1 Chapter 1

Jacksonville, FLDavid

I STEPPED OUT of the shower and began to towel myself dry, critically examining my image in the mirror as I did. For the most part I liked, and was satisfied with, what I saw: crew cut brown hair, square jawed sort of face, broad shoulders, great pecs, smooth and hairless torso, narrow waist, big balls, well-developed and rather hairy legs. As usual, I tried unsuccessfully to ignore the various flaws, such as the scars on my torso and legs—among other things….

The ‘angel’ on my right shoulder whispered in my ear, “David, my boy, you’re going to go out tonight and get laid.”

“But it was a total disaster the last time, and the time before that, so why subject yourself to all that it again?” the ‘devil’ on my left shoulder said. “You might as well give up.”

“Because it’s like falling off of a horse,” the ‘angel’ said. “You’ve got to get right back on it again, and the sooner the better. There just has to be some guy out there who will accept you as you are… damaged goods and all.”

“Right,” the ‘devil’ said. “Fat chance of that. How often has that happened in the last two years? You can count the number of encounters that actually ended with coupling on the fingers of one hand. One look at your naked body, and they head for the hills.”

Still, I thought, hope springs eternal in the human breast.

Internalized debate over, I stepped up to the vanity and shaved. Then I applied deodorant under my arms and a splash of cologne to my neck before returning to my bedroom to dress. I selected a pair of well-worn 501s, pulled on a polo shirt, and slipped into loafers.

I lived in the Murray Hill section of Jacksonville, and it took me only twenty minutes or so to drive through the neighborhoods of Avondale and Riverside to reach the bar. As I pulled my aging Toyota into the parking lot of the bar, I saw that it was almost empty, which wasn’t surprising, given the early hour.

Ah, well. The smaller the crowd, the less chance there was of rejection.

Entering the bar, I noticed that the bartender was leaning on the far side of the U-shaped bar that divided the room, his back to the door, apparently deep in conversation with the rather good-looking, and only, customer seated at the bar across from him. The customer stared at me and said something that caused the bartender to turn and look toward me.

What was that about?I wondered.

Walking to the opposite end of the bar from the two men, I waited for the bartender to take my order. He served me without comment, and, beer in hand, I selected one of the many empty tables and sat down.

Jacksonville, FLKevin

IT WAS SEVEN O’clock on a Friday evening, and, freshly showered and shaved, I was looking forward to an evening out. I gave myself one last look in the mirror and thought, Kevin, you look like you’re ready for anything. I’d eaten lunch a couple of hours later than usual and wasn’t ready for dinner, so I decided to stop at my favorite gay bar for a beer.

Don’t be misled by my use of the word ‘favorite’. I don’t particularly enjoy going to bars, and the one I selected was the least objectionable of those that were immediately available. On entering the bar, I quickly surveyed the room, which was almost empty, and selected a place at the bar that enabled me to see anyone who came through the door. Clancey, the bartender, brought me a beer without waiting for an order to be placed.

“Here ya go, Kevin,” Clancey said, placing the brew in front of me.

“Thanks.”

We were more than slightly acquainted and had, in fact, enjoyed a brief fling some months earlier, but like most flings, it hadn’t lasted. I was keeping one eye on the door while we chatted, and I said, “Look at what just came in. Do you know him?”

Clancey turned to look in the direction of the door, and said, “No, but I’d like to.”

The new arrival was very tall, good-looking, extremely well built, and carried himself with what I immediately recognized as a military bearing. He was dressed pretty much like myself—501s, knit shirt, and loafers without socks. To my dismay, the guy stopped at the far end of the bar, ordered a beer, and carried it to one of the tables on the other side of the room.

Clancey came back to where I was sitting, and said, “Like what you see?”

“You know I do.”

“Why don’t you do something about it?”

“Such as?”

“Well, you can hardly offer him a second drink at this point. You could, however, ask him to dance. That’s always a good icebreaker.”

“What a good idea,” I said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” he said. “You just told me you’ve been doing without for awhile—go get him.”

I grabbed my beer and walked over to the jukebox, which was, at the moment, silent. I fed it some money and selected two slow numbers. As soon as the music began, I walked over to the guy’s table, set my beer down on it across from him, held out a hand, and said, “Dance?”

“I’m not very good at it,” the guy said. His voice was resonant, deep, and very sexy.