The Recruit

Author's notes: This is fiction but fiction created from actual events over many years. This is fiction created from memories of Marines, those who loved them and those who crossed swords with them. This is almost fiction about growing up because, ask any parent, the growing up of their child occasionally did seem like fiction. Much of what is in this was acquired through police reports, news stories and readings from texts. In the end, it's a story of a young man and all that happened to and around him. It has been my great pleasure to write it and, I hope, it will be your pleasure and interest in reading it. PJ

“Dad! It’s my eighteenth birthday! ‘Member what you promised….?”

“I remember what I promised that I’d think about it...big difference, son, big difference.”

I watched my son look for another approach to the topic as he watched me calmly drink a cup of coffee and scan the front page of the paper, clearly not thinking about what I promised but I know something he doesn’t...just too damn much fun not to tell him. Yet.

It is his birthday and, at his place or rather the place at the table where he pauses in the morning, there’s an envelope. To make certain he notices I’ve written his name in letters in red that cover the entire front. He’s hovering, trying to think. Just to cue him, I hold up the envelope which he absentmindedly takes from my hand and does….nothing.

“Wanna see what’s in that envelope?”

“Oh, sure...”...and goes right on plotting to get me back to his topic.

“PETER!!!!!” open the damn envelope, it’s your birthday present from me...I’d like to be a little bit appreciated before you hustle off to school and do God knows what.”

I should have seen this one coming. With his mind on other things he rips it open, whatever was inside falls to the floor and, momentarily, he’s diverted enough to notice there’s nothing there. This gets a stare at me as he believes I’m pulling a birthday gag or whatever on him while I’m almost dipping the paper in my coffee trying to rehabilitate this.

“On the floor, son, it fell on the floor.”

“What did?”

This is why adults put their elbows on the table then put their faces in their hands, it beats saying something unfortunate  and, who knows, may relieve stress though I really doubt it. In carefully, slowly, enunciated words, “Pete, the piece of paper that is for you that fell on the floor when you opened the envelope.”

He looks at me as if this is new information and I fear, I truly do, what he’ll say next but he will….

“Why didn’t you say something, Dad?” And the paper is on the floor. Still.

You know who picks it up, I pick it up, take the envelope from him, put what I’ve picked up in the envelope, put it back on the table, with the red letters facing up and try, without snarling, say “Happy Birthday Son”.

He actually reads it then throws himself on me. “Wow, dad, a car….you thought about it.”

The point of my tie and my left contact lens have just gone into my coffee in his enthusiasm. “Happy?”

“Oh, fuck….sorry Dad, yeah can we go pick it out now?”

“After school, Duffey said he’d pick you up and I’ll meet you there but, Pete,  no Jeep, no pick up, sensible transportation...” but now I’m talking to thin air, my only hope is that, as has happened before, the screen door survives his full bore exit. Probably it will but the contact? With digestive juices? Got to remember where I put my pair of glasses and, while I look, I smile to myself; I’ve not a great kid, even if he can’t read what’s in front of him.

A buddy of mine owns a used car lot and I made a deal without putting a dollar figure though it will be in the realm of reality. The other sneaky thing I did was have his other favorite person, Duffey, well, Sgt Duffey from the Marine recruiting station take him. From the age of what?, maybe thirteen? Pete has wanted to be a Marine so, assuming they’d like to have him, he dropped by the recruiting station and that’s where he met Duffey. I will be ever grateful to him for not making fun of the aspirations of a kid of 13, talking to him as he would any other recruit and then, it had gotten late, bringing him home under the cover of “discussing it with his parents.” That’s when Duffey entered our lives and, for a myriad of reasons, I’m glad he did.

It was the best possible moment. My wife had just lost a two year battle with cancer during which, I regret this, Pete had not been forgotten but did not get the attention I should have given him. He, too, had suffered a loss and it took me a while to realize that my own grieving process was so personal, so obliterating of whatever was around me that Pete only got the bare minimum. Duffey read the situation, took Pete under his Marine Corps wings-always under the guise of considering his possible joining the Marines. What he gave my son was the discreet fatherly presence that I just couldn’t do and, believe me, no one beat themselves more, later, than me. That’s when I saw Duffey give me back my son, not hating me, just glad to have a Dad and…..I was glad to have Duffey.

By then he was part of the family and stayed that way. Okay, it was shoving on his strong shoulders the car buying chore but I knew Pete would be more guided by his suggestions, always saying something to the effect that a Marine would/would not have that. After they’d been there long enough I could stroll in, play the indulgent father and say things such as, “Well if Duffey thinks it’s okay…”, sign the check and get all the credit for being a great Dad. What I will do for Duffey I don’t know but I’ll think of something…Maybe a Corvette painted with a Marine Eagle, Globe and Anchor on the hood.

