Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2008 00:42:51 +0000
From: rich h <palouse1@hotmail.com>
Subject: Seal Rocks Part 19

	Later that afternoon, Mike's mother came by and drove Jesse and
Mike home.  That was an uncomfortable ride.  She had spent a day at her
sister's in Encinitas after leaving the night Mike had told her about
himself and Jesse, and had been terse and monosyllabic since her return.
Jesse, nervous, greeted her as politely and cheerily as he could.

	She ignored him.  "Put your things in the back, Michael."

	The boys loaded their sleeping bags and backpacks into the
hatchback of her CR- V, glancing at each other nervously.  As they started
clambering into the back seat, she cleared her throat.

	"Michael, you should sit in front with me."

	Mike stood and looked at her for a long moment across the roof of
the SUV.  Jesse, already inside, quailed.

	"I"ll be all right back here, Mom," he said in an even voice.
Jesse saw his left fist ball up.

	"Michael, I said for you to sit in front, please."

	"Mike, just do it, OK"" Jesse whispered.  "Don't do this."

	She heard him.  "Thank you, Jesse," she said, in forcedly polite
tone.  Mike looked in at Jesse, his face flushed and angry.  Jesse motioned
for him to chill.  After a long few seconds, he slammed the rear door
closed and threw himself mutinously into the front passenger seat.

	Jesse felt very alone in the rear seat, with Mike's mother's eyes
seeming constantly to glare at him in the rear view mirror.  Her voice,
however, remained artificially casual.  "So did you boys have a nice night
with Erick"" She looked at her son, who was slumped in his seat, arms
crossed, staring straight ahead.

	Jesse couldn't stand the ensuing silence.  "Yeah, we, um, we had a
real fun night.  Watched, y'know, um, movies, and stuff.  The usual."

	Mike turned his head to look at his mother.  "Erick tried to get
into a girl's pants.  And when he couldn't, he went out back and smoked
pot."

	Jesse wanted to crawl between the seats and hide.  Mike's mother
swerved momentarily, her sharp inhale audible even from the back seat.
"That really isn't funny, young man.  Erick is a very nice boy."

	"Who likes girls.  Makes him real admirable, doesn't it Mom" So
what if he got puking drunk, or stoned, or tried to get a girl drunk so he
could fuck her " long as it was a girl he wanted to fuck it"s OK, right?"

	"Mike, please . . ."

	The front tire scraped the curb as Mike"s mother pulled over.  She
threw the shift into park and turned to face her son.  "Is that really all
you think of me, Michael?"

	"What the hell else am I supposed to think, Mom?  Am I like reading
the signals wrong or something?  You fucking hate Jesse, you probably hate
me, you'd rather have me hang with any lowlife down by the pier - "

	"Stop it!!"  she shouted, in a voice so commending it scared Jesse
half to death and brought Mike up short.  She snatched at Mike's head with
both hands, wrenching him into her arms.  Her sunglasses went askew on the
bridge of her nose as she pulled Mike to her; Jesse could see her tears.
"Just stop it," she said, now so softly it could have been a lullaby.
"Stop the swearing, and the awful exaggerations, and - and stop thinking
you know how I feel.  Except for one thing."

	Mike, though momentarily cowed by her shout, was still angry.  He
pulled back.  "Yeah, so what am I supposed to know about how you feel,
then?"

	She grabbed his face between her hands, fiercely.  "That I love
you," she said with cold intensity.  "I love you, Mikey.  You are my only
child, and I worship you and thank God for you every hour of every day I
live."

	Now Mike was starting to tear up.

       "Um, I should go, here.  I'll just walk, OK?"  Jesse wanted to get
out of there desperately.

	"It's all right, Jesse, you belong here right now," she said
without taking her eyes off her son.  "You need to know that as much as
Michael does.  You don't know," she said, addressing Mike again, "what this
is like, for a parent.  The hurt, and the fear, and " and -"

	"It disgusts you, doesn"t it, Mom?  Makes you sick, right?  I make
you sick now."  He sniffled once.

	"No.  Not disgust, never disgust.  I - it's not right, Michael.
It's not what God intended, it's not safe, it - "

	"What, Mom?  It what?  What exactly did I do wrong?"  I fell in
Goddam love, Mom!!  I AM in love, OK?  That - what"s wrong with - "

	"Nothing -" nothing, all right?"  She turned her face away for a
long second.  Jesse saw an older couple, walking their dog on the opposite
sidewalk, glance their way for a moment before plodding on up the hill.  "I
- I just have to, to come to grips, with it all.  Please, Michael.  I don't
hate you - I can't ever hate you - for what's happened, in your life.
Don't you start hating me for trying to get my arms around it."  She wiped
her face.  "I - have very personal things at stake here, and not just with
you, all right" Beliefs, and - and experiences . . ."

       Mike's Aram's apple jerked as he swallowed.  "Mom, you don't have to
- "

       She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "But I do love you, Mikey,
please believe that.  And Jesse," she turned to him, straightening her
glasses and sniffling up her tears as best she could, "I can't imagine how
awful you've been feeling, with them telling you your father - did that, to
you.  I know you were trying to protect Michael by being silent, and I
appreciate that so very much, dear.  You"ve been incredibly brave, and
honest - both of you.  I just " I have to try to deal with this, for
myself, by myself.  All right?"

	Jesse blinked several times.  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Roper, I - "

	"Shush," she waved her hand at him.  "You don't need to apologize
to me.  And neither do you," she added to her son.  "Just please be a
little patient with me, Michael.  I do need time."

       Mike nodded, his face starting to fall, and then they were
embracing, crying, her hand in his hair, petting him.  Jesse looked down,
feeling as if he were intruding by being there.  Her hand on his head -
gentle, caressing as only mothers' hands can be - made him look up.  "You
too, Jesse.  You boys have been friends for too long, I know I can't get in
the way of that even if I tried."  She put a finger against Jesse's lips as
he started to speak.  "That"s enough, for now," she said, turning to wipe
her face with a Kleenex.  She checked the mirrors to pull back out.

       "I love you, Mom."

       "So do I, Michael."

       No one spoke until they reached the red light by the high school.
"You really didn't mean all those terrible things about Erick, did you""

       Jesse stared at the back of Mike's head as he took a second to
respond.

       "Course not.  I was just pissed off.  He - Erick's cool."

