I was both sad and glad when they finally blasted off. For ten years, almost as long as I could remember, this mission had been planned or scheduled or revised or set back or defunded then funded again. Dad was sangfroid about it, he knew that in the end it would go up, too important to be swamped in cross complaints and red tape. It was also during this time that it became necessary to provide me with sometimes as many as three “guardians” whose purpose was to keep the public and the media away from me save at specified times and places and then, usually, to be with my Dad.
I came to long for those few times, often less than an hour, when we could be together and even then, there was no private time, just being shunted from battery of cameras to another set up to more cameras. Picking up the paper I grew first bored and then annoyed at seeing myself and reading the usual story. “William, known as Ace, Stoddard, son of Commander Bill Stoddard of the Ort Cloud Mission, is seen with his father…….” doing whatever it was they’d set us up to do.
One time I’d been playing on the beach with my dog, Pepper, when Dad mysteriously appeared from the ocean wearing SCUBA gear having been launched from a submarine. I really was surprised but only until the press showed up. Dad waited to peel from his suit until everything was in place then, casually talking to me, he took off the suit revealing a fine looking body with a fine looking man and his fine looking son. I guess Pepper wasn’t fine enough. Taking a chance I wouldn’t be heard I said that I wished I’d known…..Turned out he hadn’t known until the day before and they were at sea. Typical. I loved my Dad but…. being forced to do things with him to satisfy the media-and the government-wasn’t fun; I’d rather have stayed home and helped him mow the yard but there wasn’t much interest in lawn mowing so he took me above sixty thousand feet in an SR-71, showed me the curve of the earth and, just incidentally, when we landed and the crush of the press was on, I was wearing the same pressure suit as he was.
When the date and the precision of the mission was finally fixed, he was busier than ever. I envied his buddy and co-astronaut, Buzzy Cohen, as he had no family, no children and not much interest for the press except his amazing good looks; I think he always wore a Speedo so he could quick change into something with viewer appeal. There was a Buzzy Cohen Calendar featuring Buzzy in the skimpiest outfits the government would allow, (He told Dad he would have done it nude;’ When they got back neither of them would look the same. )
This was also when one of my guardians, Steve Mac Auliff, got elevated from guardian status to a combination of guardian and pro tem father for me. (And yes, there were stories about how brave I was about the mission, knowing my Dad and Buzzy might never come back or might never come back in my life time. I got damn sick of those stories as well. I was seventeen and probing questions about my feelings on the mission, my father being gone so long, weren’t appreciated and, increasingly as the questions got more pointed and less guarded, Steve would interpose himself and ask whomever if they’d like it they were asked about the possible death of their Father.) Confession time, sometimes after these painful interrogations, I’d be all over Steve in tears and rage. He was great about just holding me quietly, saying nothing and letting me say what I needed to say. Now I know he was picked for me as my Dad liked him, thought he was the sort of man that could be a father to any young man particularly to his son. Where he found the time I don’t know but Dad wrote almost a book of suggestions and instructions for him. Things he wanted me to learn, to see, to experience. And, I found, there were several pages dealing with his possible death and what should happen then.
We were within one month of departure for the space station when, unexpectedly, Buzzy showed up, shooed Steve away and took me to my room. He was a computer whizz and from his copious pockets on his cargo pants, took all sorts of stolen bits to add to my computer so I would have closer touch with both of them. He’d rigged a side band that evaded much of the watching from earth and gave me access to the two of them but with the warning, I had to wait for them to contact me and then I could respond. As they got further, the transmission time would grow longer but I was used to not seeing Dad for months at time so eight or ten hours seemed like a snap. Also, periodically, I would go to mission head quarters, record messages to the two of them and, several days later, go back and listen to their answers.
One day I found Steve in tears which was so out of normal that I rushed to him, hugged him and demanded to know what was wrong. No answer but I knew there was one. He took off, locked himself in his room, telling me to order something that could be delivered for dinner. There was something, something I needed to know and where to find out….no idea. I couldn’t call my Dad for, even if he did know, clearly I wasn’t to be told. Buzzy? He was a rule bender and on several occasions had alerted me to things so I knew to evade them. He’d also taught me his own special names for some of the press that were permanently assigned to “us”. Vulgar, dirty, not repeatable and extremely accurate and funny, they were haute Buzz.
