Cottagecore: Road Trip Chapter 14 – Charlie A
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"I want to make you cum," I said, slipping my hand from Charlie's low-hanging balls up to the thick base of his cock.
"Slow down," Charlie laughed. "We have all night. Let's take our time."
Charlie was propped against the headboard, leaning on a pile of pillows—and the bolster, he'd called it. That long hard round pillow thing. Charlie knew the names for all sorts of specific stuff like that.
He sprawled naked, his legs spread immodestly. I rested on my side, propped up by my elbow. My head was at his waist. I'd pulled off my shirt but still had on my shorts. My tented shorts. My tented shorts with a spreading precum stain.
I looked up at him, stroking him, my thumb on the bottom of his leaking glans. "What's wrong with a hand job?" I asked, pretending it was an innocent question, batting my eyes.
"I want us to cum together," he said, shivering a little at my touch. "Let's go slow."
After spending a few days with him, I'd learned Charlie was a lot more interested in snuggling than sex. I was learning to like his approach, but after a summer of casual fucking, often quick, usually just trying to cum before we got caught or had to get back on the road, it was an adjustment for me.
"It's the connection I like," he'd said. "I mean, orgasms are great, but cuddling is my favorite."
Charlie wriggled his cock out of my grip and slid down the bed. Before I could say anything, he'd pushed me onto my back and straddled me, his balls resting at the top of my abs, his cock pointing right at my mouth. "Let's go real slow," he purred as he leaned forward and slid the base of his cock up and down against my chest. A filament of precum connected us.
It had all started so innocently.
"Use our coals, son," Charlie's dad had said. "Plenty of heat left if you give them a good blow."
I thought I saw Charlie laugh to himself. As it turned out, there was plenty of heat left after I rearranged and fanned the charcoal. The grill's grates had inch-wide gaps between them, so I laid down a piece of foil, again at Charlie's dad's suggestion. "Poke some holes in the foil," Charlie's dad told me. "It'll get some smoke on the fish."
I thought I was doing okay until he spoke up again. "Leave that fish alone, son," he'd said good naturedly. "If you keep moving it around, the skin will never crisp up."
"Dad . . .," groaned Charlie. He was cute. His mom just smiled at me, apparently used to this sort of thing.
I was a little embarrassed, but he was right, I didn't know what I was doing. When the fish was done, he asked me to join them.
"I'm Ken, this is my wife Angela and my son Charlie. Are you alone? There's got to be a story there. Why don't you eat with us?"
"Daa-aad . . .," Charlie groaned again.
I smiled at Charlie to let him know I didn't mind. I sat down and introduced myself.
They shared their basket of crabs and platter of tomatoes. I offered them grilled sea bass and corn. I did much better in that deal, if you ask me, but they seemed to like the fish well enough, and the corn was delicious.
I told them about my road trip and A. Ham., they told me about Charlie's last year at NYU and how they'd been coming to the Pines since he was a baby. It was a fun, breezy conversation—we talked about the differences between Delaware blue crabs and California's Dungeness, and Angela's book about American subcultures and mainstream fashion, which would be published in the fall.
After dinner, Angie said to Charlie, "why don't you take Jon down to Schooners. Show him around the neighborhood a little." I thought I heard a wink in her suggestion. "If you like ice cream, that is," she said to me.
A boardwalk along the beach started a few blocks south of the Pines. As we walked, Charlie and I established the basics. Both gay. Both single. Both involved in complicated situations. He hadn't realized I was gay until I made a passing reference to Dan, but Charlie waited until we were alone to ask me about him. He said I tensed up when I mentioned Dan, so he didn't want to pry.
Charlie had been dating—or maybe just hooking up with—another NYU undergrad, who wasn't out.
"Maybe we're just fucking, but I feel like we each caught feelings." They'd talked and texted and even sexted over the summer. Charlie was looking forward to seeing him once school started. The other guy seemed hesitant now that they were about to head back to campus. Charlie shrugged in a "what can you do?" way.
I didn't get too deep into the details about Dan. I was dreading the call to Dan's house I knew I had to make. Anyway, it felt weird to talk too much about Dan with Charlie, who I thought was really cute and sexy. He radiated self-assurance. I felt like I was being disloyal to Dan. But Dan had dropped me. Not by choice, I told myself, but the hard truth was, Dan had dropped me. Hadn't he?
Would any of this ever make sense?
"So," I asked to change the subject, "was your mom trying to set us up?"
"Maybe," Charlie snorted, "but I think they just wanted to get rid of me for a while. They messed up our booking this year and our cabin doesn't have a separate bedroom. I'll bet they'd pay you to let me sleep on your couch."
It was my turn to snort.
About a mile down the boardwalk, we reached a stereotypical beach carnival. There were ring toss games and a noisy kiddie roller coaster, bumper cars and a little Ferris wheel that faced the ocean. The loudspeakers played classic rock, Springsteen and Bon Jovie, Blues Traveler and Pearl Jam. The air smelled of fried foods and diesel exhaust from the rides, but in a good way.
Schooners was an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. Charlie gave me the rundown while we waited in line.
"On line," Charlie said. "On the East Coast, we wait `on line.'" He went on, "everything here is good. Well, almost everything, sometimes they try a little too hard. My favorite is the rocky road, but last night I had a scoop of salted caramel butter pecan that I'll order again tonight. They also have special flavors every day. They'll let us sample anything."
A cute boy who had to still be in high school helped us when we got to the counter. He flirted with us, awkwardly and endearingly, and gave us extra-large samples. "Gay upgrade," Charlie whispered when the boy was out of earshot.
I tried everything that sounded good, which meant just about everything. Crab and corn was a step too far and Charlie warned me off the Old Bay Caramel. "I like salty-sweet," he said, "but not salty-sweet-spicy. They don't have the balance right."
I don't love spicy food anyway, plus Charlie said I'd be burping Old Bay for hours. Hard pass.
