The Boys of Summer - 1. Development Meeting

I was heading south.

The moon illuminated a pathway down the highway for me to find my way back to the beach. It was late at night as I drove home from a major sales presentation for a new real estate development we were pitching to prospective out of town buyers and investors. I had used my usual introduction all night: “Hi, my name is Pate Ruffin, I am pleased to be here tonight and to meet ya’ll.” I am one of the principles in the firm of Fitzhugh and Ruffin. My daddy, Big Rob, was the founder and my mother was the silent partner who brought in the Fitzhugh family money to underwrite our development schemes.

I was the only son of an only son so a lot of the work fell to me as my parents were getting older. I didn’t mind because I loved them and I loved the business. Their major concern was that I was 32, gay, and not likely to produce an heir for their long nurtured business. Yep, I was queer as a three-dollar bill. My mother found out about me being gay while I was in college. She was not a happy woman and cut off my money when I refused to attend a reparative therapy program. As soon as daddy found out what my mother had done he made sure my college tuition was paid, there was gas for my Jeep and rent money for my apartment. As he said, “You know how your mama is. Let time take care of this.” God knows what hell he dealt with when he told her what he had done for his son. She wanted grandchildren and would take whatever steps she thought necessary to see me walk a woman down the aisle and sire another generation of Ruffins.

Mother was a snoop hound and instinctively knew when I had a man in my bed. She was relentless in running men off and making my life miserable until one night I was in an automobile accident and my boyfriend was killed. We were at Wrightsville Beach and a deer ran into the car. I was thrown from the Wrangler and ended up in a sand dune. The local rescue squad took me to New Hanover hospital. The hospital staff called my parents and my father insisted that I be flown to Duke Medical Center. A few broken bones and a brain concussion convinced my dad that only the best care in the state would suffice for his only child. The hospital staff were offended that my daddy didn’t trust the care I was receiving but my daddy won out and my parents were waiting when the helicopter put down at Duke and they removed me from the whirly bird.

The Jeep was totaled and Johnnie died. I was still at Duke recovering when his family held the funeral. I wouldn’t have been invited to the North Carolina Pentecostal Church funeral anyway but that didn’t lessen my grief and sense of abandonment. I did have a clear memory of his daddy and the preacher coming to my hospital room to tell me if I even thought about coming to the funeral they would kick my faggot ass into the grave under the coffin and bury me alive. My parents went to the funeral home to pay respects and they were told to leave because their queer son killed their son. I think at that point my mother realized how she and her church had contributed to the grief I was experiencing.

I grieved to such an extent that even my mother realized that she had to help or I would soon join Johnnie in a grave. My parents moved me into their home during my recovery, fed me, took care of me but more importantly gave me increasingly more responsibility at work. Eventually, I wanted to live on my own again and bought a house on the beach. Nags Head. Of course, having spent all of my summers at the beach growing up I knew everything north of Oregon Inlet as Nags Head. Now the Chamber of Commerce used the generic term Outer Banks but to me it would always be Nags Head.

Fast forward to this evening when we were in Richmond, Virginia making our initial presentation of the plan for a new development. I knew Richmond. My mother was reared on the Southside of the James River which meant she was viewed as a step above white trash. Her parents had lots of money but it didn’t matter because she didn’t grow up in the West End around Three Chopts Road and the Country Club of Virginia. She went to St. Margaret’s Episcopal Girl’s School but that didn’t matter. She married my daddy who grew up in the tobacco country of North Carolina and it didn’t matter that his family had owned the same plantation since the early 1700s. They weren’t of Richmond proper so they had no standing in Richmond society. I was thankful I had not grown up in Richmond but in North Raleigh, actually Youngsville, where those things didn’t matter. Well, not as much. My daddy was a bit of a big shot in a small community and that had suited me just fine. I was a prince in this small town.

For this sales gathering we had hired an advertising/public relations firm at the beach to help us with the marketing concept, materials and presentations. The partners and staff from the agency had joined us in Richmond for the evening to evaluate the roll out of this concept. We hosted a nice dinner in an upscale restaurant with lots of schmoozing and boozing followed by our sales presentation. I was in charge of the menu and made sure there were lots of Virginia food favorites. Crittenden oysters, Edward’s Ham with Sally Bell biscuits, and fresh produce beautifully presented on crudités. It was a shame that Hanover tomatoes and Rocky Hock cantaloupes weren’t in season or they would have been on the menu also. The chef at the restaurant in Shockoe Bottom demanded high quality local sourced food that was beautifully presented. My one demand was the best single malt Scotch available in the state. I had been a Scotch drinker since I was 15 and didn’t think I would ever change.

