Splash In The Pool - 2. Chapter 2 Dave Leaves The Nest

The spring before our high school graduation, Russ was accepted at Northwestern University as a pre-med student. I, not knowing what I wanted to do in my adult life, planned to not venture too far from home. So, I was safely bound for Minnesota State University – Mankato.

My freshman year at MSU was fairly uneventful and I established serious study habits. 16 credits of introductory liberal arts classes gave me a chance to discover where I wanted to direct my future at a measured pace. My roommate – a Computer Sciences major with a heavy load – was a decent guy who gave me plenty of room. He was always at the lab or with a study group and quietly moved about at odd hours.

I made friends with a solid group of guys who I hung around with in the dorm, gym and pool. With a regular gym workout regimen with my buddies and daily lap swimming, my trim physique buffed out with good definition of the abs and biceps. I had topped out at 6’ and maintained 190 pounds…except when I occasionally pigged out on pizza. I continued to keep my blond hair cut short.

Russ and I emailed each other often, discussing our school lives. We both continued to ace our school courses. Our high school secrets were never discussed and I put my sexuality on hold. My other best friends, four fingers and a thumb, provided all the release I needed. That special friendship I’d had with Russ did not duplicate itself in Mankato. I’m not talking about the sex. I’m talking about a close bud with whom I could share my most intimate thoughts… just wasn’t in the cards.

In late May, I had just finished my first year exams when I received a call from my Uncle Trey. He had driven over to Mankato from St. Paul and found me at the dorm. I was surprised when he called my room phone early in the morning and said, “Dave, this is Trey. I’m in Mankato and need to see you.”

“Sure, Uncle Trey. I’m at the dorm. Do you know how to get here?” It was odd that he was using only his first name. My dad’s brother always referred to himself as ‘Uncle’ or ‘Uncle Trey’ – had ever since I could remember.

“I’m actually only a block away, so I’ll be at your room in about five minutes. Stay put, I’ll find it,” Uncle Trey said before he disconnected his mobile phone.

I was pretty anxious when I heard the knock on my door. I opened it and saw Uncle Trey looking at me with a very somber expression. ‘Uh-oh, something’s going down that I’m not going to like,’ I thought.

“Hey, Unc, come on in.” He walked in, grabbed me in a big hug and held me closely a little longer than usual. I kicked the door closed, sat down on my small bed and offered Uncle Trey the desk chair.

“I won’t beat around the bush, Dave,” he began as he lowered himself into the chair, “Your mom and dad were involved in a very serious accident last night.”

My mouth sprung open. I felt like a sledgehammer had slammed into my stomach. Nothing came out of my mouth except expelled air.

“They were victims of a stupid auto accident involving some asshole drunk who had a DWI record a mile long. I wanted to be with you when you got this news.” He paused as he looked into his young vulnerable nephew’s eyes. “They didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t make it?” I asked in a squeaky voice.

“They died upon impact. It was head-on.”

I sat in disbelief as my body started shutting down. I raged on the inside but my body was physically numbed. The image of Edvard Munch’s “Scream” painting, on the cover of one of mom’s favorite art books, came to mind. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Uncle Trey rush over to my side. He grabbed me around my shoulders and held tight. I trembled and he held tighter. I lay my head on his chest, absorbing the comfort of a caring soul. I let my body release the tension with a steady flow of tears. He held me for quite a while. The only blessing was that my parents were killed instantly. The other driver suffered slight injuries. What justice is that?

Finally, I pulled myself together. A half hour later, Uncle Trey had helped me gather my toiletries and some clothes, including my dark blue suit, and drove me back to St. Paul. I left a note for my roommate and included my home telephone number.

I will always cherish that I had been part of a very giving family. Dad, an investment vice president, was very active in community affairs. Mom was by his side as ‘the other half’, and separately served on the board of the Weisman Art Museum. As a result, their deaths drew large crowds to the service – hundreds of people who my folks had thought of as friends.

