BETWEEN LOVE and DESIRE

Hey, I’m Jonathan Temple, J.T. to my friends; when I walked into the base commander’s office, I said a brief prayer. I wanted this position, and this first interview was crucial. First, I ensured I was dressed and polished beyond Air Force requirements. Next, I needed to nail the interview panel to convince them I was the right candidate for the new Commander’s R. D. Harbour’s assistant. I was thrilled that this was only a preliminary interview; I had my usual Monday hangover. It was an unspoken perk that any Monday activity would get some slack from a panel of my weekend partying peers. Thankfully, as it was protocol, I would not meet the Commander until the last interview. Supposedly this process would not interrupt the Commander’s schedule. The more than probable and another unspoken truth is that he can’t be bothered with the mechanics of the qualifications crap.

I hoped that this meeting would be productive and swift simply because of the extreme wildness of my weekend and the lack of much-needed sleep. Foolishly, I partied an hour shy of my interview; as expected as it was protocol, the evaluations started on the dot, and the questioning was varied and to the point. My impeccable resume told it all and showed that I had the goods. I barely managed to get through the interview and the day, and as I did every Monday, I swore that next weekend would be different. The only difference today was that I only went home to ready myself. My initial downfall was that I fell into this great group of guys whose antics determined the size of my head at the weekend end. They were gay also, which was a plus, and we all became fast friends. We became known as the ever-readies, and like clockwork, we partied hard from Friday to Sunday. Except for this weekend, I hit it off with this older guy, and the night never stopped. I thought it was lucky that I had one less drink short of the experience becoming a blur; by no means did I want this memory to be anything other than crystal clear.

After the interview lasted longer than expected, I made a beeline for my bed. I fell asleep and dreamed; I mentally reenacted that unbelievable night with the silver fox in dream form. I had to give him a handle. I couldn’t keep thinking of him as the handsome gray-haired hunk. My waking thought was if and when I would see him again. Our encounter started in a slightly dangerous way. Maybe dangerous may be too strong; let’s say we didn’t meet the usual way; okay, it strongly added to the mystique. Then, at breakfast, my brothers in sin drilled me about where I’d disappeared on Sunday afternoon. I confessed that I knew the “why,” but the “how “ was fuzzy. But when I met this great-looking guy, magically, everything became focused. My best friend and joker Gary Polin teased, asking was the focus was north or south of said guy’s belly button. I quipped back; the answer had to be that I could identify him in the light of day or the dark of a bedroom. The questions flew across the table like a tornado of where and how. I explained how this guy approached me, offering to go to a better place for a better time. At that moment, his timing was perfect; my judgment was governed by liquor and lust; I gave him the once over and figured he looked okay. At first glance, I knew he was the ideal of my type; I thought, well, the drink thought, what the hell; I was ready for anything. He did have the exact swagger I liked, and the fear of him being Mister Goodbar dissolved. I knew I should have said no, but I was thrilled I didn’t post-sex. All the guys agreed it was dangerous to do while giving me a couple of hoots and howls. I noticed that only Marc Coyne sat there, not cheering my escapade. But that was Marc, the reserved, brooding James Dean type; what he didn’t say got your attention.

The rest of those bums started yelling spill, get down to the good stuff. I instantly made the hand motion for them to calm down. They were curious if the hunk kept his promise and questioned if he was built; as they say, they wanted a blow-by-blow recollection. I told them I’d spill if they kept it down. I continued admitting that I fell asleep en route to wherever which was a double-edged sword. When I awoke, I felt refreshed, and my head was less clouded from the drink. The “where” thing soon faded to unimportant. When I entered this mansion-like building, many guys were rustling around in all stages of undress. I recalled my first thought; holy shit, he brought me to an orgy with an assortment of men. Then my scoping was interrupted by my guy directing me to a room at the end of the corridor.

