SPLASH IN THE POOL
Jack Scribe
Part
2, DAVE
LEAVES THE NEST:
That spring, after graduating from high school,
Russ was accepted at Northwestern University as a pre-med student. I, not
knowing what I wanted to do in my adult life, ventured not too far away. I was
safely bound for Minnesota State University – Mankato.
My freshman year at MSU was fairly
uneventful. I established serious study habits at my dorm. My roommate was a
decent guy that gave me my personal space. He was studying Computer Sciences
with a heavy load. My liberal arts classes gave me a chance to discover where I
wanted to direct my future. I made friends with a solid group of straight guys
who I hung around with in the dorm and at the gym and pool. I continued to swim
for exercise. With the regular gym workout regimen with my buddies, my physique
buffed out with good definition of the abs and biceps to compliment a trim body
that had been trained to swim. I topped out at 6’ and 190#. My light blond body
hair was primarily limited to my arms, legs, and pubic area.
Russ and I emailed each other often,
discussing our school lives. We both continued to ace our school courses. The
high school secrets were never discussed. I was putting my gay sexuality on
hold. My other best friend, my left hand, provided all the release I needed.
But, that special friendship I had
with Russ would not duplicate itself in Mankato. I’m not talking about the sex.
I’m talking about a close bud that I could share my most intimate thoughts
with.
In late May, I had just finished my
first year exams when I received devastating news. Uncle Trey drove over to
Mankato and found me at the dorm. I was surprised when he called my room phone
and said, “ Dave, this is Trey. I’m in Mankato and need to see you.”
I replied, “Sure, Uncle Trey. I’m at
the dorm. Do you know how to get here?” “Dave, I’m actually only a block away.
I’ll be at your room in about five minutes,” said Trey as he disconnected his
mobile phone.
I was pretty anxious when I heard the
knock on my door. Opening it, I saw Trey looking at me with a very somber
expression. ‘Oh oh, something’s going down that I’m not going to like,’ I
thought.
“Uncle, come in.” He walked in,
grabbed me in a big hug, and held me closely a little longer than usual, and
kicked the door closed. I sat down on my bunk and offered Uncle Trey the desk
chair.
“I won’t beat around the bush, Dave,”
he began. “Your Mom and Dad have been involved in a serious accident.” Before I
could reply, my Uncle continued, “Your Dad and Mom are victims of a senseless,
violent auto accident involving some asshole drunk who had a DWI record a mile
long. Dave, I wanted to be with you when you got this news.” He paused as he
looked into his young vulnerable nephew’s eyes. “They didn’t make it.”
I sat in disbelief as my body slowly
started shutting down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Uncle Trey rush over
to my side and grab me around shoulders allowing me to lay my head into his
chest, letting my shaking body with a now steady flow of tears find comfort
with a loving soul. He held me for quite a while. The only blessing is that my
parents were killed instantly. The
other driver suffered slight injuries. What justice is that?
Finally, I pulled myself together.
Uncle Trey helped me gather my toiletries and some clothes, including my dark
blue suit, and drove me back to St. Paul a half hour later. I left a note for
my roommate. He had my home telephone number.
I will always cherish that I had been
part of a very loving and caring family. Dad was an investment vice president
working for Merrill Lynch in neighboring Minneapolis. I was comforted by the
presence of my grandparents on my mother’s, Aunt Betty and Uncle Trey Swenson
on father’s side, and my best friend, Russ. The funeral mass at St. Bart’s
Episcopal Church was followed by a two-casket burial in the hillside cemetery near
our home. This ended my immediate family journey. As the only child, I was left
alone to pick up the pieces. Mom’s parents stayed with me for two days before
they returned to their Des Moines home. Russ immediately went back to Evanston
because his exams were just underway at Northwestern.
Before he left, Russ said, “This is
heavy duty shit, Dave,” he said as he took my hand and squeezed hard and
brought his other hand around and brought our bodies together. “I wish we could
be together in my room like old times.” He held me, and we stood still, our
hearts beating in unison.
“Russ, sometimes you can’t go back,” I
replied. “Thanks for being here for my family and me.” With that, I kissed him
on the forehead and he departed for his flight.
Talk about foundations crumbling. My parents were
the center of my young universe. Russ was no longer in my life on an intimate
basis. At this point, we both were moving forward with our lives - he studying
to be a doctor, me not having the foggiest...