       She nodded.  "Well, that's a relief, at least."

       The boys looked at each other warily.

       No one was home when Jesse got dropped off, leaving him a couple of
hours to spend playing with Poche.  The puppy, barricaded in the kitchen
when no one was home to prevent him from wetting the carpet, was frantic
with joy at Jesse's appearance, and the two spent the rest of the afternoon
cavorting around the back yard, which seemed entirely too small to contain
her manic energy.  Her potty training was going amazingly well, Jesse
thought - she only peed once in the kitchen, and that on the training sheet
they'd laid out, and now she did every bodily function you could imagine
outside, just like she was supposed to do.  The fact that she'd used the
training pad as a chew toy after peeing on it, shredding it into wadded
yellowish clumps all over the floor, was a minor fly in the ointment.

       Jesse worked with her on basic commands, Like "Come," and "Sit."
She blithely ignored them all, instead jumping repeatedly in an attempt to
grab the bottom of Jesse's boardshorts.  He let her get a grip only once,
however, finding to his dismay that she was able quickly to yank them over
his slender hips and off in seconds, leaving him tripped over on the grass
in his underwear while she ran triumphantly (though with frequent stumbles)
about the yard with the shorts in her teeth.  He lay there, laughing until
it hurt, heedless of his state until a clucking noise from Mrs. Ingles next
door brought him to his senses.  Then of course, he had to run down his
boardshorts and their thief, which proved to be no easy matter.  He finally
cornered her near the heater for the hot tub, won the inevitable tug of war
after thirty seconds or so, and lay back down on the grass, properly
clothed, to allow Poche to climb all over him in a blur of tiny half-used
teeth, furry paws, and nonstop licks.  She growled and grunted with canine
ecstasy the entire time, panting in the extreme afternoon heat.

       He finally grabbed her and held her to his chest, ignoring her
writhing protests.  "Baby girl dog," he whispered into her ear, earning
himself an especially slobbery lick of the nose.  "You like your home, baby
girl?"  He released her, and she threw herself atop him, licking his face,
play biting his nose, pawing him everywhere.  His side was stabbing him
from the intensity of his laughter.  He rolled onto his side, swatted away
her renewed attempt at pulling his shorts off, and stood.  Mrs. Ingles
pretended not to be watching, focusing with deliberate and fake intensity
on watering her numerous tea roses.  But her smile, and her slow shaking
head, gave her away.

       Back in the kitchen, Jesse took a long drink from the gallon sized
Naked Juice jug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after
finishing.  Poche had decided to complete her work of destroying the
training pad.  "Hey, c'mon, that's gross!  You pissed on that and all!"  It
took several minutes to pick all the shreds up, a process Poche made harder
by fighting to keep every last one.  "You're gonna trash it if I put
another one down, aren't ya?"  he asked.  She crouched down on her front
paws, lunged clumsily at him and barked.

       He had to climb over the barricade (an old baby gate) to get the
door; the bell rang twice before he could reach it.

       "I think I hear a new family member," Ernie said with a smile, as
Poche yipped shrilly.  His eyes ran over Jesse.  "You're looking well.
School starts when, in about ten days?"

       Jesse tried not to stare too obviously.  "Yeah, um, right - right
after Labor Day."

       "That's good," Ernie purred.  "I so hated it when they'd start
school the last week of August - it's like you're getting cheated out of
part of summer vacation.  Labor Day sort of marks the time, says that"s all
for the summer, time to get back to work now."  He pulled an envelope from
his back pocket and handed it to Jesse.  "New statements for you and - and
Jamie."  Jesse crammed it away, unopened.  "We've made some rather special
arrangements for next Wednesday, for you and Jamie to do some work down on
the beach near Las Pulgas, with a few of our other models."

       Jesse swallowed.  "What, below San O?"

       "Yes.  Between the view point south of the park's end and Las Pulgas
- you know, the RV beach there?"  Jesse nodded.  "Lovely beach, Las Pulgas.
They used to allow civilian RVs to camp there when they weren't using it
for maneuvers.  Have you ever been there?"  Jesse shook his head.  "Well,
that was several years ago, they're more restrictive now.  And you couldn't
go in the water or even dig in the sand, even when they let you in.  Live
ordinance and all that sort of thing.  It'd be lovely to film there, but it
is rather exposed to the freeway, so we've arranged to work about a mile
north of there.  Very private."

       "Arranged?  That"s on Marine property - how"d-"

       "Trade secret, darling," Ernie cooed, waving his hand.  "Not for
your ears.  Denny has some connections, and influence.  You just need to
know that we'll all be very safe, and private."

       Jesse had a million questions racing through his head.  All?  Other
models?  "Wh - what about Mi - I mean Jamie""

       Ernie casually brandished the other envelope, smiling.  "On my way
there next.  Is now a good time, do you think ? I try to be discreet about
these things, but sometimes even my eagle eye can miss things."

       Jesse had seldom felt so stupid - and every other time he had, it
seemed to him, it had been standing in front of Ernie.  "He, um, he may be
with his mom, or something."

       Ernie nodded.  "All right, I'll take a careful look.  Same pickup
arrangements as last time, all right?"  He turned back down the front walk.
"Tell your neighbor her roses are just magnificent, by the way.  Look at
that yellow one - big as your fist.  Amazing."  He slid into a white Prius
and pulled away silently.  Those are our roses, Jesse thought, my dad and I
planted them . . .

       It took Jesse about a minute to move from the front door.  He looked
carefully up and down the street, to see if anyone had seen their
encounter.  All seemed clear, though of course who knows who might have
been watching behind all the closed windows.  Inside, Poche kept up a
racket as Jesse unsteadily opened the envelope.  Ron Gantry"s balance had
topped $19,000.  Deposits were being made daily - two thousand something,
fifteen hundred, twenty-five hundred . . .  All his withdrawal checks were
also shown.  He didn't like the idea that Ernie knew what he was doing with
the money.  They need to be to cash from now on, he thought.

       That was his money, he thought.  I earned that - he giggled at
adding "by the sweat of my brow."  He bounced a bit on the balls of his
feet.  Tomorrow he'd pay out like a sonuvabitch on his mother's bills.  He
wondered about their mortgage - was it OK with all the banks going belly up
and everything?  That, though, was too complex to figure out without real
danger of discovery.  I"ll do the rest, though, he thought.  I'll make
things right for her, she'll never know, she'll think somebody from the
church or the Corps stepped up anonymously . . .  He felt a peculiar, deep
satisfaction.

