Special Forces - 11. Chapter 11

I woke up feeling Sam’s warm body spooned against my back. His hard cock was nestled in the crack of my ass. Perhaps he was having a good dream because, even in sleep, he was humping me and making little moaning sounds. I knew he was asleep by his breathing, but damn, whatever he was doing back there felt mighty good.

Then the memories of the night before came flooding back. Did I really kill Tony? Yes, I remembered quite clearly pulling the trigger and seeing his brains fly out. Perhaps I should have felt remorse or guilt from taking someone’s life but I didn’t. I felt quite calm; even pleased with myself. Tony was a much worse person than I ever imagined. He beat innocent women to death for the fun of it. And I couldn’t let him hurt Sam. For one thing I like Sam’s nuts. I love the way they roll around in my hand. But the icing on the cake—the reason I feel good about killing Tony—was his matter-of-fact statement about selling Jorge to a child pornographer. What kind of a sick fuck would even say such a thing?

I’d been unconsciously wriggling against Sam’s cock, and I guess that woke the big guy up. He kissed my neck, under my hair. “Morning Nicky. You feel good.”

“So do you Sam.” I reached for the lube in the night stand drawer and handed it to him. “Just be quiet and maybe we can get this done before our little one wakes up.”

I heard the click of the bottle top being pushed open, then a second later I felt Sam’s slicked finger coating my hole. When he pushed his finger in, I squirmed back to get more of it. “Patience Nicky,” he whispered. Then I felt him withdraw his finger and move back and I knew he was lubing that big pole of his. He used one hand to spread my ass cheek up and the other to guide himself to the target. I relaxed and he slipped in nice and sweet. God Almighty that felt good. It made me feel so alive. So loved. So validated. I wanted to be connected to Sam like that forever.

Something about the violence of the night before made us both need this moment. This was an affirmation of life. Of our lives.

Sam fucked me with long slow strokes making a quiet little grunt each time he bottomed out. He’d reached around and was stroking my swollen cock with his lubed hand in the same rhythm. I made little mewing sounds to match his grunts. It was difficult not to cry out with pleasure, but somehow holding back verbally made the sex even more intense. I felt the sensation in my abdomen and legs building up, reaching a delicious burn. Then I was overcome by a wave of pain/pleasure. I curled my toes against it. My cock jerked in Sam’s hand, the muscles of at the base of it contracting violently. At the same time I heard Sam whisper a strained, “Oh fuck!” and he pushed deep inside me as his whole body went rigid. I could feel his cock pulsating with the same strength mine had just seconds before, and his seed warmed the insides of me.

We drew in deep breaths and let them out, letting the post coital lassitude overtake us. Our bodies turned to jello but Sam stayed buried in me and hugged me with his strong arms. Pure heaven.

We rested for a few minutes then I suggested stripping the wet sheets off the bed and jumping in the shower. Jorge must have heard us whispering and woke up. He called out, “Papa?”

“I’m here big guy,” said Sam.

“Do you have to pee?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“Okay, you go pee, then your Dads will have a quick shower. There’s some cut up fruit on the bottom shelf of the fridge if you’d like a snack. Don’t eat too much of it. Maybe Papa will make us waffles later.”

“Yay, waffles!”

I stripped the bed and threw the dirty sheets in the laundry hamper. Then Sam and I enjoyed a quick shower. The bruise on his chest where the vest stopped the bullet was bright purple, but Sam said it didn’t really hurt. That’s my tough guy. We still felt a little high from the sex. Still buzzed. Still a little horny. But we had to be quick. I grabbed Sam by the balls and gave them a squeeze. He kissed me hard and said, “Thanks for saving those. Wouldn’t want to lose my boys, that’s for sure.”

Jorge was sitting patiently at the kitchen bar nibbling apple slices. He was still an amazingly complacent child. If what you asked him to do suited him, he did it without fuss. If he truly didn’t like what you asked him to do, he would refuse. His refusals, and even rare flashes of temper, were never for the sake of contrariness—just an expression of his preferences. So Sam and I had learned to either go along with his refusals or do a work around (you recall the spoon throwing incident).