Rather than bother with ordering in, I ordered a taxi (Steve had the keys to the car) and headed for headquarters, determined to find out what had set Steve off. Getting in was easy, I had all sorts of security clearance and had been around enough so that everyone knew me. Now all I had to do was find someone who might have some answers. On a fluke, I ran into one of the Mission Specialists that I knew. Guessing he wouldn’t know, I didn’t tip my hand by asking but wondered where I could find Dad and Buzzy. Dad was on a good will mission, as usual, but Buzzy, he thought was somewhere around. He got on his phone, found him, told him I was around and looking for him. In his ear, the specialist was told to hold where we were and he’d come fetch me.
Buzzy appeared wearing, as per Buzzy, a Speedo under his shorts, flips and a T shirt one of the sub contractors had handed round. He was genuinely stunned to see me, I never came to headquarters unless I was supposed to be there for some purpose or another and there was no purpose he could think of. Knowing whatever I wanted would involve talking, he threw a spare Speedo at me, he kept several in his pockets-including white ones he couldn’t wear due to their transparency but to which he applied his autograph. There was a pool within the compound so he dove in while I found a corner that might not be covered by a camera, stripped, pulled on the suit-which fit rather well and revealed I was long past boyhood-and followed him into the pool.
“Swim a few laps with me, make it look like all you came for was boredom and to see your old buddy Buzz.” So we did that, horsed around and then went to the coping around the deep end and hung on that. “Okay, Ace, spill it. Why the fuck are you here? Where’s Steve?” He opened the door and I fell through it.
“Steve is at home, locked in his room and before that, he was bawling……wouldn’t tell me what was wrong but I know something is.” I let some silence build up. “Buzzy?”
“Yeah, I’m here and I know. I thought your father was going to tell you but he chicken shitted out. Not that I blame him.” I loved Buzz as I did a lot of the guys connected with all this but he was my father’s choice to fly with, ergo my choice as a best friend….
“Ace, Jesus, this is so difficult to even explain, pretty much every one connected with all this goes through a certain procedure and that was extended to Steve…and you.”
“Me? Why me? I’m just the kid.”
“Yeah but one day you’ll be more than a kid-;looking at you now, you’re awfully close to full manhood-you may want to marry, have children…..but……look, I don’t know all the reasons but me, your father, you, Steve, we’re all to be sterilized. Have a vasectomy, the kind that can’t be reversed. Doesn’t bother me or your Dad but Steve, and maybe you, Steve may want to have a wife, children but that’s not going to be possible. “
“No sex?”
He laughed at that, “Oh yeah, all the sex you want just no one can have children that you sired. There’s a thought that…..if something were to happen to me and your Dad, your Sperm might be highly valued as the son of one of the best astronauts ever……”
I looked across the concrete surrounding the pool. Didn’t really bother me, but it did hit me why Steve would be undone. I knew he dated, had sex, maybe would want children, that’s why he was picked to be with me, he seemed like a great stand in for my own Dad. In my heart, nothing took Dad’s place but I had come to love Steve for all his good qualities and kindness to me, but now I could see why he was, well, heartbroken. I wasn’t quite old enough to feel the punch to his manhood that Steve did but what could I do? Nothing. Now was when being the son of the most famous Astronaut in the world had no traction. Even if I said they could take my cock and balls, they’d just laugh and proceed.
“Buzzy, one thing, make sure my Dad tells me about both of us. He can’t duck this one, if there ever was a father/son reason for a talk, this has to be it.”
“You got it, Champ.” And as I swam away, “Keep the suit, even when you grow out of it wear it. Let me know the results.”
Going home was the first time I’d seriously thought ahead to the idea I’d miss….people. Dad, Buzzy and more remotely, all the guys I’d been around at headquarters. I’d go back to a semi-normal life with a man designated to be my father but, for that privilege (?) he was going to have to give up ever being a real father. Now I was tearing up and just as we got home.
