV monitors everywhere tuned into the game du jour. Before ESPN and satellite dishes, this concept probably wouldn't have made it past the first month. But Jocks has been going strong for several years now.

The lower level is unique. It resembles a locker room-shower room combination. Sets of real, gunmetal gray lockers, the same ones we all know and love from our high school years, are scattered along the side walls with authentic benches in front of them. The bar is along one of the short walls and at the opposite end is the "shower". Round tables were installed around the shower columns; there are towel hooks on the wall and the same tile floor we had at Kirkwood High. And more TV monitors than both rooms upstairs combined. This is where the hard-core jock sniffers hang.

This isn't for the S&M crowd, the Stand and Model types. Guys down here are really into the game. Game stats and team stats are more likely to be heard here than penis stats. You seldom see suits in this room or flamers. Feeling low on testosterone? Just hang around a few minutes; you'll be recharged for sure.

Nick and Mike were already grazing at the free food table; I was getting the first round. I glanced at one of the monitors to see the Cubs about to lose to the Dodgers. When they can't get a Cardinals game on the tube, they'll show a Cubs game. Someone coming up behind me asked, "Any score yet?"

Still looking at the monitor, I gave all the necessary stats. "It's 7 to 2 Dodgers. Bottom of the eighth, only one out and the Dodgers are going to get more."

"Cool. Thanks. Even if the Cardinals lose, when the Cubs lose, it's still a good day. Not great, but good."

I liked this guy's attitude. I turned to compliment him on his good sense and I froze. It was Golden Boy. He was watching for the bartender to look his way. I could feel my jaw descending to my shins again. I was a fly caught in amber. In that brief moment I took in his long aquiline nose, his strong jaw, his blue eyes so light that they were almost gray. His shoulders looked even wider up close. Fat would never find a home on this body. You could tell just looking at him that he had a metabolism like a race horse. He could eat a pound of butter right out of the box, and you'd see the heat waves shimmering off his body as he burned off the fat.

He turned to me and smiled that Perfect Smile. "What'd you think of the movie?" My mind kicked into high gear. Not always a good thing. He followed me from the theater to Jocks? Whoa! Hold up, Bobby baby. You're thinking he followed you here just to do a Siskel & Ebert scene? Get real, dummy. He probably just recognizes you from the ass you made of yourself outside the theater. How did I like the movie? Kind of a lame opening, but I'd take any opening to be able to talk to this kid beyond just saying "Hi!"

"You know, I've lost track of how many times I've seen it. But every time it comes back to the theater, I always go at least once while it's in town. Seeing Atlanta burn on the great silver screen is just so much better than on TV." The bartender counted out his change. When I picked up my drinks and walked to the table, Golden Boy followed me.

I was about to invite him to sit, but he beat me to the punch. "Wanna go outside where it's quieter?" Outside on the deck is maybe five decibels quieter. But I'd be alone with him and wouldn't have to share him with Nick and Mike.

"Sure. Let's go."

We sat at a table at the far end of the deck, as far from the bar and speakers as we could get. None of the tables near us were occupied, so people could get the idea that we wanted to be alone, at least 'til the crowd picked up. No sooner were we seated, than a waiter was at the table. "Hi, guys. My name is Terry. Can I get you something from the bar?" He was speaking to us, but he was eating up Golden Boy with his eyes. And he was dangerously close to dessert.

"Terry, what time do you get off tonight?" I asked. My question broke his private little eye feast and he turned to me with eyebrows raised. I'm sure he was afraid that I was about to hit on him.

"Uhh, I'm here 'til closing. Why?"

As I handed him a folded ten-dollar bill, I told him, "My friend and I have just finished a sexual marathon that started around dawn this morning, and we've lost a lot--a LOT--of bodily fluids. So don't let us go dry, okay?" He cocked his head and looked at me fully for the first time. Time to jerk his chain a little more. "Since the heart transplant, my stamina is much better than before. Although we did have to rest twice this time."

He put a condescending hand on my shoulder and said, "Don't worry, babe, I'll take care of you." And leering at Golden Boy, he said, "And I'd love to take care of you, but it sounds like you've got that covered already." With that statement, he was gone.

As I sat back in my chair, Golden Boy leaned toward me and whispered conspiratorially, "You think he believed you? I can't believe you said that with a straight face."

I smiled and said, "That's the only part of me that is straight. I just wanted to be sure that if he's taking my money, he'd better remember what I look like." This was not the time for a harangue on ageism in gay bars, so I let it pass.

Instead, I extended my hand to him and said, "Well, if we're going to be drinking together, we ought to know each other's name. I'm Bob Schneider."