I settled on a scoop of Delmarva Blueberry and another of bayberry. I knew I'd be back to Schooners, no matter what it did to my Hot Boy Summer Beach Body plan. Charlie had a scoop of pralines and cream and a scoop of salted caramel butter pecan. He was right, it was all delicious.
Charlie wanted to give his parents some time and privacy, so we wandered the boardwalk for a while, chatting about nothing much. We lost money on a darts game we knew was rigged and pooled our tickets to collect some Beany Baby stuffed animals by killing it on a trivia game. "That's enough boys," said the carnie after a while, good-naturedly but firmly. "Clear out and let the kids have a shot."
I begged off when Charlie suggested the Ferris wheel. It just felt too romantic. As hard as I tried, I couldn't entirely stop thinking about Dan. The pain was there, in the back of my mind, like an earache that Tylenol didn't quite soothe.
Walking back to the Pines, Charlie and I made vague plans to meet up the next day. He was going out with his parents in the morning, but he mentioned a gay resort he'd heard about, the same one Henry had mentioned, I think. "If you're up for something like that," he added with a sideways glance.
Charlie bailed me out when I didn't commit. I was nervous about the gay resort and I said as much.
"Don't worry about it, man," he said. "It'll be there all week if you decide you want to go. I haven't been either, I was hoping we could do an adventure together."
My third day at the beach, I was up with the sun once again. Unfortunately.
I rolled over and tried to fall back asleep, but the sound of the surf got my brain working. Dan and his fucking parents. A. Ham. Charlie.
After a cup of coffee, I went through my longer yoga routine on the damp sand left by the receding tide, for what seemed like the first time in forever. It felt good to stretch, even if my flexibility had suffered after weeks of rain and parking lot camping. I took my time, really stretching into the positions.
T he farmer's market wouldn't open for another few hours, so I decided to go for another run. I refilled my water bottle, pulled on a jockstrap, and ate a banana. This time, I ran South along the beach. Would I ever get used to the humidity? Even early, with the sun hidden by clouds and a cool morning's breeze off the water, I was drenched before I'd run my first mile. I ran until the boardwalk ended at a jetty about five miles south of the Pines.
I caught my breath in the shade of a lifeguard tower and made it back to the Pines just as the sun broke through the morning clouds.
I cooled off in the ocean. I didn't swim much, just out past the breakers. Then I floated in the water, paddling just enough to stay even with the Pines. I knew I was probably missing the best of the farmer's market—at home, my parents always wanted to get there right when it opened—but I was enjoying the cool water too much to care.
Hunger eventually drove me back to shore and my cabin. By the time I got cleaned up and rode over to the market, I was ravenous.
First things first, I visited the food trucks. I had an amazing lobster roll and a plate of grilled fish tacos for dessert. So much for a pre-college diet, I laughed to myself. I'd probably already burned my lunch's calories, but I doubted I'd make much progress at this pace. Still, an ad for the shrimp po boy made my mouth water, so I figured I'd have to come back to try it on Saturday, the next day the market was open.
At the produce stalls, I loaded up on corn, tomatoes, peaches, berries, that sort of thing. In truth, I overbought. I'd surely eat everything before the next market, but it would be a struggle to get it all back to my cabin. I'd even bought two melons. What was I thinking? I was trying to hang everything on my bike's handlebars when I heard a voice behind me.
"You are not going to try to ride that bike back to the Pines," Angie said firmly. "And where's your helmet?" The question wasn't a question.
I turned to see Charlie and his parents carrying even more bags than me. I smiled guiltily. "Okay," I said like Angie had caught me doing something naughty, "I'll walk the bike back."
Charlie walked with me while Ken and Angie drove.
"We'll see you for dinner," Ken had said to Charlie. Not before then, he'd implied pointedly.
On the walk back, I asked Charlie if he wanted to sleep on the fold-out couch in my cabin. Just sleeping, I told myself. To give Ken and Angie some privacy.
"Nap date?" he asked with a smile. "We saw you this morning, doing yoga I guess. I want a nap and I just wandered around the botanical garden with my parents," he said rolling his eyes. "You must be exhausted."
Nap date? I liked the sound of that.
"I need to make a phone call," I said, "but come by in about an hour? We'll nap hard."
Charlie looked at me with side-eyes, good naturedly. "Nap hard" sounded a lot sexier in my head than when I actually said it.
We went our own ways when we got back to the Pines.
I dumped my bags in the kitchenette, filled my water bottle, and called Dan's home phone. His cell had been going straight to voicemail for weeks. I'd still send I letter, I'd decided, but I needed to try a more direct approach.
"Hello Jon," Janice answered crisply. Her voice was ice water. I'd tried to prepare myself, but it still hurt. She'd been sort of like a second mother to me—severe and distant, but also dedicated and protective. Maybe a demanding auntie, rather than a mother figure. Her tone cut me. As she intended, I said to myself. "I wondered if you would call."
"Hi Janice, how do you do?" I said in a fake-friendly tone. "I've finally come to rest for a bit before I drive up to school next week. May I speak with Dan?"
"No," said Janice. "No you may not. It's best if to keep bad influences apart, for the both of you."
I bristled. "I don't think either of us is a bad influence," I said. I tried to keep my voice neutral, even if I was instantly angry. "Look where we are. Dan's about to start at BYU and I'll be at A. Ham. next week. I think we're doing more than okay."
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, but store up your treasures in heaven. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
Okay? This was a new Janice. I don't think I'd ever heard her quote scripture before. I didn't think I'd get through to Dan with a theological discussion, but maybe emotion would work? Probably not with Janice, but it was the best shot I had.
"Janice," I said, trying to use a placating tone, "my heart is with Dan. He's my best friend, even if we grew apart."
She sniffed dramatically. "Is that what you call it, `growing apart'? From what I learned earlier this summer, I think you two got entirely too close to one another."