       On a whim he stripped off his tee, pushed down his boardshorts, and
stared at himself in the entry hall mirror.  He tried to evaluate his body
clinically, like Ernie would, or like Angelo and Brian from the coffee
place.  He really didn't see the attraction - his butt was obviously too
big, bubbling up behind nonexistent hips; his arms were thin, however
subtly muscled surfing and volleyball had made them.  His chest was
probably the best part - smooth, lean, too thin as well but with decent
pectorals and some definition down his belly.  His cock swelled a bit as he
ran hands over himself, inspecting, until he finally took hold of it and
with a few quick touches brought it properly hard.  I can see why sculptors
never do statues of guys hard, he thought, staring at his reflection - it
looks too weird.  It sticks out, spoils the lines and all.

       Suddenly curious, he strode to the kitchen counter, reached over,
and pulled a tape measure from the top drawer, ignoring Poche's whimpering
and jumping attempts to join him.  OK, how do you measure it.  On top, to
where it comes out, or on bottom to where it meets my balls?  How far back
should I go?  And do I like lay it over or do it the way you get your
height measured, with a stick at right angles to the end?  He leaned over,
fumbling with the tape, realizing that he was slowly softening as he did
so.  I guess this isn't erotic, he giggled.  But he should measure Mike
next time, when he was really worked up.  That made him smile.  Boy, that
would piss him off - to stop right in the middle and measure him when he's
really going and his eyes are all dreamy like they get and his face is red
and the vein on the side of his neck is pulsing . . .  he'd fucking kill
me.

       The image of Mike in that state made him suddenly, desperately,
horny.  He dropped the tape and started stroking with a deep sigh.  "Mike
. . ."  He went back to the entry hall mirror and did it slowly, mostly in
profile, pinching himself, pushing his left index finger in from behind as
he stroked, thinking of Mike's intensity and the feel of his smooth corded
body and the hardness of his cock and the strength of his hands and the
taste of his come and he arched back, watching every movement, and saw
himself spurt three, four, five times, high into the air, spattering the
mirror and the table beneath it, crying out and wriggling against his own
hand behind him.

       He faced himself, as he caught his breath, watched himself as he
licked his hand clean of his semen, noted how his chest and belly heaved as
the feeling subsided.  Pretty hot, overall, he decided.  More than the sum
of its parts.  Ron Gantry, porn star.  With nineteen grand . . .  With a
smile, he dressed and grabbed some toilet paper from the powder room to
clean things up.  And more coming.

       The Dodgers were playing back in Philly.  He was flopped on the
couch, half watching, wishing he could turn off the sound and somehow get
Vin Scully on the play by play.  But Scully doesn"t travel East with the
team anymore, he remembered.  The Steiner guy was so shitty, though.  He
yawned deeply, hearing Poche idly scratch at the barricade, and dozed off.

       Ben's arrival, and Poche's joyous (that is, loud) reaction to it,
woke him.  Ben had a grey look on his face, and ignored Poche"s love.
"Hey.  You're home."

       "Hey yourself."  He sat up, noticing his brother's slumped
shoulders.  "Wassup?"

       Ben's left leg cleared the barricade hurdler style, but he didn't
meet Jesse"s eyes.  "I, uh, I have to tell Mom.  They laid us all off
today.  They're going out of business.  The mortgage market and all that
shit " the whole company's tanked."

       Jesse stood, a knot of fear grabbing at his insides.  "Wh - when""

       "Done deal.  They showed up at 4, told us we were done at 5.  The
whole office."  He sat down on the couch heavily, rubbed his hands across
his face.  "They gave me three weeks' pay, which I guess is cool, since I
barely had started there.  So, I guess, that helps, right""

       It took several seconds before Jesse could think of anything to say.
"Ben, it'll be OK, there"s - "

       "No, Jes, there isn't.  That's the point.  There's no other jobs out
there now.  The whole fucking world is in recession or depression or
something, and there's like nothing."

       Jesse swallowed hard.  "You don't know that - you haven"t looked,
you haven't even tried."

       Ben sat back, eyes closed.  "I'm not stupid, bro.  I can see.  I can
read.  I'm 20 years old, I'm a college dropout, I got no skills or
experience.  I am royally fucked."  He sighed deeply.  "Look, it's Friday,
let's not tell Mom this weekend, OK?"  I - I want to - I gotta figure
something out."

       "Is - is Mom OK?  I mean her job, and all?"

       Ben shrugged.  "Who knows?  Nothing's selling, you know that.  She
runs around like nuts and nothing sells.  They all do, not just her.  I
just -" he seemed close to tears - "I just wanted to - to help.  After all
the shit, I wanted to help her.  I mean God knows she deserves it."

       "Ben, this isn't your fault or anything - this stuff happens,
y'know?"  He had never seen his older brother, the idol of his childhood,
defeated.  It scared him.

        "Fault doesn't matter.  It happened."

       "Yeah it does matter, Ben.  You didn't like get fired for stealing
or looking at porn on the office computer or anything."  Why did I think of
that as an example, he wondered.  "The whole company is gone, not just
you."

       "Whatever.  I - I just gotta find something."  He took another deep
breath, staring now at the floor.  "You know Mom's behind on the mortgage,
don't you?"

       His feet and hands lost all feeling.  "No" he whispered.  "How - how
bad?"  Where was he going to live?

       Ben covered his face with his hands.  "Not quite two months.  They
put you into foreclosure when it gets to 90 days."  He dropped his hands
and stared at the TV.  "I was gonna be able to take care of that for
her. To try, anyway.  She - she has like survivor's benefits and all
coming, from the government, but that'll take a while to process.  I - I've
sort of been talking to the company.  She doesn't know it.  I told them I'd
be able to make it good by Halloween, and then they'd consider redoing the
loan so her payments would be lower.  I mean the last thing they want is
another foreclosure, but, y'know, they have to protect themselves too
. . ."

       Part of Jesse"s mind turned cold, steely.  I can do that.  I'm gonna
do that.  He sat next to Ben.  "It'll be OK, Ben.  I - I know it will.
It'll work out, you'll get another job ""

       "I'll be flipping frickin' burgers at Mr. Pete's and practicing my
Spanish," he muttered.