Steve shot through the door, obviously very worried. “Ace, where have you been……I’ve been crazy….what if I lost you?”
And then I knew just what to do. I put my arms around him and said, “Dad, you could never lose your son, never. Not when he wants you to be his father,”
He was stunned. Couldn’t find a thing to say. I paid off the taxi driver, put an arm around him and led him into the house.
Dad finally showed up, told me, told Steve, who obviously knew, said he’d take us right now to “get it over with.”
Steve stood up, shook his hand, “Sir we’re ready, aren’t we.”
“Yep, lets go get sliced and diced.”
I only saw my father once after that. Two days before the mission was to leave for the space station, where their craft had been building for three years, I went to headquarters and we were give the luxury of half an hour together. He mumbled about how he’d miss me, hope I understood how desperately important this was and then I put my finger over his mouth. “It’s alright Dad, nothing you could do would make me prouder than what you’re doing. I love you, you’re my Dad, my genes are yours. So just don’t worry about me. Only remember the two things you always used to tell me, always remember I love you and the name of the bank.” That made him smile.
The rest of the time was spent on nothing much. What was there to say? The last few minutes I held him, memorized his scent, the way his arms felt, the exact color of his eyes. He hadn’t had the head shave yet so I’d remember him frozen in time, just as he was that moment. Dad. He hugged me, kissed me and then a security guard took me out. Steve was in another room, his thirty were spent with Buzzy and he was laughing. Then we went home.
The first months were easy, Dad and Buzzy called often, sent me wonderful pictures of things like the moon, the earth as it got further away, the moon and the earth. All of it in brilliant color, their comments-the same pictures and commentaries were heard around the world. Eventually it was on toward Mars although due to the timing of circulation around the sun, they wouldn’t pass it. In the asteroid belt, there were some dings on the craft, nothing serious, all of it anticipated.
At the two year mark I was 19, fully grown, or so we thought. My Dad’s astronaut genes must have been whoppers as I topped out at 6’2″ tall, nicely muscled-I was on the swim team-and, so I was told, not bad looking. My first year at college proved problematic as I was lionized by both the professors and the students. Every single fraternity wanted me, every group on campus extended an invitation and, too suddenly, I had a lot of friends that I hadn’t even known.
Steve and I were sitting by the pool-he kidded me about wearing a Speedo made for a smaller man-and we talked about school. We also talked about the military. I could easily get an appointment to any of the service academies, just a matter of picking which one. Steve thought that the same problem would exist, at least to some extent, at any of them as was happening where I was.
Dad and I sent messages back and forth about this, He understood the problem but hadn’t any real helpful advice. He’d been to the Air Force Academy so that was a choice that he’d make. Buzzy, however, on our side band, said to fuck ’em all, go downtown, visit the various recruiting stations and make my choice. IF I wanted to even be in the service. Good point. Running to something just to avoid something else solved nothing. I dropped out of school which, unfortunately, got some negative publicity. “Astronaut’s Son Quits School”.
Then there was the issue of sex. While I’d had some casual dates, the astronaut’s son problem cropped up there. Sometimes it was the daughter who wanted to be seen with me, other times it was a pushy mother who wanted her daughter to be seen with me, it all worked out the same way. We hung out at the base-Steve was still on active duty, sort of. The guys there were great, easy to be around and I had no status other than as a good guy, son of a buddy of theirs. Because it was associated with headquarters, this base had everything from baseball teams, to several swimming pools, full gym, with trainers, restaurant, dances and on and on. Sometimes, when we thought we might get drunk, we stayed at the BOQ which gave me a taste of life in the service.
Now that I wasn’t in school, time sometimes was slow moving for both of us. As people do, we fell into a pattern that filled part of our day, go to the gym, go running, go to the market etc. Then there was the time that I noticed Steve had stopped dating without bothering to explain why although I was pretty sure I knew; Why date someone if you can’t marry them? Even if they said it was okay about the children, he always would wonder if that was true. The result was we spent a lot of time together, father and son. He had pretty much accepted that roll and as Dad got further away and heard from less and less frequently, he did become my father. The mission was forgotten in the minds of the public as it was no longer “fresh”. Occasionally stories as to how it was progressing and, even more infrequently, pre-taped interviews with the guys; It was eerily like watching the part of “2001” where Dave and Frank watch their interview while eating dinner.