"No," I said, this time letting a little heat show, "we did grow apart. I didn't tell Dan I'm gay until the night before I left for A. Ham. I pulled away before then. That distance hurt us both."
She cut me off with another dramatic sniff. "'Gay' this and `gay' that," she said with scorn. "There was a time when the word meant happiness."
"I am happy," I said, although I knew it would be better to ignore her taunt. "Nothing brought me more happiness than reconnecting with Dan at the start of the summer. I'd put space between us for months and he pulled away when he felt my distance, thought I was judging him. I was terrified that Dan would disapprove of me. Because of what you and Clyde think."
"Of course we disapprove!" she said angrily. "Do you know what kind of trouble Dan got into up at the Resort?" She didn't wait for my answer. "It's the talk of town, we're so ashamed. And you played a part, yes you did!"
I didn't think it would help any to point out that Dan had spent years fucking our friends before our night together.
"All I know," I said, trying to speak evenly, "is that Dan and I lost months of friendship, months of closeness, months of happiness together."
"Months of sin," Janice said. My dad was right, she'd really gone overboard. She'd always been a bit prig, but I'd never heard this holy roller stuff from her.
"I don't know about that," I said. "I'd never been with a man before Dan. He made me feel safe enough to try, but the physical stuff wasn't what was important."
"Typical," Janice sneered, "so typical. Unimportant, you say, like it was a . . . a . . . a stubbed toe or a paper cut. Do you know what Dan's father and I call it? What God calls it? A Grievous Sin, a Sin of Commission. You two sought out the sin, you chose to act! No, Jonathan McGee, I won't hear this from you."
Janice had misinterpreted my point, intentionally I thought.
"Janice," I said, on the verge of shouting. Dial it back, Jon. "Please, just listen to me for a second." Janice didn't say anything so I kept talking.
"I don't mean that my night with Dan wasn't important. It was amazing, one of the most profound nights of my life if I'm being honest. What I mean was that the physical stuff wasn't what was important, not important compared to Dan and me renewing our friendship. I love him and he loves me. If anything, our night together made us even stronger."
I admit I'd planned this argument, rolling it over around in my head on my run. I'd heard Janice and Clyde say that sex is a sacrament, a bond between husband and wife that united their marriage. If I alluded to those terms, I thought, maybe she'd understand that there can be beauty in a sexual relationship, even if it's a gay relationship.
"How naïve you sound," said Jan, firmly but without her previous venom. "Jon, you're too young to know this, and I am sorry that you were not raised in a household with faith. But sex outside marriage—marriage approved by a church, within a monogamous union, with the goal of procreation—that sort of unsanctioned sex is just empty, no matter how good it might feel in the moment. Empty, Grievous Sin."
That wasn't how it felt to me. It united Dan and me, brought us together, whether or not it had been sanctified by a priest. Hell, even though it wasn't monogamous. "But that's all you've left us," I said, swallowing my frustration. It was the wrong thing to say, but I said it anyway. "Your church wouldn't let us marry, wouldn't even recognize a civil marriage, wouldn't let us adopt to have a family. It's sin or nothing in your eyes, right?"
"This isn't about doctrine," Janice cut across me.
"Isn't it?" Janice didn't answer, so I just kept talking. "As I understand it, your church teaches that gay guys like me and Dan should be treated with love, respect, and compassion. I read about the importance of kindness and support for everybody, regardless of their sexual orientation. Do I have that right?"
"There's a difference between attraction and behavior." Janice could pedant with the best, I'd heard my Dad say. "Clyde and I acknowledge Dan's . . . attractions, and we sympathize, but we can't condone his behavior. Or yours, Jon. You can't believe that Clyde and I would accept what you and Dan did together, not in your wildest imagination!"
"Speaking frankly, Janice, my `behavior' as you call it isn't any of your or Clyde's business." I kept talking over another dramatic sniff. "Dan and I are adults, what we did was private, and we both wanted to do it." Janice sniffed again so I added, gratuitously, "badly."
You're not helping yourself here, Jon, I reminded myself, too late.
I don't think Janice expected me to speak so frankly about Dan and me together. I thought about adding that I'd do it again, and better, if I had the chance, but that seemed even less productive.
"Speaking frankly, Jon," Janice said in her most acid tones yet, "none of that matters. Dan brought great shame on our family. I view you a contributor."
"I really don't want to argue with you," I said, knowing I wouldn't change her mind. "I just want to talk with Dan, to hear his voice, to let him know that I'm thinking about him. I know he's had a rough summer, you all have."
"You and Dan talking won't make anything better," she said, her voice pure ice. "While Dan lives in this house, Clyde and I pay his bills, and we'll pay for his education. We decide who Dan speaks to, where he goes, and what he does. You may have just been a little sideshow in his tawdry circus"—-ouch, Janice-—"but we will not be made fools of."
"Janice," I said, trying to distract her, "that's the last thing I want. Like I said, it sounds like you all had a rough summer and I'm sorry for that. I really am. I don't want anything other than to talk with Dan. Just a quick chat, that's it."
Janice wasn't having it. "Every action you've taken this year, from your . . . tryst with Dan in June to your flirty post cards dripping with inuendo to your casual use of `gay' on this call confirm you are a bad influence. I won't have you around Dan, I won't facilitate your little chat. I just won't have it."
In the background, I heard Dan. "Mom, who are you talking to?"
My heart melted.
"Mind your business," I heard Janice said through a muffled line. She'd covered the receiver with her hand. "You've lost your phone privileges, as you very well know."
"Is that Jon?"
"Go back to your room."
"Is that Jon? Who are you talking to?"
"Until you pay the phone bill, it's none of your concern."
"Jon!" I heard Dan yell, "I'm fine. I'll try to call before New Zealand. I love you!"
The line went dead.