"Randy. Randy Sullivan. Very pleased to meet you, Bob. Very pleased" He grabbed my hand in a very firm handshake.

I flexed my fingers to make sure they still functioned. "Hmmm...Randy Sullivan. That's good. We have the same initials. I won't have to change the monogram on the towels."

He thought that was pretty funny, judging from his laugh. Still smiling, he asked me, "Do you always plan that far in advance?"

"The wheels are always turning. You never can tell when Mr. Right will show up. Or Mr. Right Now." He laughed again. Jeez, I thought, those lines aren't that funny. Maybe he's just humoring me. Or maybe he's a mental defective. No, he's too good-looking to be stupid. Yeah, right. "So did you come here with your friends from the theater?"

"No, they had other plans. And, technically, they're not friends. One was my brother and the other was Coach Maxwell from the university."

"Marty Maxwell? The basketball coach?" He nodded and smiled. "Are you some kind of hotshot recruit?"

He actually blushed at that comment and seemed to be mesmerized by the ice cubes swimming in his drink. "Wellll, I don't know about the hotshot part, but he is trying to get me to transfer from Fannin JC down in Texas. And my brother's trying to get me to move back closer to home. Our dad had a pretty bad stroke a few months back, and my brother wanted me to come back home to help out at least on the weekends. I'm not much interested in the schools back in the city, so the move here might be a compromise move. If I move here at all."

I put my hand on his forearm and gave a reassuring squeeze. "I'm really sorry to hear about your Dad. It must be difficult for both of you." His eyes had lost a bit of their sparkle. Instead, there was a brief glimpse of helplessness there. Time to change the subject. "Why did you decide on a school in Texas?"

He let out a brief sigh, perhaps expelling that bit of helplessness so he could continue. "Oh, the usual reasons. It was a chance to get away from home. You know, be on my own for the first time in my life. And I'd be able to play ball without any of the pressure of a big-time college. Plus, my best friend was going to the university just down the road. So I wouldn't be totally alone."

"Is he a 'best friend' best friend? Or a 'boyfriend' best friend?" I was beginning to enjoy making him blush. And he blushed big time at that question.

He gave me a big smile like he'd been caught in the act. "We started out as friends, but I have to admit that I played the 'Boy, was I drunk last night' game with him. More than once. Matter of fact, after a few times I didn't even bother with the alcohol any more. But he still did." He frowned a little as he studied his ice cubes again. "I guess he needed it to do what we both wanted to do. It was an issue he didn't want to face in the cold light of sobriety, I guess.

"He was probably thinking, 'Any hole in time of war.' But then he met a girl he said he liked and he pretty much stopped coming around. Except when she wouldn't put out. It took about two of those for me to realize that I was being used. So I stopped it altogether. I didn't want to be the 'other woman.'" He was still looking at his orange juice as if The Answer would show up on one of the ice cubes if he kept stirring. I put my hand on his forearm again. I was liking that part more and more. He looked up at me, his eyes moistening, as if I might have The Answer for him.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out like you had wanted. Are you at least still friends with him?"

"Kinda. We don't talk like we used to. And we sure as hell don't get together any more for the Big Nasty. I was pretty upset for a while. Did some stupid stuff, acted stupid. But," he sighed heavily and offered me a slight smile, "I got better. So all of this makes me more inclined to move back closer to home and start over with a new circle of friends."

"Well, if you do definitely decide to come back, I hope that you'll include me in that circle, at least in the Good Guys For A Quick Chat Department."

He turned his head to the side, still looking at his drink. Turning just his eyes toward me with a half-smile, he instantaneously looked more devilish, more roguish. "Actually, I was kinda hoping for a lot more than a chat. And definitely not 'quick'." The killer smile was back, leaving no doubt what he had in mind. Was that his bare foot insinuating itself up my pants leg? I could be wrong, but I think he's eager.

"Well, I think we've satisfied the 'chat' requirement. We can move on to the 'more than chat' portion if you're ready to go. My place might be more suitable than the locker room inside. Besides, I hate crowds. And besides, it'll give our waiter friend something to think about."

"Cool," he said as he stood. He reached down to re-attach his sandal. When he stood, he offered his hand to help me rise, but when I did, he didn't let go. He pulled me to him, slid his arm around my waist and leaned in to kiss me full on the lips. Not a kiss of passion, but more a kiss for a promise of passion. That killer smile again. He leaned in to nuzzle my neck and said, "This is going to be so much fun."

I gave him my own killer smile, but shrugged like this happened to me every day. "I'm only along for the ride."

He tilted his head back and let out a deep laugh. "I imagine you'll be doing your share of driving," he said and laughed again.

It's a 20-minute drive from Jocks to my place. We made it in eleven minutes.