He held the door open and announced that he had hoped I was ready for a night I would not soon forget. I’m not that smashed; I instantly sobered up and got panic-stricken; my guy was the eye candy, not the participant. Noting the room’s darkness over the bed, I thought I had become the victim of a troll doing a bait and switch. I thought maybe this could be more adventure than I had anticipated. Then, as if he had read my mind, the silver fox came into the light, assuring me that he guaranteed I’d be pleased if I stayed. I saw this handsome hunk with a body to die for; relief hit me like many bricks. Then between the drink and the lust kicking in, there was no way I wasn’t staying to see the end of this show. And I must say the gent did not tell a lie; I was extremely pleased more than once. I exclaimed that I wished I was there now, which prompted one of the guys to ask what was stopping me. I declared; if I knew where to find him, you’d be looking at my rump running toward the door.

Finally, Gary asked, didn’t I see where I was when I left this mansion? I smiled, saying it was still dark and drained from the night’s deeds; the afterglow caused me to pay no attention to where I was. And he seemed to have this down to a science. When I entered his car, he gave me a pillow and blanket. I needed no encouragement to curl up and fall asleep; all this happened before we pulled away. He told me it was as far as he could go when he woke me at the base’s edge. One of my mates asked if I had asked him anything. When I began to speak, I replied that he immediately told me no questions, and that was that; I stopped. Then, he volunteered that he’d like to see me again. I couldn’t resist telling him I hoped it was more than a one-off slam, that I liked him. He then asked for my number and said he’d be in touch. He ruined it when he continued without good reason that he couldn’t promise anything. Then, in a slightly raised cocky tone, I said I couldn’t promise I’d be available. I gave him an ambiguous look, figuring he might be reciting his exit routine. If so, then Fuck him and his maybe; my bottom line was if he called, it would be I who decided.

Several weeks went by, with three more interviews under my belt. My attitude leaned toward what the fuck maybe they were looking for a robot. I felt like I was being vetted for the Presidency rather than as a Personal Assistant to the Commander. I was ready to say thanks but no thanks when the call came for me to meet the Commander. I was elated; I felt proud to have made it this far, whatever the outcome. I was to report to the officers club for drinks with Commander Harbour at seven-thirty sharp. As luck would have it, my silver fox calls and wants to meet for coffee off base that evening. I was more than half glad I was unavailable for us to meet. He asked what I was doing on the weekend and if I was available for the day. I answered that I wasn’t sure and wasn’t in the habit of arranging my calendar with no named strangers. He laughed, saying his name was David and meant to open the conversation by introducing himself, but the excitement of calling me threw him.

I thought aloud, wow, I was half glad he didn’t, or I would have never gotten that accolade. He responded I was wrong and that he had a list of accolades that pertained to me. He casually admitted he didn’t have a moment that he hadn’t thought of me. I laughed, blurting double wow; he sure knew how to topple a guy’s cool. I explained I had a meeting, asking that he call me in the morning to continue our talk minus the spilling of verbal nectar over me. He agreed and seemed taken aback that I was possibly blowing him off and not biting at the bit to meet. I felt a little full of myself with a final interview and a date invite in one day. I was so nervous that I had to make a pit stop to throw up my guts on the way to the club. I figured this meeting would be grueling and, I might say, nerve-wracking. The protocol was to stand at his table until asked to be seated. The object was to be a cool and professional matter-of-fact. Acouple of drinks were the prelude to the Commander’s final decision. A tactful pleasant thank you for coming was the end of the road. You knew you caught the brass ring if the Commander dismissed you with orders to report at whatever the scheduled time sharp.

It was a shameful game played by grown, influential men; hey, it was their game, and we all played it to win. Upon entering the club, I was escorted to an empty table and was instructed to wait. Minutes later, the Commander and his entourage arrived, and I was asked to sit next to the Commander. He was a handsome dignified-looking man who looked so familiar, yet I was positive we had never met. We discussed everything besides the position, and I felt at ease within minutes. Our waiter asked if I wanted to order a drink. I ordered a vodka on the rocks with a twist while the Commander passed. I immediately thought I did the wrong thing ordering a drink, so I merely sipped it, hoping I didn’t fuck things up. The server appeared with the menus, marking judgment time. The server stood in wait; I imagined he awaited a signal to approach. The Commander signaled the server as he turned to me, asking if I’d join him for dinner; I smiled with a resounding I’d be honored, sir. Dinner went beautifully, and with coffee, he officially announced that I was to be his P. A. As the Commander spoke, his edge seemed to soften; you know the anticipation is worse than the pain. He stood to leave, which meant the dinner was over. He told me the panel would make all my transfer arrangements and contact me. I saluted and extended my hand, thanking him for the opportunity. He shook my hand, noting that I should prove he had made the right choice; I saluted again with I would, sir. I said my goodnight to the table and departed; I was as proud as fuck.