When Charlie came by later that afternoon, I had stopped crying, but I was still a mess. He listened as I talked, stroking my back. We napped together, Charlie wrapped around my like a compression blanket.
I tried to beg off Charlie's dinner invite, but he insisted that I come along for another cookout with his parents. Ken and Angie did a good job distracting me with stories about the fashion and music industries. Ken had been a model and Angie a photographer. They'd also produced music videos. I didn't know all of the names they dropped, but I did lose myself for a few hours. The wine didn't hurt.
"Would you stay the night with me?" I said to Charlie as dinner was winding down. "You made me feel a lot better this afternoon."
As we got ready for bed, Charlie said apologetically, "fair warning, I get hard pretty easily."
That made me laugh. "Fair warning, I do too."
We were both shirtless. I was commando under a pair of soft cotton shorts, Charlie was wearing gray boxer briefs.
"I just didn't want you to take it the wrong way if you felt me . . . if you felt it . . . in the night."
"I'll keep my hands to myself," I said. Charlie was sexy as all hell, but I really wasn't thinking about sex with him. But if that was true, why was my heart beating out of my chest. None of this made any sense to me. "I'm sure you'll feel me too."
We laughed and I turned out the light. In the dark, Charlie snuggled up to me and wrapped himself around me again. He was a furnace against my back, in a good way.
"You don't have to, you know," he said in the dark. "Keep your hands to yourself, I mean."
"I don't want to," I said. I laughed a little and quickly clarified, worried I might have sounded like didn't want to touch him. "I mean, I don't want to keep my hands to myself."
"Just be sure, okay? You've had a rough day and you drank some wine at dinner. We could wait until the morning."
That wasn't what I wanted. Not at all.
I rolled over to face Charlie. "I think we should make out."
Really, I thought we should do way more than that.
I leaned in and kissed Charlie, my chest against his. Pretty soon, we'd thrown off the bedspread and were laying on our sides, me on my left, my right arm wrapped under his left, my left arm pinned underneath me. I stroked his back and he held me tight with his hand pressed against my lower back. I got fully hard almost immediately and it felt like Charlie did too.
Charlie and I continued to kiss, a little tentatively, just exploring. I snaked my left arm under Charlie and reached around with my right and began to stroke his chest, thumbing his nipple every now and then.
We kept kissing, my tongue in his mouth and then his in mine.
Charlie's nipple hardened and he groaned in a good way. I rolled onto my back and pulled Charlie on top of me. He ground his crotch against mine and I reached down to grab his muscular ass, pulling him between my legs and grinding my crotch against his. We kept kissing.
"I want to see you," said Charlie. He slipped off me and turned on the bedside lamp's lowest setting, bathing the room in amber light.
I slipped one hand under his briefs and squeezed his hard cheek. Charlie claimed not to work out much but his ass felt like marble. Fiery hot marble. After a few more minutes of making out and grinding cocks, Charlie pushed me back onto my back. I pulled him back on top of me, crotch against crotch, Charlie between my legs. I could feel that his briefs were wet with precum.
With a wiggle, Charlie shed his underwear and straddled me. I gripped his fat cock and ran my thumb under his deep purple glans, lifting away a few drops of precum. I licked my thumb clean and leaned up to kiss Charlie, sharing his salty musk. He cradled the back of my head and kissed me deeply.
We kept kissing but I didn't reach for his cock again. I wanted Charlie to make the next move. Over the past few days, we'd established that we both prefer to top, but also that Charlie didn't love anal. He wasn't squeamish, he said, just that it took him out of the mood to stop and get clean and lubed up and everything. He looked skeptical when I said the prep was just another type of foreplay.
Charlie slid down so that we were face to face and cock to cock, still on top of me. My erection poked halfway out of my shorts, pushed up against my belly, leaking just like Charlie's. He kissed me deeply, slowing things down but also grinding his cock against my belly, leaving his snail trail in my treasure trail.
The part of me that still had the taste of Charlie's precum in my mouth wanted to throw him on his back and swallow him balls-deep, but Charlie didn't love blowjobs either. "I get too sensitive," he'd said when I'd joked that I thought everybody loves head. I let Charlie take the lead, kissing and waiting for his next move.
Charlie slid down beside me and grabbed me, deftly lifting my cock and balls above the waistband of my shorts. He used his thumb to scoop up some of my puddled precum and licked it clean, then leaned in for another long, salty kiss.
I was on fire. "My turn," I said, rolling to my side towards Charlie. He hunched himself up against the pillows and bolster. I took his heavy balls in my hand, lifting his cock off his belly. Charlie smiled down at me with his large chocolate eyes. We were both breathing hard.
"I want to make you cum," I said, slipping my hand from Charlie's low-hanging balls up to the thick base of his cock.
"Slow down," Charlie laughed. "We have all night."
My mouth was inches from Charlie's dickhead, but I didn't try to take him in my mouth, as much as I wanted to.
Instead, I stroked him slowly, with a light grip, to let his precum drip down and act as lube. "Tell me if this is too much sensation," I said, lifting my thumb off the base of his glans.
"Oh god, that's good," Charlie moaned, spreading his legs slightly.
I leaned in and began to run my tongue up and down the bottom of Charlie's iron-hard shaft. Now and then I dropped down to tongue his heavy balls. As I licked, I slid the tips of my fingers up and down the top of his shaft. His cock leaked a steady stream of precum and his balls started to tighten.
"Slow down," whispered Charlie hoarsely.
I looked up at him, stroking him, my thumb now on the bottom of his leaking glans. "What's wrong with a hand job?" I asked, pretending it was an innocent question, batting my eyes.
"I want us to cum together," he said. "Let's go slow."
Before I could react, Charlie wriggled his cock out of my grip and slid down the bed, pushing me onto my back. He straddled me again, his balls resting heavy at the top of my abs and his knees lightly pinning down my biceps. "Let's go real slow," he purred as he leaned forward and slid his cock up and down against my chest. A thick strand of precum connected us.