Children find things out almost without meaning to; For instance, Duffey was raised in an orphanage. Duffey lived in a shared one room apartment with another recruiter, army if I remember correctly, over the recruiting office. And the one that put a knife in my gut; I was Duffeys ideal of a father. You could virtually see the skid marks as I ripped downtown to ask Duffey, and his buddy, if they’d like to live with us? Big house, kitchen privileges, swimming pool, no women….The army guy said with ‘bruiser’ gone he could bring home women and ‘bruiser’ almost crying, asked if the next day would be okay for him to bring his ‘stuff’; It was.

Telling Pete that Duffey was moving in could have substituted for Christmas Presents for the next several years; Me telling me that Duffey was moving in solved problems I didn’t know I had such as inadvertently letting him co-parent with me. Also, it gave me an adult for whom I felt some responsibility, no reason, but after my wife, there was in me a necessity to care for and with someone who wasn’t a kid, responded like an adult, to whom I could talk about the trivia of life that would have put Pete to sleep….Duffey.

One thing Pete had not planned on was that Duffey was infused with Marine discipline which he applied automatically. After his mother’s death, I’d been lax, too forgiving of things that I should not have been but now….Duffey. I caught the act, unintentionally, one evening. Duffey was in a Marine  tank top, displaying his Marine Corp tattoos as well as his nicely muscled body and some BDUs plus his boots laced outside his pants.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Pete was standing almost at attention in a matching tank and something like BDUs. It wasn’t harsh, it wasn’t shouted but it sure was direct and Pete knew what he said, he meant. Nothing serious but all things that a more perceptive parent would have caught had I not been somewhere just coming out of the grieving process. Things like grades, keeping his room straightened, helping me where he could, being more thoughtful of other people, respect…..demonstrating affection for a father who right then loved him but wasn’t capable of being the Dad he knew I wanted to be.

Okay, I ducked into the linen closet and bawled. But the thing I wanted to do most was make Duffey understand how genuinely grateful I was to him not just for what he did for Pete but how he’d calmed the house. This was a killer but...he was an early riser and so there was someone to have coffee with, and who’d made the coffee, something that hadn’t happened in several years. Wasn’t like my wife, this was a man whose interests were his own but was filling a spatial void at a table in our kitchen.

The next major problem was, actually, directed connected to Duffey but there was nothing he could do to help. Pete was going to graduate High School, would turn 18 a few months after that at which point he could go into the recruiting office, our living room, and report to the recruiter, Duffey, that there was one gung ho in-the-making Marine ready to sign up. For his graduation Duffey let him wear his dress pants under his robe, no tunic, and was as proud as I was when he walked across the stage, accepted his diploma, shook hands with the principal and then….saluted. Perfect Marine Salute. Sitting by me in his dress blues I could feel Duffey puff up just a bit, that was his man, going to be his Marine.

Maybe.

We had talked about the idea that maybe it would be better if Pete took a break from education before he joined up-no hesitation in my mind about that-but that a year to work, be more of the whole world rather than the narrow view the school offered. The first time I hesitantly ran that idea by Duffey I was wholly prepared to see him stiffen, be Marine polite and as carefully as possible tell me I was full of shit, of course he should go straight to the Corps, he’d start his basic in our own home. However, it was with a sigh of agreement that he totally agreed and had worried how to break it to me. On that I got the bottle of  good Bourbon, poured out a stout lashing for each of us and then confronted the problem of selling this deferment to Pete. His desire only extended back maybe five years….We looked at each other and had another stiff one.

We were handed a break when his mother’s parents, in a place called Boerne, Texas, wanted him to come ‘for a good visit’. Bless their Texas Bluebonnet hearts, they’d been grand all through Millie’s illness, coming up here, sitting with her while  she had chemo, staying with us when she could be at home. Never intruded, never seemed to ask for their grief to be acknowledged, great people and it was my pleasure, beyond duty, to agree that he could come ‘for as long as they could stand him’. Pete loved them, loved their, as they called it, ‘mini-ranch’ and left a week after graduation without mentioning the Corp.

I tended to forget that Duffey was in the active military, as opposed to our active household, which meant that he had been accumulating leave time. With Pete gone, Duffey on leave, we decided to do the ‘guys weekend thing’ and flew to Las Vegas for five days. We were back in three. I lost fifty bucks and felt guilty-Duffey dropped a hundred and felt the same way. The shows were very expensive, as was the food as to walking down the strip? The fountains were beautiful-once-the tourists, however, were not….Neither of us were interested in some of the night clubs-read gentleman’s clubs-so day four found us at the table in the kitchen laughing about what a mistake that was.