I barely entered back at the apartment before the swarm of questions flew. How was the Commander? Was he good-looking? Did I think he was gay-friendly? If so, could we get more passes? I love these guys, but even I was appalled by this line of questioning. So I answered Christ; I applied for a fucking P. A. job for the Commander, not head towel boy for a Fifth Avenue Madam. I then informed everyone that I got a call from David, the silver fox, asking for a date. The hoots and hollers echoed through the room, asking if I was going, when, and where? I smiled that we hadn’t made any arrangements yet and would never tell them. Then Gary announced that I feared they would all follow and mess things up. I answered as if that possibility was far from the truth. Then Marc asked if he could ask the real question. I answered, yeah, of course; he continued saying I never asked if I got the job and when I would start.

God bless that boy; I told him I could kiss him for his normalcy; he answered, so what was stopping me? That was the first time Marc ever came back to anyone without wilting. Thinking he was joking, I quipped I would at another time when I could kiss him properly. Marc mumbled right, then remarked that was an empty promise, confirming that his door was unlocked most nights and when I was ready to turn the knob. That started the gang off big-time, Marc should have known they’d never let him live that down, but I didn’t think he cared. His eyes never left mine as he gave a goodnight salute, then proceeded to his room. Of course, this precipitated more loud vigorous hoots and hollers from the kindergarteners. Finally, Gary yelled, asking if that was an open invite for the gang; Marc answered a firm no as he left the room. All I could think of was that this was so out of character for Marc. He was the quiet gentleman of the group, the levelheaded one. In truth, he threw me for one hell of a loop.

After the noise died, those horny bastards started planning for the weekend festivities, a.k.a. trolling for Mister Right or even a sexy Mister Wrong would do for the night at least. In passing, I stupidly mentioned that I’d only have to party hardy on Friday and Saturday nights in this new job. And if the David thing worked out, it might reduce it to Fridays. I answered I’d see, but the Sunday night shenanigans would have to be on hold for a while or until I’ve settled in. Within seconds they tagged me, declaring with my new job and a new boyfriend; the guys scoffed that I was already a snob. They were so true to character; I wouldn’t have expected a lesser remark. Ignoring them was always best with this crowd; I called for pizza and beer for dinner that night, and it was on the snob to change the mood.

The next several months were grueling with getting down the endless procedures and protocols. But, Christ, much could be accomplished without the over-the-top phony lack of common sense bureaucracy horse shit flying around. In the feast or famine category, I went from free spirit to seeing David every day or night and sometimes in between. Our hookups were frequent and fast, giving us no time to talk about ourselves, like get to know each other. No complaints, but this relationship reeked of being Slam, Bam, Thank You, Man, on steroids. We always met either in town or at a secluded out-of-the-way motel. Although I felt or knew he was hiding me from something or someone, I couldn’t bring myself to ask. He managed to keep our conversations about me or in a general vein. I would sometimes jokingly throw out that I hoped I wouldn’t go into hyper-shock when he finally got around to filling me in. But he got down to business whenever I mentioned that we had to talk about whatever, which shut me up fast.

