Coming to Love - 2. On the Beach

I never made the phone call to tell Joe not to come down. Torn between a need for sex and a desire for something more, I couldn’t honestly say which was more important to me.

Then there was Joe. He was a gorgeous young man who liked having sex with me and wanted to experience more than the adolescent groping and hurried coupling he had been satisfied with until now. I believed I could show him more, and both of us would enjoy the lessons, but who was I to teach him about being gay, when I didn’t understand myself?

My roiling internal dialog was cut short by the doorbell ringing at a quarter to ten. Having shed the blue suit and tie, Joe seemed more natural and at ease in board shorts, a tank top, and sandals. As the quintessential surfer dude entered the room, a rush of lust banished all my reservations about casual encounters. His brilliant grin and eager expression suppressed my conscience and stimulated my cock.

I gave him a lusty grin. “Well, you look a lot more comfortable. It was cool, though, seeing you all dressed up like a proper obedient son.”

Joe scoffed at the idea. “Fuck that shit. I hate like hell having to prance around like some goddamn little prince, just because my mother is trying to marry me off to some rich bitch.”

“Careful. You might be describing your future wife.”

“No fuckin way! Not if I have anything to say about it!”

“And do you?”

His face fell. He sighed and shook his head. “Maybe not, but I can indulge my fantasy for a while longer, can’t I?”

I nodded. “So, what’s your poison? A beer?”

Joe bit his bottom lip. “I was thinking we might try something a little different.” He was either being mysteriously sexy or hesitant to reveal what he was talking about.

“Different? How?” I feigned innocence although I suspected what he was about to say.

“Um. Well, have you ever...I mean, do you—?”

“Smoke weed?”

Delight replaced the worry on his face. “Yeah! Do you?” His childlike eagerness again reminded me of my teenage self.

“Not my favorite thing to do anymore, but I was rather fond of it in my younger days.”

“Younger? Shit, you’re not so fuckin old.” We laughed.

“Well, thanks for saying so. One problem, though—this hotel room is not the best place to do it. Maybe someday California will legalize ganja, but don’t hold your breath. If anyone caught a whiff of it, we’d both be kicked out and perhaps even arrested.”

“Guess you’re right. Why don’t we head down to the beach?”

“Excellent idea!” I agreed, picking up my keycard.

We shared light kisses as the elevator conveyed us down to the pool area. We passed through a tall gate and along a short path leading to the Coronado Municipal Beach. Shuffling across the cool sand toward the rolling waves, we carried our sandals as we waded through knee-deep warm water.

The full moon shimmered on the gentle swells as a soft breeze brought the tang of salt spray and sea creatures onshore. Leaving behind the hotel lights, I placed my hand in Joe’s, and we walked in silence. Crossing the wide beach in the dark, we arrived at the breakwater and spread our towels among massive black boulders. Joe dipped into his pocket and drew out a baggie of marijuana and a miniature pipe and a lighter.

With practiced expertise, the young man packed the weed into the bowl, held the stem to his lips, and lit it. Drawing the first toke deep into his lungs, he didn’t gag or cough, which told me he was no novice at smoking marijuana. He exhaled slowly and passed the pipe to me. I had been a regular pot smoker in high school and for the first few semesters of college. But I hadn’t indulged for five years or more, so I choked on the smoke, which made Joe laugh his ass off.

“You said you did this shit!”

“Did—past tense—is the correct word. It’s been a while.”

“How come? Did you graduate to something stronger?”

“Not stronger, but tastier—wine, brandy, and single-malt Scotch.”

“You sound like my goddamn father.” His bitterness surprised me. As strained as my relationship with Dad had always been, I still loved and respected him.

“Well, I’m not your father, but I bet someday your tastes will be more, um, different.”

“You were gonna say ‘mature’ weren’t you?” His face darkened.

I put a hand on his shoulder to defuse the situation. “I was searching for a neutral term. Our preferences change over time.”

“Like you’ve lived so fuckin long!” I could only nod in silent agreement.

We toked until the pipe burned out. Moonlight danced on the waves as we sat silently for a while—not stoned, but relaxed. Without a word, Joe turned to me, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me. Our tongues met. Our breathing synchronized, and we embraced with passion.

He broke the kiss and smiled at me. “You’re not the oldest guy I’ve been with.”

“Oh, shit, you were molested as a child!” I was half-joking.

“Not as a child. I was eighteen but still a virgin. After the first time, I took over and did the molesting.”