I reached down, untied my shorts' drawstring, and arched my back to kick them off. They fluttered to the floor.
Charlie continued to slide up and down my chest for a few more minutes, bringing his plum-sized dickhead inches from my mouth. Its musky smell made my head spin. He knew I waned to suck him, but he stayed just beyond the reach of my lips. The best I got were a few swipes with my tongue.
Charlie flinched and moaned at the sensation, but it didn't stop him from teasing me.
I could tell Charlie was getting hot by his deep, panting breaths. He backed off, sliding down my body to lay on his side, pressed tightly against me. He wrapped his long fingers firmly around my cock and started to pump, using his index finger to slide my foreskin up and down across my glans. He kept his thumb on my slick frenulum, where I'm extra sensitive. Charlie leaned in and kissed me.
We kept it up for more than an hour, mostly hands and frotting, but Charlie loved me licking his shaft as long as I stayed away from his sensitive dickhead. He sucked me some but apologized for having a small mouth and light gag reflex.
"No apologies," I said. "We're having too much fun."
"Cum with me," said Charlie when we both couldn't take it anymore. We were laying face to face, each stroking the other's cock, drenched in sweat and sticky with precum, our breath ragged and our balls nearly blue.
I'd learned all Charlie's sensitive spots, and he'd learned mine, but my orgasm was way more than physical. The instant I felt Charlie's cock swell in my hand, mine did too. We came together, each shooting fat ropes of cum onto the other's belly and chest. By the time we were done, both of us were panting hard. We collapsed onto each other, kissing. I saw spots.
I wanted to slide down and swallow Charlie's cum-covered cock, but I knew he was too sensitive. I didn't even keep pumping him after he slid out of my grasp, even though I wanted to do that too. I gently massaged his softening balls, which he seemed to love, and pulled him tight to keep kissing him.
I woke with the birds. Gray light filtered through the shades. Overnight, we'd shifted and I was the big spoon. Charlie wasn't snoring as much as purring. My hard cock pressed against my belly and Charlie's back. I closed my eyes, started deep-breathing, and fell back asleep.
It was almost 9:00 when I woke up, groggy from more sleep than I'm used to. The call with Janice still hung in my mind, but thanks to Charlie it was a little further back than the day before. Charlie distracted me by announcing that we were going to the gay resort he'd mentioned.
"Show me your Speedo," he said in a tone that made it clear he knew I didn't have one. "No trunks allowed, or that's what I read somewhere."
I laughed. "The closest I have are jockstraps," I said.
"Baby," said Charlie in a seductive drawl, "I'll bet that would do just fine. Hell, I'll bet you and your jockstraps could pay for your first year of college with the right website. But since we don't want to cause a riot at the beach, let's go shopping!"
Charlie didn't give me time to object, or to stress about Dan, or to think about A. Ham. While I showered, Charlie grabbed what he needed from his cabin, packed a beach bag, and we were off. We got coffee and breakfast from a drive-though and made our first stop at AquaMan. Neon rainbows and hunky mannequins wearing very little filled the windows.
"Boys," gushed one of the salesmen as we entered, "how can we help?" He was in his late 20s, I guess. His blue eyes and frosted tips stood out. His name tag said "Tom."
Charlie took the lead. "We're headed for the beach and Jon needs a proper suit. All he has are trunks,"he said with a dismissive nod, softened by his smile.
The clerks looked me up and down. "Poodle or North Shores?" asked the other clerk, his deep voice a surprise given his small stature. He was African American, with large, liquid eyes, a dark complexion, and a shaved head. His name tag read "Marcus."
"What do you think?" asked Charlie. "We've never been to any of the resorts."
The clerks looked at each other and smiled.
"You'd slay at both, girl," said Marcus.
"But you're green as the grass outside," said Tom. "The look on your face says North Shores. Let's ease you boys into things."
For the next half hour, we looked at suits—just little bits of fabric, so sheer that some made me blush.
Charlie, Tom and Marcus conferred among themselves while I browsed cluelessly. They pulled merch, giggling, and jokingly encouraged me to get naked and try on whatever looked interesting.
The store was empty other than us so I didn't bother with the fitting room. After lots of outfit changes, I settled on two suits, one a square-cut Speedo in burgundy, and another a white brief with a few indigo modesty accents that made the most of my tan.
To get ready for the beach, I put on the white suit and pulled my trunks on over. I picked up my faded navy tee shirt.
"Baby, no," said Marcus, "no, no, no. Put this on." He handed me a sky blue short sleeved button-down that fit me perfectly. "We'll give you a discount, but you cannot go out of here wearing that ragged thing," he said, nodding at my tee shirt. It had seen better days, I admit.
What a world!
The beach was another adventure for Charlie and me. Beyond the parking lot, beyond the boardwalk, we saw a sea of men. Some women and kids, but mostly men.
I followed Charlie's lead. He'd spent a few Spring Breaks in Miami Beach so I just did what he did.
Before we stepped onto the sand, Charlie pulled off his outer shorts and shirt, tossing them into the satchel he was carrying. I did the same, but I felt self-conscious in just my little white swimsuit.
We started to walk towards the water. "Babes," called a gravelly voice after we'd walked a few hundred yards into the sea of men, "why don't you join us?"
A group of older men, maybe in their 40s, lounged in a little encampment. They sat in folding chairs on an outdoor carpet, protected by pop-up canopies on three sides. They'd added privacy with a barrier of coolers and the carts they'd use to haul everything down the beach. It was like a little private room.
"We don't bite," said the same man, "but some here do. Never been to North Shores before?"
Charlie answered with a smile. "Does it show?"
"This one's head's on a swivel," said the man, nodding to me with a smile, "and you're marching through the sand like the Music Man revival." Charlie smirked and I know I blushed. "I'm Eric, by the way."
