1968 - 5. Chapter 5

January 25, 1968

Sam had basically moved into the hotel room with me after last night. We'd had a great dinner and then fucked all night long. We were really compatible in bed. He liked to be dominant, he liked to fuck, and I liked to be fucked. We were having breakfast at a local restaurant with great pancakes.

“So you said I'm the first guy you fucked? I find that hard to believe. You're gorgeous.”

He smiled that sexy smile full of fake modesty. “I've gotten blown lots of times, reciprocated a lot too” he said with a grin. “And I’ve banged a bunch of chicks.”

“You like women or men better?”

“I like both, but I think men are more fun, more physical. I guess I'm just a horny bastard.”

“You sound like Stefan,” I joked.

“Yeah, he is a kindred spirit. But I actually have the ability to separate love and sex, and I don't think he does.” His insight was impressive.

“So why me?” I asked.

“What do you mean, why you?”

“You could be with any guy, well, any gay guy on campus. Why me? You just sucking up to the boss?”

He kind of seemed irritated and I felt bad. “No, I'm not sucking up. I'm a good T.A. My performance will stand on its own.”

“I'm sorry Sam. I was teasing, but that wasn't fair. I guess I'm just feeling insecure in the presence of such beauty.”

“You teasing me again? For such a smart guy, you can really be a dumb shit you know that? I told you how hot you are, how your body is amazing and how cute you are. But you know what I really love about you?” I shook my head. “Your brain. You are smart, you're confident, and you're brave.”

“You are good for my ego,” I said, realizing that I was flirting shamelessly.

“And you're good for mine.”

We headed to campus where the contractor I called was waiting for me. I told him that I wanted wood paneling on the walls and ceiling, and new wood floors to replace the nasty tile. He told me that it would take three weeks to get it done. I didn't worry about the time too much, so I just shrugged.

I was sitting in my office at my university issued desk, wishing my furniture would get here, when the phone rang. That was a surprise, since I'd just moved in. It was Tony.

“Dr. Crampton, I got a counter offer on Escorial. They want $238,000”

“Did they leave all the furnishings and stuff in the offer?”

“No, they pulled that all out.”

“OK, resubmit it at their price with all the stuff in it. Tell the other agent that's it.”

An hour later he called back and told me they'd accepted the offer. We set the closing date for February 6.

I called Isidore and brought her up to speed on everything that had happened. She was really upset about Jeff. I thought I would be too, but in reality, I wasn't. I agreed with everything that he said. This was his battle to fight. I think part of our love had died during this last go around. It was up to him to come out of rehab healthy and win me back. Maybe that was an asshole way to be, but I'd done so much, been through so much with him, I was emotionally strung out. I didn't have the moxie to fight his battle for him anymore.

She was excited about the house, and anxious to see it. I was hoping that she'd decide to move out sooner than this summer, but I wasn't going to pressure her. She promised to come back out in February after I closed to check it out.

I was getting ready to bail for the day when a reporter came in from the University paper. She was a professional young lady that asked very incisive questions. She pried into my departure from Northwestern, which I tried to dance around delicately. And she asked me about my intervention in the demonstration. Reporters always made me nervous, especially when they brought photographers, which she did.

Sam magically appeared as soon as she left. “So what do you have planned for the next few days?” I asked.

“I'm supposed to work,” he said. “I can probably get the weekend off though.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “Get the time off and I'll hire you to be my tour guide in the City this weekend.”

“Consider it done, but I don't want your money. When do you want to leave?”

“How about tomorrow morning?” And that's how we left it.

January 26, 1968

Sam picked me up bright and early. He had a crappy old car, a 63 Chevy Nova, but I didn't care. It was funny because Sam hadn't picked up on the fact that I had lots of money. He'd heard me talk about funding Exode with a hundred grand, but maybe that didn't register. I didn't tell him about Escorial, and I hadn't tossed money around in front of him. The fact that he was willing to spend time with me without knowing that made him seem more sincere. We drove up Highway 101 and when we got to the city, I decided to blow his impression of me as a poor professor out the window with a bang.

“So where are we going first?” he asked.

“I thought we'd check in first. You know where the Fairmount Hotel is?”

“Yeah, we staying near there?”

“No, we're staying there.” He rolled his eyes and drove up to the hotel. I had to force him to valet park.

