and Ed’s living alone, gave Jay the impression Ed’s lover had died of AIDS.
Despite Jay’s beliefs about homosexuality, he empathized with tragedy. His prior work had connected him with men who’d endured this awful disease. Even though Jay always used condoms when his work required him to have sex with men, he still took anonymous HIV tests every six months. His sense of duty, though, outweighed his sympathy. Their immorality corrupted the soul, and his emotions couldn’t become entangled in their humanity or he’d lose sight of his mission.
Although the photographs were eye-catching, they weren’t the best evidence in the room. A desk occupied the far corner. On top, under Ed’s sunglasses, was a small notebook. On closer inspection, Jay realized he’d hit the mother lode. He became mesmerized as he thumbed through the pages. Ed’s address book contained hundreds of entries listing names, ranks and addresses in military towns and bases around the world. Ed had updated many of them in pencil, increasing the information’s accuracy and value as evidence. Telling gay from straight was impossible based on the entry alone but the odds were high that a significant percentage would be gay military men and women.
Jay wondered what else Ed might possess. The desk’s top drawer contained useless bill stubs and receipts. He closed it and opened the second drawer. Suddenly he froze. “Holy—!” He was shocked to see a dull black Beretta 9-millimeter pistol, the kind the military used, with an ammunition magazine in its handgrip. The only way Jay could tell if the magazine held any bullets was to pick it up and visually inspect its chamber.
As Jay reached for the gun, the kitchen door slammed. He shut the drawer and slung the address book across the desk. As he stepped across the room to sit on the high-backed sofa, something hit the wooden floor but he didn’t have time to see what it was. Ed entered the room. “The dog’s fine and he still loves me. You can meet him next time. He’s too unpredictable around people at first. This late he might wake the—”
Jay’s heart pumped at a dangerous rate. He’d let himself get carried away. He cursed himself for failing to pay attention to Ed’s location and to how long he’d been gone. “My grandma’s dachshund was the same way.” Ed had stopped mid-sentence. Jay followed his host’s gaze across the room.
Ed’s demeanor changed. Before, he’d been cautiously friendly but now he was tense and rigid and he moved deliberately across the room. He raised his eyes from the floor, looking directly at Jay. “Stephen—or whatever your name really is—”
Jay braced himself against the back of the sofa. His mind searched for an explanation for why Ed’s address book was open. Too late, he realized his major mistake.
“I never told you my dog was a dachshund.” Ed stepped toward the desk. “Why are my sunglasses on the floor? Why is my address book open? How did you know—?”
“The pictures,” Jay blurted. “I was admiring your—your photographs—and—the dog is in—” Although Jay couldn’t recall if he’d seen a dog in any photographs, the gay men he’d known in DC took pictures of their dogs like parents took pictures of their children.
Ed’s anger grew more severe with each word. “There are no pictures of a dog!” he shouted. “We never had a dog. My partner was allergic to animals. I rescued a dog from a shelter because I wanted the company. Believe me, whoever the fuck you are—I haven’t taken a picture since way before the dog came along!”
Jay remained silent as both his body and his mind froze. Usually he operated at his best under pressure but this situation stupefied him.
“So—Stephen. I’m asking you again. How did you know that my dog, which you haven’t seen—is a dachshund? And why are my sunglasses—which were on top of my address book—on the floor?”
Jay continued to draw a blank and the only thing he knew to do now was leave. “Maybe—maybe I should—” He reached down to zip up his jacket, but the zipper became stuck and he tugged on it. Terror overcame him as Ed’s hand inched downward. When Ed opened the desk’s second drawer, Jay blacked out.
“Fuckin’ A, dude. Pound my hole! Shove that big cock up my ass! Shoot your load! I want all your cum inside me, man!”
Don laughed as he grabbed the remote to lower the volume. His bedroom television backed against the wall his condo shared with the next. He doubted his neighbors could hear the loud moans and grunts of the guys who appeared on his television every night but he saw no reason to take a chance. Besides, he didn’t watch porn for the dialogue—or the music.
He stripped off his jeans and T-shirt and threw them in the laundry basket. As he plopped down on top of his bed, he grabbed a bottle of lube and a small towel out of the nightstand. As tired as he was, he wouldn’t be able to sleep without executing his nocturnal ritual. He squirted a small dose of the lube in his right hand and leaned into the pillow, raising his head high enough to see the hot guys having sex. After years of practice, operating the remote had become one of his ambidextrous skills. He massaged himself slowly. His hand was cold at first but after a few strokes, it felt good and warm.
The scene began where he’d left off the night before. It was a six-man orgy in the back room of an auto mechanic’s shop, an image existing only in gay porn and in the imaginations of gay men. The video was one of two or three dozen Don owned and it was his favorite because two of the porn “stars” were Marines he’d known. Years earlier, they’d enjoyed a series of three-ways but he’d lost touch with them after they got out of the Marines and moved to L.A. to pursue their careers. Another reason he liked these videos was that they’d been filmed in the early eighties and the guys didn’t use condoms. Although Don never had sex without a condom now, he saw nothing wrong with jacking off to pre-AIDS bareback group sex.
Every guy was stoned. One knelt on all fours and fell over laughing several times before another guy, one of the Marines Don knew, stayed hard long enough to penetrate him. Usually Don laughed with the duo as they tried to fulfill their commitment to the director, but not tonight.
He closed his eyes and smiled as his focus shifted away from the worn-out tape to the stunning man he’d met just a few hours earlier. Patrick had said, “I hoped that was you.” Instantly, Don’s dick sprang to life and became hard as metal. “Patrick.” Don squirted some more lube. He relived the scene when their eyes first met—the unguarded unforgettable moment when he’d caught “the look.” He smelled Patrick’s aftershave and he imagined how delicious Patrick’s crotch smelled and tasted after a day of flying his helicopter. Nearing orgasm, he imagined Patrick on top of him, his penis sliding into Patrick’s tight hole. Don stroked himself harder and harder and—“Oh Patrick!” he shouted at the ceiling as cum landed on his face.
“Wow.” He lay still for a moment, enjoying one of those special orgasms, the kind that takes its time subsiding. He sat up in the bed and cleaned his torso as the porno played on, showing the two Marines sixty-nining each other on the floor. He laughed, remembering when the pair had made these low-budget flicks. He tried to recall how much cash they’d made. He’d been surprised at how little it was. Still, it wasn’t bad for easy and fun work.
An image from earlier that day flashed across his mind. “Karl’s extra cash.” Don visualized his friend counting the huge stack of twenties in his wallet. “Oh no.” Don sighed as reality set in. He’d seen the pattern many times. Every day the military sent young, good-looking and hard-bodied guys to Southern California, where the alluring Golden State became a jungle of temptations. Many of these underpaid, hormonally driven and adventuresome guys from America’s heartland fell prey to the triple threats of drugs, prostitution and pornography. Some of the guys were gay, but most identified themselves as straight. They were restless and needed money and the predators