“Who was the lucky bastard?”

“A teacher at my school. He was drop-dead handsome, and I was secretly proud to be his boyfriend.”

“And you took over...how?”

“All he did the first time was suck my dick, but the next time he tried, I flipped him over and fucked his ass—hard!”

“I know what that’s like!” The memory of Joe plowing me made me laugh. “But still, what you two did could’ve gotten him fired, and you expelled.”

“It was a long time ago, and nobody got hurt. I wanted what he had to give, and he was glad to take what I did to him—and I was of legal age.”

My own prep school days back to me. It was easy to believe that sexual stuff was going on between students and faculty (not to mention between students like me and Craig), but if anyone had been caught, the shit would’ve hit the fan big time.

We reclined on the warm sand in comfortable silence for several minutes. The mood was peaceful and serene. At that moment, sex was the last thing on my mind, and I was content. I sat up and gazed out at the moonlit waters of the Pacific as they rippled in the gentle onshore breeze. The Coast Guard’s Point Loma Light across the bay regularly flashed, warning ships away from the shallows and tidal pools.

Suddenly to our right, the deafening roar of a jet plane taking off from Coronado Naval Air Station less than a mile away shattered the atmosphere and rumbled in the ground beneath us. It was followed quickly by two more.

“Wow! Get a load of them,” Joe exclaimed as he sat up. “I wonder what they’re doing this late at night.”

“Oh, I suppose they have to practice flying in the dark. It’s probably the best time for an enemy attack.”

“Shit! You think that could happen?”

“I doubt it, but I’m glad those dudes are ready in case it does.”

He turned to me and grinned, “Hey, you remember that movie a few years ago—Top Gun?”

I was delighted he shared the same memory as me. “With Tom Cruise? Hell, yes. The beach volleyball scene where he was half-naked and sweaty as shit was so fuckin hot it almost made me cream my pants, right there in my theater seat. I went out and bought a VCR tape of the movie and wore it out by watching that part over and over while I jacked off.”

“You think he’s hot? He can’t be more than five feet tall.” The six-foot-four surfer dude grinned at me.

“He may be short, but I always pictured a certain part of him as being oversized.” I winked and demonstrated by holding my hands about a foot apart.

We laughed. Joe sprang to his feet, threw off his shorts and top, and started running toward the breakers. “Come on, let’s skinny-dip!”

Shedding my clothes and following him at full tilt, I charged into the warm water and dove under an incoming wave. We stood in the waist-deep surf and began splashing each other. Without warning, he ducked down and grabbed my feet, dumping me on my ass. I returned the favor, and soon we were wrestling and cavorting like schoolboys.

But unlike schoolboys, the horsing around quickly became kisses as our cocks hardened. Holding hands, we went back to our towels and stretched out side by side. The kissing continued as we fondled each other. It was fun but also naughty to be stark naked on a public beach playing with my lover’s cock and balls.

After a lengthy silence, Joe turned and faced me. “Bruce, can I ask you something personal?”

“Uh, I guess you can ask, but I don’t promise to answer.”

“Fair enough.” Collecting his thoughts, he went on. “You said you recently ended a long relationship, right?”

Where is this going? Do I want to open up about Winston?

Cautiously, I replied, “That’s right. It lasted a little over three years.”

He swallowed hard, summoning his courage. “What was it like? I mean, I know there was sex, but what else was there?”

I shuddered. The wound was too fresh.

“Are you cold?” Joe grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my back. He scooted close to me and put an arm across my shoulders, drawing my body to his. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

I peered into his innocent face. What does this kid know about loving someone? How can I describe it to him in words he would understand?

I smiled ironically. “Well, Joe, I’m not unwilling to talk about it, but I don’t know if it would make sense to you.”

“Why? Because I’m too young or too dumb?” The sharp edge in his voice warned me to tread softly.

I patted his leg. “Neither. I guess I’m kind of protecting myself from reliving the memories.”

“Are they too painful?”

“Well, the end is, but the years before it were pure joy. We were in love, and we showed it to each other in every possible way, including mind-blowing sex.”

He chuckled, then thought better of it. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”

“I get it, Joe. Don’t worry. I’m not ashamed of any of it. I—”

“Miss him?”

“Like my heart has been ripped out and stomped on.”

“Shit. I’m sorry for all that.”

“But I am making a real effort to remember the happy times and the way we loved each other.”