Charlie looked at me and shrugged to say it was fine with him. The guys' vibe was friendly and polite.
"I'm Jon," I said, "and this is Charlie."
The other guys introduced themselves, but none of the names stuck right away. They were mostly bearish—big men in little swimsuits, deeply tanned, lots of chest and shoulder and biceps tattoos. What I noticed most though was how at ease they all seemed. I felt self-conscious, but these guys were all relaxed, nonchalant. I envied that.
They handed us margaritas in clear plastic tumblers before we'd even unfolded our chairs.
Charlie and I chatted our way through longer introductions. Charlie told them about NYU, I mentioned California and my road trip and A. Ham. The guys' introductions told us they were mostly professionals from the Washington D.C. area.
Eric was a lawyer at a firm he named in a way that said he expected us to know it, but we didn't. There were more lawyers, a couple of doctors, who identified their specialties, fellows at policy foundations, some lobbyists, and a quiet man named Bill who just said, "I'm an analyst."
"C-I-A," said one of the guys in a dramatic, carrying stage whisper, to chuckles all around.
They grilled Charlie and me good naturedly on our relationship. When I said we had only met this week, we were just getting to know each other, Eric said with an air of finality, "you're a cute couple. You should be beach boyfriends."
I was worried that Charlie would mention Dan, tell them that we came to the beach to distract me, but he just put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze. "Our nap date yesterday was nice," he said.
"We're taking things slowly." His tone didn't invite any more comments.
I squeezed Charlie's hand. Introductions had ebbed at that point, so we just took in the scene.
Over the course of the day, we spent time chatting with the guys, joining them for dips in the ocean every now and then. We wandered around some, played a few pickup games of spikeball, and watched all the very cute and handsome men watch all the other very cute and handsome men.
Charlie had been right, most of the men where in very small Speedos. Many guys were incredibly fit—toned, muscled, tanned—but there were also a lot of normal body types. It all seemed so ordinary, I didn't know what I'd been nervous about.
As the afternoon went on, they guys started to ask more questions. My major, Charlie's plans after college, what it was like to live in a national park, how did Charlie like living in New York, what I thought about the East Coast compared to California. It felt a little one-sided.
When the conversation hit an ebb, I asked, "how did you guys find each other, especially at college?"
Shane, a magazine journalist, and his husband Brandon, a software engineer turned investor, looked up from thick hardcover books propped in their laps.
"Lord," snorted Shane, "when did we become Elders? I'm not even 45." I couldn't tell if he was joking.
I blushed. "Sorry," I said quickly, "forget about it. I was just . . .."
"Don't mind him," said Tim, a tall Black man who practiced dermatology and taught at George Washington's medical school. "He's just a crabby old bitch." Tim spoke with affection. "Even though he'll only turn 45 in October," he added with a raised eyebrow, "he's a 70-year old spinster at heart. Our own Dowager Countess."
Shane harrumphed dramatically, but it seemed in good nature. There were chuckles and some laughter from the other guys.
A lot of what followed was too quick for me to keep up.
The group's nucleus was Eric, Shane, and three other guys who'd gone to the University of Maryland together. The rest included partners, exes, coworkers, and friends they'd made along the way.
"Shane and I were on the same hall freshman year," Eric said. "We had an 8:00 a.m. econ. class together. I'd have failed before the midterm if he hadn't dragged my hungover ass out of bed three days a week."
"Too many boys?" said Charlie cheekily.
Shane laughed, a little wryly it seemed to me. "That one didn't come out until his senior year. Claimed to be pledging frats, pretending to be a straight rugby player. I befriended him anyway."
Eric explained that Shane had dated Luis their first two years, but it hadn't worked out. "They're both bottoms," said Josh, a State Department attorney. He pretended to whisper behind his hand, like he was trying to keep a secret, to Luis's outraged squawk.
From there the conversation jumped around, with guys talking about how they'd been introduced to the group. They were answering my question, but it wasn't really what I wanted to know. It must have shown on my face.
"Nervous about starting college?" said Eric. A question but not a question.
"Now that it's just about to start, I guess I am," I said. "I've spent the summer focused on other stuff but there's a lot I don't know. Friends, classes, everything, really. There's only so much the new student packet and websites say. Right now, it doesn't feel like it's enough."
"Everybody else will be in the same position," said Brandon reassuringly.
I nodded, not wanting to sound like an insecure kid, but feeling just that way. "My roommates all seemed really pulled together," I said, trying to deflect the conversation.
"He's rooming with Q-Tee," said Charlie, sounding impressed. When everybody looked at him blankly, he added, "the influencers?"
Shane snorted. "We're at least 10 years too old to know who that is," he said like it should be obvious.
"And then you crumbled to dust and blew away on the wind," said Phillip, a stocky blonde whose job I couldn't remember.
The look on Shane's face made me think he might have regretted making another old-lady comment. At the same time, his "harrumph" in Phillip's direction implied he was proud not to know who, or what, Q-Tee was.
"Isn't Q that Senator's son?" Charlie asked me. "From Virginia, I think, or Kentucky maybe?"
"It didn't come up," I shrugged.
"Oh, I do know him," said Shane with a little enthusiasm. "Yes, Senator Prescott's son. And the other boy in the videos is his boyfriend? It's what everyone assumed but I don't think it has ever been confirmed."
"Well, you didn't hear it confirmed from me," I said, realizing that I was talking with a journalist.
Shane laughed. "Don't worry, kiddo, we're off the record," he said. "Anyway, politicians' kids are not on my beat."
Charlie scoffed. "Spend more than a few minutes watching their videos and you wouldn't have any question."
"No thank you," grumped Shane. He definitely liked being a curmudgeon.
"All right, dolls," said Eric grandly to the guys, reclaiming the conversation. "Here's what we're going to do. We are Elders, even if some of us don't look it. Let's each give Jon and Charlie some advice. What to do, or not to do, at college, or starting a career, or whatever strikes your mood. We'll call it our good deed for the week."
