Special Forces - 2. Chapter 2

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“We need to talk.”

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I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. It was a thousand times worse than I expected. I fell into the chair with my hands over my face and began to weep. Tears steamed from my eyes. My nose ran. I sniffed.

Damn! What kind of loser can’t even keep a boyfriend for even a week?

Sam dropped to his knees in front of me and put his hands on my wrists.

“Nicky, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re breaking up with me.”

“I’m not breaking up with you. Why would I do that?”

I shrugged, knowing perfectly well why.

He gently pulled my hands from my blotchy face.

“Nick, honey, look at me,” he said.

With some difficulty I met his eyes, and he said, “Remember I told you that I had never really had a boyfriend before?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not good at this romance business. It took me until today to realize what a dickhead I’ve been.”

I shook my head no.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve been a dickhead. Nick, I can read people. It’s the one talent I have. I know you love me. But yesterday you were upset. Why? I figured it out. Because I’ve been taking and not giving. You need security, and I’ve given you anything but. A bunch of mumbo-jumbo about my job. Mister Mystery Man. You’re afraid of getting hurt again. But what I am totally ashamed of, Nick, is that not once since Sunday have I told you how much I love you. Please forgive me.”

“You love me?”

“Nick, I love you so much I’m crazy with it. But don’t you think that two people who love each other should say so? Every day. Fifty times a day.”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me?"

“Sam, I love you.” Sniff.

“And I love you too, Nick. Now get changed and then we’ll talk.”

I changed and splashed cold water on my face.

Sam fetched beers and we sat together on the couch. He put his arm around me, and I snuggled against his chest.

“Better?” he said.

“Much better,” I said.

“Nick, can we make some sort of commitment? It’s a little early to propose to you, but I’m ready to commit. I’d like to give this relationship a good shot. See where it goes. I’d like to know that I’m standing on firm ground here. How does that sound?”

“God only knows I need firm ground, Sam. Are you prepared to be faithful to me?”

“Of course, Nick, absolutely. And you?”

“One hundred percent, Sam.”

Sam’s commitment reassured me, but I realized that my over-the-top anxiety needed to be addressed. I asked Sam what I should do about it. His response was to ask me what I thought I should do about it. The clever man had put the ball right back into my court.

“Maybe I should see a counsellor,” I said.

“With what you’ve been through in the last couple of years that might be a good idea,” he agreed. “You know you have my total support for whatever you decide to do.”

To lighten the mood, I suggested we go out for dinner to celebrate our first week together. So we walked over to the waterfront and had dinner at Anthony’s Fish Grotto. Looking out over the bay, seeing the boats Sam shared his dream of some day owning a boat. I offered to be his first mate and we chuckled at the double entendre.

We got a little tipsy from the wine and walked home half leaning on each other.

Our lovemaking that night was very special. More spiritual. More connected.

The next morning we both woke up with relentless erections, so we retreated to the shower for a little water, soap and release.

After breakfast Sam said, “I’ll tell you more about my job. Fuck security.”

“Are you sure, Sam? I understand if you can’t tell me.”

“No, Nick, I trust you. You deserve to know what you’ve gotten into.”

Sam explained that his firm’s bread and butter work was personal protection. Companies whose executives travel to risky places, like Central or South America, pay for protection, usually against kidnapping. He said protection is a lot cheaper than a ransom or rescue.

Sometimes people didn’t exercise caution and got kidnapped. As a first step his firm would negotiate a reasonable ransom. If that failed, they could be hired to rescue the hostage. Often they were the only resource a company or family had; in many countries the police are next to useless and the US State Department is a joke.

“Rescuing someone is a real military operation,” he said. “You understand?”

“Just like the movies,” I said.

“Pretty much,” he said. “Without the car chases. And instead of bullets we usually use tranquilizer darts. We sneak up on the bad guys, and by the time they figure out what’s hit them, they’re asleep.

“Sometimes we do other things. Like recover stolen property. Insurance companies pay to recover paintings or jewels.

“The real bonus work is contracting for what the US government can’t do. That work is top secret. Am I painting a clear picture here?”

“So you do what you were trained to do,” I said. “Do you have a specialty, Sam? I’ve heard the SEALs all have specialties, like explosives or guns.”