“Can I ask what happened, how it ended?”

A sob and a groan tried to escape me, and I did my best to stifle them. Joe hugged me tighter. After I regained my composure, I shook my head.

“He died suddenly.”

“Goddamn. That’s so fucked up, Bruce.”

Tears broke loose unbidden. “It was the worst day of my life, followed by weeks of grieving while trying to cobble my life back together. I was so lucky to have true friends to hold me, love me, and help me.”

Joe reached up and gently wiped my tears away. I leaned my head on his shoulder and sighed.

“Winston. That was his name. He was a police detective, and he got shot on duty.”

“Goddamn!”

“Yeah. I was with him in the hospital as he was dying, and he told me he loved me. We had never fucking said that to each other, for three whole years.”

“But I bet you both knew it.”

His sudden display of wisdom stunned me. “Yes, we did. But I still regret it took—” I choked at the memory. “It took a tragedy to bring those words out of us.” Looking him in the eye, I warned him, “Don’t ever let that happen to you, Joe. If you love someone, you have to say so.”

“I hear you, Bruce, but I’ve never actually been in love.”

“It will come, probably when you least expect it. And when it does, go for it with all you’ve got. Life is precious, and we never know how long we have, so live every moment like it’s the last, Joe.”

I sighed and he leaned his head back and gazed up at the sky. “I know it hurt you to love him and lose him, Bruce, but I’m so jealous that you had love and realized it. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever have that.”

“Bullshit,” I teased, “you have so much to offer that I know you’ll find the right person someday. You just need to be aware of yourself and your feelings, and above all be open to what joy life brings you.”

He turned to me, his brow furrowed with doubt. “I have a lot to offer?”

“You bet your sweet ass.” I grinned and nudged him. “And trust me, I know exactly how sweet your ass is.”

We hugged, and Joe reached behind me and squeezed my butt suggestively. I peered into his eyes. I thought I detected desire mixed with a sense of calm I had not seen there before. I asked, “Ready for some more? We could go back to my room—”

He gazed up into the sky again as if searching for some message in the stars. “Yes, I’d like that a lot. But can we chill here for a little while longer? This is the best I’ve felt in years, hell, in my whole fucking life.”

I nodded, and Joe lay back with his hands clasped under his head. “It doesn’t get any better than this.” He giggled, “What would my parents think if they could see us now?”

Before I could answer, a gruff voice from nearby bellowed, “What the fuck are you two faggots doin’ over there?” A white-hot shaft of light darted around the sandy beach as we scrambled to pull our shorts on. By the time it landed on us, we were decent.

“Stand up and get your fuckin hands in the air!” the intruder commanded.

“We aren’t doing anything, sir.” I protested, trying to sound like I was telling the truth. I had no idea how much he had witnessed or overheard.

“Bullshit. Everybody knows what you goddamn queers do down here.”

He directed the flashlight’s beam behind us. Seeing our shirts and sandals on the sand, he demanded, “So why the hell were you both bare-ass naked?” I was beginning to suspect he wasn’t a policeman or security guard.

“We were skinny-dipping and looking at the stars, sir,” I lied, testing how far to go with this guy.

“Fuck that. I know what your kind do down here on this beach.”

“Oh, no, sir, we weren’t doing that.” Joe spoke for the first time. I worried he had taken the conversation in a bad direction. Up until this point, we hadn’t been accused of anything specific.

“Doing what? What the fuck are you talking about?” the intruder barked.

I intervened, “Whatever you think it was, you’re wrong. We swam and relaxed on the sand—that’s all. We figured it’s so dark we didn’t need to put our suits back on.”

“You expect me to believe that fuckin shit, you goddamn lyin’ asshole?” I now recognized this couldn’t be a cop, or at least not one like the ones I had known in Palo Alto.

“But it’s the truth, sir,” I did my best to sound polite and meek.

“Come over here,” the man demanded. We crossed the sand, toward the source of the blinding light, which abruptly went out. We were plunged into darkness, and our eyes struggled to adjust. Rough hands forced me to my knees. The moonlight was enough to reveal what he was about to do to me. I felt sick.

“You like to suck dick, don’t you, faggot?” The urgent desire in his raspy voice scared the shit out of me.

“Not me, sir,” I insisted.

“Yes, you do.” Something long and hard pressed against my face. “You want to suck this big one, don’t you?”

I started to deny it, but as soon as I opened my mouth, he attempted to jam his hard-on in.