What to do? What all men do when they’ve the time and no inclination to do anything in specific; They do more than if they only had one weekend to do everything from clean the gutters to dig a swimming pool; The whole property never looked better, possibly because we painted the place. As I said, we puttered our way into exhaustion always saying that we’d done nothing even as Duffey jack hammered the concrete to put in a new drive and I re-roofed the house. Nothing, just some little chores I’d meant to get around to…..We each lost about ten pounds or would have if we hadn’t made it up with work created muscle. Duffey laughed, said the Eagle, Glove and Anchor on his bicep now was almost a flock of birds, the moon had been added and the anchor now held an aircraft carrier

One thing we did do was discuss that Pete would, eventually, come home, the Corps would come marching through the front door. That’s when we needed to make our pitch for time off before going off to boot camp. Problem was, we had no solid arguments-yes, Duffey could and would say he’d be a better Marine with a year of solid work plus I could say, alternatively, finding a job that interested him could be useful in the future. And we avoided the topic right to the moment that Jean and Merle called to say that they loved having Pete but….months earlier they’d signed up for a cruise around the North Cape and the time drew near for them to make their preparations and leave. Ergo, time for Pete to come home.

If we’d sent off a wanna be Marine what we got back was a cowboy. I should have known; Merle, Texan from his ten gallon to his Tony Lamas, would ‘Texify’ his grandson and he did. Pete had been there long enough for the new boots, the Levis the shirts to look worn and worked in. No dime store cowboy my son, and, I’m sorry to say, he tried to approximate the deep Texas accent….with little success. However, on the ultra positive side, we were informed, not asked, that Grandad, or Pa as he called him, wanted him to come back, work some of the local round ups, help him at the rattlesnake hunt. (I looked at Duffey who pulled Marine on me and went blank.)

(Notice, back there, I wrote ‘we got back a cowboy’, ‘we’. Duffey was as much a part of our family as anyone and was accepted as such; I could not imagine a household without a Duffey, a Duffey who, surreptitiously, taught my kid all the proper Marine cursing and how to deliver it with gusto and meaning…. ‘WE’.)

I’m sure that ‘home’ was a thudding bore for my kid; No horses, no early morning rides to check fences, no barns to muck out (the way he told it, made it sound like fun. After he ran that one past us, Duffey said if he liked that, he’d love latrine duty.) But would he clean a toilet or the shower or the tub here? Nope. Until Duffey grabbed him, pulled off all clothes but his (Marine issue) boxers then handed him a pail, a mop, a brush, a sponge plus instructions on how to make soapy water then locked him in the bathroom. How? Don’t know, the bathroom locks from the inside?

What I do know is that he strolled into the kitchen, poured himself a cup and, with a shit eating grin, said he hoped I wouldn’t mind using the guest john, downstairs for about….oh….five hours; Smiled and plunked a ring of two keys on the table, Sipped his coffee, traded me for the sports section and the day continued. Was the bathroom clean? Well, not the first time, guess Pete had never heard about the Marine Corps white glove test. As an example of ‘casual Marine life around the barracks’ it was great. In terms of getting things around the house clean, it was even better. Lucky for Pete we only had two bathrooms plus another one in the pool house. Oh, and Duffey considered the swimming pool an abstraction of the bath tub meaning that Pete became the pool boy. Did you know white gloves could be used on a filter? Neither did I.

A couple of ‘tours of duty’ cleaning the grout in the tile around the pool gave him new appreciation for riding a horse and sharing the work with them. After the second time, the conversation at dinner that evening concerned Pa and Ma and when they’d get back from their cruise? This sudden interest in their plans was possibly stimulated when Pete noticed that, by the pool, there were now two dozen toothbrushes and six giant tubes of toothpaste, the sort that guaranteed the whitest of white smiles as well as white grout between tiles. Privately, Duffey told me he’d kept the sales slip so whatever we really didn’t need could be returned, information not shared with my kid who just looked at the two piles and groaned. Home, home on the range was looking better and better. Where as home, home in suburbia was changing into Parris Island complete with resident Drill Instructor.

One Friday Pete actually asked if he might go out, meet some of the guys? He’s 18 and he’s asking? Politely? Duffey, concealing a smirk, allowed as how he’d done well this week, thought he deserved some shore leave but...he’d have to check it with his commanding officer; I guess I’d got a promotion. All slicked up in his boots, jeans and a well ironed gingham shirt, so good looking, of course, I swatted him on his butt, said get out, don’t wreck any cars and come home at a reasonable hour….not being sure what I meant by reasonable. He flashed his brilliant shine, saluted us….and was out the door. I suppose there’s a product that will get tire skid marks, going backwards, from the newly laid pavement and I would have bet Duffey knew where to find it.