I checked in, getting us a really nice suite. Sam wasn't paying attention when I got the room. He was too busy taking in the ornate lobby. The bellman came to take our bags, and he argued that he could carry them himself until I intervened. We got to the room and his mouth dropped. After the bellman left he freaked.

“Man, this place is incredible, but we can't stay here. It has to cost a fortune. I don't want you to blow all your money on me. I'll like you just as well if we stay at a dump.” God was he cute.

I walked up and kissed him. “It's not a problem. Don't worry about money.” I ran my hand down his shirt and across his crotch, where his dick was already firming up. “Why don't we break this room in?”

Sam was an experienced lover, just not an experienced lover with men. But he picked it up quickly, and every time we had sex he seemed to figure out how to blow my mind just that much more. He was young, athletic, and an animal. He reminded me of Jeff when he was 18, only more aggressive.

We went out to explore the City. Sam grew up in St. Louis, but he'd adopted San Francisco as his new home town. We wandered all over, from the Haight to Castro, to Telegraph and Russian Hill, to the wharf and back to Union Square. He took me to a fantastic Italian restaurant and insisted on paying, and then we headed back to the Fairmount for more athletic sex.

The next day he took me to see the Palace of Fine Arts and Golden Gate Park. Then we just wandered around with no particular purpose. We ended up back at Union Square, and I decided to do some shopping. He seemed really uncomfortable.

“Let's go out for a nice dinner tonight,” I said. “My treat.”

“I'm worried that you're spending too much money,” he said.

“It's OK Sam; I have a lot of money to spend.”

“Oh yeah? So you're rich huh?”

I smiled at him. “Well, as a matter of fact, yeah.”

“How rich?” he asked dubiously.

“Rich enough to buy my boy toy a nice suit and take him out to a fancy dinner.” He smiled but still seemed uncomfortable. “Look Sam, my parents are wealthy, and I've got my own money too. My father runs a construction company.”

“Which one?” he asked.

“Crampton Construction. Duh.” I teased.

“You're one of those Cramptons?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yep. So now, will you let me buy you a suit and take you to dinner?”

He grinned. “I never dated a rich person before. Sure. Go for it.”

Once he figured out I wasn't on the edge of bankruptcy, he was a lot easier to deal with. I spent a bunch of money on him, helping him spruce up his wardrobe. I pondered for the zillionth time the irony that every time I met a new guy I ended up taking him shopping. And that night I took him to the restaurant at the Fairmount with a beautiful view of the City. It was romantic and he flirted with me, making me feel like a girl at the prom.

That night we had sex and it was better than ever. When we were done I lay on top of him with my head on his chest. He didn't stroke my hair like Jeff did, he played with it, twirled it. He liked to trace my facial features with his fingers, moving across my brow, down my nose, and around my cheeks. I was used to Jeff's cushy chest, but there was no fat on Sam. He was hard muscle. I didn't sink into him, I stayed on top of him, and while it wasn't as comfortable, he projected strength. He had a masculinity that was different from Jeff and Andre, a less secure masculinity that was spiced up nonetheless by his Italian cockiness.

The next morning we checked out and he dropped me off at the airport. As he drove off I found myself smiling. I knew I was infatuated with him, but I was worried that it was worse than that. I was worried that I was falling in love with him.

January 30, 1968

I'd gotten back last night and the kids had been thrilled to see me. I told them all about our new house and they wanted to move tomorrow. Claire asked if she could get a pony, and I told her “probably,” getting a dirty look from Isidore. I had a blast with them, just rolling around in the rec room with them doing goofy kid stuff. Jeff hadn't stopped in to see them since he'd been back, but Stefan had been around a lot more, as if trying to make up for it. I'd gone to bed exhausted and decided to sleep in. I was in limbo, and really didn't have a lot to do.

There was a knock on my door and Stefan came prancing in. Seeing him always made me smile. “Look who's home,” he said. “You managed to leave Sam?”

“Barely,” I said honestly. “He's pretty cute, almost as cute as you.” Stefan hopped in bed with me and kissed me. “How was your flight back with Jeff?” I asked.

“Boring,” he said. “He seems to have a new focus, and a new purpose. I think he wants to get his strength back so he can be there for Isidore and the kids, but mostly for you.”