For instance, he hated his car seat but never refused to be strapped in for a ride. So when we stopped the car at our destination, the first order of business was to free him. He knew we made it our first priority, and in his own way he accepted the compromise.

Sam came up behind him and wrapped him in a bear hug. Jorge’s little body all but disappeared in Sam’s embrace. He kissed Jorge loudly on the neck earning a giggle.

“I heard Jorge wants waffles. Is that true?”

“Yes, Papa, with whipped cream and strawberries!” One of Jorge’s great delights was squirting the whipped cream from the pressurized bottle.

“Okay, you got it. But first I have to make Papi coffee before he gets grumpy. We don’t want Papi to be grumpy do we?”

Jorge shook his head solemnly. “No Papa. But Papi is never grumpy!”

I smirked.

I could see Sam observing me surreptitiously. “Everything okay, hon?”

“Yeah, sure, fine.” But I didn’t feel exactly fine. I felt full of nervous energy. I was a little twitchy. “Well, maybe a little restless. I’ll go for a run later.” I did a quick mental “system check”: Feeling remorse? No. Feeling guilty? No. Disgusted? Depressed? Queasy? No. No. No. “I’m fine, Sam. No regrets. I just feel like I’m on speed. Is that normal?”

“Perfectly normal, hon. I’ll come with you to drop Jorge off at school then we stop by the new house and check on the progress. After that, we can grab a coffee before I go to work. We’ll talk about it. Reactions vary, but what you’re feeling happens to about 80% of guys and gals.”

The house was coming along well. The front facade was off prior to its update. Sam’s workout room was framed. They’d put a large window in the garage turning it into a wonderfully illuminated studio. The new master bathroom was plumbed. They were just waiting for the tile to come and complete the shower stall. The old kitchen, family room, dining room and living room had been turned into one ‘great’ room. The new laminate floor was done, and the new kitchen cabinets were there awaiting installation. The contractor, Alf, a SEAL acquaintance of Sam’s, assured us it would all be finished in two weeks. We hadn’t needed to hire an architect because this guy did the design and drew up the plans for the City’s approval. He really was talented.

It was fun watching Sam and Alf communicate. Both amped up the testosterone. They looked like two gorillas circling each other about to fight for a mate. I guess it’s a military competition thing. At any rate they both looked super masculine and hot. Alf was married with a couple of kids and Sam was more than happy to brag about his brilliant new son. He kept referring to Jorge as “my boy” which was endearing.

I brought up the subject of a pool. Of course Alf knew an ex SEAL who had a pool maintenance business. “Did you ever meet Johnny Casgrain?” Alf asked Sam. “Lost his leg in Eye-rack one. Hell of a good guy.”

“No, never met him. Can you give me his number? My boy’s a real good swimmer. Gonna be on the swim team at school. Pool would be good for him.”

What?

Alf told Sam that the local high school had excellent aquatic facilities. Jorge would be able to swim or play water polo, whatever. But he told Sam the yard was too small for a large pool and suggested a small kidney shaped one that would be well proportioned in the limited space. I said a silent prayer of thanks.

After that we drove down to Rosecrans and stopped for coffee at the Better Buzz. Sam called into work telling them he would be a couple of hours late.

“So, how you feeling, Nicky?”

“Good, Sam. Like I said earlier, I just feel hyper. Is it strange that I don’t feel any remorse?”

“No, not at all. You read Chris Kyle’s book, American Sniper, didn’t you?”

“Yes, right after I met you.”

“Well, he talks about having no regrets. He just did his job. That’s what you did. You saved my nuts, and in my book that’s a noble cause to kill somebody.”

I laughed. Then sobered. “Will I dream about it?”

“Probably. I don’t want to give you any suggestions, but you may have dreams about not being able to get to me on time. You might feel a little moody at times....”

“That makes sense....”

“So Nicky, do you have any theories on why Tony was like he was?”