“I’m pretty much a generalist, Nick. But I’m good in hand-to-hand combat. It’s pretty hard to beat me in a fight. And, like I said, I’m good at interrogation. I draw the line at torture though.”

“I’m going to start calling you Jason Bourne”

“That’s about it, Nick, but without all the gratuitous killing.”

I wondered about the non-gratuitous killing. But I left my thoughts unspoken. There are certain boundaries that needn’t be crossed.

“Thanks for trusting me, Sam.”

“Now it’s time for you to trust me. I have a big favour to ask,” he said.

Then, to my delight, Sam asked me accompany him to a barbeque at the home of one of his colleagues. He said it would be an honour to introduce me to his mates.

“Of course I’ll come. I’d love to meet your colleagues.”

“They’re a bit rough,” he said. “They’re going to tease us. But it’s all good natured. Do you mind?”

“Will they tease me? Make fun of my big nose?”

“No, no,” he said. “They’ll just say things to me, like, ‘How did an ugly guy like you get yourself such a good looking boyfriend?’”

“And what will you say to that?”

“I’ll tell ‘em it’s the old Kozitsky charm.”

“True, that and a hot body,” I said.

“And, just for the record, your nose gives your face character,” he said. “Don’t ever say anything bad about your nose.”

“Thanks, Sam, you’re a sweety.”

“Does that mean I’ll get laid tonight?”

“You bet."

Then, Monday he got called away.

Sam had warned me, but it was still a shock. His absence created a huge vacuum, and I worried relentlessly. I expected him to come home battered and bruised; with a bullet wound or worse. I lived under a cloud of fear.

I didn’t hear from him for ten days.

Then, like magic, he was back. I walked into my apartment to find him looking perfectly healthy.

We hugged, we kissed, and we dropped to the floor. I fucked him right there. Ten days of pent up worry turned me into a pile driver. Sam loved it, but afterwards it took a bit of work to clean his cum off the carpet.

************************

The day of the barbeque arrived. I was nervous. I wondered if I’d fit into a group of ex-military tough guys. And would they be a bunch of homophobes?

We drove to one of San Diego’s eastern suburbs and pulled up in front of a newish, but undistinguished home. Sam rang the doorbell.

A pleasant looking, short haired woman answered the door. “Welcome.” she said.

“Daniels,” he said, “This is Nick. Nick this is Susan Daniels, a colleague.”

A woman colleague?

“Hi Nick, come on in,” she said.

Then another woman came up. This one was a little shorter and a little stouter than Susan. Susan introduced her as her partner, Kathy.

Partner?

Susan led us through to her back yard where several adults and a few children were gathered. To my surprise, everybody there looked, well, ordinary. One or two guys looked fairly fit, but otherwise it looked like a regular suburban gathering.

“Listen up everybody,” Susan called.

All eyes turned in our direction.

“This is Nick, Sam’s friend,” she said. “Make him feel welcome.”

I heard general murmurs of welcome. I smiled and raised my hand.

A tall thin guy came up to us.

“I’m Andy,” he said. "But you can call me Zee." I shook his hand.

Then he said, “So you’re the reason why Kozy has been in such a good mood lately?”

“I told you we’d get teased,” said Sam.

“Kozy?” I said. Zee smirked.

“My nickname,” Sam said.

Then one by one, everybody came over and introduced themselves. There were too many names and nicknames to remember. Many said they worked with Sam, others said they were spouses.

Soon I had a drink in my hand, and I was caught up in a circle of people talking about the latest forest fires ravaging the nearby hills. Like I said, and ordinary suburban Sunday, until:

“Kozy!” someone shouted.

Sam turned and a smile lit up his face.

“Sandy!” he shouted back.

Next thing I know this body builder Latino guy had Sam in a bear hug. And much to my dismay Sam was giving as good as he was getting.

“Fuck it’s good to see you!”

“You too, man!”

“How you been?”

“Great! You?

“Never better!”

Blah, blah blah. Who the hell was this guy? Serious competition, that’s who he was.

Sam broke the hug, turned to me and said, “Nick, this is Juan Santiago. We call him Sandy. He’s the best drill instructor that ever lived.

“Sandy, this is my...partner...Nick.”

Sandy reached out his hand and gave me a warm handshake.

Just then an attractive woman came up. Sam did the hug and introduction routine again. It was Sandy’s wife, Maria.

Mental note to self: Stop being so insecure.

