what he saw. Guys emerged from the sea, and saltwater glistened as it rolled down their hardened six-pack abs. Twenty feet away two men kissed out in the open. Patrick smiled. He’d wasted too much of his life feeling guilty for his desires. Beginning now, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, he’d pursue what he enjoyed. He regretted that he hadn’t experienced this epiphany ten years earlier.
The afternoon was sunny and beautiful. Except for the absence of kids and the skewed ratio of men to women, the crowd seemed like most other places. Given the abundance of twenty-and thirty-something in-shape guys, the resemblance to a military crowd was striking. Everyone was having fun. A few looked like Sailors and one or two sported a Marine haircut.
Patrick hadn’t satisfied his thirst but no concessionaires were nearby. Not wanting to risk being spotted by a military person, he stopped walking, spreading his towel close to the vegetation near the parking lot. He stripped off his T-shirt. A clump of weeds partially shielded him from the view of the men between him and the ocean. He tied a bandana around his head, making him feel incognito, and he leaned back to watch the parade of people. There sure as hell are a lot of them—I mean a lot of us. Thinking of himself as part of this group seemed bizarre at first, but oddly, the more he saw, the more he liked the idea. Maybe I can be gay.
“I knew you’d be the one!”
An electric shock rushed from Patrick’s lower spine to his neck and his lungs wouldn’t take in air. He thought he’d been hit with a stun gun but his reaction came from inside. As his head cleared, he recognized the voice. He turned to face its owner. Think, Patrick. Why am I here?
“Second Lieutenant McAbe, leader of Marines. What brings you out to Pensacola Beach?”
Patrick reflexively jumped to his feet to address his instructor. “Sir, I—is this—what beach did you mean? Pensacola? I haven’t been—?”
“Hey! McAbe! Relax. Call me Chris.” Navy Lieutenant Ashburn—Chris—started to sit. “Mind if I use a corner of your towel?”
“No sir, not at all. Pl—please be my guest.” Patrick’s mouth had gone from dry to parched.
Chris sat cross-legged and Patrick followed, facing the other man across his beach towel. The instructor held out a bottle. “Want a drink?” Patrick nodded and grabbed the water.
Patrick forgot his bewilderment as he enjoyed the ice-cold liquid going down inside him but the feeling was temporary and his questions returned with urgency. Why is Lieutenant Ashburn, the instructor who warned us about this beach, here? Why did he say I would be “the one”? Does he think I’m—gay? Chris looked at him blankly. As Patrick returned the bottle of water, he inadvertently let his eyes roam over Chris’s tanned and muscular legs, his flat stomach and his appealing upper body. When he looked up, Chris was smiling at him.
“Your first name’s ‘Patrick,’ isn’t it? Mind if I call you ‘Patrick’?”
“Um, yes sir, you can call me Patrick.”
“You have to stop that ‘sir’ shit.” Chris laughed. “Answer the question.”
“I—it’s, um, what was the question? Why am I here?”
“No need to turn it into an existential crisis. What I meant was, why are you here—on this beach?” Chris smiled and winked as he tilted the bottle to extract the last drop.
Patrick inhaled and launched into his rehearsed explanation. “It’s Memorial Day weekend. I’m at the beach and there’s nothing wrong with that.” As awkward as it might’ve sounded, Patrick relaxed. It’s a free country and an open beach. If Lieutenant Ashburn wants to tell the other pilots he saw me at a gay beach, then, well—what the hell is Lieutenant Ashburn doing here? Patrick suddenly realized what should’ve been obvious from the start. Why is he here? “So—Chris,” Patrick said, his courage strengthening by the second, “why are you here?”
“Because I like this part of the beach the most. How about you? With miles of beaches to choose from, why pick this one? Don’t you rent a place with Tim Roberts on the beach at Perdido Key? That’s right, you do. Why drive twenty miles to this beach?”
“Thirty, actually,” Patrick offered absently.
“Is Tim here? Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Because Tim’s not—” Thankfully, Patrick stopped before he said “gay.” “Because Tim’s not in town this weekend. He’s in Seattle. Getting engaged. To Melanie.”
“I see.” Chris dragged out “see” until it faded into the sound of the birds and the waves.
Patrick hypnotized himself with the rhythm of the surf. Crash, come in, cover the sand, ebb, go out, repeat. He felt calmer than before. Can I trust Chris? I feel like I can—but can I trust anyone? A hard crash of the waves brought him back. He still hadn’t answered the lieutenant’s question but it didn’t matter because Chris also seemed to be in harmony with the waves. Patrick thought he knew his instructor well but now he realized he didn’t know him at all. Chris was friendly, good-natured and well liked by his students but he rarely talked about himself. Maybe that’s why he was their favorite. Most Navy and Marine Corps aviators—especially the ones proficient enough to train new pilots—talked about themselves a lot.
“Don’t worry. I’m not with the Naval Investigative Service.” Chris scanned the beach and squinted into the sun, which was on its downward arc. He removed his sunglasses, inched closer to Patrick and stared into his student’s eyes. “I’ll start a special friendship between us by saying that I’m a very open-minded type of guy. You can tell me anything you need to. I’m sure I told you who comes to this beach on this particular weekend and most of my students wouldn’t go near a gay beach. But you chose to come here, and I ask myself ‘Why?’ Are you a gay-basher here to beat the crap out of some ‘fags’? I’ve known you for eight months and you don’t seem like the Neanderthal type. Or are you a fundamentalist Christian here to tell the sodomites about Jesus?” Chris leaned forward. “Or are you ‘curious and confused’? Isn’t that the expression?” He brushed sand off his leg. “I don’t care—unless you’re a Bible thumper. Now that would really annoy me.”
“You haven’t told me why you’re here.” As Patrick’s trust grew, his suspicion that Chris was toying with him diminished. “Which are you?”
Chris mulled over the different groups. “None. I’m a nonviolent agnostic combat-ready helicopter pilot. All that I’m curious or confused about is why Second Lieutenant McAbe is at a gay beach. Now that puzzles me.” The sun’s rays penetrated the outer layers of Patrick’s skin but the Gulf breeze kept him cool. He returned Chris’s stare. The man had vocalized the “g” word, and for the first time in Patrick’s life, he hadn’t heard “gay” uttered as a slur. Chris moved closer. “Mind if I take these off?” He removed Patrick’s sunglasses. “You’re handsome. I’ve never seen a man with such sparkly green eyes.”
Patrick suddenly felt his temperature rise in a wonderful way. He was immobilized. All he could do was smile at Chris, a man whose face seemed warm, friendly and, best of all, sincere. Chris wasn’t playing a game. The rules required him to use vague words. Maybe Patrick really could tell him anything. “I—I guess—”
“Shhh.” Chris covered Patrick’s mouth with his hand. In a strong swift motion, he leaned forward, put his lips firmly against Patrick’s, and gently placed his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck. Patrick wanted to melt. His body tingled as he felt Chris’s