“Well, he changed from a nice guy to a creep almost overnight. He could be a psychopath. But there could be an organic cause. Maybe he had a brain tumour.”

“Maybe. I’ll get Sandy to look at the autopsy results.”

“I think I figured out what he was doing in San Diego. When the Solanettis bought Aguilar’s business they wanted one of their own down here. I think it may have been a punishment detail for Tony after he fucked up that lucrative operation in Montreal.”

“That’s as good a theory as any, Nick. I like that.”

We changed the subject to more mundane matters: The upcoming move. How well Jorge was doing. What my next art project was going to be. A customer of Sam’s who was on the brink of buying an expensive boat.

I dropped off Sam at work then headed home. By the time I got there Maria had finished most of the housework. I noticed our bed had been freshly made. I wondered what she thought of the gooey sheet’s she’d found in the laundry hamper. Whatever she thought, she made no indication that she was troubled by it.

I put on my running gear and headed out for a good long run. That really helped to burn off some of the excess energy I was feeling.

After I was home and showered, I went into my studio and closed the door. I set a fresh canvas on my easel and began to paint. I didn’t think about it; just let my hands do whatever they wanted. I painted an abstract with lots of dark blue and red. Definitely my subconscious at work.

In the world of the Borg (what I called the ex-military guys in San Diego) the collective was at work on our behalf. Sam called to say that Alf had called Johnny Casgrain (the pool guy) who then went out to have a look at the yard. Then Johnny called Sam and suggested we go with a kidney-shaped fiberglass pool called ‘The Serenity’ by Penguin Pools. While Sam was talking to me on the phone I quickly looked it up on the internet and loved the size and shape of it. I told Sam we might as well give Johnny the go-ahead. Sam enthusiastically replied that ‘our boy’ was going to love it.

A few minutes later Sam called back to tell me that Johnny had recommended another comrade who could do our landscaping. It was a job we thought we might tackle ourselves, but the truth was it was just too much to take on with our hectic schedules and the boat.

I think we spent over fifty grand in the space of twenty minutes. Luckily, that wasn’t a problem thanks to a pending sale of Sam’s apartment.

Maria called to say she and Jorge had been invited by Gregory’s mom for an afterschool snack. Later when Maria arrived home with Jorge he was in fine form. “Papi, Gregory has a pool just like David and Aaron (Rob and Jerome’s twins)! And Papi, he has his own bedroom!”

“You’ll have your own bedroom too when we move to our house up by Abuela’s. Would you like that?”

Jorge was thoughtful for a moment, then replied quietly, “No Papi.”

Note to self: Discuss this situation with Sam.

The days flew by and in no time at all the movers were in to pack up my and Sam’s apartments. Everything was done in one day. Jorge went to Gregory’s after school and we picked him up there after dinner. That was the first time we met Gregory’s dad. His reaction to us was comical. He was friendly, but he kept looking back and forth between Sam and me. God only knows what he was thinking—probably trying to figure out who was the ‘man’ and who was the ‘woman.’ Isn’t that the first thing straights want to know?

Approaching our new house I had to admire Alf’s renovation work. He’d updated the nondescript 60’s facade to a more modern look emphasizing the width of the house. Sort of bungalow meets Arts and Crafts meets Frank Lloyd Wright. When the new landscaping was done it was going to have loads of street appeal.

Jorge had been to the house the day before when it was empty, but now it was full of familiar things. He wandered around slowly taking it all in. When he saw his bed and toys—Monkey was displayed prominently on his pillow—in his new bedroom he hesitated before entering. Then he took one tentative step, then another. He walked to his bed and looked at it like he’d never seen it before. Sam and I were standing in the doorway holding our breath. He turned towards us and gave us one of his inscrutable looks.

Sam entered the room and picked him up. “This is your room, Jorge!”

Jorge remained silent. I was praying this wasn’t going to be one of his refusals.

“Okay! How about some jello and a few minutes of ‘Finding Nemo’? Papa really needs a good Jorge cuddle!”

