smiled and tapped his forehead against Patrick’s. “Of course not. But forgive me if this is too personal. Have you ever—you know—had sex with a guy?”
Patrick bit his lower lip. “No. Not with a guy. But—it’s only because I never met a guy I wanted to have sex with, well, I mean really wanted. Until last night. When I met you. Am I making sense? Guess what I mean is, I really want you.”
Don felt a lump in his throat. “Wow, Patrick. That’s—that’s the most romantic thing anyone ever said to me.” Don gently squeezed Patrick’s firm upper arm. “And yes, it makes sense. I figured out you’re the guy—and I’m breaking every rule in the gay men’s dating handbook by saying this so soon, but you’re the guy I’ve been waiting for.”
Patrick laughed. “You mean you haven’t had sex?”
“Very funny, flyboy.” Don leaned over and whispered, “I’ve had sex before but I’ve gotta feeling compared to what’s in store for us, I’ve never made love before.”
Patrick’s face brightened. “Now that’s the most romantic thing anyone ever said to me. Being new to all this—are we crazy? Feeling this way and saying these things so soon?”
“Only as crazy as we think we are. I know what I want when I see it. My only concern is that you haven’t had a chance to sample the big gay smorgasbord.”
“Shhhh.” With a strong burst of energy, Patrick pushed Don onto his back and unbuttoned his jeans. “The only smorgasbord I wanna sample is in front of me.” He kissed Don hard and full, his lips thrusting into the other Marine’s mouth. “I can’t wait to get lost in this hairy chest.”
Don unbuttoned Patrick’s jeans, feeling Patrick’s washboard abs again. “What do they feed you officers at Quantico?” Don rolled Patrick over and slid Patrick’s jeans over his lean hips and legs. Patrick put his hands behind his head, lying on the bed in a position that said, Take me.
“You are one handsome man,” Don said as he removed what was left of his clothing. Patrick also removed his boxers. “Wow.” Don slid his naked body on top of his companion. “You really are the whole package, aren’t you?”
“Good boy! There you go.” Jay emptied the last of the dog food onto the concrete patio and looked around Ed’s backyard. Fortunately, the moon was bright and he located the empty water bowl near a spigot. “Here’s some water.” He scratched the little dog. “You’re two dogs long and half a dog high.” Thankfully, Ed’s pet hadn’t barked when Jay jumped over the small fence between Ed’s house and his neighbor’s. “That’s all, fella. Don’t bark.” The dog looked both satisfied and curious.
As Jay leapt over the fence, returning to his car, he heard the muted ringing of Ed’s phone. In his sleepless delusion, Jay had begun to fantasize they’d never find Ed’s body. Maybe the Sailor would decompose into nothingness and no one would be the wiser. How he wished that were the case! His problems would be over. The phone’s ring, though, brought him back to reality. Ed had family, friends and a job. Even though his body had been lifeless for almost twenty-four hours, tomorrow was Monday and someone would miss him.
Jay returned to his car. Against his will and better judgment, he fell asleep for a few hours. When he awoke, he realized that tomorrow wasn’t Monday—today was. He looked toward the southeast and saw the faint early glows of the crisp winter sunrise over the mountains east of San Diego. As desperately as he wanted to remain at the scene of the crime—no, this wasn’t a crime, it was just an incident—and learn what would happen, he had to be at his office soon. Now that he’d slept, his mind worked again and a plan formed in his head. Fortunately, the sun remained low on the horizon. Grabbing a pen and a slip of paper, he darted across the street and copied the DoD decal number from Ed’s Oldsmobile.
As Jay stared at the windshield, an item on the front seat caught his attention. He eyes became riveted to the brown paper bag Ed said held a friend’s clothing. Suddenly, Jay had an idea that might solve his problems. He tried the door but, as expected, it was locked. He turned his head to look at the house, dreading what he had to do. Repeating his drill, he took off his jacket and laid it on the car. Steeling himself to the cold, he stripped off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his right hand. He hurried to the front door because he was running out of darkness.
The door was as he’d left it—not locked. The body was also as he’d left it—not alive. From Jay’s limited knowledge of forensics, he didn’t expect the smell to be overpowering after only thirty hours, and thankfully, it wasn’t. Kneeling beside Ed’s corpse, Jay thought about all the microscopic processes taking place inside the body. Bacteria had begun spreading, breaking down tissues and blood vessels. Black spots had formed on the white parts of Ed’s open eyes, the only visible sign, other than the pool of drying blood, that his body was decomposing. In the cool, dry room, he’d decompose slower than average; regardless, putrefaction would set in soon.
Ed had used his right hand so Jay, using the T-shirt as a glove, reached into the right pocket of Ed’s jeans. He grimaced. Ed’s leg felt like a piece of steel and his joints were frozen. Rigor mortis was at its peak at twenty-four hours. Suddenly, a noise startled Jay. It was only a fly buzzing by his ear, landing on Ed’s lips.
Seeing light through the open front door motivated Jay to hurry. He found the keys, snatched them out of Ed’s pocket and ran outside, where he retrieved the paper sack from the Oldsmobile’s front seat. Relocking the car, he returned the keys, this time setting them on the desk. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the stiff corpse a second time.
Safely outside, he dressed and stuck the paper sack under his jacket. As stealthily as possible, he returned to his car. After a short detour home to clean up and change clothes, he drove to work, smiling along the way. Work is where he had to be to take care of this mess.
Thank you, he prayed, for giving me this plan.
Patrick looked in the mirror and adjusted the khaki necktie, a required part of all Marines’ “winter service alpha” uniforms. “Alphas” were the uniform Lieutenant Colonel Oliver North wore when he testified before Congress about his role in orchestrating the Iran-Contra scandal, making it almost as recognizable as the Marines’ Dress Blue uniform. The alpha coat—or blouse, as Marines called it—had an exterior belt worn tightly around the upper part of the waist. Patrick’s was snug on his lean frame. His only medal had been easy to affix—as dictated by Marine Corps uniform regulations—one-eighth of an inch above his rifle and pistol shooting badges and centered on the pocket.
While his uniform adhered perfectly to standards, as it always had, Patrick’s face looked different. Was this “afterglow”? It seemed strange that the excitement and serenity he felt inside radiated on the outside. Technically, he was still a gay virgin. He and Don had decided to wait until next time to “go all the way,” but if last night was the appetizer, he couldn’t hold off much longer for the main course.
“What’s so funny, my handsome Devildog?” Don approached him from behind, naked, and much to Patrick’s enjoyment, semi-hard. “Damn, Lieutenant, I thought I got up early! It’s not even zero-five-thirty yet.”
“Can’t be late for my first day at the new squadron. Besides, I didn’t sleep much—not that I wanted to between our three times. I couldn’t take my eyes off you sleeping.”
“Spoken like a real hard-charger,” Don said, using “Marine-speak” for “overachiever.” He tugged at the flaps of Patrick’s blouse, straightening a few wrinkles on the back. “Perfect.”
“Where’d you go last night when you stepped out? I missed you.”
“To the pay phone in the lobby. Seemed safest to go when none of your fellow officers would be awake. Didn’t see anyone but the clerk. He was asleep.”
“Who’d you call?” Patrick frowned at the off-center knot in his tie.
“Eddie.” Don sounded concerned. “He always returns my calls. I’m a little worried.” He moved