Chapter 1

IT WAS FRIDAY morning, the last class of the spring term was behind me, and I would graduate in a few days. I’d already signed up for a summer term to begin working on my master’s and was, at the moment, looking forward to a day of creative loafing. Sally, my roommate, was at work, and I had the apartment all to myself. The harsh sound of the doorbell interrupted my reverie.

“It’s open,” I said in a loud voice, wondering who would be at my door on a Friday morning.

I heard the door open and a familiar voice say, “It’s just me.”

“Hi, Norm,” I said to my best friend, Norman Simms, and when I heard the door close behind him I added, “What’s up?”

“Not a lot. I’m headed out to the beach, and I’m going to take you with me.”

“After what happened last time, I shouldn’t think you’d want me along.”

“So you tripped over a curb and skinned your knee. It was my fault for not warning you.”

“It was actually my fault for allowing you to talk me into leaving my cane in the car. You can’t be expected to see every little thing that pops up in front of my feet and warn me in time.”

“Enough of that, Josh. Get your ass into your bedroom and out of those clothes. I want to see you in those Speedos I bought you for your birthday—right now.”

“Okay,” I said. “I guess a little sun wouldn’t hurt.”

“No, it wouldn’t. You need to get rid of that Yankee pallor.”

“I’ve got all summer to do that.”

“Yeah… starting right now. Now, get out of that chair, or I’ll have to get physical.”

“You think you’re man enough?”

“Don’t start. You and I both know there’s no chemistry there.”

He was right. Being gay and best friends, we’d tried once upon a time to get it on, but as he put it, there just was no chemistry. I made my way into my bedroom, found the appropriate drawer, and retrieved the Speedos.

“The tags are still on them,” he said accusingly. “You haven’t even worn them yet.”

“I was waiting for the right opportunity.”

“Give them to me.”

I handed him the Speedos. After a minute, he handed them back.

“There. Tags are all gone. Now, let’s see what you look like in them.”

I sat down on the edge of my bed, pulled off my shorts and underwear, and pulled the Speedos on. Standing for inspection as I tucked everything in place, I said, “Well?”

“Damn, you’re hot. Black hair, medium height, slim build with broad shoulders. You’ll be turning heads as we walk down the beach, and nobody will even notice me. One thing, though. You need to point your dick either east or west, instead of south—yours is nice-sized; no need to tuck it out of sight.”

“I have it on good authority that you’re pretty hot-looking yourself.” I shifted things around until I was pointing to the right. It was true—Sally had told me more than once that she wished my best friend was straight.

“Who told you that, the resident fag hag?”

“Sally isn’t a fag hag.”

“Sure she is, but who cares?”

“Evidently, you do—you call her one often enough.”

“Never to her face.”

“True.”

“Now pull those shorts on over your Speedos, grab a towel and your keys, and we’re out of here.”

I found my wallet, keys, sunglasses, and a towel, in that order, and after grabbing my cane, I headed to the door. Locking it behind me, I made my way down the sidewalk toward the parking area.

“Is that your car?”

“Which one?”

“Straight ahead. I can hear the ticking of the metal as the motor cools.”

“That would be it,” he said, taking my hand.

I shook his hand off. “Let me do this for myself, please.”

“Okay, Mr. Independent—knock yourself out.”

I worked my way toward the sounds of the cooling metal and felt for the handle of the passenger door. I heard the click as he keyed the remote, so I let myself in the car and secured my seatbelt.

“I still marvel at how easy you make that look,” he said from the driver’s seat.

“Years of practice, my boy. Years of practice.”

“‘My boy’, my ass. We’re the same age.”

“True, but I feel years older.”

He started the car, and I felt it begin to ease out of the parking space.

“Who knows?” he said. “We might even get lucky today.”

“Oh, puh-leeze. Us get lucky, merely walking down the beach?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Right.”

“When’s the last time you actually got laid?”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” I said somewhat defensively. Actually, it had been longer than I cared to admit, but I certainly wasn’t going to talk about it.