Was it then that I decided that even if they ever came back, I’d not be around to see them? My Dad and I had a life here on earth and we had to make more of it than we were. Our closeness took us to intimacy of a sort which took us to the sex that neither of us had and, by now, both wanted.
Whether he walked in on me or vice versa, one of us found the other jacking off. No shock, we knew we both did it just never seen the other at it. A day or so later I asked him if he’d like to spend some quality time making sterile babies? He didn’t get it at first so I dropped my shorts, took hold of my cock and started the stroke. He laughed, stripped and joined me. Side by side, a roll of paper towels between us, we took a while, partly because this was a new thing for us to do, but also the shared pleasure made it important.
We both shot and, we agreed, we turned out the milk better than most guys. He asked me if I knew what edging was. I did. He reached his hand over to my just emptied and now limp dick and started to get me back in working order. I smiled at him, took his nicely sized tool in my own hand and went to work. It was interesting making the other guy suffer as you suffered yourself from what you were doing to each other. But oh so satisfying. With my hand still covered in cum, l licked it, then took his hand and licked it as well.
We relaxed, naked, next to each other, our hands still idly playing with our balls and cocks. It was everything but and I sensed that was a bridge we would cross and fairly soon. “I want this for us, Dad. Two men, we love each other, maybe not as physically as before but we are what we’ve got. Strong bond, nothing from one another, never has been. How far we take things is absolutely our choice. I’d really like to spend the night in your bed or you’re welcome in mine. Father and Son.:”
“Ace you have a father….”
“Yep, and he’s sitting right next to me. The other man? He fucked some woman, I was the result and he handed me over to you. Hand picked you to be my Dad. That’s what you are to me, Dad. I may not be Son to you but that’s okay…..I can handle that if only because I know how desperately you wanted your own children. Remember that day? The day they effectively castrated us? I watched you and my heart broke. You were doing this, nominally, for the program but in reality for me, the son you would now have.”
Steve looked at me, partly in denial, partly in curiosity. “When they figuratively chopped off our nuts, my other father, Bill Stoddard, arranged it so you’d have a son, me. I don’t believe, haven’t for some time, that he thinks they’ll ever come back. It’s been, what, five years, they’re past the asteroids, Mars, Jupiter and still headed out. You ever look up the stats on Voyager? Took it twelve and half years to reach Pluto and the Ort cloud is beyond that by quite a distance. Just so we have some numbers, lets say it takes them fifteen years to get their and that back. Plus, we don’t know what the mission was, but I can bet you it wasn’t just to see if they could get there. We’re now around thirty years, earliest, before they come back. That’s why he wanted you to have a son, me. I know and you don’t know the care and time he took to select you. He thought we looked enough alike, and more as I grew up, that we could be father and son. Please, let me be your son, I’ve lost my Dad just like you’ve lost your ability to be a dad. Isn’t it better to take what’s offered rather than wonder what a natural child of yours might have been?” I stopped more from lack of breath and my intense need for him to understand than any other reason.
“We do kinda look a like, now that you mention it.” There was a long pause while things ground through his mind. He looked away, maybe saying farewell to the son that would never be then turned back. A step or two toward me, held me in his arms. “You’re right, I couldn’t get a better son than the one I’ve got. No changing diapers either.”
“Nope, just wipe up after we cum, just like father and son.”
Life, for both of us, got easier and better. More comfortable around each other. We spent quite a few nights just sleeping together and just as many jerking each other off, making out. Every thing but.
In the middle of January, we had a freak ice storm that made the Palm trees look like adds for Corona beer. “Fuck, this is no life for two guys who don’t know how to skate and spend part of their day minus clothing.” He looked at me. “We’re getting out of here, going to hit the beach, well, some beach, one where it’s warm.” In his mind I could see him sort through a list of warm places with beaches. “Ever been to Hawaii?” Apart from good will trips with my father, which had covered a fair part of the country, I’d been spot nowhere. Hawaii sounded good to me. I said so. He smiled, said be ready to go at a moment’s notice and, please, for the love of God, do not take that Speedo that Buzzy gave you.