Three hours later I heard the back door open and something fall on the floor. Only one word, “Dad”.

I was headed that way, yelled for Duffey, who took the stairs two at a time until in the back hall, the door to the garage still open, Pete, on the floor, mauled but the worst, Duffey fell to the floor to check.

“He’s been raped.”

Blood all down his pants, on his bare feet, shirt gone, boots gone….while I tried to take the horror in, Duffey’s on the phone getting the EMTs, he’s got to go the hospital, check for other damage. I started to lower his pants but Duffey stopped me….we could even then hear a siren.

I followed in my car while Duffey, pausing to put on his uniform, came in his. Someone had called the cops who met us at the hospital when he went through triage. In the room made  by curtains, Pete laying on his stomach, not only had he been raped, but branded-one of the officers said he’d seen this before, a clothes hanger had been heated with some sort of torch and...that’s how it had been done. They gave him something for pain, I handed over insurance cards, ID, mine and his, Duffey hunkered down beside him, one hand ruffling his hair, I could see him talk but I was too deeply into the idea of my son being sexually violated to notice much of anything.

Some doctor asked us to step out while he did some work, came back said he’d got one, maybe two semen samples for the cops to work with, they’d give him a shot for infection, start the rape kit, test for aids virus, keep him over night...suggested we try and not quiz him about whatever happened...he’d probably tell us. That he came home said he was willing to be open….and whatever else he said; I was, somehow, restrained in Duffey’s arms in tears and anger and devastation. My son, raped.

Whatever they gave him, Pete was out for the night so Duffey and I went home, not to bed, to the table in the kitchen. No coffee, no booze, just two men in shock not knowing what to do next. Duffey’s head ducked.

“I’ve kept a secret too long and, well, now, your son is gay. I caught him and one of his friends in the pool house, must be 18 months ago. I wish, I truly do, wish I could tell you they were only fooling around with each other, the way kids do, the way I did, probably you did too but….”

“Had it got to fucking?”

“Yeah, yeah it had and I found out this wasn’t anything new...”

We looked at each other, there was more to tell but I wondered if I wanted to hear it, wondered if Duffey wanted to tell me.

“Whatd’ya do?”

“Stood there until they noticed me, watched them be frightened, embarrassed, afraid...the other guy scooted out so that left me and Pete. Ya know, in the service, in the barracks a lot of sex playing goes around, some of it is good natured, some of it….what Pete and this kid were doing was enjoying having sex, nothing emotional between them but sex. I sat on the edge of the bed, held him, told him he’d done nothing wrong….told him….I’d kinda done things like that myself, you’d still love him, I’d love him and we’d go from there. It was evening so I got him to shower, I changed the sheets, then when he came back I put him to bed, out by the pool, he was afraid to come in...then I got in bed with him. Held him, told him it was alright, in our eyes, meaning yours and mine, he couldn’t do anything wrong.”

“You got in bed with...my son?”

“Yeah, I did and when he calmed down, I let him fuck me.” Duffey looked right at me, he stated a fact, wanted me know he hadn’t hurt my kid but that was what happened. Somehow I knew and for a moment denied it...but knew. “Are you lovers or, Jesus, I hate that word, is there a ...”

“Look, I had to make a choice, give him me, and only me, or run the risk of his going out, looking, finding….then what? May not have been raped but at that age, emotionally he might have been. You don’t like it, I’m not sorry, I love your son as if he were my son all I did with him was show him the better side of sex, affection and that it would always  be kept in this house, never go further.”

I was lost in my own thoughts, trying to suppress the anger that I suppose any father would have, try and not see this as the worst possible betrayal of trust, this man, whom I brought into our home, was fucking my kid!! I stood up. Duffey grabbed me, pulled me down. “If you walk away now, it won’t solve the problem, sure you can put the hate on me, if I were in your shoes, I’d do the same but listen up mister, until tonight, think about this, he was a bright, happy kid. All he wanted, all he got was a modest amount of sex and a lot of affection. You want to know something? He wanted you to let him...let you fuck him. Hate the idea but see the love, this young man wanted to give his father something that he prized, his love just in a way that wasn’t normal. But he didn’t see that. You were Dad, the man he absolutely trusted just like he trusted me, I took nothing from him that wasn’t already gone, fact is I hope I gave back some of what he’d lost, the pleasure of being with someone he knew cared about him, wouldn’t hurt him….if you’d known….what would you have wanted me to do?”

