Going Gay / Bruce – Chapter Twenty

I don’t remember how I filled the endless days and the long, lonely nights after Winston’s death. My life became a kind of numb routine of classes, papers, and meetings with my thesis advisor. My personal life was a desert, barren and empty.

Nevertheless, I graduated with my MBA, and my parents were there for the celebration, along with my sister Natalie, her husband Richard Bronson, and their two small twins, Kieran and Kelly.

At lunch in a restaurant after the ceremony, my father turned to me seriously and asked, “So, now what are you going to do?”

“Tim!” my mother scolded.

“I just wanted to ask. It’s something we all need to know.”

To lighten the tone of the conversation, Natalie asked, smirking, “Are you going to get a surfboard and just be a beach bum?” She wasn’t being snide, just trying to make everyone smile. And it worked, to some degree. Grinning widely, seven-year old Kieran interjected, “Cool! Are you, Uncle Bruce?”

I smiled at him. At least he had no responsibilities to the family – yet. I hoped he would have an easy life, and that he would be free to be whatever he wanted to be, and love whomever he wanted to love.

I looked at Dad. “Actually, I’m way ahead of you. I’ve accepted a position at an aerospace contractor in Seattle. They do a lot of work for all the big manufacturers of planes and rockets. I’ll be starting in their space engineering division in about a month.”

There was stunned silence all around the table. Even Kieran and Kelly sat nervously silent.

Calmly, my father said, “Well, that sounds like an option…”

“Tim!” my mother said again.

He cleared his throat. “Of course, I don’t have to tell you that we wish you all the best, and much success, whatever you decide to do…”

“I’ve already decided, Dad.” I was not taking any of his bullshit. I had made up my mind I wasn’t going back to Denver, and I wasn’t taking some junior executive position in one of his businesses. The last thing I wanted to do was be some kind of heir apparent that everyone resented.

My father took a different tack. “Well, I think it’s great that you get to see the world of business from every angle and have a lot of experience… before you move up to a management role.”

“If that’s where the job takes me, fine, Dad.” I said, “But at this point, my only goal is to be good at what I do and learn as much as I can about the job I’m going to do.”

“And that’s a good thing,” my mother said firmly. “And I think that’s where we’ll leave it just now.”

Defeated, my father looked out the window. “I have to say the climate here in California is a lot kinder than ours in the Rockies.”

“Well, Seattle is a lot colder and wetter, but there’s nowhere near as much snow as back home.” I was going with the flow and trying not to be an asshole.

My brother-in-law Bob, who was an orthodontist, spoke up. “Your MBA from Stanford will easily take you far in this world, Bruce.”

Natalie chimed in, “I never thought my little brother would turn out to be such a scholar!” We all had a good-natured chuckle and the lunch ended uneventfully. They cleared out immediately afterward and headed for San Francisco International for their flight back to Denver.

Back in the near-empty apartment, I packed the last of my clothes. I had sold or given away the furniture and sent a trunk of clothing ahead to the corporate apartment that I would be sharing with another newbie at the company. I hadn’t had a roommate since Carl in my freshman year, and I was more than a little apprehensive. I hoped that everything would be a lot different at 26 than it had been at 19.

Taking one last look around, I walked out onto the balcony overlooking the community pool. Handsome young men in Speedos still strutted their stuff, showing off muscles above and below the belt. I reflected that I had completely lost interest in men after Winston, and I still remembered how badly David had left me. Maybe things would change in an entirely new environment, but I wasn’t optimistic.

I locked the door and carried my last suitcase down and stored it in the trunk of the convertible. I had done my best to keep it as shiny as new in tribute to Winston. It had been his baby, and he was proud as a peacock whenever he drove around with the top down. Here was a black man with a set of wheels that turned heads wherever he went.

I also remembered the many romantic get-aways that the convertible had delivered us to. Those were happy days, and I’d always have the memories, but I had moved on.

I turned west toward the Coast Highway and then down to Santa Barbara. I wasn’t sure where I was going to stop—Malibu, maybe, or West Hollywood.

But as it turned out, I just kept driving on and on. It occurred to me that I was not only putting distance between myself and Palo Alto, where so much of my life had taken place over the past eight years, but also heading away from my chosen future in the Pacific Northwest. Oh, well, that was a mystery to be pondered later.