He grabbed my hair roughly, and despite my struggling and flailing to stop him, he was overpowering me. I decided I would bite down hard on his cock if he succeeded in getting it past my lips.

Suddenly, he let go. I heard a sickening crunch, followed by a rush of air being expelled from his lungs. The son of a bitch crashed to the ground with a thud and a groan of pain. With my eyes no longer dazzled by the flashlight, I could see well in the bright moonlight. Joe straddled the bully and pounded his face with punches. I jumped to my feet and ran to him.

Pulling him off the bastard, I insisted, “Forget him. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Reluctantly, Joe climbed off our attacker, turned his back, and kicked the guy in the side with his heel. I had gathered up our clothes and pulled him toward the path leading back to hotel row.

My voice trembled as I glanced back at the man on the ground. “Is he all right?”

“I hope not. I wanted to kill the motherfucker!” Joe panted like a raging bull.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. We’d be in a shitload of trouble if you had.”

We half-ran down the sandy beach, occasionally stumbling until we reached the outer limits of the bright hotel lights. We stopped, put on our shirts and sandals, brushed ourselves off, and caught our breath.

Between gasps for air, I glanced back toward the rocks where we had been attacked. “I don’t think he followed us.”

“I don’t think the asshole could stand up if he wanted to.”

In the dim light from the outdoor pool patio, I inspected Joe for the first time since the flashlight blinded us. He appeared OK, but a closer inspection revealed he had bloody knuckles.

“You’d better keep your hands in your pockets until we’re back in my room, where I can clean you up.”

“What about you? Did he hurt you?”

“Only my pride.”

“But he made you blow him, didn’t he?”

“No way! He tried, but you decked him before he went too far.” I saw no reason to tell Joe anything he hadn’t seen for himself.

“Who the fuck was he?” He spat venomously.

“At first, I thought he was a cop or a security guard.”

“Me, too.”

“But instead, he was an asshole hellbent on causing trouble and hurting people.”

“By ‘people’ you mean queers, like us.”

“I doubt he cared who we were. I bet he would’ve done the same thing to any guy or guys he could catch on the beach.”

“Why do people do shit like that?”

I swallowed hard. “A wise man once told me, ‘haters hate.’ That’s what they do, who they are. And I have come to understand a bit more. The son of a bitch probably hates himself the most, likely because he has gay feelings and is trying to deny them.”

“Wow! Doctor Freud, move the fuck over!” The tension evaporated as we shared a hearty laugh.

We made our way, more or less with dignity, back into the Del Coronado and up to my suite. We stripped hurriedly and jumped into the hottest shower we could stand. As the water ran over me, I cried silently, hoping Joe wouldn’t notice. We dried off and dropped into my bed, clinging to each other for comfort and security. We fell asleep, but a short while later, we jolted awake, probably to the same nightmare replay of the fracas on the beach.

“I’m glad you were there, Joe.” I told him with a kiss. “By the way, where did you learn to kick ass like that?”

“Boxing and wrestling in school, and damn good at it, too.”

“Well, all I can say is I’m lucky you saved my pansy ass.”

“Fuck that bullshit. He had the advantage—he must’ve weighed over two hundred and pushed you down damned hard.”

I smiled and pulled Joe to me. We wrestled affectionately, and I ended up on my side with my back pressed against him. I reached behind me and took hold of his hardness, pulling it into my eager hole.

He entered me slowly and gently, as I always did with him. Sensing that I was comfortable, he increased the tempo and depth of his thrusts until he was once again plowing me with fierce determination. I had almost forgotten how vigorously young men ravish each other. This time, despite his fevered plunges, I relaxed and let him plow. I figured he needed this to release his tension, fear, and anger over what the creep on the beach had tried to do. He rammed me in silent passion for several minutes. At last, he gripped me tight with both arms, plunged his cock deep into my gut, and spewed his boiling load of cum into me.

His whole body shook with emotion as he breathed hard and held me like he couldn’t let go. His grip on me was so strong I couldn’t budge. “You all right, buddy?”

His voice breaking, he whimpered, “I’m so sorry he did that to you, Bruce. I wish I had killed the motherfucker!”

I pried Joe’s arms away and turned to face him. His eyes were red and raw from crying and the pillow beneath his head was soaked with tears. I realized he had been quietly sobbing while he was pounding me.