“Good.”

“You don't sound too enthusiastic. Don't you love him anymore?”

“I love the Jeff I knew a year ago. But I don't think I love the Jeff we saw in California. That probably makes me sound like a total shithead. But I can't live my life guarding him, constantly worrying whether or not he's going to be shooting up.”

“This kind of thing can break up even the strongest relationship, especially if there is someone else in the picture.”

I looked at him carefully. “You mean Sam?”

Stefan nodded. “He is adorable. He is almost attractive enough to lure me out to California.”

“What are you going to do? Are you staying here? I can't imagine you not being around.” I know I sounded clingy and whiny, but I meant it. I'd really grown attached to Stefan.

“I don't know yet. I really liked it there, and I have nothing here for me really. Ever since Tom and I broke up, I've lived a pretty solitary lifestyle.”

“Does that still bother you?” I asked.

“It bothers me that after all that time, Willie Jackson picked him over me. I was more upset over losing Willie. He knew how to push my buttons almost as well as you.” He grinned at me and ran his hand down my chest. “Tom was nice, but we weren't very compatible sexually, and you know how important that is to me.” His hand had moved down to my hard dick and he was gently stroking me. That stopped our conversation. Stefan loved to be fucked, and while I did too, with him I liked being the penetrator. He really knew how to move his ass to drive me crazy, and seeing the pleasure that I was able to give him was erotic.

Spent, we lay next to each other in bed. “So move with us to California. I got a big fucking house so we'd have lots of room for you.”

“I'll think about it,” he said, stalling. “But you can keep trying to persuade me if you want.”

I got up and showered and picked up the morning paper, horrified. It was TET, the Vietnamese New Year Holiday, and normally a truce was in place, but not this year. It seems that there was widespread fighting throughout South Vietnam. I was worried that something else was coming, and here it was. I watched the news all day long. More fighting, more body bags. I went to bed depressed, feeling that this horrible war would never end. I understood the frustration of those students in the Oval. They wanted to hurt the idiots that were hurting their brothers. That may end up hurting them.

January 31, 1968

I woke up early the next day and absorbed the paper. The news was worse. The attacks were more widespread than we were originally told. The ancient city of Hue was attacked and seized by Viet Cong forces, and most embarrassing of all, there was an attack on the US Embassy in Saigon. This was the main US power center, symbol of our presence, and it was damn near seized by a group of Viet Cong guerrillas. It seemed that the attacks would be contained and that the communist losses would be severe. What no one seemed to get, though, is that all of this bullshit that Johnson and Westmoreland had been spouting, all of this nonsense that we were winning, was obviously not true. A beaten enemy doesn't have the strength to launch an offensive this big and this broad. This 'beaten' enemy had at the very least considerably embarrassed the US and exposed the weakness of South Vietnam.

I was frustrated. Why wasn't this obvious to everyone? It was as plain as the nose on Johnson's face. Why didn't they get it? Why were they willing to keep sacrificing American men to no good purpose? I gazed at the marble sculpture of Andre, the sculpture that contained his ashes. A tear rolled down my cheek. He was such an amazing man, such a great guy. What might he have achieved in life had he lived? What had we lost when we lost him and what were we losing when we lost all those other young men? I went to bed at 7PM, depressed and despondent.

February 1, 1968

Jeff told me he didn't want to see me, but I decided that since I had power of attorney, it was my obligation to check up on him. At least that was my excuse. The real reason was that I still loved him, and I cared deeply for him, regardless of how damaged our relationship was. So I headed out into the bitter cold and snow and drove to the hospital.

I met with the doctors, who told me he was doing quite well. They seemed to think that the trip to California had produced a breakthrough of sorts. The psychologist told me that it was good that I was here, but that I should limit my visits to short, periodic encounters. In other words, stay away as much as possible. But I was here, and I wanted to see how he was doing for myself.

I walked into his room and he seemed shocked to see me. “I told you I didn't want you to come visit me,” he said. That hurt. In my mind, he hadn't really meant that, he would be so glad to see me that he'd jump up and hug me. His rejection hit my like a strong left hook.