At that point I realized that I was at the major
crossroad in my life, so far. At 19, I didn’t have a clue to the direction I
was headed, or, what the future might bring. Dad had left me a comfortable
inheritance, not super-rich, but respectable if the investments kept growing. I
could count on a minimum of $150,000 per year in dividend income. My Dad’s
partner at Merrill Lynch offered to be my financial advisor. Not really needing
any additional income, I asked that the bulk of the dividends be automatically
re-invested. He would deposit $3,000 monthly into my checking account. I gave
him full authority to manage my assets.
I knew that the family
house no longer held any significance for me. I grew up with a loving family.
But, with Mom and Dad gone, it wasn’t’ home any longer. I retrieved all of my
personal possessions and placed into storage the valuable antique Biedermeier
furniture, antiques, and artwork that Mom had accumulated. It was a house that I wanted to sell. With the
housing market as strong as it was, my childhood home was sold and off the
market in two days at full list price. I gave the $650,000 to Merrill Lynch for
more investment opportunities. My Dad’s partner suggested that I invest in
annuities to balance the portfolio. ‘Fine,’ I thought. ‘Whatever.’
The only other physical asset that I inherited was
a summer cabin in the beautiful Brainerd Lakes area in central Minnesota. This
“cabin” was really a 2,500 square foot three-bedroom vacation home, completely
winterized, on the shores of a beautiful lake. I wouldn’t part with this
retreat fully furnished in upscale Ralph Lauren “rustic.” I placed the cabin
under the management of a local firm that rented only to qualified vacationers
who would respect the home; they would rent it at a premium price for no less
than a two-week period. They assured me that they would install a locked closet
that would store all of our personal possessions. In that I wouldn’t get a
chance to get up there soon, I had to trust their management and selectivity.
I plotted my next course of action. I didn’t want to go back to college…right
now. I wanted to get out and see the world. That in mind, what better course
than joining the military. Somewhere in the back of my head the song “In the
Navy” by the Village People kept playing. How gay is that? But, it did
stimulate me to seek out the St. Paul U.S. Navy recruiting office. Fortunately,
it was located in the mall not too far from my soon-to-be former home.
Admittedly, I was vulnerable. The Chief in charge
promised me an education and a chance to become a well-rounded sailor and man.
With stars in my eyes, I signed up on the spot and accepted an August slot at
the boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois.
Great Lakes boot camp was very transitional. I accepted my plebe status and worked hard
to be a good sailor in the eyes of my fellow minnows and the Chiefs and Petty
Officers that handled our training. While I saw several cute guys that I would
love to have known personally, I put my sexual orientation in the background as
I had done in college. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” What I couldn’t hide was my
aptitude and college transcripts. I was considered to have an IQ capability to
advance rapidly in the ranks. Jeez, I just wanted to see the world.
For whatever reason, the BuPers computer in
Washington D.C. decided that I would be a terrific candidate for Naval Air as a
technician. With that confirmed by “Hal,” my orders directed me to the Naval
Air Training Facility In Memphis. I had advanced to the next rate of E-2.
Airman Apprentice.
With all my affairs in
St. Paul concluded and boot camp behind me, I boarded a United Airlines 727 in
Chicago for the 1½-hour trip to Memphis. There, after retrieving my duffle bag,
along with dozens of other sailors, also fresh from boot camp, we waited for
the bus to the base in Millington, 21 miles north of Memphis. Aside from the
initial nervousness in my new surroundings, I felt positive about the direction
my life was taking.
I had signed up for four years with the Navy. I
wasn’t sure what was to happen in that time. I knew that I would be trained in
some discipline that would be beneficial to the Navy and to me. At Mankato, I
had studied introductory mathematics in addition to liberal arts. Here in
Memphis, I would explore the world of Naval Air technical support.
The bus trip to the base was a good chance to take
a few nods of rest. Most of the guys were of no interest to me. They were
mostly one to two years my junior with not a lot of social grace. I’m not
holding my nose high. The fact is that most of these newly minted sailors were
from an intellectual level with which I could not identify.
After being assigned a barracks billet designed
for student sailors, we stowed our gear and headed to the mess hall for some
dinner. Meeting my new mates, I mused about the direction my life was taking. I
had purposely escaped from my very predictable life in Minnesota. Without Mom
and Dad, life in that area of the world was without much meaning any longer. I
would keep in contact with my aunt and uncles plus the various cousins in the
Minnesota heartland. With two living grandparents in Des Moines, I would always
have a special place in my heart for them.