After a few minutes of ‘Nemo’ and the sugar-free jello snack (with a squirt of whipped cream for good measure) Sam got Jorge bathed and ready for bed. I stayed well out of the way. The best strategy at the moment was to let the trust bond between Papa and ‘his boy’ carry the situation.

I grabbed a glass of wine and sat on the couch feeling melancholy. I was mentally and physically exhausted after all the drama, changes and activities of the last few months. And I felt a little sad about leaving my wonderful apartment. I hoped Edna Winters was enjoying my view.

After a few minutes Sam came into the family room and set the baby monitor on the coffee table. He took one look at my morose expression and sat beside me on the couch and pulled me into a hug. “Feeling blue, Nicky?”

“A little. But just worn out, you know? Did everything go okay with Jorge?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. I convinced him that Monkey loved the new bedroom so Jorge accepted it too. I read him a few pages of Twenty Yawns, then when he looked ready for sleep I laid down and cuddled him. He dropped off pretty fast. Now what about you, Nicky, what’s up?”

“Really nothing that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. Move sideways so I can sit between your legs; that will make me feel good.”

So we shifted and I settled in between Sam’s muscular legs with my back against his chest. He moved my hair and kissed my neck, then he put his arms around me. He continued to lightly kiss my neck and I rested my head against his chest. I felt warm and safe and was asleep in less than a minute. I don’t remember Sam getting me into bed after that.

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping in the trees outside. I wonder if Edna Winter will miss hearing the birds chirp. Sam was snoring lightly and I was tempted to snuggle up to him, but my bladder needed emptying so I got out of bed. After I’d peed, I checked on Jorge who was sleeping and looking positively angelic. Monkey had fallen on to the floor, so I picked him up and tucked him in with ‘our boy.’

I felt refreshed after that good sleep, so I went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Then I sat with my mug and looked out over the unkempt back yard. I could see into my new studio and felt the familiar itch to want to get to work. Mrs. Graham, Abuela, had sold me her kiln, and Alf had it installed and inspected. I needed to fire a few more pots if I was going to be ready for the Pottery Guild’s jury presentation.

Just then a bleary-eyed Sam walked into the kitchen wearing only his boxer shorts and scratching his nuts. It was a sight to behold. His broad chest, muscular arms, thick legs and his dick swinging loose in his boxers made for an eye catching view.

He saw me staring, so he grabbed his junk and thrust his hips forward. “Like what you see?”

“Oh yeah.....”

He gave me a nice long kiss then poured himself a cup of coffee. “What’s on the books for today, hon?”

“I don’t feel like putting stuff away. We’ve got the rest of our lives to get this place organized. Let’s drop Jorge at school then head to the boat.”

“Only if you promise to fuck my brains out on said boat, Nicky.”

We heard the toilet flush then Jorge entered the kitchen carrying Monkey. Sam scooped him up into a bear hug. “Hey man! How was the first night in your very own bedroom?”

“Good Papa. Monkey liked it, and I didn’t wet the bed or anything.”

“Jorge, you are getting so grown up!”

Jorge beamed as he always did from Sam’s praises.

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

After dropping off Jorge we went down to the boat and fucked like mink. I just can’t get enough of that big blond hunk. And apparently he can’t get enough of me.

We picked up Jorge after school and arrived home to a war zone. The pool liner was sitting on a truck in front of the house, and a backhoe was tearing up our back yard. A dump truck was in the driveway waiting to take away the excavated soil. The three of us watched the activity from the house; Jorge was delighted with the digging and hauling. After the hole was dug and leveled and the dirt hauled away, the truck with the pool liner backed into the driveway and using its built-in crane lowered it into the hole. We did high fives all round.

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

At dinner that night Jorge really took us by surprise. “Papi, what’s a ‘wetback’?

I saw the muscles in Sam’s jaw tighten and his eyes narrowed.

“Uh, it’s a name people sometimes call Hispanic people,” I said. (I didn’t want to lie to Jorge, but neither did I want to make a big deal out of it by telling him it was a pejorative.)

“Where did you hear that word, Jorge?” said Sam through clenched teeth.