It took two days, but I finally pulled in at the most southern part of Southern California. I had a pile of money from graduation gifts, so I treated myself to a stay at the Del Coronado, the luxury hotel on the island across San Diego Bay. I splurged on a suite on one of the top floors, with a stunning view out into the Pacific. I could even see fighter jets taking off and landing from the Naval Air Station nearby.

I crashed for the first night, ordering a salad from room service for $35. I was going to have to watch the budget if that was typical of the prices here. The next morning, I slipped on a bright yellow Speedo, intending to head down to the outdoor pool.

As I put my suit on, my mind wandered back to my career as a swim team captain, in what seemed a different lifetime. I checked myself out in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. I had a pretty decent tan, great abs, and a nice package bulging in the tiny suit. I wasn’t muscular or hairy by any definition, but I was trim, a good weight for my height, and sporting a new, light brown mustache. A thin line of similar-colored hair led down from my navel and disappeared into the waistband of the Speedo.

“Damn! You look pretty good! Even a little sexy!” I said to my reflection.

I had not spent much time at the apartment pool in the frenzied last months of completing my degree and defending my thesis. Now, I just wanted to bask in the sun, sip something cold and alcoholic, and maybe lust after some hot young studs parading around nearly naked.

That’s right—I was beginning to get some sex drive back. I realized that I had sublimated it for so many reasons over the past couple of years, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was still there and returning as strong as ever.

I headed down the poolside bar and ordered a glass of Chablis. One sip told me it was overpriced and not very good, but it was cold and wet, and I felt like I needed to have a drink in my hand—something other than the silly umbrella-drinks that seemed to be everywhere these days.

I headed out onto the sunny patio, looking for a nice chair to lounge in. I found one with an extra benefit—a cute younger guy in board shorts. About six feet tall and deeply tanned, he looked like the consummate surfer dude, but I knew that those ruffians would never be allowed around the pool at this expensive hotel.

“This chair taken?” I asked with the friendliest grin I could muster.

“Huh? Oh, no. Help yourself.” The kid—because that’s what he looked like to me, at the ripe old age of 26—looked up and squinted in the sunlight.

“Thanks.” I sat and stretched out full-length, making sure my crotch was front and center. I was beginning to feel a little stirring down there, and I had no intention of hiding it.

The young man—I’ll respect him by not calling him a kid any longer— looked at the glass in my hand. “Is that wine or something?”

I looked over seductively and said mysteriously, “Or something. . .” I looked at the table next to his chair. “And what are you drinking?”

“It’s called a Margarita.”


“Yeah, made with tequila.”

“Does it taste good?”

“You wanna try it?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” This scintillating conversation was beneath me, but I needed to get into the rhythm of seduction again because I intended to get laid tonight. I sipped the drink, getting salt from the rim in my mustache.

He giggled. “That salt shit gets all over you.” I nodded and joined in the chuckle.

Then I took the plunge. “I’m Bruce. Bruce Hobson.” I held out my hand.

He looked confused, then took my hand and shook it reluctantly. “I’m Joe Patrick.” I gave his hand a friendly squeeze, holding it just a second longer than necessary. He looked down at his hand, then up at my smiling face, and then squeezed back. Message sent and received!

We talked for a while—about the weather, the hotel, his love of surfing, his rich parents who dragged him around the world wherever they wanted to be with no regard for what he wanted to do, and so on.

Joe certainly looked the part of a typical beach bum, but there were mannerisms that revealed that he came from a proper family. His sun-bleached hair and bright green eyes sparkled with intensity when he talked. His ripped body was completely hairless, and he had a tiny tattoo of a heart on one shoulder. I was wishing that he, too, had chosen a Speedo, so that I could get a better measure of his manhood, but I was become more certain by the minute that I would see its full glory before this day was over.

I had another glass of Chablis, and Joe had two more Margaritas. He was 20, had finished two years of college and decided he didn’t need it, and was between boyfriends at the moment.

When he told me that, he looked closely to see if I was shocked. I just gave him a big smile and said that they must have been lucky guys to go out with him. Again, message sent and received!