My primary job that evening, besides hosting the event, was to present the economic facts to the prospective investors and convince them that this was a sure-fire way for them to get a good return on their money. The audience members were the future rain makers for the law firms and investors for the finance houses downtown. They were the civic leaders as their daddies and granddaddies had been. Some would pursue a political life and others would sit on the judiciary the same as their forbearers. They were dressed in either khakis or madras slacks, the ubiquitous navy blue blazer, Docksiders or Weejuns, sans socks, and if they wore a tie it was either madras or a florescent bow tie. The wives were in cocktail dresses with pearls and discreet gold jewelry. They wore the same outfits to the country club and to the Diamond to watch the Richmond baseball team. I was in my standard outfit of linen trousers, blue button-down oxford cloth shirt and navy blazer. Tonight, I had decided to dress up and wore Weejuns instead of Espadrilles. But without socks. I never wore socks unless there was snow on the ground.

We had several verbal commitments that night that would be followed up by my top-notch team of closers. It had been a terrific night and I was jubilant as I was driving back to the beach. In the passenger seat of my Jeep was Timothy, or ET as I had named him, who was a new employee of the advertising firm. His name wasn’t really ET but when he crooked his slender finger as he pointed at a map of the development he reminded me of that alien creature. Plus, he had a sort of pop-eyed look because of the glasses he was wearing. Thick lens and ugly frames made the overall proportions of his face look like something beyond the earth’s bounds. You could tell with one look that he had not grown up in Richmond but that didn’t bother me at all because he was so doggone good at building the model houses we used during our presentation.

In the middle of each table was a model of the houses. I was explaining, “the upfront costs are offset through green design features that will lead to significantly lower operating costs.” At that point, ET leaned in toward the center of the table to remove the roof from the model, “As Mr. Ruffin just pointed out, the green features of the houses are integrated into the design features so that while the homes have lots of windows so that you can see the ocean, you still have a R value that will make you smile when the bills arrive from North Carolina Power.” When leaning in he had put his hand on my forearm and I thought it was to balance his frail body from falling over but realized there was muscle and a strong grip holding me. As he lowered himself back to the chair he turned to me and smiled while he slowly slid his hand up my arm and squeezed my bicep. After the staff from each table finished their presentations, I stood and made some closing remarks. ET looked up at me with an unwavering gaze. It was unnerving as if I was Ronald and he was Nancy. Surely, there was a more likeable couple for a gay man to think of but that image immediately came to mind.

ET needed a ride back to the beach as his boss, Randolph, was heading north to DC for a few days. I was being a good Samaritan and offered to take him back; besides it was a long lonely drive on dark country roads and the company would be nice. ET was very fresh in the field having just finished college; I think this was his first job. We made a great team talking about the project at the dinner. He looked like a bohemian art student of sorts and was able to talk about the aesthetics of the project. He was very earnest in his delivery which had a certain charm. I could see people indulging him because of his youth and his enthusiasm. The good food and liquor didn’t hurt either.

ET was slender, almost frail looking under clothes that were purchased for their economy of style and assumed durability. I thought they must have been bought at a Sear’s close out sale. They were too big for his 5’6” height; it was if they had been bought by his mama thinking he would have a growth spurt at age 22 and that he would need these larger clothes. While he had long spindly fingers, his hands were nicely shaped, his jaw was strong and he had high cheekbones with a proud Roman nose. His shock of brown hair offset his green eyes behind those Coke bottle glasses. I couldn’t tell more than that because of his shapeless clothes. He was cute in that sensitive sort of way. But he was no longer a student and was working on this high stakes project.

We were heading south and that brought a smile to my face. I was stoked and decided that some wailing country music fit my mood so vintage Patsy Cline found its way into the CD player and I cranked up the sound. I was happy and singing along to the music. I tore up “Walking after Midnight” and crooned “Crazy” to ET while laughing like a fool. I was feeling like the project was going to be a huge success. During the break between cuts ET said, “Gosh, you have such a nice voice.” I laughed and told him that I did right good for a queer boy from North Carolina. He looked shocked but didn’t say another word as we left the interstate and headed onto the secondary road. I changed the music and put on some mellow tunes as I looked out the window. “Look at that full moon. La Bella Luna. That is the Full Flower moon for May. Did you know the full moon for each month has a different name?” I recited the names of the full moons for each month. It was magical to be driving through the dark country side and having the light from the moon leading the way.