I was personally comforted by my grandparents on my mother’s side, Aunt Betty and Uncle Trey Swenson, and my best friend, Russ. His parents had thoughtfully called him home. The funeral mass at St. Bart’s Episcopal Church was followed by a two-casket burial in the hillside cemetery near our home. As the only child, I was now left alone to pick up the pieces. mom’s parents stayed with me for two days before they returned to their home in Iowa. Russ needed to get back to Evanston because his exams were just underway at Northwestern.

“This is heavy duty shit, Dave.” Russ took my hand and squeezed hard. He brought his other hand around and pulled our bodies together. “I wish we could be together in my room like old times.” I felt our hearts beating in unison as he held me.

“Russ, sometimes you can’t go back,” I replied. “Thanks for being here for me.” With that, I kissed him on the forehead, shook hands and waved as he departed for his flight.

Talk about foundations crumbling. My parents had been the center of my young universe, and Russ was no longer in my life on an intimate basis. At least I’d still see Russ from time to time and I knew that we’d always be friends. We were both moving on with our lives - he was studying to be a doctor - but I didn’t have the foggiest notion what to do, except to somehow pick up the pieces. At 19, I was determined to get this past me.

My folks left me with a comfortable seven-figure inheritance, not super-rich, but respectable if the investments kept growing. I could count on a decent annual dividend income and my dad’s partner at Merrill Lynch offered to be my financial advisor. Not really needing any additional money – nor wanting to concern myself with it – I asked that the bulk of the dividends be automatically re-invested and gave him full authority to manage my assets. He would deposit $3,000 monthly into my checking account to take care of everyday expenses and I could always draw out more if needed.

The family home no longer held any significance for me. With Mom and Dad gone, it wasn’t a home any longer – just a nice, big house in a great neighborhood. ‘Might as well sell it to people who can use it.’ I retrieved all of my personal possessions and placed into storage the valuable antique Biedermeier furniture, along with the antiques and artwork that Mom had accumulated. With the housing market as strong as it was, my childhood home was sold and off the market in two days, at full list price. I gave the money to my Dad’s partner and he suggested that I invest in annuities to balance the portfolio. ‘Fine,’ I thought, ‘whatever.’ I didn’t want to think about the money – the price I’d paid to become financially comfortable had been too high.

The only other physical asset that I inherited was a summer cabin in the beautiful Brainerd Lakes area in central Minnesota. This “cabin” was really a 2,500 square foot three-bedroom vacation home, completely winterized, on the shores of a beautiful lake. I couldn’t part with this retreat, fully furnished by Mom in upscale, Ralph Lauren “rustic.” I placed the cabin under the management of a local firm that rented only to qualified vacationers who would respect the home; they would rent it at a premium price for no less than a two-week period. They assured me that they would install a lock on one of the closets to store all of our personal possessions. In that I wouldn’t get a chance to get up there soon, I had to trust their management and selectivity.

I plotted my next course of action and that didn’t include going back to college right now, even if I had earned good grades. I wanted to get out and see the world. With that in mind, the idea of joining the military began to ferment. Somewhere in the back of my head the song “In the Navy” by the Village People kept playing. How gay is that? But, it did prompt me to seek out the St. Paul U.S. Navy recruiting office. Fortunately, it was located in the mall not too far from my now ‘former’ home.

Admittedly, I was vulnerable…but not naive. The Navy Chief in charge promised me an education, a chance to become a well-rounded sailor and the foundation to become a man. ‘Hell,’ I rationalized, ‘I’m just seeking escape.’ But I didn’t say that to the recruiter. ‘Might as well let him think he’s a great salesman.’ I signed up on the spot and was assigned an August slot at the boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois.