"You first," harrumphed Shane with a smile.
"All right," said Eric, pausing for effect: "Don't date straight boys." Amid a barrage of disagreement, Eric held up his hands for silence. "Flirt with them, tease them, sleep with them all you want," he said. "Fuck their brains out, they seem to like that. But don't date them, don't become their friend with benefits, don't let yourself have a crush, and whatever you do, don't fall in love with a straight boy!"
"Here, here," said Shane, "even though you thought you were a `straight boy' when I met you."
"Baby," said Eric too sweetly, "I was never a straight boy, it just took me some time to figure it all out." Most of the guys laughed.
"I'll add a corollary to Eric's rule," said Jules, an environmental lawyer who I guessed might have been from Hong Kong or Singapore based on his accent: "Take good care with the closeted ones too. Fool around on the down-low, hook up after parties, whatever's fun. But leave em better than you found `em,' is the best rule—and ask yourself if they're really worth all the trouble."
"Leave them better than you found them?" said Charlie.
"Be careful with the closeted ones, is all I'm saying," said Jules. "Be their friend, encourage them, teach them new tricks in bed, whatever might help them feel more confident, secure, accepted. Not that I think you would, but don' take advantage of them. Crack open the closet door for them, but just to show them the way out."
"Unless they're hot," said Will, one of the least bearish guys in the group. "Fuck all the hot straight boys and closeted boys you can." Some of the guys laughed and others groaned. To the guys, Will explained, "I'm just saying, these boys could turn more than a few straighties gay. We want them out there recruiting for us." More laughter.
"`Bisexual' boys too," said Tim, adding air quotes with his fingers. "Whether they're truly bi or just fumbling around on their way out of the closet, go slow, be kind, and ask yourself whether their drama is worth it."
"Unless they're hot," said Will, like it was obvious but still needed to be said. "If they're hot, fuck their brains out regardless." Everybody laughed.
"A corollary to Jules' corollary," said Kelly, a small man with big muscles. Another lawyer, I think. "Don't sleep with your roommates, even if they're hot."
General agreement from the guys, but Brandon called out, "another corollary: don't hook-up with your roommates. Or anybody in your college." He'd gone to Yale, which he'd said has undergraduate houses similar to A. Ham's. "Dating is fine. I have some good friends that met their husbands or wives in our college. Just don't casually fuck around casually with the guys you'll be living with for the next four years."
"Unless they're hot," said Will. "Then fuck their brains out."
"If you don't have a boyfriend," said Eric a little slyly, "fuck graduate and professional students. There's a lower chance you'll end up sitting next to them in a seminar next semester."
"And students from other colleges nearby," added Bill. "If you want to keep a low profile."
"And townies," said Will. "Do you have all the apps?" Without waiting for an answer he said, "download the apps and fuck the townies. If they're hot."
The guys were warming to their roles as Elders. Most of the guys seemed to agree that straight boys were trouble, but some were adamant that the sex was way hotter when it had to be a secret.
"Fuck them if they know what they're doing," said Vic, a buff Latino guy with beautiful smooth skin and a mop of black hair, one of the think tank analysts. "Virgins, first-timers, inexperienced guys? It can be fun, I guess, but I had too many bad drunk blowjobs to want any more of that."
Vic was met with a storm of disagreement, too quick for me to keep track of who was saying what.
"Hand jobs in the library," called out one guy.
"Hand jobs under the blanket at football games!" called another.
Blow jobs under the bleachers a football game!"
"Hand jobs in the backseat on the drive back from Panama City!" said Will.
"We knew what you were doing," said Eric, rolling his eyebrows. "Any anyway, Gautham came out before graduation so that hardly counts."
Charlie and I were cracking up, just like everybody else. I thought about making my own comment about Ohio Todd—maybe something about rugburns—but the Elders were on a roll.
"Making out in the alley behind Looney's With starter on the soccer team!"
"Ski weekend circle jerks!"
"Ski weekend hot tub hand jobs!"
"Ski cabin olive oil as lube!"
"Sloppy head in the hedges at the Arboretum!"
"The baseball fields," hollered another of the guys. "You can always fuck around in the dugouts."
"Yeah, yeah," said Vic, "I'm just saying that straighties can be hot, but lots of them don't know what the fuck they're doing. Again, more trouble than they're worth."
More laughter and memories. Toothy blowjobs. Premature ejaculation. Whiskey dick. Tim described hiding in some jock's room all day until his suitemates left for dinner. Bill alluded to a messy drunken hookup who hadn't prepped for anal. Thankfully, he spared the goriest details, which most of the guys seemed to know anyway.
"All the usual caveats apply," said Seb, another lawyer. "We're talking about the fun closet cases, straight boys, whatever. Never, ever fuck around with a homophobe." The guys called out their agreement.
They kept going, and not just sexy talk.
"Once you get to campus, find your favorite places," said Shane. "Your favorite places to study, your favorite libraries and reading rooms, your favorite classrooms and buildings in case you get a choice for which sections to take."
"Nerd!" laughed Will, with a wink to Charlie and me.
"Jon and Charlie are obviously academics," huffed Shane airily, "not trust fund dropouts like you." Will put his hand to his chest, pretending to be offended, but Shane ignored him and kept talking. "But also, find your favorite movie theaters, and diners, and museums, and dance clubs, and bookstores, and coffee shops, and stationary stores, and boutiques, and bakeries . . .."
"I'm getting nostalgic," said Brandon, squeezing Shane's hand.
"And trees," said Jules. "From what you've said, Jon, I'll bet you'll end up with a long list of favorite trees. Search for them, it's a beautiful campus. And also hikes, and bike routes, and running trails . . .. Don't let college make you forget the things you love."