“Listen, Joe. You didn’t let him do anything, and neither did I. He took advantage of us, blinding us with his goddamn flashlight and trying to intimidate us with his shouting and bullying.” I took a breath. “You did the right thing, beating the shit out of him. I don’t wanna think about what might have happened if you hadn’t acted when you did.”

“Sure, but...”

“But nothing. You saved me. You’re my hero.” I leaned in close and kissed his tears.

After a while, we got up and made our way into the kitchenette. I poured myself a glass of Chablis and handed Joe a beer.

“I fucking need something stronger than this!” he exclaimed.

Nodding, I led the way out onto my balcony. We settled into the chairs, and he pulled out the baggie of grass and waved it under my nose.

“We might be able to sneak one in before somebody smells the shit and figures out where the smoke’s coming from.” I ventured.

“So one’ll have to do.” He grinned.

We shared the weed silently, drawing the intoxicating, relaxing smoke deep into our lungs. The pipe had gone out and we were chilling when a nearby sliding door opened and a shadow appeared on a balcony four doors to our left.

“Don’t fucking move a muscle,” Joe whispered.

I remained frozen while the person peered into the dark, sniffing the air for a long time. Seeing nothing, they went inside and closed the door, and we jumped up and ran indoors, locking the slider behind us.

We spent the night in my bed, taking turns sucking and fucking until first light. We didn’t do anything creative—what mattered to us was to share each other's bodies and offer comfort and care in the face of the violence we had been through.

********

In the morning, we took the elevator down to breakfast together. Later, we changed into our swimsuits and met again at the poolside.

It was almost noon when a dark shadow loomed over us. Our heads jerked upward simultaneously. We struggled to shade our eyes to see who it was.

What the hell? Has the goon from the beach somehow found us and gotten past security into the hotel’s private pool area?

“So, who’s your new friend?” a gruff masculine voice demanded sternly.

Joe regained his composure. “Oh, hi, Dad. This is Bruce. I met him this morning. He’s from Stanford.”

The older man smirked at me, giving me his grudging approval.

So, Daddy-boy. Are my credentials sufficient for you to approve my being in proximity to your precious little boy? By the way, we’ve been fucking each other for the past two days.

Daddy Van Stuyven shook my hand, made small talk for a minute or two, and announced, “Time to pack up, Joe. We’re heading up the coast to Malibu this afternoon.”

“OK, Dad. I’ll be right up.”

His father gave him a quizzical look but shrugged as he walked away and left us on the pool deck.

Joe turned to me in desperation. “I can’t fuckin go with them.”

I needed to be caring but firm. “Yes, you can. And you have to.” I patted his arm affectionately. “I’ll only be here another day or two, and then I have to haul my ass to Seattle to start work. We each have our lives to live, and this has been an enjoyable escape, but it couldn’t last.”

“Can you at least tell me where you are, in case I can slip away or something?”

“Of course. I’ll send you an email with all the details.”

I never saw Joe in person after that, but we kept in touch from time to time by email and the occasional phone call when he could get some privacy. The poor dude still lived at home with his parents, probably in some big-assed mansion with servants and the whole nine yards. He told me they still dragged him all over the world as they enjoyed their jet-set lifestyle. And he told me they constantly nagged him to find a “nice girl” and settle down.

********

The day after Joe and his parents left San Diego, I piled everything into the red Mustang and started up the 5, heading for the Seattle suburb of Renton, Washington, where my future lay—whether I was ready for it or not.

My drive from Palo Alto down to San Diego had been filled with emotion—grief over Winston’s death, relief that my college years were over, and hopeful anticipation of something new and different. My eagerness had not been in vain. I met Just Joe, and we were happy for a few brief days. To my great surprise, I had a newly cheerful outlook.

Despite my new-found optimism, I was troubled by a phone call that morning from Luís Guzmán, the police sergeant who had been a close friend of Winston’s and mine. He asked me to stop in Palo Alto on my way north and check in with him.

I parked in front of the Palo Alto Police Department on Forest Avenue. It was situated across the street from the Public Library and was part of the complex that included City Hall and the Fire Department. As I climbed the brown steps, an ominous dread descended on me.

What does Luís want? Is it only to tell me goodbye? Has something else bad happened? I don’t need this now.

At the security desk, I said Sergeant Luís Guzmán was expecting me. “He’s Detective Guzmán now, the officer informed me. He’ll be right down.”

My old friend joined me and led me to a small office on the first floor. It was like one of the interrogation rooms on the TV show, Kojak.