It may have been the most horrible question I’d ever been asked but only as horrible as the answer I had to give him.

My answer came out as a lingering sigh...“Just what you did. I couldn’t have done it, if I’d caught them, I’d played sonofabitch father, threw the other kid out….”

“It was a man, Pete was beyond the ‘other kid’ stage, it was a man”.

That’s when I put my head on the table and cried. I had no nerves, nothing moved, just my contorted face.

We sat there for...I don’t know how long...I finally dragged my head up, looked at Duffey, put out an arm and drew his face to me. That’s when I kissed him. “Thanks, pal, thanks. Thanks for keeping a secret and what a fucking awful way to have to tell me….” I looked at his good, solid Marine face that only was waiting for me to come around, to discover we had to  do to move forward from this awful place where we now stood.

I stood up, he stood beside me, put a steadying arm around my waist, said it was time to try and sleep, got me up the stairs, out of my clothes, into my bed, leaned over to kiss me good night.

“Duffey, I’m afraid of the dark….think you could sleep in here?”

He quietly got undressed, I was fascinated for no reason, as to how neatly he stacked everything, even to folding his boxers. Naked he came to me, his cock and nuts swinging and, for a second, I knew what Pete saw in a really good man and why he would want to have sex with him.

I shoved over, he got in, turned out the light by the bed, reached over, held me, pulled me to him and suddenly I felt safe, knew what Pete had felt and why.

Quietly, in the dark, he flatly said to me, “We’re going to find the cocksuckers who did that and give them a real fucking, Marine Style, yes Sir, we are.” Having concluded that, he snagged a pillow, plumped it to the shape he wanted it, pulled me to him and….we all slept.

The next day at the hospital was...grim. Pete could barely look at me and only because Duffey gave him  a form of talking to that included everything I knew, how much both of us loved him and if he couldn’t look his Dad in the eye and see the love….I took over.

“You know what I did last night? I slept with a man, our man, I guess we get joint custody; Duffey. When you come home, nothing changes, I love you, you can go right on sleeping with him, matter of fact, why don’t the two of you share a room? How would that be? The era of feeling you had to sneak around to spare me is over, got it? Over. There’s no better man than Duffey and, if I get frightened of the lightning and the thunder or if I just get lonely, you can move over and make room for me.”

Pete’s face was a study in confusion, love and not believing what he’d heard. I guess I should have expected the next question.

“You slept with Duffey?”

“Right beside him. Just like you do.”

There was a long silence while he whirled all this around, tried to decide what to say next. However he was out of whatever he needed to say.

“Son, I have to meet with the police and they’re going to want to talk to you, please, be as honest and detail oriented as you can be. You were the victim of a crime, forget all the other stuff at home, the guys who did this to you need to be found and the only way is if….you name names if you know them, places, anything, no detail is too trivial. There’s an officer outside right now so Duffey and I are going to slip out but we’ll be back to collect you if the Doc says it’s okay for you come home. Just remember how much you’re loved...by two men.”

He came home to….silence. I got the story of what happened from the cops, probably easier to hear, remote, detached, not about my son...but terrible even if it were someone else’ kid. He knew, because the man came to our house to speak with both of us so his telling me was...pointless. After it was all over, I just held him, did not to cry, just held him.

Duffey, too, heard all about it but in far more detail than did I. Many guys who were in the Marines take up law enforcement and, even if you didn’t know the men on the local force, those who’d been in the Corps stopped by the recruiting station now and then and….after this happened, were galvanized to help. Duffey, I’m sorry, got the worst, the play by play, heard Pete on tape over several hours tell what happened. Interesting thought from one of his cop buddies, said whoever did it, and they’d find them, would get a “Marine Fucking”….I’d heard that expression in my own home but now, shuddered to think what it might mean.

Didn’t mean I wouldn’t endorse it, but that it would happen...and right there my mind flip flopped. My son had been fucked, raped, viciously screwed, branded, made to feel pain, and by God, nothing anyone could or would do to those cocksuckers could possibly be enough. Marine Fuck Them? Hoorah.

On that thought I took some hangers and started bending them, shaping them, giving them meaning...handing somebody a permanent memory….just like my son had, just like…..