I was tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and looked over at ET and asked, “How are you doing buddy? You did a great job for us tonight and I am proud of you.”

He smiled and said he was scared as all get out but felt more comfortable because I was there to help him. I told him my job was to help him and help us both so I could make enough money so he would get paid this week. I laughed when I said it but could tell that scared him thinking he might not get a pay check. I sought to calm him. “We’re going to be ok, we have the necessary financial backing and we caught some fish tonight. Some big fish. This project is going to be a great success.”

I looked over and he smiled. “There’s a filling station up here. Do you need to pee or do you need anything?”

“No thanks, I don’t need to urinate.” We went past the filling station before he spoke again. “There is something that I have needed tonight but haven’t gotten,” he said.

“What’s that, buddy?”

He turned in the bucket seat to face me and said, “I need to kiss you. I just feel this need to kiss you.”

I was stunned but quickly recovered and said, “Well then I guess you should just kiss me but don’t make me wreck my Jeep.” He unbuckled his seat belt, used the console as a leverage to push himself up and then kissed me on the mouth. Just that quick it was over.

My hand was on the gear shift and he took his hand and wrapped his fingers in mine. He then leaned back, took a big sigh, and then just looked at me.

My heart was racing and my fingers were shaking. I knew he could feel my hand shaking because he squeezed hard and said, “Nice kiss, big guy.”

“You know, I would love to sit in your lap while you are driving but I am probably too big.” I produced a deep chuckle and told him he was probably right. This had clearly thrown me off my game. I decided to take a lateral approach. “Look at that moon. Do you want to ride down to the ocean when we get to the beach?”

He agreed and when we crossed the bridge at Point Harbor I headed straight to the Kitty Hawk fishing pier so we could get out and walk the beach. I pulled into the empty parking lot and told him he should probably take off his shoes and socks. I did the same.

We walked along the beach holding hands. We were quiet as thieves just watching the moon reflected on the ocean. The soft ripples of the ocean created cascades of reflective light. “This is magical,” he murmured and I pulled him to me and kissed him hard. He responded with a deep moaning sound that affirmed he liked what I was doing. He pulled his head back from mine and said, “the second kiss tonight. You are the best kisser.” I was still holding him around the waist as he leaned back and looked up at me.

“Do you want to come to my place?” I asked.

The moon light was reflecting off of his glasses and shadowed his eyes. “You know this would probably get me fired if my boss found out.” The water was lapping around our ankles and I kissed him again. A moan caught in his throat and he put his arms around my neck and dug into my mouth with his tongue. “Oh God, you make me weak. Yes, please take me home with you. He can fire me, I don’t care.”

“We won’t tell.”

We walked back to the Jeep and headed down the beach road to my house. I didn’t live alone but with my best buddy, Trace, who was a sex hound of the highest order. Trace and I met while in college and when I bought the house, I invited him to live with me because I could stand neither the silence in the house nor the noise in my head. He was a jokester and kept things fun; he also named my shit behaviors and was my conscious. I guess that comes from all of those clinical psychology courses he had taken in college.

Trace’s bedroom door was closed but I could hear the familiar rutting sound. I grinned at ET and said, “We won’t be the only ones doing the nasty tonight.” He grabbed my hand like he was heading into the breach and moved close to my body. We went into the bedroom and I closed the door.

“This is beautiful. It doesn’t look anything like the beach.”

“Actually it is very beach. The furniture came from my grandparents. I inherited all of this from mee-maw and paw-paw’s house in Georgetown, South Carolina. Mee-maw told me the furniture was made in the West Indies about 1750 and brought by ship to Charleston and then by cart to the family plantation. Everything is mahogany but of an island style; not what you would find in Philadelphia. The style is simpler than what would have been made here in the colonies. I had to promise to always use it.”

I opened the wooden blinds and moon light filtered into the room.

The room was made for nighttime. The walls were a bruised plum color with crisp white paint on the heavy cornice moulding. The lighting was from brass lamps on the bedside tables and on the pie crust table beside the wing chair; the bedspread and dust ruffle were chocolate with chartreuse and ivory trim. The paintings were reproductions of Henry Scott Tuke’s Cornwall boys at the seashore and were lit by directional spots in the ceiling. It was a room that came alive when the sun went down and it felt very alive as I turned to ET and kissed him. He pressed his body close to mine and wrapped his arms around my neck. He was shaking.

“Are you ok,” I asked? He nodded his head.

I took off his glasses and put them on the night table. All of a sudden the alien features melted away and he became a very handsome fellow. His eyes were dreamy looking and his facial features pulled together in a coherent whole. He was still shaking so I suggested we get undressed and get into bed. He just stared at me.