I was itching with the tension. “What’s going on Luís? What’s wrong?”

After a deep breath, he looked me in the eye. “It’s good news and bad news, Bruce.”

I simply nodded, encouraging him to give it all to me at once.

“The good news is we’ve caught the guys who shot Winston.”

I burst into tears. He got up and came to stand behind me as I sobbed, remembering the man I had loved with all my heart. He put both hands on my shoulders and lightly squeezed them until I regained my composure.

My breathing slowly returned to normal. I wiped my eyes and croaked, “Who? Who did it?”

Taking the chair next to me, Guzmán rested one hand on my shoulder and spoke firmly but quietly. “Two hit-men from Central America, working for the same cartel as Carl. One of them lured him to a dark parking lot by saying he had information about where Carl was. When he got out of his car, they opened fire. As you saw, they only used two bullets, but they were enough to—” He choked back a tear of his own.

With a silent nod, I encouraged him to go on.

“It took a while, but with the help of the FBI and Immigration, we narrowed down who they were. However, they weren’t in this country, so we couldn’t touch them.”

“So how—?”

“That’s the thing. They returned five days ago and were detained by the Border Patrol. We got them up here the following day. The evidence against them is indisputable. One of them gave up his accomplice in exchange for the possibility of parole. The other one is facing life without parole, and they’re both set for trial in a few weeks.”

“Thank God for that.” I was puzzled, though. “Why in the world did they come back? Weren’t they taking a big risk?”

My old friend nodded once, then hesitated before admitting, “I doubt they were given any choice in the matter. They were sent here to kill you. It was all part of Carl’s revenge on you and Winston.”

The blood drained from my head, and the room spun. I leaned forward and rested my forehead on my fists. Luís lightly rubbed my shoulders, comforting me.

Tears soaked my face as I raised my head and turned to him. “They’re after me. And these dudes are even meaner than Carl. What the fuck can I do? When will this ever end?”

The detective waited until he had my full attention. “We have a–a plan that might resolve all this for you.”

“A plan? What?”

“It’s kind of, well, off-the-wall, Bruce. But we think it will work, and the Highway Patrol are in on it.”

The detective explained how they planned to stage an automobile accident on the Pacific Coast Highway between Morro Bay and San Simeon. There’s a stretch of road on the edge of a cliff with some sharp curves, and they would make it look like I drove off one of them into the ocean.

“You don’t expect me to let you crash Winston’s Mustang into the ocean, do you?”

Guzmán’s relieved smile put me at ease, “Of course not, Bruce. The water is deep there, and the surf is rough, so any vehicle that ended up underwater would be left there after divers recovered your body.”

“You’re not gonna tell my family I’m dead!”

“Oh, no. The fewer people who know about this, the better. You’re on your way to Seattle to start a new job, aren’t you?”

“Yeah—”

“So we’re going to wait until you’re safe where you’re going and then stage the whole thing one night. We’ll make sure there isn’t anything to see—nothing more than a brief police report—and the announcement will be minimal. It’ll barely make the back pages of the news. The people who need to hear about it are the two assholes who came for you—and that son of a bitch Carl.”

“How will they tell their bosses I’m dead?” I stopped myself. Obviously, it would be easy for them to contact the men who wanted me dead from prison. “Oh, I get it.”

With an encouraging pat on my shoulder, Luís assured me, “I’m feeling solid about this working for you.”

Relief replaced my fear and confusion. Hugging the policeman, I declared, “And I trust you guys to do it right. Thank you for caring enough to do all this for me.”

“For you—and for Winston. And for how you two loved each other.”

Luís and Paul invited me to crash at their place for the night, and yes, the three of us did have sex. It was calm and quiet, and though none of us put it into words, we all felt Winston’s presence with us as we made love.

The next morning, I resumed my journey to my new career.

Two weeks later, I received a letter from Luís. The only thing inside it was a small newspaper clipping from the Palo Alto Daily Post.

Unfolding it, I read, “A tragic accident occurred yesterday on the PCH south of San Simeon. A red 1972 Ford Mustang convertible was the only vehicle involved. There was one fatality, former Stanford student Bruce Hutton. This stretch of road has claimed dozens of lives, and the State Highway Department is considering ways to limit speeds and reinforce guard rails. Funeral arrangements are incomplete at this time.”

I looked up and spoke aloud, “Good work, Luís. I sure hope this is really the end of it.”