Sam was comfortable with his buddies and enjoying their company, but he was also attentive to me. When he wasn’t with me, he’d catch my eye and give me a little ‘is everything okay?’ look. I’d nod to indicate I was fine. But Sam needn’t have worried, everyone was welcoming. When Sam was with me he’d often put his hand on the small of my back as we chatted with the other guests.

At one point I was deep in conversation with some guy, who was trying to pump me for stock tips, when Sandy came up.

“Nick, can I talk to you?”

“Sure,” I said. Then he led me to a quiet corner.

“Sam likes you,” he said.

I grinned and remained silent, waiting for Sandy to get to the point.

“I can tell he’s serious about you.”

“We’re serious about each other, Sandy.”

“Good, good,” he said. “Maria and I have hoped for a long time that Sam would meet someone special. He’s a tough guy, but underneath all that muscle beats a heart of gold.”

“So I’m learning,” I said.

“I want you to know something about Sam,” he said. “But I’d like him to tell you his version of the story. It’s better that he tells you. It’s about a fight we had. Make him tell you the truth. Tell him I need to get it off my chest. Sam all but saved my life that day. It’ll tell you what kind of guy you’ve got there. He’s the best. I’d lay down my life for him.”

I was intrigued and agreed to ask Sam about the fight. Sandy seemed relieved.

“Do you work, uh, here?” I asked him.

“No, after we had kids I left the SEALs and joined the SDPD. It’s a little more suited to a family guy than a unit like this one. Maria still worries about me, but at least I’m home pretty much every night.”

The sun was setting when Sam and I headed for home. It had been a lovely afternoon, and in the car I thanked Sam for taking me.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“Sam, I think you work with a wonderful bunch of folks. They made me feel very welcome. It was like being with a family. You’ll need to explain some of the nicknames though. Kozy and Sandy I get, but Bugs?”

“Oh, he does computers, wire taps, hacking, stuff like that.”

“Why do they call that lanky guy, ‘Zee’?

“Oh, that’s the first letter of a type of gun scope, Zeiss. He’s a sniper.”

“Ahhh....”

I was reluctant to spoil the mood, but I knew that Sandy’s request was important, so I broached the subject with Sam.

“I didn’t think he knew,” said Sam. “But that’s what he really said? That he needs to get it off his chest?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what he said.”

Sam chuckled. “Guy’s a lot smarter than he looks. Tell you what, Nick, when we get home, we’ll sit down with snifters of Brandy, and I’ll tell you about it. But you must promise never to repeat it.”

“Scout’s honour,” I said.

Later, Brandies in hand, Sam told me a remarkable story.

“Remember, when I was telling you about my Dad, I told you I vowed never to let anyone beat me up again?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess it’s a protection mechanism, but when I’m in a fight I go into something like a trance. I focus on nothing but winning. And I always do, except once.”

“Sandy?” I said.

“Yup. See, Sandy was the best drill instructor the SEALs had. If he asked us to give one hundred and ten percent, he gave one hundred and twenty five. He was smart, strong, courageous and, above all, fair. All the guys, including me would have followed him into a suicide mission, no questions asked. He was that kind of leader.

“One day, toward the end of training we were on an exercise. We were in teams. We were working against the clock, against the weather, against the other teams. It was always like that, push, push, push.

“Well, I was teamed up with Daniels, and after about five hours of pure hell her legs gave out. Like a marathon runner hitting the wall. She dropped like a sack of cement. One of our cardinal rules is that we always help our teammates; never leave them behind. We were working against the clock, but I stopped, trying to get her back up. I figured to hell with the time. She needs help.

“Now you need to understand that these exercises simulate real situations, so everybody gets pretty worked up. It gets real emotional, like a real battle.

“Anyway, Sandy sees us there and he comes up. I guess the pressure and the competition got to him, and he starts to yell at Daniels. I mean really yell. He’s in full bad-ass, drill instructor mode, and he’s screaming at her to get up and stop being such a weakling, and yelling how she’s letting the whole platoon down and stuff like that. He’s getting himself really worked up.

“He reaches down to grab her arm. And without thinking—my instinct was to protect her—I grabbed his wrist and clamped real tight and held on.

“He gives me a look of pure rage. I was surprised, but I wasn’t giving in. I kept hold of his wrist. We’re eye-to-eye, real hard.