Russ was taking his life in new directions. I hoped that we would not
drift away from each other. Clearly,
any more moments of intimacy had passed.
After returning from dinner to the barracks, I
introduced myself to a few more of the new arrivals. I was happily surprised to
meet a couple a great guys that I had not met earlier. They had attended the other
boot camp in San Diego and had also just arrived for Naval Air technical
training. Of the two, I initially gravitated towards Mr. Cute… a 5’8” 160# trim
dynamo with short black hair, sparsely growing on his body, and the bluest of
blue eyes that only a lad of Irish heritage can display. I was not surprised
when he introduced himself as Mark Connelly. Irish as Paddy’s Pig. Was this my
Russ substitute? The other guy was a small, wiry Mexican American introduced to
me as John Martinez. I was polite to John but clearly intended to ply my
personality skills on Mark.
We compared our “boot”
training, They in San Diego, and me at Great Lakes. Other than the weather, the
routine was very similar. We agreed that we all had come out of boot camp wiser
for the wear.
“I really didn’t get a chance to see much of San
Diego when I was at the NTC,” said Mark wistfully. “I hope we get stationed on
a ship there. ’Diego really is a happening place for young guys.”
Gazing at Mark, I started to feel the loss of my
intimate afternoons with Russ with greater intensity that I had
for two years. ‘Was his faint resemblance to my childhood lover…err, friend…
the reason for this melancholy?’ I asked myself.
“I’ve
never been to San Diego. But, I hope to get stationed there,” I retorted while
still thinking about Russ. ‘When it was all said and done, I was just a
convenient fuck machine,’ I mused.
John added, “Well, San Diego is my home town. I
know where all the action is located. We gotta re-group in the Gaslight
district at some point. Some real bitchin’ bars and serious women around.” With
that, he smiled. “These gals love a straight guy in uniform.”
I asked a clarification. “What do you mean, John,
a straight guy in uniform?” I was
concerned that I was picking up on a little attitude and homophobia.
“No slur intended. It’s
just that, in San Diego, there are at least 50,000 sailors and marines in the
area between all the military facilities. You do the math. There are probably
5,000 guys who are swinging on the gay side or both ways. Add the male
population of all the colleges in the area and the surfing dudes down by the
beach to that number, and this makes for a pretty substantial gay population. I
have no problem with gay guys. Just makes the competition for the women a little
less intense,” he said with a sincere smile.
My interest in San Diego jumped up a couple of
notches. ‘Good odds,’ I considered.
Mark said that he was from Seattle and was ready
to get his training and ship out to see the world. I asked, “Why are you so
intent on doing the ‘Navy thing’ and travel?”
He pondered this question for a moment and
replied, “Because I am literally running away, Dave. I really fucked up my
first year at the University of Washington. Got into the SAE fraternity house
as a pledge, and never considered the consequences of being intravenously fed
draft beer for the two semesters. In my Dad’s eyes, I’m an abject failure. Here
he is building a dynamite software computer company and I’m blowing it all
away.”
I sensed that there were several family issues
that we shouldn’t broach. I asked, “So, Mark, whose decision was it to join the
Navy?”
“I just wanted to get out of Seattle. I’m a pretty
bright guy. But I didn’t like where my life was going. No drugs. Just daily
fuck-ups. I decided, on my own, to re-group. Re-grouping is where I’m at. Dad
is skeptical but supportive. If I don’t shape up, I’ve got a lot to lose.”
“Well, as they say, ‘shape up or ship out’,” I
said in a flip, upbeat manner. “I get the feeling that you can achieve whatever
you want to do,” looking into Mark’s eyes with a questioning look.
He diverted his eyes from mine. “Dave, I hope
you’re right,” he countered.
‘Oh, shit,’ I thought. ‘Not another crush that
will go nowhere.’
We were all sporting brand new work dungarees that
were uniform of the day for class and general dress while on the base. Civvies
were only worn off base on authorized leave to go ashore on weekends. Limited leave certainly cramped the style of
energetic young males with testosterone to spare. However, the 10-week training
program would allow us to become real sailors/airmen and secure a permanent
assignment supporting Naval Air on an aircraft carrier. We could hardly wait.
The school barracks were not designed for comfort
or privacy. Each barracks were two-storied with a huge sleeping area with
single bunks for 50 guys. Not too convenient to “take care of business.”