A week later it was...better just marginally so. Pete wouldn’t leave the house without one of us and even then, going anywhere held no interest to him. We couldn’t force him out, even the pool was too….exposed, left him feeling too vulnerable. Even Duffey, who in many areas of the grotesque, the awful, the personal, knew things I never hoped to know had no cure. Yes, as I suggested, Pete now slept with him but, as Duffey told me privately, he was afraid of most things sexual. While he wanted his physical presence, the first time Duffey tried to go down on him, he’d shied away, a memory came back, he began to shudder, to cry. Only holding him close and tight got him to some semblance of calm. Telling him it’d been a while and his tail was getting hungry for his man didn’t get very far; I gather Pete hadn’t been able to get an erection, even when Duffey did what he knew to do, what worked with Pete. He laid on top of his man, nothing there, but tears running down a shoulder covering part of a tattoo given to brave men.

The silence continued.

Unexpectedly, Jean and Merle called from Texas, they were home and, full of  good spirits, were waiting for their cowboy to come back. I got the call, said nothing about it and, the next day, left on what I said was an emergency business trip. Back soon.

Sitting in their large living room, watching a family of foxes play, I told Jean and Merle, showed them the papers, did as best that I knew how to explain some part...leaving out about sexual preference. What I had to tell them was enough, I watched them, Merle especially, corrode at the thought of their child, their grandson being tied down, branded, fucked….coming home, collapsing asking only for his Dad.  What could I do? Try and make it seem anything that it wasn’t?

Merle got up, went to their bar, poured all of us about five fingers of straight Bourbon then went outside. Anyone used to yelling over a herd of cattle...we could hear him, all he said, I agreed. Maybe he shouldn’t have punched out the side window in the Cadillac….the visit to the local hospital to have four broken fingers repaired calmed him. As did the shot for pain he received.

That evening, with his hand bandaged and effectively attached to his chest, I asked that they have Pete come and live with them for a bit. Maybe, just maybe, the complete change would help him….as to their knowing...I had to ask that they lie, forget I’d been there, say I told them on the phone, sent them the police reports...I did bring a copy for them. Of course they agreed, understood, just said whenever I thought it was ‘right’ to send him and they’d be ready. Just whatever they could do. I could not look at Merle, knew how this violated his sense of manliness, even Pete being gay might have been….better but to have a man raped, his man, his grandson….just more than he could accept. The only consolation I could take back was that he’d be loved there.

Quietly and privately I mentioned to Merle a phrase I’d heard, ‘Marine Fuck’. Took out his billfold, peeled off about a grand, handed it to me and flatly said, “Buy the guys a round on me”….and anything else they wanted.

Outside, when we got home from having his hand repaired, I told Merle something, told him that Pete’s boots were never found….he looked away without a comment but I sensed he’d better hear that and be prepared. That was, actually, what this trip was about, preparing them. As I flew home I could only hope they were. Also that a new pair of boots was already under his bed there.

Texas. Pete was ready to go, wanted to go but was having separation anxieties not only about Duffey, but me, his Dad. As much as I thought this change of scenery was positive, I tried to respect his wishes but, no surprisingly, it was Duffey who found the key that wound the watch; We’d make it a camping trip ending up in Boerne. Few days there, we’d let him transition to ‘Pa’ and ‘Ma’ then we’d head North, home.

I said to Duffey that he would have to be everything from tour leader to camp ground supervisor to doing what else was necessary. In theory I thought it was a great idea, in practice, I had to remember that I’d flunked knot tying in the Boy Scouts; My camping abilities were going to be limited to doing whatever Duffey assigned me to do.

One thing about Marines, current, past and future, they stick together, provide for one another, go the distance to do what needs to be done. This time they’d almost outdone themselves.

Duffey showed up with some sort of Jeep that was made for ‘operations’ could carry five men and their gear, was expected they’d rough it...and that was how we would go to Texas. For Pete, Duffey had some used Marine clothes, not quite what they guys would wear, but ten feet away and he’d joined the Corps. Oh, and one other detail; He took Pete to the Air Force Base and had both their heads cut into a Marine High and Tight-I was spared but only just...In all this Pete began to come out of himself, maybe Duffey knew that would happen. It took three days to assemble all the camping gear necessary, most of it ‘borrowed’ from a Marine armory a few towns away. As I said, the guys worked together and, since they were told the story, no one spared a detail; I had to tell Duffey that his plans to get Pete some Ink wasn’t a good idea. IF and when he joined the Corps, fine but for this trip, no. He agreed. Then found a temporary tattoo ink that would come off in several months, took him to one of his Marine friends who did tattooing and...an eagle appeared on his chest as well as a winged skull on one bicep. I was asked if I’d like anything but declined...one inked up member of the family was enough.