As the afternoon passed, I took a couple of long swims in the pool. Joe watched me intently. One time that I returned to the chair and picked up my towel, he said, “You swim like a pro.”

“Well, not a pro, but I was captain of my school’s swim team in high school.”

We talked a little more about his high school days and what a waste of time college had been for him. As he talked, it occurred to me that he was the kind of dude I would have called “a waste of space” when I was in college, busting my ass to get a good GPA. Oh, well, he clearly had other attributes—ones that I hoped to examine closely very soon.

As he downed his fourth Margarita, I thought it opportune to see if I could lure him into my lair.

“So, where’s your family today?”

“Oh, they’re out on some fuckin fishing boat, trying to hook a blue marlin.” He grimaced, and I mirrored his expression.

I casually went on. “Well, I’m thinking of heading up to my room for a quick shower and maybe another drink or two. . .” He looked up. I clearly had his attention.

I smiled alluringly. “Would you care to join me?”

“In the drinks or in the shower?”

“Either. . . or both!”

He laughed. “You’re not too subtle, are you?” I was frankly amazed that he knew the word, but I just smiled and winked at him.

“OK. Let’s do it!” he said enthusiastically. We gathered our towels, put on our sandals, and casually left the pool area, neither of us wanting to seem too eager for what was coming next.

Alone in the elevator up to my suite, I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. He didn’t back away. Instead, he returned the buss and was getting set to do more when the elevator doors opened.

“Hold that thought,” I told him with a grin, as we exited and started down the hall. Holding my key card, I walked a little in front of him toward the door to my room.

“You know, I’ve been admiring that ass of yours all day.” He said sheepishly.

“I know. I saw you doing it. I hope you enjoyed the show.” I turned and raised one eyebrow at him. “And I’ve been admiring the way you flaunt that big bulge in your shorts any time you think I’m looking.”

He laughed nervously. I quickly opened the door and preceded him into the living room. I turned at once, dropped my towel, and pulled him to me. Our mouths met and opened, and we were tongue-to-tongue in seconds.

He kissed hungrily, like he needed it and couldn’t contain his desire.

“Good!” I thought. He’ll be up for anything I want to do.

I put both hands on the sides of his face and pushed back an inch. Looking into his eyes, I gave him a little peck on the lips and said, “You ready for some fun?”

He looked into my eyes intensely, then chickened out. “What do you like to do?”

I quickly realized that, for the first time since I met Pete in the laundry room, I was in the driver’s seat. I could guide Joe down any path he was willing to try, and I was ready to try just about all of them!

“Well, like I said, I need a shower. The fuckin chlorine from the pool is making my skin dry out.” With that I turned my back and headed across the room to the bedroom and on toward the bath. After ten steps I casually said over my shoulder, “You coming or not?”

“You bet your cute ass!” With that, he caught up with me and we had a kind of nudging contest as we raced to see who could get into the shower first. We tore off our swimwear and shouldered into the expansive shower area. It had shower heads at each end, plus a large round rain-maker overhead. With a little fiddling, we managed to get all three running at a comfortable temperature.

Then we stopped and turned to face each other. To my pleasant surprise, Joe was already hard, his six thick inches pointed right at me. The invitation was too good to resist. I dropped to my knees and kissed his pecker right on the head, then wrapped my lips around it and soon deep-throated it.

“Oh, fuck!” Joe moaned. “That’s amazing, dude!” He placed both hands on my head and slowly rocked it back and forth on his cock. He was gentle but insistent, careful not to choke me to spoil the rhythm and sensation.

I gave him my best, honed by years of sucking cocks and sending shivers up and down men’s spines. This young stud was experiencing something almost overpowering, and I could tell he was close to cumming.

I slowed, and then withdrew my mouth from his member. He sighed deeply and removed his hands.

“Don’t wanna take it in your mouth?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine with that, but I want to catch up with you. How about showing me what you can do?” I stood up, my cock hard as a rock, and he knelt and took it in his hand.

Joe put his mouth around the head and massaged the underside of my dick with his tongue. He leaned forward a little and took about two inches into his mouth, but no more. Then he began rocking his head back and forth, applying light pressure to my hungry member.