Great Lakes boot camp was very transitional. I accepted my plebe status and worked hard to be a good sailor in the eyes of my fellow Seaman Recruits – we had an E-1 rate, which was “lower than whale shit on the ocean floor” – and the enlisted instructors who handled our training. While I saw several cute guys who I would love to have known personally, I put my sexual orientation in the background as I had done in college. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” What I couldn’t hide was my aptitude and college transcripts. I was considered to have an IQ capability to advance rapidly in the ranks. Jeez, I just wanted to see the world.

For whatever reason, the BuPers computer in Washington D.C. decided that I would be a terrific candidate for Naval Air as a technician. With that confirmed by “Hal,” my orders directed me to the Naval Air Training Facility in Memphis and I was advanced to the next rate of E-2. Airman Apprentice.

With all my affairs in St. Paul concluded and boot camp behind me, I boarded a United Airlines 727 in Chicago for the 1½-hour trip to Memphis. There, after retrieving my duffle bag, as did dozens of other freshly minted airmen, we waited for the bus to the Naval Air Station in Millington, 21 miles north of Memphis. Aside from the initial nervousness at my new surroundings, I felt positive about the direction my life was taking.

I had signed up for four years with the Navy and wasn’t sure what was to happen in that time. I only knew I would be further trained in disciplines that would be beneficial ‘to the Navy’ and to me. At Mankato, I had studied introductory mathematics in addition to liberal arts. Here in Memphis, I would explore the world of Naval Air technical support.

The bus trip to the base was a good chance to take a few nods of rest. Most of the guys were of no interest to me. They were mostly one to two years my junior with not a lot of social grace. I wasn’t holding my nose high, but most of these newly minted sailors were from an intellectual and social level with whom I could not identify. But I wasn’t a snob and was determined to be a ‘team player’…within reason.

After being assigned barracks billets designed for student airmen, we stowed our gear and headed to the mess hall for some dinner. Meeting my new mates, I mused about the direction my life was taking. I had purposely escaped from my very predictable life in Minnesota. Without Mom and Dad, life in that area of the world was without much meaning any longer. I would keep in contact with my aunt and uncle plus various friends up North and would always have a special place in my heart for my grandparents. Russ was taking his life in new directions and I could only hope we would not drift completely away from each other. Clearly, any moments of intimacy had passed.

After returning from dinner to the barracks, I introduced myself to a few more of the new arrivals. I was happily surprised to meet a couple of great guys that I had not met earlier. They had attended the boot camp in San Diego and had also just arrived for Naval Air technical training. Of the two, I initially gravitated towards Mr. Cute – a 5’8” 160# trim dynamo with short black hair and the bluest of blue eyes that only a lad of Irish heritage could display. I was not surprised when he introduced himself as Mark Connelly. Irish as Paddy’s Pig. Was this my Russ substitute? The other guy was a small, wiry Mexican American introduced to me as John Martinez. I was polite to John but clearly intended to ply my personality skills on Mark.

We compared our “boot” training. They in San Diego and me at Great Lakes. Other than the weather, the routine was very similar. We agreed that we all had come out of boot camp wiser for the wear.

“I really didn’t get a chance to see much of San Diego when I was at the NTC,” said Mark wistfully. “I hope we get stationed on a ship there. ’Diego really is a happening place for young guys.”

Gazing at Mark, I started to feel the loss of my intimate afternoons with Russ with a greater intensity than I had for two years. ‘Was his faint resemblance to my childhood lover…err, friend…the reason for this melancholy?’ I asked myself.

“I’ve never been to San Diego. But, I hope to get stationed there,” I retorted while still thinking about Russ. ‘When it was all said and done, our friendship was the big deal,’ I mused, ‘although I loved getting fucked by my buddy.’

John added, “Well, San Diego is my home town and I know where all the action is. We gotta head to the Gaslight district at some point. There’s some bitchin’ bars and serious women around.” With that, he smiled. “Those gals love a straight guy in uniform.”

I asked a clarification. “What do you mean, John, a straight guy in uniform?” I was concerned that I was picking up on a little attitude and homophobia.