Others added their own priorities. Buildings and outdoor spaces, added Vance, an architect. Gyms, a bunch of guys chimed in.
"Figure out which steam rooms and saunas come with a hand-job," said Will with a leer. "And where the jocks workout in gray cotton sweatpants."
"I've never really worked out in a gym," I said under my breath to Charlie.
Joshua, who was someone's boyfriend and at least 10 years younger than most of the other guys, spoke up. "You should find workout buddies who know what they're doing. Or sign up for a semester of weights as one of your electives."
"Darling," drawled Phillip, "Alexander Hamilton University will not offer physical education courses for credit." Turning to me, he added, "but do keep up on your exercise. The freshman 15 would look ghastly on you." A few guys rolled their eyes, maybe because they were used to his catty comments?
"That's just rude," said one of the guys in what I thought was a Sheldon Cooper impersonation. Phillip ignored the comment.
Jules jumped in to redirect the conversation. "Like I said, try to spend time outside," he said. "I hear the weather's terrible in Albany most of the year, but the A. Ham. forest and gardens are said to be beautiful. Plus, there's a lot of winter sports you can do around there."
The guys spent a while offering their recommendations on different wintertime exercise regimes, and how to learn them.
"Take classes with your friends," said Brandon quietly as the exercise discussion came to its end. "You'll be pressed by your advisors to work towards your major right away but resist the pressure. It's isolating to take all your classes with strangers, especially if you don't already know anybody on campus. Plus, it's just fun to have classes with your friends." There were plenty of murmurs of agreement.
In the lull that followed, Tim said simply, "sunscreen and moisturizer." He kept talking over Will's "nerd!" catcall.
"I'll just say this and then step down from my soapbox. Every suntan is an injury, even if it doesn't feel or look that way. You both have beautiful skin," he said to Charlie and me, "but unless you want to end up looking like these leathery hags"—-he glared pointedly at Will but gestured more broadly-—"start taking care of your skin now."
Charlie asked about brands and he and Tim had a long side-discussion about efficacy versus price points versus availability. "I'll give Jon a list," said Charlie with a nod in my direction.
"Don't fall behind on your reading," said a very handsome man whose name I couldn't remember. He had a neat ginger beard and hair a few shades darker. Twinkling green eyes. He worked in finance, I think. "I expect you'll be able to catch up if you have a reading period before finals, but don't leave it too late."
By then, Will was whispering "nerd!" for anything that wasn't advice about sex or parties, so everybody just ignored him, other than the occasional smiles to know they heard the joke.
"At the same time," Brandon said, "you may not be able to do all the reading. There were some semesters at Yale when I don't think I could have finished all the assignments even if I'd tried. Don't feel guilty. Try to read enough to join the discussion in sections, but don't feel bad if you can't get to everything."
Lots of academic advice followed. Don't wait until the last minute for papers. Have your friends read your work for clarity, even if they don't know the subject matter. Use the writing tutors if they are available. Get to know your professors during their office hours. Make friends with the grad student Teaching Assistants. Study what I want, not what I think the grad schools are looking for. But also, take time to learn what classes and majors the grad schools might want.
"One more suggestion," said Shane as the conversation wound down. "I don't know if it would have worked for me as an undergrad, but it really helped me in J-school, so I'll throw it out there. I got the idea from Eric when he was in law school. Think about trying to treat college as a job." Eric nodded in agreement.
I wasn't sure what he meant, and my blank look must have said so.
"Set your alarm in the morning, go to class, and try to study during the day, so you can do things you like at night. Maybe you'll have too much work for it to be a 9:00 to 5:00 deal but set a time for schoolwork and make sure to preserve personal time for yourself."
"Weekends too," added Eric. "Take one weekend day for yourself, or for you and your friends, and keep to it. Work will expand to fill every minute if you let it, so make sure you have time you set aside for yourself. Saturdays worked best for me, because Sundays are always terrible if you have work to do."
More advice flew in. Exercise in the morning before class. No, it would be dark and freezing in Albany. Wait until the sun is out to work out. Schedule classes for the morning. No, schedule classes later in the day and use the morning to study. Pretty soon, I realized everybody was just describing what worked for them. It was good advice, but not especially useful.
They had plenty of advice for Charlie too, mostly in side-discussions happening at the same time the Elders gave me their college ideas. Networking suggestions, career options he hadn't realized a marketing degree made available to him, and more that I didn't follow.
It was a lot to take in –more than I could absorb, if I'm being honest, but it got me thinking for sure.
Slowly, slowly, I felt myself starting to look towards A. Ham.
Back at the Pines that night, after an afternoon storm had chased us all from the beach unexpectedly, Charlie and I snuggled on my bed, laughing about the whole day. He was wearing sexy gray boxer briefs again and I had on a pair of running shorts, sheer and unlined. We were both semi-hard, but Charlie wanted to talk.
"My head's spinning," he'd laughed when I asked if he'd think about a career in Washington D.C. rather than New York.
"Most of what they do sounds deadly boring," he said from the crook of my arm. "Maybe I could run some politician's socials, I found the right person , somebody I agreed with and cared about, someone who'd let me have fun with their brand. But that's probably a unicorn. And marketing for think tanks? Or trade associations? The money would be great, but I think I'd get bored so quickly."
"Maybe when you're an Elder," I said. They guys had been really funny about that. "That's how you'll pay for your BMW and the weekend house at the shore."
We chatted for a little longer, but the sun and margaritas took their toll on both of us. During a lull in our chatter, Charlie started purring in the crook of my arm. I fell asleep thinking about A. Ham.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
This took longer to finish that I expected, but the good news is that the next chapter is almost all written already since it started as part of this one. As it got longer, I decided to break Charlie into A and B parts. I hope to publish the next chapter before the end of the month.
In the meantime, thanks again to all of you for your patience and your comments. Please let me know what you think!
cottagecore.stories@gmail.com
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