“I realized I was in deep shit. He’d probably run my ass out of the SEALs for assaulting him.

“So we’re in this sort of pissing contest, because I don’t back down. And he’s really steamed. So he orders me to meet him on the mat in twenty minutes and we’ll settle this. The mat is our training ring. It’s similar to a boxing ring.

“I was pretty steamed too, but the twenty minutes gave me time to cool off. I’m thinking that on one hand I don’t ever lose a fight, but on the other hand, if Sandy loses that would be bad. He’d lose face. Our unit cohesion would go to shit. We’d both come out of this looking bad. You have to understand, I love that guy, I couldn’t do that to him, or to our unit.

“We get to the mat and Sandy’s still pissed. So we go at it pretty hard. I put up one hell of a fight. I give him a few bruises to make it good. But eventually he’s got me down with his knee in my throat. I’m about one millimetre away from a crushed windpipe. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. Sandy asks me to say ‘uncle’ so I go slack, he backs his knee off a bit, and I whisper ‘uncle.’

“Sandy gets off me. He’s still real pissed. He puts his finger up to my face, like he’s really going tell me off, but he just gives me a hard look, then turns and walks away.”

“But you let him win?” I said.

“Yes, for his sake, my sake, for the sake of the unit. I let him win.

“We finished training and, thanks to Sandy’s leadership, our squad won first place. Everyone was happy.

“Until today I didn’t realize he knew I threw that fight. Incredible."

“Sam, he told me that you all but saved his life that day. And he said the story would tell me what kind of guy you are. And it has. You are amazing.”

“I’ll do anything for people I love, Nick. Never forget that.”

***********************

I had been seeing a counsellor for several weeks and was feeling much more grounded. There certainly are benefits to cognitive therapy.

Sam deployed a few more times. But gradually his absences became less stressful as I learned that he would, more than likely, come home intact.

While he was away I would watch the news for signs of his activities. Once I read about an oil executive that had been freed from kidnappers. Another time I read about a drug lord’s assassination by persons unknown. I wondered.... One time he came home with a sunburned face. Desert?

On our free weekends we often took long drives exploring the countryside around San Diego. Of course Sam had enthusiastically shown me a couple of marinas.

So it came as no surprise when he broached the subject of a weekend cruise to Santa Catalina Island. One of his former Navy SEAL friends had offered the use of his boat.

“Nicky, I know you offered to be my first mate and all, but this would give us a chance to see if you really would like boating. If you don’t, that’s okay. There are lots of options. As long as we communicate, right?”

I enthusiastically agreed to the trip. After all, Sam was a mariner, and I was eager to see that side of him.

We went to the marina on Shelter Island at the top of San Diego Bay and Sam led me to a really sleek looking power boat.

“I’m impressed,” I said. “What kind of boat is this?”

“It’s a thirty five foot Regal Express Cruiser,” he said. “Her name is Harbor SEAL.”

We boarded and Sam showed me around.

“Sam, it’s beautiful. So luxurious. It has all the comforts of home.”

“Nice isn’t it?”

“Sam, I’d kill for a boat like this.”

“Maybe I already have,” he mumbled.

Sam had earlier put everything that we needed on board. All I was carrying was a small duffle bag with my clothes. I put that on the bed and joined him outside.

He explained what he was going to do and why. I didn’t have to do anything until we moored at Catalina Island, and he said he’d explain that when we got there. He showed me all the safety equipment. Then he ran through a checklist and started up the powerful engines. I stood aside while Sam undid the lines. He took the wheel and put it in gear, and we gently left the dock.

I watched in amazement as we motored out between the docks and other boats. Then we headed for Cabrillo Point, and when we got out past the Naval Station Sam opened up the throttles and the boat sped along.

I was looking in every direction at once trying to watch the land, and the other boats, and the vista of open ocean. Soon we were far from land.

I stood with Sam for a while then laid on one of the benches and relaxed.

A few hours later we arrived at the island and motored into a small harbor. Sam explained we had been assigned a mooring buoy and that my job was to hook the buoy with a long pole he gave me. Sam brought the boat up so gently that my job was easy. Then he tied the lines securing the boat.

Sam asked how I felt, and when I said fine, never better, he gave me one of his signature smiles.