“I'm sorry,” I said with no emotion in my voice at all. “I just wanted to peek in and make sure you were doing OK. It's good to see you.” He just stared at me, an uncomfortable minute of silence, so I turned and left. I stopped by the front desk to see if he'd had any other visitors. Stefan came to see him every other day or so, and Isidore had even stopped in, but he didn't want to see me. Another nail in the coffin of our relationship.

I went home and told Isidore that I was going back to California. She sensed that something was wrong, but she was willing to cut me some slack. It was harder to say goodbye to the kids. I got the cashier's check to buy Escorial, and I booked a flight the next morning.

That night I sat in my bed, furious at Jeff, working myself into a tizzy. I pulled out a joint and lit it, and the pot calmed me down. So much better than drinking, I thought. In the morning, I'd be fine. No hangover. There was a knock at my door; it was Stefan.

He walked in and sniffed the air and I giggled, re-lit the joint, and handed it to him. “So you went to see Jeff today?” he asked.

I felt the anger rising in me. “The fucker wouldn't even talk to me, other than to basically throw me out. I guess I just pay the bills.”

“That's not fair,” Stefan said, stating the obvious.

“So are you taking care of his carnal needs?” I asked, accusingly.

Stefan looked very uncomfortable. Nervous and ashamed. “If you do not want me to sleep with him, I won't.” I glared at him, but this wasn't his fault.

I mellowed a bit. “No, do what you want. This isn't your fault. Think how it makes me feel though. He wants you to come see him and fuck around, he lets Isidore come see him, but when I show up, the guy he's supposed to be in love with, he tells me to fuck off.”

“He's really struggling to turn his life around. He thinks that if you're around he'll lean on you and then he'll never get better.”

“That's bullshit,” I countered. “Part of being a couple is relying on one another, being partners. You're not supposed to have to run off alone to heal your wounds.”

“Maybe he has to learn to like himself again before he can love you again.” What kind of crap was that?

“Maybe I've learned not to love him anymore.”

Stefan looked at me, concerned. “You don't mean that.” I said nothing, but I wasn't so sure.

February 2, 1968

I flew into San Jose Municipal Airport this time because the flight times were better. Fortunately the seat next to me was empty since I was in a hellaciously bad mood. The Vietnam War was going from bad to worse. And now, on the cover of the paper, was a picture of a South Vietnamese police chief executing a Viet Cong officer in the street. It portrayed so clearly the brutality of the war. The expression on the face of the soon-to-be executed VC officer was stomach churning. How could people tolerate this? Where was the basic humanity?

I was depressed when I landed so I did the one thing that usually pulled me out of a funk. I bought a new car. On an impulse I canceled my rental car and took a cab to the nearest Cadillac dealer and bought a DeVille Convertible on the spot. I figured that if I was going to live in California I was going to need a convertible, even though the weather was crappy, cold, and rainy. Cold was a relative term though. Cold here was 50 degrees. Cold in Chicago was below zero.

The Cadillac was big and comfortable. It was a smaller version of Isidore's Fleetwood, but the size difference made a huge improvement in drivability. I found myself actually smiling as I cruised up the 101, gunning the huge engine and passing all the slowpokes that wisely stayed in the right lanes. I got to Palo Alto and checked into the same motel. I called to order room service and found out that Sam was working so I took a shower and hung out, stark naked, waiting for him.

He knocked on the door and I opened it, standing behind it and telling him to come in. When he got in I shut the door and there I was, standing there in front of him, naked and hard. He started laughing and so did I. He set my lunch down roughly and grabbed me, kissing me passionately. He was working so he only had time to drop his pants, grease his dick, and fuck me, fast and furious. It was too fast, but still satisfying.

“I didn't know you were coming to town,” he said.

“Surprise! Glad to see me?”

He smiled. “Fuck yeah! I get off at 7PM. You gonna be around?”

“I'll be right here,” I said, and sprawled seductively on my stomach, wiggling my ass at him.

“If things get slow, I'll have to stop by again.”

I grinned. “Use your key.”

It was a really exciting and fun day. I just lay around the room nude, and every hour or so he'd sneak in and we'd fuck like rabbits. It felt like we were being bad and sneaky, almost like those sleazy encounters I used to have back in my own college days. By the time he finally got off work at 7, we were both too tired and drained to have sex.

“So are you here for good?” he asked.

“Not completely, but I bought a car and I close on my house on the 6th.”

