"Jack? Jack Lane?" It was the third tentative search for confirmation he'd received since he had entered the bar at Melbourne, Florida's, Radisson Suite Oceanfront Hotel. Because of the swirl of the crowd, he'd only made it about fifteen feet into the room. The open bar was another good twenty-five feet away, and his primary mission now was to reach that bar for a beer.
He could have reacted to the repeated question with irritation. The badge hanging on a string around his neck clearly gave his name in bold red letters that could be read from six feet away--which, of course, was the idea: Jack Lane, 2005. The 2005 graduating class from the nearby Foreign Institute of Technology. The tag bore his college senior class photo as well.
But he didn't react with irritation. He was quite pleased. He now looked nothing like he had then, and that's the whole reason he had come to his tenth college reunion. Some came to such reunions to connect with old friends; some came to trumpet the success they'd become since college graduation; and some came in revenge in "hey, look at me now and suffer" mode.
Jack wasn't here to connect with old college friends. He hadn't had any, really. He'd been that pimply fat guy at the edge of the crowd, the butt of the jokes, the one who would do almost anything for a pat on the head and a bit of a smile. Some of why he'd come was his success since college in business, but most of why he came was for "just look at me now" revenge.
This, of course, was also a function of his business. He owned a string of gyms in Atlanta now and was a national spokesman for a before/after weight-loss program his gyms used. He himself was the poster child for the before/after makeover of that program.
He'd let out all stops in appearing at the first ice-breaker of the reunion. He was wearing a white silk shirt that closely followed the contours of his sculpted chest, including the pop-out of his nubs, and tight trousers tailored to highlight the bulge at the crotch. He'd always been very well endowed--nothing in the weight loss and body sculpting program had changed that--but he'd been such a blubber puss in college that few had found out how hung he was.
He also wore open-toed sandals, without socks. A lover had once told Jack that it took nothing more than looking at his bare feet in sandals to make the man hard, and having found that it seemed to have the effect on others more often than not, Jack was going with the look. And for the previous week, he had spent a great deal of time in the spa at his Atlanta flagship gym, being totally groomed. He was ready to take on the world now, and from the looks he was getting as he moved farther into the room, the world was his.
He'd been so conflicted in college on sexual preferences that he'd done what he could to try both teams--with little success. The school punch had let him fuck her--but then everyone fucked her. Her name was Linda. Jack couldn't remember her last name, but the one that had been given to her by the school crowd was Lays--Linda Lays--and that's the name that stuck in his mind. The forgiving grace was that Linda had been a bombshell. Not too bright, but a great face and figure--she had, hands down, the nicest rack in the college class.
And there had been Sara Fairchild, in much the same boat that he was weight wise, who had actually seduced him. They'd gone a few rounds for a couple of months. He didn't remember why they'd stopped, but neither one of them had gotten past the awkward stage of coupling. And then there were a couple of members of the football team, like the captain of the Panthers that year, Nathan Crosby, who had let Jack suck him off, but who had then made fun of him by gathering other guys on the team around for more of the same. What Jack had really wanted then was to experience being fucked. But it didn't happen.
When Jack had gotten into shape, though, he found he didn't want to be fucked; he wanted to be doing the fucking. And by that time, he had his pick of the young men coming to his gyms.
Jack had come to his tenth reunion to get some of his back with Nathan Crosby, who he had kept track of these past years. After blowing his knee out in tryouts with the Miami Dolphins, Nathan had sunk like a stone. He supposedly had majored in aeronautical engineering at the college, the college being a feeder school for the staff at the nearby Cape Kennedy NASA installations, but he hadn't bothered to go to many classes and never actually got a degree. His life at FIT had revolved around trying to keep the Panthers from having a losing football season. He'd never left Melbourne and now worked as an auto mechanic, not an irrelevant job for what he'd learned from the few aeronautical engineering classes he'd attended.