I took off my shirt and he took off his shirt. He stood there with the shirt in his hand and didn’t know where to put it. I went into the closet and got him a hanger. What a nice chest on this fellow I thought. Smooth and tight with hairy pits. His nipples were small and taut. I then decided to kick off my shoes and he sat on the chair in the bedroom and meticulously untied his brogans, removed them and his socks which he then folded and put into the shoes and placed them beside the chair. He wouldn’t look me in the eye but was mimicking my every move.

Next I undid my woven leather belt, released the button on the waistband and let my linen trousers fall to the floor. I looked at him. He looked down then gulped and undid his belt. He turned his back to me to take off his trousers. My manhood expanded looking at his bubble butt in his white Fruit of the Looms. He neatly folded his trousers and put them on a hanger. His legs were covered in dark hair. I bent over, showing him my rounded rear and picked up my trousers, folded them and put them across the back of the wing chair. I reached down and scratched my nut sack. He looked like he was ready to bolt any second so I whispered, “Let’s get in bed.” He seemed relieved that I still had on my Calvin’s. We climbed into the Rice Bed and he slid under the covers with his back to me and said good night. I was on my side of the bed facing his back thinking that he was a prick teaser because he was about to fall off the mattress he was so close to the edge.

I felt his body move closer to me. He stopped, and then again he moved closer. He stopped. At that point I crossed the divide, put my arm across his waist and pulled his back into my chest. He gave a great sigh and snuggled in close. I felt his hand on mine and then he was moving my hand down his treasure trail and into his underwear. He flipped on the bed, threw his body against mine and started kissing me. My hand was still in his underwear and I was stroking him.

Like a flash he moved away and was on his hands and knees pulling down my briefs. His mouth had found its target. He was not well practiced.

“Hold on buddy, let me show you how to do this.” I grabbed him by the waist, stripped down his briefs. My pulse jumped in anticipation. I took him in my mouth; it was a nice for a small fellow but nothing that would make me choke. I got up and stood by the side of the bed and made him lie back with his head hanging off the side. We were both in a frenzy.

I reached under his thighs and lifted his legs from the bed. His legs were practically sticking straight up as I held him. He kept saying, “oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” He was beating on my thighs while moaning and gurgling. I was glad that I had continued to play sports after college so that I was in good shape and my legs could withstand the pummeling they were getting.

I eased his body down to the bed never letting go of his legs. I flipped him on top of me and I spread his legs so I had complete access to him. He was screaming in ecstasy by the time I turned him around. I was lying in the middle of the bed and told him that I needed to take him and wanted him to control it. “Take your time.” He was tentative at first but quickly took control. “It’s ok, I know I can do this, I want to do this.” He sighed and said he didn’t want to be timid but wanted to show me he could take it like a man. The end result was explosive as he arched his back and let loose with a torrent of man juice.

Afterwards, he lay like a limp dish rag. I put my arms across his back and kissed his shoulder. We were glued together. He stirred and said he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

I immediately thought he had regrets. I had seen that petit mort scene many times with newbies and straight guys. He sensed my tension, turned his head and kissed me on the mouth. “That was wonderful,” he said, “Thank you for being such a good lover.” Lover? OMG. “I have wanted to make love with a man and you were the man.”

This was getting too emotional for me and I suggested we take a shower.

I clutched his hand and led him into the shower. I had this shower especially built so that three or four people could use it at a time. There were multiple shower heads and a couple of rain caps in the ceiling. I turned on the water and pulled him close to me.

We washed each other and I took particular care of his butt to make sure it was clean. I grabbed clean towels for us to dry off. I got some lotion and squirted in on my fingers and then slid them up his ass. “Stop, that hurts.” I told him it would make him feel better in the morning so he bent over at his waist, grabbed his ankles and told me to go for it. I crunched down on my haunches, got the bottle of lotion and squirted his ass full then leaned in and kissed his ass cheeks. I stood, slapped his butt and told him we needed some sleep. I went back to the bedroom and started making sense of the tangle of bed clothes. He came in and helped me get the sheets, pillows and cover back in place. I crawled in and he slid in so I could spoon him. My arm was across his chest and then slid down to play with his hairy navel.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” I said, “it is important to teach boys about the birds and the bees.”

He sighed.

“You are beautiful. Thank you for giving yourself to me tonight.”

I pulled him in close and kissed his shoulder blade. I noted a row of freckles around his shoulder and thought about kissing each one. He sighed, and in a choked voice said I was welcome and then I fell into a deep sleep.