The weather was turning cool the day we set out. Everyone in a barracks cap, some military outer wear, boots laced up on the outside. We let Pete drive and, I must say, in his gear plus the silvered aviators he looked the stud he would become again. Duffey, in his Marine gear looked professional and I...looked like a retiree they were taking along for reasons not explained.

Four hours out I began to discover just how thoroughly Duffey had staged this; Almost by coincidence we ran into another similar jeep filled with Marines who were going our way; Immediately we were a caravan which was added to three hours later when….a Marine Humvee joined us. Some one of our new buddies knew a great place to bivouac for the night so there we went. Odd that this place was convenient to a hot spring that was on government property so ‘civilians’ never came there. I tried to wink at Duffey but he pulled his “I am innocent” look and went on setting up camp. Now with all these guys, games break out, football, and not the sort you play in your backyard. By the time the game was over, the players were hot and stripped down to very little-Pete among them. Also, odd, the HumVee just happened to be carrying a pre cooked pig that only needed to be run through with a stake and warmed over a coal fire. I forget which group had the beer but they did and lots of it. In all this I watched and knew Pete could realize they made him part of their group, their antics, their camaraderie. I saw Pete come around, laugh, get dirty with them, get in on the jokes, swear just like a Marine….become my son again. Duffey and I were working on a beer leaning against a tire that could have been on a rim in a Monster Truck show. No point in saying anything, just reached around, touched his can with mine, looked at him and winked. Jesus, does that man do innocent.

For three great fucking days the long arm of Marine coincidence reached out and grabbed us by the nuts. New guys, new places to stop, new lewd barrack songs, the filthiest stories-some of them funny...my new son, barrack cap, boxers and boots, half swacked but all happy. Under cover of pissing in the bushes I walked away and let the tears fall: I had my son back and, that night, he fucked Duffey for the first time. I think Duffey may have ‘watered’ up as well.

I called ahead to warn/alert Pa and Ma that their beach head was about to be breached by the Corps and could hear them laugh. They were barbecuing what sounded like a herd of cattle so bring ‘em all. Merle had set up a Bourbon and Beer bar, plenty of places to camp, everyone probably needed a shower so they’d rented some sort of thing that you’d have at outdoor events. Came with a 50,000 gallon tanker that dispensed hot and cold water in the showers. The party went on for a couple of days. Merle led a trail ride to point out all the wildlife, Jean gave cooking lessons...if they guys started out to do a buddy a favor, it turned out they all had a great time, told me so. I had addresses and contacts and was told to drop in. Duffey took me aside and said he thought he’d stay a day or two to complete the transition, that I should fly home, he’d be along with the ‘borrowed’ vehicle in about a week.

I had Pete drive me to the airport for some father/son conversation, nothing major, we’d passed the need for that. He said he and Duffey were back on line, all was swell. What he also said was that….he loved me, I was the greatest Dad, thanked me for Duffey, thanked me for letting him leave home and, maybe, move to Texas. He said something about memories and I just shut up. We all had memories, now we could face them, get past them….but one thing.

“Son, you know Duffey’s not going to stay in Texas, can’t.”

He looked out the window just for a second. “Yeah...he’s my Marine but I gotta grow up. He’ll always be my Marine….” and that was all he could say. Giving up both of us was difficult and, Thank God, for Merle and Jean; He would not lack for love, affection and, with Merle, maybe some firm direction. Pete a cowboy? Well, who knew.

About three in the morning seven days later I heard a racket on the driveway, sounded like an engine having either croup or pneumonia; Duffey was home. Up the stairs-Marine boots aren’t quiet-and into my room, threw himself on me, kissed me, started to strip, not so neatly this time, and was in bed with me. Looking at him, I saw tired eyes, overall one tired Marine, but my tired Marine.

“Want your shoulders rubbed?”

“Um um.”

“Get you anything?”

“Yeah, you, get hard and fuck me….”

I turned out the light, reached for my cock, found it was getting ready...”

“How do you want it?”

“Just inside me, all the way, wanna feel Dad’s gooey shit come out...let me sleep holding you...”

Didn’t keep my word, sometime after that, and fucking him good, I slid out.

At the table the next morning I had to ask. “What was that all about? Fucking you and all.”
“Well, like son, like father. I’ll train you, I’m also going to take your cherry eventually, when you’re ready cuz, I’m a mutherfuckin’ Marine and I like to fuck Dads. One in particular, you. Guess you figured that out. Pete told me to give you a couple a deep thrusts for him….gotta keep the kid happy.” With which he slid to the floor, pulled down my pants and my bikini briefs, took my cock in his mouth and commenced to suck. Successfully I might add.