I was agreeable to that but the next day, went out and bought four Speedos, two in my size, two in his. Nice conservative black and navy but Speedos. We’d worked hard for the bodies we had, Waikiki was the place to show them off.
Two days later I realized why he’d said, “at a moments notice”, there was a C-130 cargo plane headed for Hickham AFB there and, as usual, it took a few military passengers. Steve/Dad came in the door with the news about one and we were loading into the plane two hours later. The seats were against the wall, not comfortable but you couldn’t beat the price; Free. The BOQ in Honolulu was also free so staying as long as you wanted was no big deal. Got to know a lot of the guys who were there on R and R from various places, mostly men who did not have families and, it seemed, didn’t want them. I fell in with a bunch of Marines who were about my age, just back from the Sand Box and ready for a good time. Sitting on the beach, in my Speedo, nursing a beer, I heard stories some of which the public would not and some aspects of Marine life that were interesting.
Steve had found some local girl with whom he was spending a lot of time; Doubtless she appreciated that he didn’t want or need to see the sights, was perfectly happy to go with her family to the North Shore, put up a big sort of tent and spend the day. They were able to forgive him that he was a Haole when they found he could make a fire, catch fish with a spear gun and play with their children so they could have adult time. I had my Marine buddies and no one was in a hurry to go anywhere. I mentioned going home-once-and he laughed it off. I wondered if the vacation romance was turning into something more serious and part of my answer came when he, once again, postponed leaving. The other part came when, late one evening, a couple of Marine buddies and I almost fell over them at Hanauma Bay.
One Marine, a guy from Oklahoma who had five years in and I found ourselves slightly attracted to each other. He was there after having been wounded, in the USA, for a long, leisurely recovery. Art was a solid, good guy who, somewhat like me, had a father who had disappeared years before, his whereabouts unknown and, as Art said, no one was looking. By now I was more than attracted to him, told him so and said I’d quite understand if he…..but he didn’t, just pulled my head to his and kissed me. A week later, without mentioning it to Steve, I enlisted in the Marine Corps. Where better to do it than in that orchid prison, Hawaii? I had to report in thirty days nearer my home town which was easily done. A two year hitch but, as Art explained, you could reup for longer.
He had taken a bungalow and that’s where we went to celebrate my new career. I’d never made love with a Marine but Art was a first class person with whom to start. Great fucker, sucker, eater, blower, edger, knew a Marine BDSM that I figured I’d better know as well as some things that we made up as we went along.
Dad and I were communicating through notes and messages left on our phones. There was one message I hadn’t left him but planned to at a Luau Saturday night. Art and I found some very realistic temporary tattoos, one of the Eagle, Globe and Anchor, the other of a bulldog. Thought that might give him a hint.
It did. He was genuinely pleased and proud, said it was the best decision I could have made, thanked Art for giving me a nudge, couldn’t wait to tell the Astronaut that his son was going to be a part of the few, the proud, a Marine.
One thing I did say to him was that….I could easily go back home and ship out without his leaving Hawaii. I did understand he had a lot going on and I was only going to Parris Island, not the Ort cloud. Art, who had no specific time to return to active duty, said he’d be proud to go with me, see that I was settled, give me the inside scuttlebutt then put me on the bus. It was all settled.
Or so we thought. The Ort Mission had been out of the public eye for some little while and my joining the Corps was seen as a great opportunity to plug military service, my real Dad, the Mission, Science Education……I got the full treatment of interviews, appearances, you name it I did it. At night, if I was in town, Art and I would either swim naked or wander around the house naked with most of the lights out but headed for the bed room. We stayed there all night quietly fucking, I say quietly because the house was under almost constant surveillance by the press. For a couple of moments, I wished I was plug ugly and photographed worse. Actually the nude swims were a tease to reporters with all sorts of telephoto lenses. They knew if a flash went off, the service would drag them away so what they ended up with were blurry images that could just as easily be the Loch Ness Monster.