“Gregory said his dad said I was a wetback. And you and Papi are fags. What’s a fag, Papi?”

I was utterly shocked. Sam was livid. I could see smoke coming out of his ears. He had a murderous look in his eyes. Now with anyone else that would be a metaphor, but with Sam it was literal. I feared for the safety of Gregory’s father.

“Um, I just have to go out for a while,” said Sam.

“Don’t take your Glock,” I said.

“I won’t need it.”

About forty-five minutes later Sam returned looking somewhat mollified. I was dying to know what happened, but of course we couldn’t discuss the situation in front of Jorge.

We were naturally both upset but tried to hide it from Jorge who wasn’t fooled one bit. As a result, he was a little clingy that evening and it took us two reads of Twenty Yawns and a cuddle from Sam to get him to sleep.

“Is Gregory’s dad still in one piece?”

“Yeah, I went in ready to rip him a new asshole. I played my tough character. Puffed out my chest. Used my deep voice and my best redneck grammar. He laughed and imitated himself. “’My boy’s been hearin’ some bad words. You know sumpah ‘bout that?’ The guy nearly shit himself! Started back-peddling and apologizing. I told him it wasn’t me he had to apologize to. He had to apologize to his son; make things right. Admit he’d spoke wrong.”

“You think he will?”

“Oh yeah, I didn’t have to make any threats. I was the threat. I was telegraphing my anger and the prick knew he was this close (Sam held up his thumb and forefinger about a millimetre apart) to Armageddon. That’s all I said to him. After that I walked back out the door. I even closed it gently—which was probably a lot more effective than slamming it.”

“Remind me not to piss you off, Sam.”

Just then my phone rang and I scrambled to answer it. I heard, “Hello, Mr. Poulos?”

“Yes....”

“Uh, this is Greg Cotton, uh, Gregory’s father?”

The guy sounded really nervous so I thought I’d cut him some slack. “Oh, hi, Greg. What’s up?”

“Uh, well Darlene and I were wondering if you and Sam and Jorge would like to come over for dinner next Saturday? I’m really sorry I screwed up. I was joking around. Well, it wasn’t a very good joke, was it? Anyway, Darlene and I thought it would be best for the boys if we could, um, repair our, um, relationship. You know, the boys are gonna want to hang out together, and it wouldn’t be too good if their parents are at war. I’ve already spoken to Gregory and told him what I said was wrong and I was very sorry to have said those words....”

“Sounds good to me, Greg, but let me ask Sam.” I put my finger over the phone’s mic and told Sam quickly about the apology and the invitation. He gave me a thumbs up, so I told Greg we’d be there.

After the call was terminated Sam said. “Ah, the old Kozitsky charm. Works every damn time.”

For the next couple of days Sam and I stayed out of the workmen’s way as they finished up the installation of the pool. The ground around it was leveled, but the landscaper Borg, had to come in and put in the cement decking and finish off the landscaping.

The arrival at Gregory’s house went a lot better than I’d expected. The first thing Sam did was apologize to Greg for ‘being an asshole.’ Then he grabbed Greg in one of those military man hugs—the one where they half hug and pound the other guy quickly on the back with a closed fist. Greg looked a little shocked but relieved. After that it was like Sam and Greg had been best-friends-forever. Sam asked if Greg would give him a little advice about taking care of a pool and they were off and running. Darlene whispered to me, “How did he just do that?”

I replied, “Sam is special. It was the same with Jorge. Within seconds he was Jorge’s best friend. And with me too, I suppose, only in my case it was love at first sight.”

“You and Jorge are very lucky, Nick.”

I looked out the window and saw Sam and Greg talking and gesticulating toward the pool. Man bonding. And suddenly, I didn’t feel lucky, I felt resentful. Sam was out playing with his new friend while I remained inside with the wife. Much the same thing had happened at Sandy and Maria’s. I was excluded from the ‘man talk.’ Behavior that I found endearing only three weeks ago was annoying me tonight.

My French Canadian temper was starting to boil. Sam was going to get an earful later!