But Jack had also come because there was someone he really did miss--the one who had established in Jack's mind that he preferred men. Cameron had been younger than the rest of the class--by nearly three years. He was a child prodigy, sent to FIT because he was a momma's boy who his mother wouldn't let out of her sight. He could have gone to Harvard or Yale in mathematics and performed brilliantly there. Instead he stayed in Melbourne, where his mother lived, and started off in mathematics but, being practical minded, switched to computer science.
He had been small and nerdy but was a strikingly good looking blond, with a twinky, but pleasingly muscled torso and a face that was more beautiful than handsome behind those owlish glasses that seemed to accentuate the intense, yet "deer-in-the-headlights" look he had. He dressed half Goth and half beach bum, but neither of those elements in the college accepted him. They were afraid of his brilliance and his propensity to zip any conversation up into the stratosphere where none of those students would have an inkling what the hell he was saying.
Jack had known what he was saying, though. Their friendship had started slowly, building from being the two guys at the edge of the crowd who everyone else was ignoring. And their relationship had almost "gotten there." By graduation they had gotten beyond kissing and into mutual masturbation. But Cameron had made the mistake of inviting Jack home the night of graduation for supper, and the first thing Jack knew, Cameron's mother had gotten her son into Cal Tech for graduate school and whisked him off to California. Jack, after a lot of effort, had found an address for the mother's home on the West Coast, and he wrote a couple of letters. But if they got to the right address, the mother intercepted and pitched them, because Jack never received a letter in turn.
When Jack saw Cameron's name on the "coming to reunion" list, he signed up as well. Jack had never forgotten the man he had thought of as his first love.
"Jack? Is it Jack Lane?" the trim middle-aged man said as the two came face to face while Jack was trying to reach the bar.
"Yes. Hello, Professor Hollings," Jack answered. He was standing nearly nose to nose with the college's drama teacher who had been head of the Communications Studies Department when Jack had attended the college, majoring in marketing. Cliff Hollings had been the one person at the school other than Cameron who had paid any attention to Jack. And he'd paid considerable attention to him. Jack had only been brave and forward enough to start down the road with Cameron and give those blow jobs to the football team because Cliff Hollings had taught him how to beat off and suck off another man.
"My god, Jack, you are gorgeous now," Hollings prissed. "You have transformed yourself. Why, I think I might come in my pants just looking at you."
"Yes, life has been good to me, professor," Jack answered in a low-key voice. He was so past the likes of Cliff Hollings in his sexual development. But, yet, he didn't want to embarrass the man. College had taught Jack a hard lesson in rejection, and Hollings hadn't rejected him in college. He was owed some regard, if not a great deal of respect. Jack had been so vulnerable in those years, and the drama professor had been predatory. There was no doubt in that.
"Are you staying at the hotel? Perhaps later we could get together for a chat."
"Yes, I'd like that," Jack answered, carefully not mentioning that he was staying--alone--at the hotel. "We'll have to chat later. Right now I'd kill for a glass of beer, though."
Jack was helped by the appearance of the class starlet, Lisa Enders, at Hollings' elbow, intent on dredging up memories of the senior class play. Jack took Hollings' momentarily redirected attention as the chance he needed to nudge closer to the open bar--and farther away from Hollings.
He was running up against a barrier, but a very nice barrier. The woman, turned away from him, was wearing a cocktail dress with little or no back to it. Her auburn hair shone, the golden strands running in it picking up and reflecting the recessed lighting in the room. Her figure was perfect from the back. Linda Lay had been a blonde in college, but that was Jack's guess who this was. He wasn't all that excited to talk with Linda at the moment, but he had to get past her somehow to get to the Holy Grail of the bar and the beer he needed.
He wouldn't be ashamed to talk to Linda. She had been half decent to him in college. Half, he thought, because she'd given him the runaround when he wanted to take her for a ride for the experience--because she was training half the male students of the college. But she'd walked into the male locker room of the gym one day, looking for Nathan Crosby--which was why Jack had been in the locker room that day too, naked. And when she'd seen what Jack was packing, she suddenly became quite friendly. They had only fucked twice, but she had come for him both times, which was more than he could say for some of his efforts later with Sara. And she had given him a short course on what to do to please a woman. Those two half-hour sessions had been more valuable information than he had gathered from half of a semester of courses at the college.