       "No, dammit, don't do that!!  Don"t - don't scare me, like this,
Ben.  It - it's gonna be OK, I know it."  He bore the burden now, he would
be responsible.  He"d fix everything.  The child part of him suddenly was
gone.

       Ben looked at him.  "What are you doing, Jes" Who"s been paying
these bills of Mom"s" You"re not dealing or anything, are you" If fucking
Boynton, or Erick, has got you into " "

       "No, no, c'mon Ben, get real.  You know I wouldn't do that shit -
ever.  And Erick"s cool.  He and Mike and I - we like worked out a lot of
stuff last night and today.  I - I just think, it's all gonna be OK, and
you got to stop feeling like it"s all your responsibility.  We're a family,
right?  You start acting like you're the new Dad, you'll wind up like the
old one."  He was scared to death at what Ben's next guess might be.

       Ben smiled, sadly at him.  "I could do worse than that.  He did all
right for himself, and for us, however fucked up things got toward the
end."

       Jesse blinked to keep his eyes clear.  "Yeah, but it cost him.
Don't be like that, Ben, not ever.  Don"t get all bitter and hopeless."

        They embraced, Ben's hand in Jesse's hair.  For an instant,
child-Jesse was back, holding onto his big brother for reassurance, for
protection against a scary big world.  Then he remembered he was the rock
now, he could offer the reassurance now.  He was out in that world too, and
he had triumphed.  Ron Gantry, porn star.  He patted Ben"s back.  "Dude, go
hit the Jacuzzi, I'll send Poche out and you can try to teach her to
fetch."

       Ben sighed.  "Yeah."  He stood, then looked back at Jesse.  "Any
word from Mom?"  Jesse shook his head.  Ben trudged back toward his room.
"Oh, and Jeanine?  She, uh, she dumped me.  Met some guy from Sausalito in
her summer intern program after I left to come down here.  He - his folks
are loaded, apparently."  He turned and looked back at Jesse.  "Isn't this
shit fun?"

       Jesse watched him disappear up the stairs, unable to think of any
response.

       When Ben was outside with Poche, Jesse slipped into his parents-
bedroom - his mom's room now, he realized with a slight jolt - and rummaged
through the file cabinet.  He found a mortgage statement, several months
old, but with an account number and a customer service line listed.
That'll do, he thought, slipping the paper into his pocket Now to get the
hell out before he got caught.

       He paused a moment and looked at the pictures on her nightstand.
She and Dad, young, slender, graceful, walking beneath the raised swords of
his Marine buddies on their wedding day, Dad in his dress blues.  Ben and
he as kids.  Dad with buddies in Kuwait, shirtless.  He and Uncle Booth had
their arms casually over each other"s shoulder, grinning broadly, in the
middle of their platoon.  His grandparents at their fiftieth anniversary
party, his dad bent over them, embracing them.  Tina.  He blinked his eyes
clear, remembering his resolve.  For all of them.

       Curious, he stepped into the hall leading from the bedroom to the
master bath, and slid open the mirrored door.  The smell of his father's
Old Spice, left in his clothes, washed over him.  His mother hadn't removed
a thing.  He started looking through the clothes, soaking in the aroma, and
realized he couldn't find his father's dress blues.  Then it hit him: he'd
been buried - no, cremated - in them.  He recognized the hanger they always
had been on - a broad wooden one, with a dowel to hold the trousers -
empty, at one end of the coat rack.  His throat tightened.  From the floor,
his face reflected distortedly back at him from the uppers of a pair of his
father's dress shoes.  He bent to touch them.  They were slightly dusty.
He sat, pulled on his tee shirt, and started polishing them.  They have to
shine, the dead man's voice in his head directed, and he rubbed the black
leather furiously, his tears substituting for spit, until they were so
gleaming that even the late Lt. Col. Walter Sullivan, USMC (Ret.), would
have accepted them with pride.  I'll be a good Marine, Dad, he thought, as
he stood back up, hearing the garage door open to let his mother pull in.
I'll complete the mission.  He set the shoes together, precisely even, and
slid the door back.

       He stayed in his room, behind the closed door, for a good half hour,
with an AC/DC disc at full volume to cover his sobs.

       Ben and he put on a decent enough act for their mother that night -
not that she would have noticed.  She was almost certain she had a sale - a
place up above Presidential Heights, on the other side of the arroyo to the
south, ocean view, newly redone kitchen.  It had been on the market for
over eight months, but she"d talked the owners" price down to $1.2 mill,
and a family moving out from Kentucky was interested.  "If we were on the
canyon side, you could almost see it," she bubbled, waving toward the front
of the house and the other side of the street.  "It's really lovely - a lot
more of a view than we have."

       Ben hugged her in congratulation, perhaps a bit too fiercely.  Jesse
could see his relief.  "Mom, that's so cool!!  I didn't think you had the
listing!"

       "Well, it's the office's listing, though Pam was the lead on it.
But she just hadn't been able to generate any movement, so I said let me
have a crack at it, and it was just blind luck that the Manteurs - that's
their name, the buyers- cold called us two days later."  She shook her head
happily, heedless that she was sloshing a bit of her chardonnay onto the
floor, where Poche was greedily lapping it up.  "His company is helping
with the move, so the price wasn't as big an issue as it usually is.
They'll co-own it for five years, and then they'll refi and split profits."

            "Will there be any profit?"  Jesse asked.  "I mean, doesn't the
market suck and all?"

       She shrugged.  "Five years is a very long time - in real estate, in
any business.  Things will come back, just watch.  Especially here - people
will always want to live near the beach, and be willing to pay a premium
for it."  She poured herself another glass.  "Ben, why don't you go to
Costco and get some steaks - I think we should have a big meal to celebrate
tonight!"

       Jesse hadn't seen her so unalloyedly happy in weeks.  "I'll start
the coals," he volunteered.

       "Perfect."  Her fingers brushed each of her sons' cheeks, here eyes
misting over a bit.  "It's all going to be OK, babies.  I promise you."

       Ben swallowed, averting his eyes.  "We know, Mom.  I - I'll be back,
OK?"