He promised to set aside some time to sit for that talk, which never seemed to come. Although, in his defense, my new job took priority, and enough time for the talk wasn’t happening anytime soon. Per David, he also had the craziest schedule; at one point, I wondered if this cloak-and-dagger crap were worth it. Every scenario went through my head, whether he was married, engaged, or in a longtime relationship, a serial sex addict into uniforms. In my defense, and to be quite candid, he was sexually addictive; hearing his voice made me quiver. Whenever I asked about his work, he’d say it was all in good time; I figured it was secret shit, probably government-related. I didn’t get it, but I did sort of; in truth, with so much going on and not letting up, I wasn’t wasting our fun time pushing for answers. Being a P. A. was proving to be very taxing, to say the very least. I concluded that the hierarchy assholes were vying for stop gaps and time to seek their self-serving agenda. Yes, bureaucrats are self-serving “yes men” to their superiors, who doled out no’s to the underlings.

I hardly set eyes on the Commander, and I was his P. A.; my contact with him was via post-its, emails, or texts, mostly texts. Then on one routine Friday, just before the end of my shift, I received a text from the Commander asking me to stay for a talk. I thought, shit, a talk; I’ve been on the job for seven months, weeks without as much as a meeting, and now, he wants to talk on Friday night. Of course, I concluded that it couldn’t have been good; maybe he found out I was gay and wasn’t cool with it. Flipping the script, thinking, hey, he might not be happy with my work, I was getting my walking papers; either way, it didn’t look favorable. As soon as everyone was gone, he appeared at his door, asking that I come in. As I entered, I noticed an officer’s hat on his desk; without a word, the Commander gestured that I sit. His look suggested he wanted to get whatever over with; then added that he needed me to settle a dispute. And he also needed me to be sure of my answer, and I needed to be truthful. Shit, there it was; I was right; it was the gay thing; I knew it, hey, I didn’t flaunt it, but I didn’t bother to hide it either.

He didn’t take well to my blank look and raised his tone slightly, asking if I was listening; I assured him I was. I continued that I would be truthful and hoped that truth wouldn’t jeopardize my position due to whatever this was. It felt like I were in court, and he, the prosecutor, was about to cross-examine me. His smirk added to my discomfort; what could be going on here? Finally, he got up and opened the door to his anteroom, where visitors usually waited; he began to speak to someone. Then, in what seemed like an eternity, he returned with David in uniform standing at his side. All I could think of was that he was tipped off about the gay thing, and the truth would condemn us both. The Commander’s eyes never left my face as he asked if I knew this man. My brain couldn’t process this scenario; what was I to do; telling the truth would probably fuck up this guy’s career? Like the Commander, my eyes couldn’t turn away from David’s face; I was looking for a sign of what to do. It wasn’t hard for the Commander to determine that my silence confirmed a resounding yes. Did he already know, not only did I know him, that we had come to know each other very well?

There David stood in complete silence and what seemed like terror in his eyes. When I could speak, I said yes; I met David briefly several months back at a club. The Commander asked what club; I again told him the truth; I had no idea. I elaborated that I had too much to drink and confessed that I had to concentrate on slowing my drinking. With that smirk, the Commander asked that I allow him to reintroduce this man as Lieutenant Colonel Blake David Harbour, his son, his married son. My head must have spun counterclockwise; reality can do that; I couldn’t fucking believe my ears. The Commander made sure he repeated his married son to add salt to the wound, then threw in the father of four. And there was the clincher; I would spend the rest of my tour rotting in the brig. I’ll tell you, terror overcame me; I had no defense. Then it hit me like that ton of bricks; you know, those fucking bricks. Getting brave, well, slightly, I blurted; why was I being treated like a criminal here? And I had no idea his son was married; I didn’t even know he was Air Force. Stressing, I was the single one, the one with no ties.

The Commander responded instantly that this was not a blaming party. Again, I exclaimed he could have fooled me. He continued the unfortunate fact and the problem is that I was the first encounter that got under Blake’s skin. I remained silent but thought about what this guy was going after. I didn’t have to wait long before the Commander confessed that, unfortunately, his son had fallen for me. And that before the boy thing was just for the sex, no harm, no foul; it didn’t disrupt anyone’s life. Jesus, the more he spoke, the more bizarre it became, and my mind wandered. Yes, I was with this guy for many months. Okay, I’m lustful with him; we’re fucking great together in the sack. But, hey, I didn’t know he was someone’s husband and father. If I knew things would be different, that’s bullshit; my dick never had a conscience, and once in control, it was a done deal. I would have justified that this guy was out there to satisfy his nonpublic nature. And besides, if he was hiding his need from whoever, that was on him.