The communal showers, washbasins, and commodes
were a real beehive of activity at 0600. Speed was the buzzword. We had to be
over at the mess hall by 0645 to wolf down morning mystery food before standing
in formation back at the barracks at 0730 to receive the “word of the day” by
the lead Chief Petty Officer. School officially commenced at 0800.
Mark, John and I were all in the same classes due
to our proficiency in computer skills and high math scores. We became
inseparable in study and play.
Mark got me into a routine of going to the gym and
pool. “Dave, we’re going to go to pot if we don’t get our ass in gear and work
out.”
“OK, if we do this together, you’re going to show
me some strength-building stuff, and I’ll get you in the pool for endurance lap
swimming. Deal?”
“Deal.” We
shook and gave each other a shoulder bump. “Let’s get our little brown brother
to join us.”
In the gym and pool, the three of us seriously
toned up. And we had fun. I especially liked the sauna or steam time
afterwards. Sitting on the towels, I got a chance to check out my friends.
Occasionally, we’d sprout some wood without any embarrassment. Our trio had
developed a very natural relationship with each other. ‘And shit, at our age, a
hard dick in the sauna was pretty common.’ I rationalized.
One day,
Mark and I worked out alone. I left the weights first to return to the lockers.
When I was alone in the steam room, I got hard and started stoking myself.
Shortly after, the door opened and Mark came in. I fumbled and froze, gripping
my excited dick.
“Hey bro, whatchu doin’ down there?” Mark said as
he sat down next to me and adjusted his vision for the steamy air, smiling.
“Busted,” I replied as I removed my hand from
“Davey,” exposing my slicked hard dick. “Mark, I gotta tell you that our
barracks living arrangements don’t give me much opportunity to do what I need
to do.”
“I hear you.” He slowly brought his hands down to
his crotch and started rubbing his flaccid cock. In no time it was pointing
straight up to his navel. “Mind if I join?”
“Hell, no’” I replied as I started my action down
there again.
With that, Mark leaned back and stared dreamily
into the hot fog and started a serious stroking action. I matched stroke for
stroke.
“Oh, fuck,” I murmured, as I felt my balls
tighten. I cupped my right hand in front of my pulsing dick head to catch the
evidence as it jumped out.
“Dave, I’m right with you.” Out the corner of my
eye, I saw him arch his back and shoot thick white ropes of cum over his chest
and six pack. “Buddy, that was an inspired suggestion.” He turned and winked at
me as he pulled his towel up to wipe himself off.
During the two months at tech school, Mark and I
jacked off together whenever we could, but that’s as far as we would venture.
We never brought John into these sessions. But, I discovered something about
myself. These experiences were merely lustful interludes of self-gratification
with a pal. I no longer attached the memory of Russ to sexual exploration.
In the middle of May, the three of us passed the
tech school with flying honors and waited for orders telling us where we were
to be sent on permanent assignment. Mark and John both were assigned to
aircraft carriers – the JFK and the Enterprise – in San Diego. My orders, for
some reason, were delayed. The day before we were to be deployed, I finally got
my orders – to Special Services at Memphis Naval Air Station. What?? I’m going to see the world in the middle of
Tennessee’s fucking cotton fields?
When I reported to Personnel Friday afternoon, the
answers to my many questions were laid out by a very sympathetic Petty Officer
2nd Class.
“Swenson, you had been assigned to the Coral Sea,
he answered. “However, at the last minute, it was determined that the ship
would go into dry dock for the summer in Bremerton, Washington, for some
routine repair. It will be back at sea by October and you’ll set sail with it
then. So, I guess this will be your home for a while.”
I was assigned to Special Services. Special
Services supervised all the recreational facilities including gyms, movie
theater, golf course, library, and the swimming pools. I was going to be a
lifeguard at the Officer’s Club.
I got back to the school barracks just in time to
say goodbye to the guys. No doubt Mark, John and I would meet up in San Diego
come fall. Mark and I would find our way back to the gym in San Diego, no
doubt.
‘This short-term friendship thing is part of Navy
life,’ I surmised. ‘It’s hard to accept these adjustments.’
We gave each other brotherly hugs as they hopped
on the bus to depart the base for the last time. We all had each other’s Fleet
Post Office and email addresses. I was eager to join them in California. ‘Did
Mark have any feelings for me?’ I queried. ‘Nah.’ Extending these thoughts,
I concluded that we were just good friends.