       They sat out back that evening, feeling the air change as the Santa
Ana lost its strength.  Clouds were appearing again out over the water;
with luck they"d be fogged in by morning and cool again.  The sun was
starting to set earlier.  Poche ran about like a wild thing the entire
evening, getting special pleasure from a rabbit unwise enough to appear for
a moment in the back corner of the lawn.  It took her several minutes to
notice the intruder, while Jesse, Ben, and their mother watched and
commented on the situation in hushed tones.  When Poche finally did look
that way, she cocked her head at the new sight for a few seconds, curious,
before deciding to bound toward her new playmate with a screeching yip.
The rabbit, of course, vanished immediately into the brush and down the
arroyo, leaving a confused Poche scrabbling about the back fence for
several minutes, trying to figure out where it had gone.  When she finally
turned away, she seemed a bit crestfallen, until their applause and cheers
renewed her excitement.

       It was late when Jesse finally flopped onto his bed and punched Mike
on the speed dial.  He answered almost at once.  "Hey, where you been?"

       Jesse exhaled slowly.  What a beautiful voice, he thought.  Mike.
"We ate outside.  Did you call?"

       "Coupla times.  Dad wants to know if we want to go down to Carlsbad
tomorrow to surf.  He's driving."

       "Sure!  That'd be cool."

       Mike paused a second.  "I, um, I invited Erick, too.  Is that cool?"

       Jesse laughed.  Yeah, he's so tough he couldn't feel sorry for him.
" 'Course, that"s excellent. Great idea."

       Mike audibly sighed with relief.  "So, um, did you get a visit this
afternoon?"

       Jesse sat up.  "Ya."  A pause.  "We're like loaded, did you see?"

       "Ya."  Another pause.  "So, um, did he tell you, about next week?"

       "A little.  What"d he tell you?"

       Mike hesitated.  "There's going to be other guys this time, I guess.
Another couple."

       "He didn't tell me that - just that there'd be, y'know, others."

       Mike's voice was tight now.  "Ya, well he said another couple.  To
me."  He breathed.  "I dunno, Jes, is this getting too weird - I mean like
it's not already, but is this too much?"

       Jesse looked out his window.  The waxing moon hung over the ocean,
sparkling off the distant corrugated surface with unnatural pale light.  "I
- I think it'll be OK.  We'll be together, right?"  He suddenly longed to
hear the seals.

       "All the time?  You don't think we're supposed to, like, mess around
with the other guys too?"

       Jesse saw Ben walk past below him on the lawn, with Poche's pale
shadow about his feet.  "Dunno.  They can't like make us do anything, after
all.  I mean if we don"t want to and don"t get - y'know, hard, it's kind of
their loss, right?"  He took a breath.  "Mike, Ben got laid off, and my
mom's behind on her mortgage and stuff.  I - I have to do this.  I can
help."

       "Oh shit, Jes, I'm sorry."

       " 's OK," Jesse lied.  "I just - I can help, Mike.  I can help fix
things.  But that means I have to do this."  He gulped.  "Look, drop it if
you don't wanna do it, OK?"

       "What, and let you go do that alone?"  Mike was the one to hesitate
now.  "Do - do you want that, Jes?  To - to go do that - that stuff,
without me?  With other people, and all?"

       Jesse's stomach lurched.  "No, Mike, no, don't think that please.  I
- That's not what I - I love you, dude, OK?  I just - I know this is really
sketch, and I'm the one who's in the fucked up situation here, and - "

       "I'm not deserting you, Jes, you got that?  Don't ever try that shit
on me.  I'm not leaving you alone."

       Now it was Jesse"s heart that knotted.  "OK," he whispered, his
voice thick.  "Look, we can talk about this tomorrow or whatever.  I - I
oughta crash, we didn't sleep for shit last night " "

         "That's because you fucked me for so long," Mike reminded him with
a wicked chuckle.

       Jesse joined his laughter.  "Payback, dude.  It was my turn."

       Mike laughed.  "I get my shot at it next""

       "Most def.  Three hours at least."

       "Damn, dude," Mike giggled.  "Don't they tell you to see a doctor if
you stay hard that long""

       "Four hours.  And that's if you're on Viagra and that sort of shit,
you get like perma-bone or something."  They both started roaring, Jesse
rolling about his bed. Poche started yipping downstairs, begging not to be
left out of the fun.

       " 'K," Mike finally breathed, "so like 7 tomorrow?"

       "Ya.  Excellent.  See ya then.  Mike?"

       "Ya?"

       Jesse"s voice softened.  "I love you."

       A pause.  "Me too, dude.  Totally, like to the stars.  OK?"

       "Ya."

       Even after almost immediately falling asleep, Jesse was a wreck the
next morning.  Mike and Erick got huge coffees at Surfin' Donuts, but
Jesse, never a fan of the drink, made do with orange juice and a couple of
glazeds.  He flopped on the side bench of Mike's dad's RV - a battered old
camper shell bolted into a pickup bed - as it swayed down the freeway,
trying to get a few more minutes of sleep.  Erick sat across from him,
chattering constantly.

       He lay with his head in Mike's lap the whole ride, with Mike
occasionally petting his hair.  He was vaguely conscious of Erick's
occasional furtive glances, and his shifting to hide his tumescence, but he
didn't care.  He slept.  Mike's dad, up in the truck cab, of course saw
nothing.

       They pulled into the State Beach at Cardiff, a little south of
Carlsbad proper, at about 8:30.  It was already fairly crowded - there was
apparently some sort of juniors contest going on.  Jesse smiled to himself
as he watched Mike's father unstrap the boards from the top of the RV - he
knew what he was up to.  Mike had figured it out too, and was not pleased.
His father had been pressing him for several months to try surfing
competitively - "Just a local no brainer type contest, have a little fun."
- but the idea didn't sit well with Mike, who had always lacked confidence
in his ability on a board.  "Your dad had the idea to bring Erick along,
didn't he?"  Jesse whispered to Mike as they propped two 9 foot Stewarts
against the aide of the RV.  Mike nodded, glancing over to Erick, who was
on the bluff's edge, watching early heats of the higher divisions'
competition.

       "Dudes," Erick called out to them, excited, "check this out!!  They
are so rippin" down there!!"

       The surf was decent - five footers, holding their shape pretty well
- and the heat was open longboard.  Jesse spotted Eddie Boynton on the
beach, stripping wax furiously, a number bib over his wetsuit.  Erick was
right, the guys in the water were tearing it up, maneuvering themselves and
their boards with ridiculous speed across the wave faces - up, down, 360s,
air, some toes on the nose, all sorts of tricks.  The boys whooped in
appreciation, Erick in particular pogo-ing up and down madly.  Mike's dad
was suddenly there, his arms around his son from behind.  "There's a novice
Junior Men"s Longboard class, heats start at around 10.  You'll kick their
asses, Mikey."