What’s a couple of hours a week between the sheets; who could it hurt? Well, that’s unfair; what if he was with me and rolling around with someone? Ah, a little different when he’s jumped out of your bed. Shit, what if things got out of hand; I’d be sitting in the middle of a family meltdown. It could happen if someone saw us together; added up two and two, who knows? Maybe the Commander is right, the boy-on-boy sex is one thing, but an ongoing relationship brings a different hue to the picture. The art of hiding one’s indiscretions is something that must be carefully and artfully crafted and comes with experience. I wasn’t sure if I was ready or wanted to continue to have a back alley life. I’m unsure I’d want to hide, fearing a neighbor would see us. I’d be looking over my shoulder, in restaurants or at a game; they’d innocently tell his wife. Then, neighbors would pretend to feel bad while whispering if it happened too often. Finally, those whispers would find themselves to the kids, creating a living hell for all concerned.

Again the Commander asked if I was listening, returning me from my zoning out. I answered yes; he knew I was full of shit. I returned and reinforced that whatever it was hadn’t begun yet. Dad stressed that our encounters, as he put it, that we were no Alexander and Hephaestion. The Commander expanded that is why we were there, fearing it as far as Blake was concerned it had. He continued that, knowing Blake would not let this go no matter what. I slipped back into the zone, thinking, holy shit, okay, I like this guy, but it was obvious I didn’t know this guy.

This meeting changes everything; I now know his history; do I want a guy carrying such fragile baggage? Was I ready for all this melodrama, not to mention the guilt of possibly being a homewrecker? Then the unexpected happened; Blake spoke, telling me he needed to see me in an everyday setting. He refuses to believe that we couldn’t work something out between us, with me, of course, assuming I felt the same way. I was honest with myself, thinking that I was so confused. Yes, liking a guy was one thing, but there were too many buts to consider. Also, I didn’t know what they expected, but I wasn’t playing spin the bottle here. I needed time to think, not be pressured into a decision that affected all these lives, including my own. I asked the Commander if my job was at stake, and he gave a negative nod, lifting me slightly. I knew I had to get out of there fast at that moment. I stood and saluted the Commander, then turned to Blake, stating that I needed time to call me in a week or so.

The relief of being outside was beyond welcome; Christ, I felt like I had just survived walking through a Biohazard area without a hazmat suit. From not initially caring, all I could think about was the family. What if he went too far and fucked things up, like getting lovesick. That would be the end of all of us; shit, I always wanted to have someone go head over heels for me but be unattached. Okay, I know human nature dictates, and things calm down once the heat of the moment wears off. But I can’t play with the lives of innocent people. Damn, I hooked up with my bossed son and somebody’s father; go figure, in such a humungous world, I end up with someone’s husband and father. All things being equal, I’m sitting smack dab in the middle of what can turn into more than a love triangle; who would survive? The Commander is right; what makes Blake think this would end in any way other than ruin and chaos? Historically, the outside world is not the kindest place if it gets out, especially if friends and neighbors aren’t cool. And the Air Force, shit, no matter what they say, even with this new equality, that macho ceiling has been as strong as ever.

I won’t lie; I had mixed emotions when weeks passed, and there was no word from Blake. My head was convinced it was for the best, while whatever begged to see him. At work, the Commander is less about texts, and I suspect he felt my seeing him would reinforce my remembering our talk. He was right, but it reminded me that I hadn’t heard from his son. More often than not, I wondered, as those months rolled by, what the Commander did to keep Blake in check. On the other side of the coin, maybe the Commander did nothing; there was the possibility that Blake was over me. He could have figured that I wasn’t his end-all and realized I wasn’t worth all the crap that came with loving me. For some guys, the pursuit was the key; the catch was zipless. I made up every excuse to myself of why he stopped his quest. But, the more I thought of it, I concluded he had a family and position, and things were good; why fuck it up. If all this hunk wanted was a quickie, maybe a good roll in the hay, there was plenty of tail around to nail. There is something to be said for Don Juan’s of the world, the no strings attached guys. Let’s face it; unattached was easier, lots of fun, and plenty of readily available guys, i.e., like me. Unbeknownst to me, he watched me come and go almost every day. It sounds creepy, but I understood his plight when he told me months later.