“New car?” He looked out the window. “Cadillac convertible? A little conventional, don't you think? I figured you'd snag a Mercedes Benz or one of those little MG.”

“Nah, it's a family thing. We're only supposed to get GM cars. Lucky you have a Chevy, otherwise I'd never be allowed to marry you.” He laughed at that.

“So where are you moving?” he asked.

“Wanna do the walk-through with me, and then you can see?”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Alright, mystery man.”

February 6, 1968

The alarm went off and I rolled over and slammed it, probably a little too hard. I rolled back and cuddled right back into Sam. My face was next to his armpit, and it was still damp from the exertions of our morning fuck. I inhaled his smell and smiled. Some guys had nasty body odor, but not Sam. Every drop of sweat, no matter where on his body, was packed with pheromones. I moved my face up to his chest and kissed his nipples. They were so sexy, the maroon color contrasting erotically with his light olive skin.

“You keep that up and we'll really be late,” he said, smiling down at me. “Besides, I'm anxious to see this place you bought. Personally, I think you bought Hoover Tower.” I laughed and jumped up, heading for the shower with him in tow right behind me. I found that it was almost impossible for me to be around him without touching him. I soaped his body, admiring the contours of his muscles. He posed like Mr. Universe and made me laugh, but I loved the bulges, all of them. He grabbed me forcefully and spun me around like I was a paper doll. Damn he was strong.

He moved up behind me, his strong arms wrapping around me and squeezing me tight. Sam was amazing. He knew just how much pressure to use. Enough to make me feel trapped and totally dominated, but not enough to hurt. I felt his hard cock poking my ass, seeking my willing hole, and probing slowly but forcefully inside me. I moaned and leaned back into him, allowing almost all of my muscles to relax while I relied on his strength to determine our moves.

“Oh baby, you drive me crazy. I see you, and I can't resist you. You're like kryptonite to me.” His words set me free, with only a minor tweak of guilt at the way Jeff used the same type of language with a similar effect when we made love. I felt like a sponge, totally weak and submissive as I yielded to his ministrations as he plowed into me. I reached my arms over my head and behind me to grab his hair and pull his face into my neck, and he responded by nuzzling me below my ear, growling as he did it. The vibrations sent shivers up my spine. I merged into him, and when he panted and told me that he was going to cum, it almost surprised me to find that I was blowing right with him. They say that sex is like a drug. If this is what Jeff experienced on his heroin binges, no wonder it was so hard for him to beat it.

He dressed up in some of the nice clothes I'd bought him in the city. I admired the result. “You're the prettiest boy toy around,” I teased.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing his crotch and turning on his macho Italian-American accent, “I ain't no boy. I'm all man.”

“That you are,” I said, giggling like a girl. God he turned me into such an idiot. We hopped into the Cadillac and drove up into the hills. “Some nice real estate up here,” Sam said.

“Yep,” I responded simply, and he just shook his head. We pulled up to the gates which were open today.

“This place?” he said, amazed.

“Yep.”

He whistled. “Fuck, this is one nice spread. Is that the house up there on top of the hill?” I nodded. We drove up to the portico in front and he stopped talking. Tony was there to greet us. I noticed his eyes linger on Sam and I smiled. Even straight guys can appreciate art.

We strolled through all the rooms, looking for hidden defects, but there weren't any, just as I suspected. I was being a little too detail-oriented, and Tony finally looked at his watch anxiously to remind me we were due at the escrow office. Closing only took an hour, and then Tony took Sam and me to lunch. I went back to the hotel room to clean out all of my stuff, while Sam headed home to get ready for work.

“You coming over afterwards?” I asked.

“Am I invited?” He asked coyly.

“Always,” I said, and handed him a key. His eyebrows went up, questioning the meaning of that. “Bring a change of clothes or two and plan to spend the night.” He grinned and took off.

It was my house and I took the biggest room. I justified that by observing that it was the only one with a bed in it. The bed was massive, an antique thing with a canopy. I made a mental note to put a mirror up there. I unpacked my stuff and did some shopping. I needed some sheets and pillows at least. By the time night approached, I had bonded with my new house. I went out and got some dinner, and picked up some groceries. They looked lost in the massive kitchen, but at least I'd have stuff for breakfast.