Art, too, was not spared. He was jumped a full grade, now a full Lieutenant and assigned to me to make sure….who knew what? That I’d miss the bus? We had to use the gym at headquarters, do our shopping at headquarters, why we weren’t moved to headquarters I will not know. And, wonder of wonders, there was a very brief message from my traveling Dad saying how proud and pleased he was. When he got home, we’d be two old soldiers swapping stories. I doubted that but it made good press.
This was getting out of hand, we were followed by a flotilla of press, to the point that our lives, private or otherwise were destroyed. Thinking ahead to the day of departure, Art made arrangements for me to formally join the Marines elsewhere, at least elsewhere from where the press expected. In truth, the Corps would have liked the publicity but realized that all those crazed people looking for a story were fuck up their standard departure and so I left from a town a few hundred miles away. Got there in a helicopter but no press knew. The last night, in a motel near point of departure, Art and I made love and fucked and then cried a bit. I’d miss him.
I had been so perfectly briefed on life in the Marine Corps that basic training was almost a snap. Without realizing it, I’d been raised in and around the military so civility and deference to my superiors came easily and was genuine, a fact noted. Beyond that I was good at what they wanted me to be good at. In some cases, very good. One thing Art had said was that no matter the offers, do not fuck or suck anyone, don’t give the impression you’re interested. So, for twelve weeks, I did just that. Tried to fit in, not toady, but showed deference when it mattered. No surprise I was the platoon leader. Probably half the guys washed out and another half of that were kept just to see if they’d come around. I made no close friends, just buddies, so when the twelve weeks of hell were over, I went my own way which was to Art. There was a good period of time before I had to report and we used that time, I was almost a project to him, in making me the perfect Marine, something they’d instantly recognize the moment I came on base. I didn’t expect to hear from Buzzy and Bill and didn’t. Dad, however, was back from Honolulu suffering from a broken heart.
Next up was Camp Pendleton in Southern California where, again, I excelled. In advertently I answered a question that was in fact a trap. This time I hadn’t been warned. I was in the CO’s office when, almost casually, he asked me how long I planned to stay in the Corps. While it was not a platitude, but something I believed; what I said was, “Sir, I don’t believe a Marine ever leaves the Corps.” His answer was that I should have that in an arch on my chest. He asked if I had my two tats all Marines have. Again, I quietly said I’d get them when I thought I’d earned them. Full Stop. Next day I got a promotion, a private room and access to the Commanding Officer as needed. Art was impressed, said I didn’t need him anymore, I’d learned how to play the game.
It was a quick two years. Under the watchful eyes of too many people I sometimes thought, I excelled at being a Marine, a Corps life and almost could not remember what I called ‘BM’, being a Marine. I reupped for four years, went to officer training school and, on graduation, was assigned to my original CO. We did make a good team in many ways from physical resemblance to almost able to predict what the other would do. He had an aide that got deep sixed when I made Major and became the CO’s permanent Aide, Gofer, best friend, whatever else. We worked together, worked out together, did everything together and, finally, slept together. It was more masculine bonding and binding than it, initially, was sexual attraction. Neither of us were married, were only ten years apart in age, both studs. Need I add that being a Marine Stud involves more than just sex and good looks, it’s a mind set, a way of doing things. He took a large home on base and I was moved in to be available to him. And for him.
Somewhere in space two men were, occasionally, updated on me and my doings. It could be years between exchanges of messages and sending a picture in lieu of sending data lost any priority. I was given updates when someone thought to do it.
I bought a beauty, a BMW 1200 which I wore, virtually nude save for a Speedo-this was done in Buzzy’s name-and shortly thereafter the CO had one as well. Put a lot of miles on them, lot of good riding miles and fucking in places not available if you’re stuck with a car.