Next to us was a beautiful white sailboat named Colibri. I explained that Colibiri meant hummingbird in French. The boat’s registration said Vancouver, BC, Canada.

A slightly scruffy, but handsome guy about our age appeared on deck and waved hello. He was joined by a clean cut guy, equally good looking, who also gave us a warm greeting.

I asked them if they were from Canada, and the conversation flowed from there. Introductions were made. The scruffy one was, Jerome, and the clean cut one was, Rob.

Someone suggested we all meet at on shore at the Bluewater Grill for dinner. So we took the zodiac to the dock, and after a stroll though the touristy streets of Avalon we made our way there.

Jerome and Rob told us they had six month old twin boys. Typically proud parents, they showed us multiple photos. They explained that they hadn’t had a break since the twins were born and that Rob’s mother had come over and virtually kicked them out of the house. The weekend trip to Catalina was a little getaway before Rob returned to his job as a flight attendant. They lived in Venice Beach, and they made us promise to visit them one day soon.

Later, back at the boat I said to Sam, “Imagine running into a gay couple in the boat next door.”

“It was great,” he said. “I’ve never really known male gay people. It’s nice to see that they can just be ordinary folks.”

“Just like us,” I said.

“You’ll never be ordinary to me, Nick. You’re beautiful and special. I love you so much.”

I led him to the bed and kissed him hard. “I love you, too.”

I slowly removed his clothes and kissed him everywhere. Then I removed my clothes and laid down on the length of him, front to front. Our hands were entwined above his head. We began an endless kiss. I could feel his mass under me. Muscles, hair, heat. The mild rocking motion of the boat set our hard cocks rubbing gently. Our stomachs became slippery with precum.

I rolled onto my back with my legs up. Sam knelt in front of me and gently entered me. I moaned and pushed my hips up eagerly, but Sam continued his slow, relentless entry.

He fucked me into outer space that night. Right out of the galaxy. I screamed and cried when I climaxed.

Afterwards, lying in his arms, I told him again how much I loved and needed him.

“I need you too, Nicky. If you only knew how much....”

By the time we got home on Sunday night we were wacked. We were in bed by nine and cuddled up; asleep in seconds. Our four thirty wakeup call loomed.

For the next few days our discussions revolved around boats. Sam was thrilled that I had enjoyed the trip to Catalina and happy that I wasn’t prone to sea sickness. I asked Sam a million questions about boating, and he answered each one patiently. He gave me the good and the bad--it was a fun but expensive pastime. I gave him my unqualified commitment.

Sam admitted he just happened to have his eye on a boat he liked.

The next Sunday Sam took me to see a thirty seven foot Sea Ray Sundancer. She was every bit as luxurious as Harbor SEAL. Her name was Budweiser.

“Named after a beer?” I asked.

“Nope, Budweiser is the nickname for the SEAL Trident insignia.”

“Then it’s meant to be,” I said. “But why do we call the boat ‘she’ when it’s got a masculine name?”

“It’s a very old tradition,” he said. “Probably goes back to the Greeks. Did you know that ‘boat’ is one of the only inanimate objects in the English language that has a gender? Cars sometimes, but boats are always ‘she’.”

We took her for a test run. Sam was beaming. I was as excited as a little kid at Christmas.

He signed an offer to buy subject to an inspection.

That week involved some heavy discussion about joint ownership. Sam insisted I be on title. I was flattered but reluctant. Sam argued that it was the SEAL’s equivalent of an engagement ring.

“Is that a proposal?” I said.

“Definitely!”

“Oh God, Sam, YES!”

The next weekend she was ours. It really was like Christmas.

I texted our new friends, Jerome and Rob, to tell them we’d bought a boat.

They invited us to bring Budweiser up to Venice beach for a visit.

We planned another trip to Catalina.

Our life was full and happy.

Then Sam got called away again.

In Sam’s absence I phoned my brother to fill him in on good news. I hadn’t yet told him about Sam.

He was his usual pompous doctor self. He had very little interest in my news but bragged about his work, his successful (also a doctor) wife, and about their admittance to the country club. What a self-centered prick he was becoming.

I wondered if I could get Sam to kill him.

Then I settled in, waiting for Sam’s call to tell me he was home.

A few days later, I was at work when my cell phone rang. I snatched it up hoping it was Sam. But instead of his ID, the call display showed 'unknown caller.'