       Erick overheard.  "Aw, dude, that'd be so fun!  Let's all enter,
tear 'em all up.  SC baby!!" he shouted to no one in particular.

       Mike turned and looked at his father.  "I don't know, Dad - I just
do it for fun, y'know?"

       Erick punched his arm.  "C"mon, dude, it"ll be great!  Jes is in,
right"" Jesse hadn"t expected this - his surfing skills were so modest
compared to Mike's and Erick's - but he saw the look on Mike"s father's
face, and nodded, unable to suppress a smile.

       "There, see?"  Mike"s father said quietly.  "Can't give Jesse
bragging rights between the two of you, can you?"

       Mike started laughing.  "You fucking plotted this," he said to his
father, who shrugged with a grin.  "You really wanna surf off against me?"
he asked Jesse, who shrugged in his turn.

       "Sure.  Maybe one of us'll get a prize or something."  Mike's father
stepped back, roaring.  Damn, Jesse thought, he got that.  I gotta be more
careful.

       "No way, dude, the prize is gonna be mine!" Erick exclaimed.  "You
are all goin' down, bros!"  he dug into his pocket to pull out his NSSA
card.  What's the entry fee, Mr.  Roper?  I got like $35 is all"

       "I got all of it, Erick," Mike's dad answered.  "Had to sign you two
up with NSSA to get you sanctioned, though - hope that"s OK."  He pulled
two wallet cards from his pocket.  Mike couldn't help himself; his face
split into a grin.

       Jesse blushed.  "I, uh, I'm not good enough - "

       "C'mon, Jes, it'll be fun!"  Erick put a hand on his shoulder.
Jesse was embarrassed to note how sparkly his blue eyes were.  A blue jeans
blue, almost grey, but glowing now.  His hand felt very warm on Jesse's
bicep.

       Jesse looked at Mike, who shrugged, still smiling.  "Not like
anything bad can happen, right?  You don't advance, you chill.  You won't
look dumb or anything, Jes " you"re better than you think."

       "You guys are better, though.  A lot."

       "Dude," Erick laughed, stepping behind him and pulling him into a
bear hug, "you don"t even know.  When you tube rode that one the first time
you - I mean, . . . " He released his grip.  "You know, a couple of weeks
ago ?"

       "Right after the funeral?"

       Erick was scarlet.  "Ya.  That time, um, right.  Anyway," as he
tried to perk back up, "that was an amazing ride, Jes - for anybody.  It'll
just be cool " fun, y'know?"  He pulled Mike and Jesse closer,
conspiratorially.  "I betcha a lot o' these guys are all like pumped up an'
all to win and be all tough and shit - we can so mess with their heads!"

       Jesse glanced away to check that Mike's dad had stepped back into
the RV to continue unloading.  "What, have a bunch of queers beat 'em?"

       Erick"s eyes widened a moment before he started laughing.  "Dude,
that is so wrong.  Nobody queer here."

       Mike chuckled.  "Wanna bet?"

       Erick laughed again, a bit too hastily.  "No, I mean it, we ain't
queer.  We're - we're just vibrant young stallions, that"s all.  Hormones
outta control."  He stepped back, head high, and strutted about for a few
steps.  Mike laughed and grabbed his ass hard through his boardshorts.
Erick let out a loud yelp, and the two started trying to wrestle each other
to the ground.  Jesse debated joining in, but instead watched, feeling a
bit tingly.

       The contest heat itself was actually fun.  Erick, having competed
before, was seeded into a higher heat than Jesse and Mike.  They sat on the
low bluff above the narrow beach and watched him.  Jesse was amazed at how
- well, sexy - Erick looked in a shorty wetsuit (Mike's dad had packed one
for each of them, confirming that the entire thing had been carefully
plotted).  The lines of his body seemed to be highlighted by the shining
black neoprene, his tanned arms corded, graceful as they whipped about him.
He really tore it up, cutting the Stewart up and down the face of several
decent waves with ridiculous ease, as if he were on a shortie.  As the
fifteen minute heat ended, Erick 360'd down one face, arms thrust over his
head, his shout audible even on shore over the air horn.

       The boys met him down on the beach.  He was pulling the number bib
off his shoulders, laughing, gulping in air.  "That was so much fuckin'
fun, dudes!!"  he shouted, tossing the bib onto the sand and reaching for
the zipper pull in back.  Jesse stepped behind him and unzipped him as he
babbled, recounting each second of the heat, the waves he'd taken, how that
one asshole had cut in on him on a really good wave, had the officials seen
that?  Out of nowhere, he grabbed Jesse into a crushing hug.  "Kick ass,
dude, it is so much fun!!"

       Jesse and Mike's heat was next.  Jesse felt odd enough wearing a
wetsuit, even a thin shorty, in late August, given the warm weather and
water.  The number bib, with its elastic over his shoulders and around his
sides, felt even odder.  He was very nervous.  Mike, on the other hand,
seemed completely calm, smiling and winking at Jesse just before the horn
sounded to start their heat.  Jesse kept staring at Mike's body, how
incredible he looked in the wetsuit.  Ernie should see this, he thought -
sex in neoprene might be hot.  Then the horn blared, and they began.

       There were six other guys in the heat, and all appeared anxious.
They sprinted to the water when the horn sounded and paddled furiously out
past the breakers.  Mike moved much faster than any of them; he was up on a
wave before Jesse even cleared the breakers.  Once he was out far enough,
Jesse sat atop his board, shoved the wet hair off his face, and scanned the
incoming sets.  A promising crest was forming to his right.  He dropped
down and paddled hard to the north, feeling the current working against
him.  He intercepted the wave just before passing the competition boundary
flag on the beach, pivoted the board with a pull of his right arm, and
tried to match the wave"s speed.  He felt it gather beneath him, heaving
slowly upward.  Was he too far out?  Then the water took him, he stopped
paddling and stood, and cut right, back into the competition zone, as the
wave crested and broke.  He rode fairly straight, without much in the way
of tricks or cuts up or down the face.  He didn't feel confident enough to
really shred it the way Erick had.