But no doubt Linda was here for the same reason he was--for revenge for how cavalierly she had been treated in college. She no doubt would be tracking down all of the men who had fucked her who brought wives and would tease them until the wife had apoplexy. Jack wished her good hunting, but he had his own fish to fry.
"Jack? Jack Lane? Is that really you?" The woman had turned to him as he was trying to nudge past her. She was as much a knockout from the front as she had been from the rear. But she sent Jack into shock.
"Yes, it's me," Jack's brief female lover from college said. She laughed, a lilting little laugh. "Well, look at the two of us. Who would have known?"
She obviously was referring to how beautiful they both were now. Jack warmed to her straightforward honesty. And something inside him made him want to do a little victory dance for them both.
"Umm, sorry. From the back, I thought maybe you were Linda. Linda Whatshername."
"Linda Lays? Is that how you guys took her in college? From the back?" She laughed again. "I'll take that as a compliment as long as you haven't seen the new Linda."
Jack gave her a quizzical look.
"She's over there. In the gray pant suit. My guess is she's hiding varicose veins from all the lifting of kids."
"Kids?" Jack asked, looking across the room, scanning where Sara was pointing several times because he couldn't believe that the weary-looking woman with mousey brown hair was Linda Whatshername. But that was the only woman in a gray pants suit. If it was Linda, she'd put on a whole hell of a lot of weight. Jack had the fleeting image of the weight he'd lost--having been transferred to her. "She have a load of kids now?" he asked.
"Not her own. She runs a day-care center now. I think it's driving her to an early grave."
"And you, Sara," Jack said, refocusing on the gorgeous woman beside him. "What sent you in an opposite direction, and what do you do now?"
"I run sort of a specialty B&B in Athens, Georgia, and--"
"Sara's?" Jack said, and then laughed.
"Yes," Sara answered. But she looked at Jack pointedly.
He knew that establishment in Athens. It was a high-class brothel. One of his gyms was in Athens and he'd heard it referred to as an expensive place but with first-class service. Sara was looking embarrassed, though, and he didn't want to anger her, so he rushed on.
"Well, you are looking terrific."
"And so are you. I got in shape at a marvelous gym in Athens--specializes in a special diet combined with exercise and . . . hey, wait. Jack Lane. It's Jack Lane's gym. You aren't--?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I am," Jack said, and then they both laughed. "It's how I got in shape too. Say, Sara--"
"Are you staying at the hotel? I guess I should ask if you're married now."
"Yes and no."
"You have a room number?"
"Yes, 2218." He'd said it without taking time to consider the ramifications of the question.
"Well, I just might come up and see you sometime." She mimicked Mae West's voice when she delivered the classic line, so Jack didn't take her too seriously. He was at a loss for words to answer that with, though, but was saved by a classmate whose nametag raised no memories with Jack putting herself in front of Sara's face and started to gush about how great Sara looked--which was a whole lot better than the classmate looked like.
Jack turned, only to have a glass of beer pushed into his sternum.
"I managed to get to the bar," Cliff Hollings said. "Here's your beer. Consider me your savior."
"Thanks, savoir," Jack answered, gratefully accepting the beer.
"There must be a reward for that," Hollings said, giving Jack a meaningful smile. "Like, say, your room number here at the hotel."
"Uh, of course," Jack said, his mind racing. "Not sure I remember. I think it's 1973, though."
"Ah, that was a very good year for me," Hollings said, giving Jack a leer that had Jack assuming that Hollings had memorable sexual experiences that year. That, of course, was before Jack was born, though.
Mercifully, another former college drama student latched onto Hollings, and Jack turned, looking for one of two men. Either Nathan Crosby or Cameron Rawlings would do at the moment.
