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 fingers brush his ear. Before this kiss, Patrick had planned every move his muscles dared to make. But in this instant he willingly surrendered to his instructor. For the first time in his life, Patrick was spontaneous and it felt natural. Finally, he understood the meaning of the word “euphoria.” He moved his lips against Chris’s and let Chris’s tongue ply its way into his mouth. Chris’s mouth tasted salty and gritty, but it was also hot, and Patrick loved the whole experience of kissing a man. As he wondered how high this natural rush could go, Chris backed away. “So you’re not a homophobe and obviously not a fundamentalist. What are you? Besides an excellent kisser.”
“I—” Patrick tasted his lips and grinned. “I don’t think I’m ‘confused’ anymore. But you’ve—aroused—my curiosity.” Patrick almost added that “curiosity” wasn’t all Chris had aroused but the comment seemed too overt and, given the tightness of his shorts, unnecessary.
Chris seemed flattered and smiled. “Don’t take this wrong—I mean it in the best way, but I had you pegged from the start. When you’ve been around awhile, it gets easier to spot family.”
“‘Family’? What do you mean by that?”
“That’s what you are now, right? Family? Or do you plan to spend the rest of your life in this ‘curious’ phase?” Patrick nervously scanned the area for military spies. Chris threw his head back, laughing. “You’re hysterical. Considering what we just did, eavesdropping is the least of our worries. And do you mind if I take that stupid-looking bandanna off your head? You have a great energy about you. You shouldn’t hide it.” Without waiting for Patrick’s permission, Chris slid around, put his arm around the younger man’s waist, and slipped the bandanna off. “That’s much better. Now I can see you. Completely. And I mean this sincerely—you’re very easy to look at.” He whispered, “Don’t be so nervous. We’re safe here. No one’s listening, no one’s watching—except a few voyeurs, but no one to worry about.”
The other man’s embrace felt comfortable and secure. “Um, th—that’s not why I’m nervous. I—this is—new—” He realized then how much he loved the warmth of Chris’s tough skin against his own softer exterior. Patrick felt safe with Chris because they were both under the military’s rules. Rules that we’re both breaking.
“Do you want to go somewhere and talk? Let’s go downtown for a drink at a little place I know. I’ll introduce you to people.”
“Sure.” Patrick knew his life would never be the same and that he’d never regret this day.
During Patrick’s final seven months in flight school, he and Chris forged a close friendship, slipping into the roles of mentor and protégé. In mid-December, on Patrick’s last day in town, Chris treated him to a high-class dinner celebrating Patrick’s graduation from flight school and promotion to first lieutenant and, sadly, to bid each other farewell. “I can’t believe you’re leaving Pensacola a virgin,” Chris joked. Before Patrick could protest, Chris held up his hand and qualified his statement. “I’m sorry, I mean a gay virgin.”
“I’m just—I don’t know, Chris—”
“Patrick, I’m kidding. I admire how patiently you’ve adjusted to gay life. Promise me you won’t get bitter. The gay world has enough jaded old queens—many are under the age of twenty-five. All of us were cheated out of our adolescence. No use trying to get it all back in one circuit party weekend. Take it slow and easy—stay young and naïve as long as possible.”
“I’m usually not this much of a prude.”
“You’re cautious. Deliberateness is a valuable skill. It’s what makes you the top pilot in your class. It also makes you think about sex before you do it, a very good—but rare—trait these days. Too bad some others I’ve known weren’t as deliberate. They might still be alive.”
“Do you mean pilots? Or gay men?”
“Come to think of it, both.”
“I still feel guilt over breaking my engagement with Karen, without telling her the truth.”
“The rules are wrong and they force us to keep secrets. Sometimes they cause us to hurt the people we care about without explaining why. It’s not your fault. Do like I do—blame it on George Bush. Makes me feel better.” Chris poured more wine. “I predict you’ll get over that guilt when you see the men in California. Which reminds me.” He fished in his pocket. “Here’s my buddy’s number. Look him up.” He handed the paper to Patrick. “Told him all about you.”
“Thanks.” Patrick glanced at the number suspiciously. “‘Don Hawkins.’ So you told him about me—what’s his deal?”
“Thought I taught you better than that. I didn’t tell him anything about you, except that your good looks are both boyish and manly. But no, I didn’t tell him your rank, or what you do, or anything like that, although Don’s smart enough to figure out a lot of things. Coming from here—and knowing me—he’ll assume you’re a pilot. You two can share all that girly chitchat