       Mike, on the other hand, was being too aggressive.  He tried for
various cuts up and down the wave, off the lip and cutting back, but he was
too jerky in his notions and fell several times.  Then a guy cut in on him,
forcing him to pull back from a good five foot wave, and he swore loudly.
Jesse found himself watching Mike, concerned about him, and neglecting to
ride himself.  Erick's voice somehow made it to his ears: "Catch somethin',
Jes!!"

       Startled, he scanned the sets and moved to the next wave he could
find.  It wasn't going to be particularly good, but he recalled he needed
at least three rides to be judged.  He dropped in on a fade, cutting away
from the break and onto the shoulder, then after his bottom turn tried to
pump for some speed.  The wave was not cooperative.  He decided to cut up
the lip and see if he could ride floater atop the break, but the wave died
on him within a few seconds.  He stepped off the board, disappointed, and
paddled back out.

       He soon found himself exhausted.  The competition called for him to
ride multiple waves in quick succession, and he soon found that his
conditioning wasn"t good enough to keep paddling out.  He got in his
minimum rides and relaxed, content to let the rest of them fight it out.
Mike was intense as the heat wound down, riding switchfoot, carving turns
furiously, even trying to get some air on a vertical cut up the lip of one
larger wave - not an easy thing to do in small conditions, and with a
longboard.  Jesse could see his chest heaving from the effort.  He was
intense, focused, and entirely beautiful.  Jesse had trouble keeping his
mind on the business at hand, he was so caught up in watching Mike.
Finally he found a wave, not particularly good, and just rode it straight
in as the horn sounded to end the heat.

       He was surprised at how shaky his legs were onshore, and his arms
were tingling.  Erick was by him in an instant.  "You ok?  You kinda spaced
out there, dude.  But you had some really nice rides, Jes."  He unzipped
the back of Jesse's wetsuit.

       "I'm tired," was all Jesse could say for a minute.

       Mike was smiling, but also looked beat.  He shook his head, sending
flecks of water flying.  Erick, protesting, helped him unzip too.  Jesse
noticed how Erick's hands lingered on Mike's bare back

       The scores were soon posted.  Mike and Erick moved on to semifinal
heats, Jesse was done.  Erick loudly disagreed with that decision, claiming
Jesse had been home- towned, But Jesse was content to be finished with the
competitive aspect.  They sat on the sand and watched several open men's
heats, whooping at the tricks the competitors pulled, deciding on
favorites.  "That's the hottest guy here, let's cheer for him!" Mike
whispered to Jesse during one heat, pointing out a striking brown haired
guy without a wetsuit, his tanned body gleaming in the sun.  Jesse laughed,
leaning casually against Mike's shoulder.  He probably stayed in that
position too long, but he didn"t care.

       Mike's dad was clearly proud of his son for advancing past the heat
in his first competition, and decided to bike up to grab them some lunch.
Jesse felt sleepy again.  With a pat on Mike's head, he rose and headed
back to the RV to nap.

       Mike followed him a few minutes later.  "Where's Erick?"

       "The women's open heats are starting - he's got my dad's binoculars.
I think he may jerk off if one of them loses her top."

       They both laughed.  Mike sat heavily on the bench opposite Jesse.
"My legs are really shot from that - it"s surprising."

       "Ya, you don't realize how hard it is, when you have to do so many
rides in so short a time.  I'm not a good enough swimmer."  Jesse laid back
on the bench he was on.

       "Na, you just gotta get used to it," Mike said, standing.  He leaned
over Jesse and closed the blinds.  Jesse could see Mike"s boardshorts
tenting out a bit.

       "So, how tired are you - exactly?"  Mike grinned down at him.

       Jesse stretched.  "What'd you have in mind, you fine young
stallion?"

	Mike bent to meet his lips.  "Guess."

       As they slid out of their shorts, Jesse stroked Mike's side.  "You
looked so damn hot in that wetsuit.  I almost boned up out there just
looking at you."

       Mike smiled as he pushed Jesse gently back down onto the bench.  "Is
that why you surfed like shit?"

       "Asshole."

       "Hmmm.  It's right here.  Wanna see?"

       Jesse, on his back, grinned and took hold of Mike.  "Maybe later.  I
like this part better."  Mike put his right knee up on the lip of the bench
back and let Jesse pull him down and into Jesse's mouth.  Jesse's hands
went to Mike's hips as he started sucking, guiding Mike into a gentle mouth
fucking motion that quickly had Mike's breath coming in short spurts.
Smiling, Jesse took Mike's cock out of his mouth and looked up, pressing
the cock against his cheek.  "Now, is this the part you were talking
about?"  he asked, as his right index finger slid into Mike"s crack and
penetrated him.  Mike, dreamy eyed, moaned and pushed forward, trying to
get himself back into Jesse's mouth.  Jesse obliged, and for the next
minute or so let Mike fuck himself on Jesse's fingers and Jesse's mouth, as
he moved slowly back and forth on each.

       Jesse watched Mike"s stomach muscles clench and twitch above him.
He smiled, even as he sucked, and caressed them with his left hand.  Mike
was grunting now, his movements growing more spasmodic.  "Oh God - Wanna
fuck you later, Jes - can I just do this now?"

       Jesse took him out of his mouth again for a moment.  "Go for it.  I
want you to.  Shoot it all over me, in my mouth - I wanna make you come,
Mike."  He resumed his sucking, adding a second finger now to his probing.
Mike started thrusting and withdrawing violently now, his head first thrown
back, then drooping forward.  Jesse saw the small muscles on the inside of
Mike's right leg tighten, and he closed his eyes, loving these last few
seconds of anticipation.  He shoved his fingers deep into Mike and took him
down his throat as far as he could, his eyes watering, groaning loudly from
the effort, and dimly heard Mike let out his own animal cry as he
stiffened, grabbed Jesse's head with his left hand, and began spurting into
Jesse's mouth.  Jesse felt Mike's rectal muscles grip his fingers as he
came.  He gulped and half gagged and tried to breath and held Mike"s hip as
he shuddered for several seconds, pulling back instinctively out of Jesse's
mouth for a moment and spattering Jesse with a spray of his semen.  Jesse
gulped him back down, sucking the rest of his come out of him, pulling his
fingers out to caress Mike's buttocks as he slumped forward and down.

       Mike spun slowly away, lifting his knee off the back of the bench,
and flopped to the floor, his cheek pressed against Jesse's hip.  He was
breathing heavily; Jesse could feel its warmth against his side.