“No slur intended. It’s just that there are at least 50,000 sailors and marines in the area between all the military facilities. You do the math. There are probably 5,000 guys who are swinging on the gay side or both ways. Add the male population of all the colleges in the area and the surfing dudes down by the beach to that number, and this makes for a pretty substantial gay population. I have no problem with gay guys. Just makes the competition for the women a little less intense,” he said with a sincere smile.

My interest in San Diego jumped up a couple of notches. ‘Good odds,’ I considered, ‘if I can find where those gay dudes hang out.’

Mark said that he was from Seattle, wanted to get his training finished and ship out to see the world.

I asked, “Why are you so intent on doing the ‘Navy thing’ and travel?”

He pondered this question for a moment and replied, “Because I am literally running away, Dave. I really fucked up my first year at the University of Washington. Got into the SAE fraternity house as a pledge, and never considered the consequences of being intravenously fed draft beer for the two semesters. In my Dad’s eyes, I’m an abject failure. Here he is building a dynamite software computer company and I’m blowing it all away.”

I sensed that there were several family issues that we shouldn’t broach. I asked, “So, Mark, whose decision was it to join the Navy?”

“I just wanted to get out of Seattle. I’m a pretty bright guy and I didn’t like where my life was going. No drugs. Just daily fuck-ups. I decided, on my own, to re-group. Re-grouping is where I’m at in the ‘big picture’. Dad is skeptical, but supportive. If I don’t shape up, I’ve got a lot to lose.”

“Well, as they say, ‘shape up or ship out’,” I said in a flip, upbeat manner, “and ‘you can achieve whatever you want’.” I looked into his eyes and decided, ‘Mark has the potential to be a very sharp, squared-away guy.’

He diverted his eyes from mine. “Dave, I hope you’re right,” he countered.

‘Oh, shit,’ I thought. ‘Not another crush that will go nowhere.’

We were all sporting brand new work dungarees that were uniform of the day for class and general dress while on the base. Civvies were only worn off base on authorized leave to ‘go ashore’ on weekends. Limited leave certainly cramped the style of energetic young males with testosterone to spare. However, the 10-week training program would allow us to become real airmen and secure a permanent assignment supporting Naval Air on an aircraft carrier. We could hardly wait.

The school barracks were not designed for comfort or privacy. Each barracks were two-storied with a huge sleeping area with single bunks for 50 guys, which was not too convenient for ‘taking care of business’.

The communal showers, washbasins, and commodes were a real beehive of activity at 0600, and speed was the buzzword. I had to laugh to myself at the sight of all the dicks flopping around as everyone rushed to get ready each morning. We had to be over at the mess hall by 0645 to wolf down morning mystery food before standing in formation back at the barracks at 0730 to receive the ‘word of the day’ by the lead Chief Petty Officer. School officially commenced at 0800.

Mark, John and I were all in the same classes due to our proficiency in math and we became inseparable in study and play.

One day after class, Mark said “We’re going to go to pot if we don’t get our asses in gear and work out. I don’t want to turn into a lard ass like some of these guys. We’ve got to get into a routine of going to the gym and pool.”

“Okay by me. But if we do this together, you’re going to show me some strength-building stuff, and I’ll get you in the pool for endurance lap swimming. Deal?”

“Deal.” We shook and gave each other a shoulder bump. “Let’s get our little brown brother to join us.”

In the gym and pool, the three of us seriously toned up. And we had fun. I especially liked the sauna or steam time afterwards. Sitting on the towels, I got a chance to check out my friends while we talked and sweated. Occasionally, we’d sprout some wood without any embarrassment. Our trio had developed a very casual relationship with each other. ‘And at our age, a hard dick in the sauna is pretty common.’ I rationalized.

One day, Mark and I worked out separately. I finished my routine, left the weights area first and returned to the lockers. I left my sweaty clothes in a pile on the floor and decided to relax in the steam room before showering. The tiled room, with stepped-up sitting areas, was empty and I sprawled out on the first level. My mind drifted back to simpler times back in St. Paul when Russ and I used to fool around. It wasn’t long before I got hard and decided to take matters in hand. I was in a mid-stroke when the door opened and someone came in. I froze and adjusted my eyesight to see in the misty air. It was Mark.