I awoke. The bed covers were pushed to the foot of the bed, and ET was midway down the bed. He looked at me and said that he had awoken and wanted to explore my body. “I wanted you so badly tonight that I hadn’t taken the time to really look at your body. I love the sprinkling of hair across your chest – not too much so you can see the definition. I put my foot against yours – my feet are tiny compared to yours. What size shoe do you wear? How did you get that scar on your hip – it looks like it was from a horrible accident or something. ET was full of questions, caught his breath and then just looked at me. I was formulating an answer when he asked, “Did you know that you snore?”

“Nope, never. I know that I do not snore.”

“You snore, I heard it.”

“It must have been someone else in my bed.”

He gave me a queer look trying to figure out what I was talking about. I was discerning why I had immediately disclaimed the notion of my snoring. I knew I snored. Was it because Trace always complained about the “snoring beast” in the room when I would fall asleep while watching television or was it because I wanted to be perfect for this young swain? I didn’t like being confronted with my frailties.

I waited a couple of second and said, “I’m sorry that my snoring woke you.”

“It didn’t, but when I was playing with your ball sack and you starting grunting and then you started snoring.”

“OK, enough about my snoring, kiss me good night and let’s get some shut eye.”

“Not yet, I am still horny.”

He scooted his body beside my torso and started jerking his cock. After a few strokes, ropes of hot cum were flying across my chest. My nipples were covered with his hot boy juice. He sat back on his heels with his cock in his hand. Cum was dripping from his fingers. His face had the look of ecstasy like St. Sebastian is some of those Renaissance paintings.

“Eat it. Lick it up,” I said.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Eat it. You shot cum over all my chest, now you clean it up.”

He could tell from my voice that I meant for him to do it. He leaned over and started licking my left nipple. When he finished, I asked if he had enjoyed his meal.

“Actually, it tasted a little bitter. That is why I don’t like to eat my own but yours is so sweet.”

“Grapefruit,” I said, “drink grapefruit juice and you will have sweet tasting cum.”

“OK,” he said then leaned over, gave me a kiss sharing residual cum with me. He needed to eat grapefruit for sure. He put his arm across my chest, rested his head on my shoulder and told me that I made the best pillow in the world. Then he immediately fell into a deep sleep.

I lay awake. What was this young puppy doing to me? There was no guile, no pretense, no false modesty, just a simple fellow who had decided to give himself to me for the evening. I didn’t get much sleep the rest of the night as I processed what was happening to me.

I was startled awake when Trace opened the bedroom door and announced that he was bringing in coffee, croissants, and juice. ET slid under the covers. I had forced Trace to read the Maupin “Tales of the City” series and he was being Mona for me today.

Trace said he wasn’t leaving until he saw who had kept the house awake all night with moans, groans and screams. I chuckled and knew that ET would never come out from under the covers without some assistance. I reached down, put my hands under his arm pits and pulled him up on my chest. Trace stuck his hand out and said, “pleased to meet you, I am Eustace, but call me Trace.” ET was sticking his hand when I interrupted by saying, “Hmm, considering where that hand has been and what it has been doing, I don’t think the Health Department would consider that hygienic.” I burst out laughing and could see that both Trace and ET had quickly pulled their hands back and just nodded at each other.

We ate the croissants and I poured ET a big glass of grapefruit juice. He gave me a grateful smile when I told him to empty the glass. Trace laughed and said, “you want him to have sweet cum don’t you. Pate told me about grapefruit juice and all of my girlfriends since then have sent him thank you cards.”

ET drank coffee from my cup. He smiled and said there was no need to dirty dishes that might get stacked in the sink. ET realized he was in the house of two very crazy men and gave me a lopsided grin. I couldn’t help but smile back.

I glanced over and Trace was giving me a knowing look. I immediately turned bright red and realized that Trace knew more about me at that moment than I wanted to acknowledge.

Trace asked what we were going to do for the day and I told him I didn’t know because we hadn’t talked about it. ET told us he had to leave because it was his grandmother’ birthday and there was a special service to be held for her.

“What kind of service?” I asked.

“We do church services for special people in the congregation.”

“So your grandmother is special, is she?”

“Well my daddy is the preacher at the Baptist church in Bear Swamp so she is like the grandmother to the whole congregation.”

If I hadn’t already been lying down I would have fallen over – I had fucked a preacher’s kid.

Trace just looked at me trying to decide whether to laugh or offer sympathy. He simply got up, picked up the tray and said, “I think you boys need some private time.”

He closed the door and I just stared at ET.