Then, one late Friday afternoon, the Commander asked to speak to me privately as if we spoke otherwise. He mentioned I would accompany him to Washington, D.C., for an annual strategy conference. I responded that it was fine and would make myself available like I had a choice. He continued that Blake would also attend and appreciate me not seeing him. But, again, he said he hadn’t a choice in putting me in that position, that I was the only one cleared on the sensitive data. I felt a genuine sincerity in his statement; I now looked at him through different eyes. I answered that I would do everything in my power to avoid Blake. I expanded that I didn’t believe Blake would make any advances with all the bigwigs so close. The Commander smiled, saying Young man, you have no idea how his son was when he set his sights on something. I won’t deny it; it felt great for my ego that those sights were on me. It must have shone right from my brain; all the Commander could do was shake his head. But, in my defense, you’re not often the object of real affection; lust loses its luster too quickly. But if someone has deeper feelings for you, well, shit, that’s beyond fantastic. I would have explained what he thought he was seeing, it was just my basking that I was sort after, but the Commander knew what he knew. More importantly, I had to remember not only was he Blake’s Father, but he was also my boss.

I wrestled with the idea of our coming face-to-face for such a very long time. I had to focus on the fact that I was there working and only working, and the only acceptable extracurricular activity was sightseeing. I made up a variety of scenarios so that I would be somewhat prepared. I knew one could never prepare for any feelings I might experience. My sole goal was to be firm, not succumb to Blake; damn, it would be hard. Then the worst thing happened; I let my guard down momentarily, thinking I could fall for the wayward Lieutenant under the right circumstances. Christ, that realization and admission were not going to serve me well. The Commander was all business on the flight to D.C. I was grateful for the normalcy. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long; we were blindsided when Blake met us with a Cheshire cat shit-eating grin as we disembarked. At first, it was cordial; he greeted us as fellow attendees. Upon reaching our cars, he managed to maneuver the Commander into another high-ranker’s vehicle. I could imagine the level of anger and frustration the Commander was experiencing. As for myself, I was amazed at the precision and finesse that Blake employed in the exchange. I did not know what and how to say it, so I exclaimed that the Commander said he was more than resourceful. Upon arrival at my hotel, we got out of the car. He quickly dismissed his driver, stating he’d walk to his hotel.

He then grabbed my arm, pressing me to walk with him; we came to his hotel after about five minutes with him telling me how much I was missed. I told him no way, not here, not now. I stressed that the Commander talked with me about how I should behave. He laughed, saying behavior, fuck the Commander, that this was our life, not his. Blake insisted he needed to explain his situation, and, like it or not, I would listen. We found the bar, and as he ordered drinks, I couldn’t help peering into those emerald-green eyes; I knew my resistance was fading fast. I tried a thousand ways to convince myself to leave but couldn’t; I fell into the extreme zone of really liking him. Maybe our stars weren’t completely aligned, but that doesn’t change anything, does it ever? So I verbally forced him back, stating the issue was that his timing to explain and the chance of my listening in the throes of passion were nil. I pointed out two things; if I were the so-called one, where was he all these months? If I wasn’t the one, then there was an attractive young guy at the bar who couldn’t keep his eyes off him. And that he didn’t know his story, and I assured him he wouldn’t give a fiddler’s fuck if he did. It was apparent that Blake was unaccustomed to not getting his way; at that moment, I didn’t give a crap. I wasn’t playing that game like him, love him, lust for him, whatever. He hadn’t tried to make contact, and now he wants a fast roll in the hay. In that regard, I decided to let the barfly help him out. So I returned to my hotel without looking back, thinking he didn’t play fair. The problem was his to figure out; then the reality hit, maybe he did care, and I was the problem.