It was Cameron Rawlings, though, who Jack saw. He was sitting at a table across the room, one with two chairs. He was still looking good, the way Jack had often seen him--without those big owl glasses. But he wasn't alone at the table. The other chair was being overwhelmed by a big bruiser of a black man. Cameron was wearing a reunion badge. The black man wasn't. As Jack watched, the black man picked up the empty glasses that had been on the table in front of them, waded his way to the bar, with the sea of people parting before him in acknowledgment of his bulk and slightly mean demeanor, and returned to the table with refills.
So, Cameron hadn't come to the reunion alone, Jack thought. Quite a disappointment. Enough of a disappointment that Jack had had his fill of the reunion just then. He suddenly was tired from the trip down from Atlanta and wanted to go to his room and nap. As he was leaving the bar, though, he caught a glimpse of Nathan Crosby holding court across the room. Auto mechanics had been good to him. He was looking in good trim. Nathan was part of why Jack had come to the reunion. He didn't feel like making a move on him just now, however. Some beach time was on the schedule tomorrow. Nathan had always been an exhibitionist and his body looked good enough now that he'd surely be out on the beach tomorrow. Given the passage of ten years, most of the class wouldn't. But Jack would be too.
* * * *
"Do I know you?"
"Does it matter for what you want?"
Jack had staked himself out on the beach on an oversized towel. He was propped up on his elbows, facing the beach, legs a bit spread, wearing only a black silky Speedo that clung to every crevice and curve and reflective sunglasses that kept his eyes a secret to himself. Nathan Crosby had passed twice between him and the waterline before pausing the third time at Jack's feet. He was wearing trunks, but they didn't hide his arousal.
"What might I want?" Nathan said in an amused voice. He crouched down nearly between Jack's feet to continue the conversation, which revealed that he indeed wanted something.
"Maybe to go a round or two more privately?" Jack asked. "Would you have marched past me three times and taken a good look if you didn't have a specific itch to scratch?"
"Maybe," Nathan answered. One of his hands moved to take hold of Jack's ankle. Jack didn't flinch. Nathan looked up and down the beach to see if anyone was watching. Jack carefully raised and bent his legs, still leaving them spread, moving slowly enough that Nathan's hand remained on his ankle. Nathan goose-stepped in his crouch closer in to Jack's body. He looked up and down the beach again--the afternoon was moving toward long shadows and most other bathers had moved inside for happy hour. Seeing no one watching, Nathan moved in with his other hand to feel Jack's crotch.
"I wonder which one of us is harder," Jack said, painting an amused smile on his face. "You got a room in the hotel we can move this to?"
Jack already knew that Nathan had a room at the Radisson. He also knew, though, that there was a Mrs. Crosby booked in that room as well. He just wanted to rattle Nathan a bit, to remind him how two-faced he was about this.
"Afraid not," Nathan answered smoothly, not knowing that Jack knew quite a bit about him already--and not yet having recognized who Jack was.
They struggled a bit for ascendance on the bed in Jack's room after each had sucked the other to shuddering arousal. Nathan obviously was accustomed to being the top. That was far from the plan that Jack had for him. And, finally, Nathan gave up when he'd been turned on his belly and Jack was covering his back and, in surrender, raised his pelvis to give Jack a good entry angle.
His eyes flew open and his mouth gaped in a cavernous response of surprise and shock as Jack started riding him furiously--hard, deep, and fast--brutally--to a prolonged ejaculation. It all happened so unexpectedly and fast that Nathan didn't have time to build up to his own release before it, painfully for him, was over.
Finished, Jack rose quickly from the bed, scooped up Nathan's swimsuit, threw it at him, and growled, "You asked me if you knew me. I can tell you now that you once did. I'm Jack Lane. Remember? Tubby Jack Lane from back at FIT. We're at our tenth reunion. Remember? Remember how you made fun of me? How I begged for a fuck and you just turned me over to your friends to provide blow jobs all around? Well, look who's fucked now."