       "Fuckin' shit, dudes, that was hot."  Erick was standing just inside
the back door of the RV, unconsciously clutching at his crotch.  "Is it
always - I mean, is that, like, what you do? I, uh - "

       The boys started laughing, Mike pressing his face now against
Jesse's side.  "Don't you fuckin' knock, dude?"  Jesse managed to gasp out.
He was achingly hard.

       Erick moved to the bench opposite them, stepping over Mike.  He sat
with his legs splayed out, obviously hard.  "Shit Jes, you guys gotta be
careful - the whole RV was rockin' back and forth.  Somebody's gonna see."

       Jesse ran a hand over his face and neck, rubbing Mike's ejaculate
over his skin as it cooled.  "Well you saw, that's for sure."  His hand
strayed down to his twitching penis, and he groaned.

       Mike rose to his knees, looked at Erick for a moment.  "No, let me."
He took Jesse's erection into his mouth and started sucking him slowly.
Jesse shuddered, trying to get his eyes to focus.  Erick was gaping,
grabbing at himself.

       "Go - go ahead, dude," Jesse whispered, nodding at Erick.  "Squeeze
one off, 's OK."

       Erick gulped and slid off his shorts.  His cock was very hard, and
very big.  Mike stopped for a moment to regard it.  "Um, how big is that,
Erick - if you don"t mind my asking?"

       Erick grinned, but a very different grin - almost shy, dreamy, pride
mixed with animal lust.  "Eight and a half inches.  Want a taste?"

       Mike chuckled.  "Got my own, thanks."  He returned to sucking Jesse.
Erick and Jesse locked eyes as they both began to rise.

       "When - when I was doing it - with Taylor," Erick grunted, staring
at Jesse as he stroked himself, "he said I - I had the biggest cock he'd
ever seen on a kid.  That I was his stallion.  That - that"s where I got
that line.  Being a young stallion."  His hand started to move faster.

       Jesse nodded, the strain of holding a conversation, however
haltingly, while being fellated making him less than voluble.  "Ya, you're
a stallion, Erick.  Ooooh damn - ya do it dude, stroke it - oh God Mike,"
and his hands went to Mike's hair and his head fell back, and just before
he came he rolled his eyes to his right and saw Erick jerking madly, his
legs rigid in front of him, his feet pressing against Mike's leg.  Jesse
groaned one last time and bucked upwards with his orgasm, clutching Mike's
head, feeling the hair feathery against his belly and thighs, and watching
as Erick unloaded as well, watery spurts that flew all over, hitting Jesse,
Mike, the upholstery, the blinds, maybe they knocked a hole in the RV wall,
Jesse didn't know and didn't care, he was coming and Mike was swallowing
him down and he was making entirely too much noise and he didn't care about
that either.  Then Mike's face was by his and they were kissing and Mike's
cheeks were slick with his come and his tongue was thick with it too and
Jesse moaned dovelike into Mike"s mouth as the tension slowly drained from
him.

       Erick was wiping them both with a paper towel.  "I'm so sorry,
dudes, I didn't mean to do this."

       Mike lifted his head from Jesse's chest.  "No prob.  Don' worry
'bout it."  He took a deep breath, and lightly slapped Jesse's belly.  My
dad'll be back any minute, we better get cleaned up."  The boys quickly
dressed and opened up every window and blind they could find, convinced
that the entire RV reeked of their semen.  They weren't wrong.

       There was a weatherbeaten wood picnic table in front of the space
they were parked in.  The boys flopped onto it, pulling Cokes from the
cooler, and let the sun warm them.  Jesse looked at Mike, eyes closed,
leaning back against the table soaking up the rays, and marveled again at
the perfection of his body.  He mentally catalogued specific places he knew
where he could touch or kiss or nibble on that body and get an immediate
reaction: the nipples, that hollow beneath the throat, small particular
places along his flanks, the inside of his knee . . .  He shook his head to
clear it before he got hard again.  Erick was smiling at him, his
sunglasses reflecting the light violently.  His body, like Mike's, glowed
tan and supple.

       Jesse stood and walked back to the bluff.  He wasn't supposed to
feel like this, to look at Erick like he just had.  He loved Mike.  Christ,
was he that coldblooded, to just bone up for anybody like that" Was he that
perverted, that all he wanted to do was fuck anything that moved -
literally?  The bare-chested guy was back in the water, his wet skin
glistening, his arms and legs flexing as he cut across a small contrary
wave that broke left instead of right.  He moved nimbly up and back on his
board, in small lightning fast steps.  How many more guys would there be on
Wednesday, and how many would he have to have sex with?  Could he do such a
thing?  Would he like it - and what would that mean for him, for Mike . . .
He pulled his knees up and dropped his chin against them, squeezing his
eyes shut against the glaring questions in his head as much as against the
sunlight dancing on the water.

       He must have dozed off again.  Mike was seated next to him.  "You
OK?"

       Jesse started, stared at Mike for a second, then threw his arms
around his neck, heedless of anyone else seeing.  "It's all so fucked up,
Mike," he whispered into his scented hair.  "I got to be a good Marine, but
it's so fucked up."

       Mike's hand was in his hair, holding him.  "It's OK, Jes.  You don't
have to be the good Marine all alone, OK?  I'm here.  Don't do this alone,
don't shut me out."

       "The hanger's empty, Mike.  They burned him in them.  Just his
shoes.  All I got is his fucking shoes."

       Mike pulled Jesse's face to his bare chest; Jesse instinctively put
his lips to the warm skin.  "You got lots more, Jes.  And you got me, OK?
I'm here, I'm not leaving or anything.  I know.  I know how you feel."

       "Oh yeah?"  Jesse lifted his head and stared at Erick, who was
regarding them warily.  Jesse saw some other guys watching with varying
degrees of interest and revulsion.

       Mike followed Jesse's gaze to Erick, then looked Jesse straight in
the eyes, his eyebrow arched.  "Yeah, that too.  And it's not fucked up "
well, not majorly anyway.  It - it just is.  Young stallions, Jes.  Just
remember - I love you.  OK?"

       Jesse sniffed, wiped his arm across his nose.  The brown haired
surfer was standing on his board, arms thrust in the air, his body
silhouetted against the sparkling water, a perfect anonymous erotic icon.