“Hey bro, whatchu doin’ down there?” Mark asked with a smile as he sat down. “Looks like ya got a problem.”

“Busted,” I replied as I removed my hand from ‘Davey’, exposing my slicked hard dick. “Mark, I gotta tell you that our barracks living arrangements don’t give me much opportunity to do what I need to do.” I was puzzled when he scooted closer to me.

“I hear you.” He slowly brought his hands down to his crotch and started rubbing his flaccid cock. In no time it was pointing straight up to his navel. “Mind if I join in?”

“Hell, no,” I replied as I started my action down there again. “I suppose you don’t need any instructions on the finer points of…”

“Got that covered,” Mark replied with a snicker. “And it looks like you’ve got things covered, also.”

“Like a duck takes to water, as we say in Minnesota.” I smiled and resumed jacking.

Mark leaned back and stared dreamily into the hot fog and started a serious stroking action. I matched him stroke for stroke and tried not to stare too hard as we mirrored our fisted piston action.

“Oh, fuck,” I murmured, as I felt my balls tighten. I cupped my right hand in front of my pulsing dick head to catch the evidence as it jumped out. It had been too long since I last had cum and I couldn’t contain the mess.

“Dave, I’m right with you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him arch his back and shoot thick white ropes of cum over his chest and six pack. “I don’t know which of us was hornier,” I said with a laugh.

“Buddy, that was an inspired idea.” He turned and winked at me as he pulled his towel up to wipe himself off. “Inspired, but messy.”

“That’s what showers are for.” An image of me licking his chest flashed through my head. ‘Better not go there,’ I decided.

During the two months at the school, Mark and I jacked off together whenever we could, but that was as far as we would venture. We never brought John into these sessions and I discovered something about myself. These experiences were merely lustful interludes of self-gratification with a pal. I no longer attached the memory of Russ to sexual exploration. I was all about ‘getting off’.

In the middle of May, the three of us passed the aviation tech program with honors and waited for orders telling us where we were to be sent on permanent assignment. Mark and John both were assigned to aircraft carriers – the JFK and the Enterprise – in San Diego. My orders, for some reason, were delayed. The day before we were to be deployed, I finally got my orders – to Special Services at Memphis Naval Air Station. “What the fuck,” I said to myself, “I’m going to see the world in the middle of Tennessee’s friggin’ cotton fields?”

When I reported to Personnel Friday afternoon, the answers to my many questions were laid out by a very sympathetic Petty Officer 2^nd Class.

“Swenson, you had been assigned to the Coral Sea, he answered. “However, at the last minute, it was determined that the ship would go into dry dock for the summer in Bremerton, Washington, for some routine repair. It will be back at sea by October and you’ll set sail with it, then. So, I guess this will be your home for a while. At least until this fall.”

I was assigned to Special Services. Special Services supervised all the recreational facilities including gyms, movie theater, golf course, library, and the swimming pools. I was going to be a lifeguard at the Officer’s Club and look after the ‘big cheeses’.

I got back to the school barracks just in time to say goodbye to the guys. No doubt Mark, John and I would meet up in San Diego come fall. Mark and I would find our way back to a gym in San Diego, no doubt.

‘Guess this short-term friendship thing is part of Navy life,’ I surmised, ‘it’s hard to take these adjustments…but I’ll learn.’

We gave each other brotherly hugs as they hopped on the bus to depart the base for the last time. We all had each other’s Fleet Post Office and email addresses. I was eager to join them in California. ‘Did Mark have any feelings for me?’ I wondered, ‘nah.’ Extending these thoughts, I concluded that we were just good friends and probably would remain so for some time. ‘He’s a quality guy who’s getting his shit together.’ I was doing the same thing.