"Jack?" Nathan said in a weak, confused voice. He never had been very quick on the uptake. But then it hit him, and he turned red in the face.
"I'll give you thirty seconds to pull your suit on and get out of my room," Jack said. "If you're still naked then, you go out in the hall that way and I go looking for your wife."
Nathan made it out of the room in twenty seconds.
* * * *
After Nathan left, Jack felt drained, and, although satisfied that after ten years he'd put Nathan in his place, somehow the victory didn't seem rich enough to Jack. He had come down to Melbourne, signing up for a silly reunion of a Podunk college, just for those few moments of watching Nathan Crosby's face turn red?
Well, no, he had come to try to hook up with Cameron Rawlings too. But that had gone bust.
Tired and out of sorts, Jack decided that he had no interest in going to the reunion banquet that had already started down in the hotel ballroom. He had thought that he would enjoy sitting somewhere near Nathan and his wife so that he could gloat a bit and make Nathan more uncomfortable. But now he realized how petty that was.
"Fuck Nathan," he said out loud. Then he laughed, recovering his humor a bit. That's exactly what he'd done. He'd fucked Nathan. And it had been obvious that Nathan wasn't a bottom. He wanted the new Jack so much, though, that he was willing to bottom for him.
"Fuck him," Jack said, and then he went off to take a shower, pulled on a set of sleeping shorts, and crawled under the sheets of the bed, his nose sniffing in the musky smell of the sex of the two men. "Fuck him," he muttered again, rolled over in the bed, and went to sleep earlier than he'd done since he was a child.
The knock on the door woke him. The room was dark, but he reached over and flicked on the lamp on the nightstand. It was barely 10:00 p.m. Whoever had knocked had every reason to believe he'd still be up. If it was someone from the reunion, they might even wonder if he was well, as he hadn't shown up for the banquet.
But who would care or know where to find him? He froze then at the realization that he'd given the correct room number to Sara. He began to sweat. He hadn't been with a woman since the last fumbling sessions with Sara ten years previously.
Could he fuck her if that's what she was here for? Could he pretend to want her? She was the madam of a brothel now. Wouldn't she be able to tell he wasn't interested? And would she have a grudge against him from college that would cause her to spread his preferences all over the class of 2005? That wouldn't be good for his business. He'd been very careful to keep his coupling with men under wraps.
The knocking continued. But now it was being accompanied by a voice. A man's voice. Not Sara's. "Oh, shit," he thought. Had Cliff Hollings ferreted out his real room number? But then it didn't sound like Cliff's voice.
He stumbled over to the door and opened it.
"Oh! Did I catch you sleeping?"
"Cameron," Jack said, the surprise evident in his voice. Instinctively, he popped his head beyond the door frame and looked up and down for evidence of the black brute he'd seen Cameron with.
"I'm alone. I . . . I wanted to see you again," Cameron stuttered out. "You've been on my mind ever since stuff started coming out on the reunion. I only came because I hoped you'd be here."
"The black man. The man you were with in the bar yesterday," Jack said.
"Michael?" Cameron laughed. "He's my bodyguard. I think of him more as my minder. The corporation saddled me with him because of all of the company secrets rattling around in my head. The price one pays for being a tech corporation CEO in Silicon Valley. I gave him the slip to come up here, though. I saw you in the bar yesterday and couldn't wait to hook up again. That is if you haven't lost interest after all these years."
Jack reached out into the corridor and pulled Cameron into his room. Slamming the door with one hand, he pressed Cameron up against the wall beside the door with the other hand and with his naked torso.
Cameron emitted a little moan, as Jack's mouth found his. There was no reluctance there. Cameron opened his lips to Jack's pressing tongue and moved his arms around Jack's waist, his hands pushing under the waistband of Jack's sleeping shorts and gripping his buttocks.
Exhilarated, Jack's mind screamed that it had been a great tenth reunion after all as he led Cameron over to his bed.