Ian, my CO, finally said he’d had it with me without ink. Obviously he knew the best tat shop within five hundred miles and it was to there we went for my Eagle Globe and Anchor, a big piece on a big bicep and the Bulldog to balance it. Plus one more. A large arch on my chest that said, “I Do Not Believe A Marine Ever Leaves The Corps”. Simple, large block letters. I thought Ian might tear up but his pride was obvious. Only said, “Ink looks good on you”. We were in civvies so all he needed to do was pull off his T shirt, pointed to his chest and said, “I’ll have one like that.” Although it wasn’t uncommon among officers, few had the sort of tattoo collections that many of the enlisted men sported. Noting that, some months later, he mentioned he had a taste for tattoos and what did I think? I thought I did as well and that was the day we each started a sleeve. That night, fucking each other, he mentioned he wanted me to put his initials somewhere as I was his man in perpetuity. They were there, on the under side of my dick head. Mine were in the same place on his tang.
It had been over fifteen years since Bill and Buzzy flew away. There was a ceremony to mark their achieving the first goal of the mission, to reach the Ort cloud. Ian and I in our dress blues were in attendance as were Dad and his wife, Helen plus their three adopted children. One special evening, Ian, Dad and I all jerked off together putting the results in a snifter of Brandy which we all shared.
Both Ian and I were full Colonels each with our own commands. Close but occupied with what we did. My arch tattoo had become a staple of Marine Ink, now available at any tat shop only with a reference to the person from whom the saying had come. “Colonel Ace Stoddard”. Made me proud.
Today I have no idea where Bill and Buzzy are. Alive, or so I assume as I had no reason to believe otherwise. I could have, through channels, filed a request for classified information but….truly I didn’t want to know, didn’t care. Proud of them? Certainly. Interested in what they may or may not be doing. Yes. But….my life was as a Marine with my Marine Partner here on earth. No mention of their returning, or even planned return had ever been made and, even as I’d assumed long ago, I didn’t believe they would. Dad is an overworked father to his own children, now approaching college-or Marine-age. I promised him not to push the service to his sons but, they could clearly see, it had done me know harm.
Ian and I took an extended leave, hopped on our BMW’s and just set out to see whatever. Had some great bar fights-our tats made it impossible to not know what we did for a living and near any Navy facility one could always find some excitement. As these things go, once the Shore Patrol showed up, we’d both pull rank, get the guys off-to cheers all around-have another beer and then….take them to wherever we were staying and fuck the shit out of them. Not as good as Marine tail, but handy and in some quantity.
Only once did I have a sharp snap back to the past. We were on Sanibel Island, enjoying the sun, looking for shells, swimming in the warm, gin clear water. I was alone on the beach, Speedo in place, when I saw bubbles start to come to the surface. Almost like a Scuba diver coming up. Thoughts of my first Dad riveted me to the sand as the bubbles grew closer to the shore. Silence fell on me, the bubbles got larger and burst….then a friendly Dolphin broke the surface, did a back flip and moved on. Just what we all do wherever we are, outer space or on Earth, move on.
Will they ever come back? No idea. Do I care. Yes, no, sometimes both. I have a picture of the two of us that last thirty minutes we were granted. We both look so impossibly young, so alike. But, as I see Ian come down the beach carrying what I’ll bet are a couple of beers, I’ve moved on and never, ever want to go back. He sat down and we did what we called, ‘bumping ink’ as a sign of affection and love. To the casual observer we look like two middle aged men, probably ex service, all those tattoos spelled that out. Watching the sun set all I could think was, wherever you are, you could have gone to and around the sun then come back. But in doing that, I’d have lost the life I’d led. Things do work out. I hope they find whatever they’re after, I certainly have.
Author’s notes: Okay, I named a character after my favourite Jeopardy Champion, I hope he would be flattered. Some of this is based on what I know, you cannot make up Honolulu or Hanauma Bay. Bases as named are where they are. None of the characters are based on anyone I specifically knew save one Commanding Officer, then with the Cheyenne Mountain project and a frequent guest in our home. No, I did not have sexual relations with him. I have had, and enjoyed, times with Marines that had nothing to do with basic training. Nothing negative is implied about the Corps which I would have joined had I been an American citizen. The Ort Cloud may not be familiar to all, do some research, learn something.
I am basing some of the information I purport to be true on my own education as a Physicist specializing in Particle Theory. No idea how long man could or would or should survive in space, it’s a sorrow of my life that there are questions to which I’ll never know the answers. The same is true of all of us.
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
PJ
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