Around 9PM I heard a car drive up and looked out to see Sam's crappy Chevy pull up. He bounced into the house happily. “Looks like we have the mansion all to ourselves,” he said, and kissed me fervently.

“Come on stud,” I smiled. “Let's go swimming.” I led him down to the indoor pool and we stripped off and dove in. I'd turned up the heater so the water was like bath water. It felt so good flowing around my naked body. I felt naughty, and it was intensely erotic. I met Sam in the shallow end on the steps and sat on his lap facing him, lowering myself on his massive dick. I wasn't lubed up like I should have been, so I had to take it slow, but in the end it was so worth it. I wrapped my legs and arms around his torso and let him take over. He moved off the steps and carried me around the pool, gently moving in and out of me. I moaned loudly in his ear and nibbled on his neck. He moved over to the edge of the pool and planted my back against the wall. Once I was anchored there, he really started to fuck me. When I came, I looked down into the clear pool to see my semen spurt into the water and float there in long strings. He pulled out of me and shot his load in the same way.

February 13, 1968

I was sitting at the gate in San Jose Municipal Airport, waiting for Isidore's flight. It was late, big surprise, so I killed time by reading the paper. It seems that the TET Offensive was grinding on, but it had been eclipsed by the other hot button topic, civil rights. On the 8th, there had been a protest in Orangeburg, South Carolina, by students protesting a white-only bowling alley, and the cops had shot three students. That was followed by disturbances at The University of Wisconsin in Madison and at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill . The campuses had become the laboratories of revolution, embracing socialism and casting a skeptical glance at the older generation. I smiled at the new slogan: “Don't trust anyone over 30.” It's a good thing I look younger.

I looked out and saw the plane roll up to the terminal. San Jose didn't have jet ways, so I watched for Isidore. She was the third one out of the plane. Her movements were so graceful; it was hard not to just stare at her. She made it through the gate and her eyes lit up when she saw me. She gave me a big hug, the kind she only reserved for her immediate family, and we stood there and beamed at each other. “Welcome home,” I said.

She eyed me wryly. “Soon,” she said. I chuckled. Her plane arrived late in the morning so we conveniently avoided the morning rush. We flew up 101 to Palo Alto. “I like your new car,” she said. “What will happen to the Eldorado?”

“Maybe I'll give it to my new boy toy,” I said, teasing.

“Yes, I heard all about him. He certainly captured Stefan's imagination.”

I looked at her seriously. “You don't mind do you?”

She laughed. “JP, you have always been honest with me about where your preferences lie. I want you to be happy, and if this, what is his name, Sam?” I nodded. “If this Sam makes you happy, then I am happy.”

“Thanks Isidore. I love you dearly you know.”

She grinned playfully. “I know, and I love you too. I wonder if you will still love me if I steal your Sam away.” I giggled.

“If he likes you better, you go for it.” It was truly glorious to have an open relationship with such a good friend. And Sam was so cocky; I was looking forward to blowing his mind. He was expecting Isidore to be a typical jealous wife.

We got to the gates and she looked at me with raised eyebrows. “A bit ostentatious, no?”

I grimaced. “It is what it is.” We drove up the winding road and the house finally came into view. Isidore caught her breath.

“My God, JP. It is a palace! It could be a Spanish Trianon! What have you done?” She exited the car gracefully and strolled through the massive front doors and into the tall and imposing foyer. I heard a noise from the kitchen and smiled. Sam came out nervously, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt.

“You must be Sam?” Isidore said and turned on the charm. She took his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You are adorable. I'm wondering if you like women too.” Sam blushed three shades of red, and with his darker skin it was really pronounced. I doubled over laughing. He got his mojo back.

“Normally I like men, ma'am, but with a woman as beautiful as you I would gladly make an exception.” Isidore grinned at him and put her arm around him.

“It is nice to meet you Sam. I know that JP and I have what must appear to be a strange marriage. I hope you won't let that bother you and that you will feel welcome here.”

“Thank you ma'am,” he said.

“And if you call me ma'am again, I will show you how dangerous a mean Frenchwoman can be. My name is Isidore. Say it.”

“Isidore,” he repeated with a grin. She patted his cheek as if he was a little boy.

“Do you like children Sam?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure. I've got two sisters and I'm used to their little kids.”

“Good thing,” she said.