Back at the table, spitting my sperm in his coffee, I was informed that would now be a morning ritual, one of us would always suck off the other. Besides, tell me it doesn’t feel good. Couldn’t do that but I did wonder if he knew I’d never sucked a cock in my life. One thing, I was sure I could get instruction, Marine style. Oh, and we’d be sleeping together, another order from Pete. All that done and said, he was up the steps, put on his uniform and was off to town to recruit Marines leaving me to think what my kid wanted was a sort of gay dad who made it with a Marine.

My intercom rang, I was told there was an officer from the police department to see me. Had him come in. Recognized him as a buddy of Duffey, former Marine, also an officer I’d seen at the hospital. What else?

“Got some off the record news for ya….we haven’t picked up the pair that nailed your kid but we know where they are and who they are. They don’t know it but they’re in a pen...just waiting for us to collar ‘em. Little business for them first; Might want to tell Duffey, mention a Marine Fucking, have him give me a call, you’re invited wouldn’t have it without you.” He paused then decided, what the hell and pressed on. “Understand you, uh, might got a room to rent, my partner and I would be interested if you…”

“You know the address.” Tossed him a key. “Let yourself in, just leave the back door unlocked, I’ll give you another key when I get home. I assume you’d like to move in today...”

“Yes Sir, awright, Terry’s downstairs with the pickup, all loaded, by the time you get home I’ll have steaks on the grill and a cold Bourbon, Duff said that was what you liked.”

“One thing, officer, mind telling me your name? In the mess at the hospital….”

“Oh, shit, forgot about that, name’s  Ian, Scottish. See ya tonight and thanks buddy, being gay and cops, well it’s hard to find a place that welcomes you..and can keep secrets. Duff said you would.”

I stuck out my hand. We shook. “Welcome home, son. See you tonight.”

When I walked into my kitchen, now conveniently the chow hall for part of the Corps, I thought everyone would stand and salute their superior officer. Nope. Ian introduced me to Terry, as fine looking as Ian, while Duffey leaned against a wall, a small smile on his face; I could tell he was pleased. “Sir, get comfortable, wanta shower, relax before dinner?” Terry put a full glass in one of my hands while while putting a friendly arm around my shoulder. “We’re grateful, Sir, real grateful. We’ll make it good for you, promise.”

“Can dinner wait? Give me fifteen. Sorry you mentioned the shower, suddenly, that’s fine idea, son, fine.” I could see, suddenly, being call ‘son’ did something positive for them so that’s how they’d stay.

“Sir, take your time, take a nap, when you’re ready, we’ll be here nursing a beer.”

“Sorry I didn’t lay in more for you...”

“Not to worry, Sir, buddy of ours owns a liquor store, makes deliveries if a man doesn’t think he should drive. We stocked you up. Put in another cooler in the garage first chance we get.”

Settled that problem. Headed for the stairs, unbuttoning, unzipping, untying as I went. Okay, I wouldn’t let Pete leave his clothes on the floor but I really was tired. One hand in the shower, I knew it took a moment to warm up, then felt another hand on my neck, it turned me around. Duffey. “Thought you might like your back scrubbed...” All I could do was smile at him, just smile. “Yeah, I could and then, maybe, I’ll do yours. I’m assuming that since you’re not wearing anything means we’re saving water, showering with a friend?”

He grinned, “That’d be a Hoorah” suddenly he was quiet, almost afraid.

“Uh, I guess I need to apologize to you...about Terry and Ian, they’re really nice guys...”

I put my hand over his mouth. “Shut up, Sergeant, I had a chance to say no, look like our kind of men, young, in need of a place, people around them who they trust...I’m the big winner here. Guess you can’t see that but...I traded in one son for two.” He was taken aback.

“How about me?”

“Well, I believe we’re on the road to being partners, that’s how I see it. You?”

He tried to hide a big smile. “Yeah, that’s how I hoped you’d see it. Water’s ready.”

Damn that man, first thing to be cleaned out was my dick and, of course, I couldn’t do it as well-it was only my second time-as he could but I knelt down and prayed to the cock god, I could at least do alright.

I’m going to need to put in a much larger water heater. Four men and all.

Back downstairs, out by the pool, the smell of grilled meat suggested we were dining al fresco and almost al nudo. Good thing one neighbor’s house is a low ranch style, I back up on a vacant lot and the other side is protected by Lombardy Poplars. In winter the pavement was heated as was the pool, the guys would find that out plus, after you came through the front door, it was dress code optional. Just thought that up.

A week later it was if this was how my house always had been, filled with fine young men who respected me, were great to be around, were happy to be here and, can’t miss this one,  they, too, knew how to clean; Apparently any man who was ever in the Corps can clean anything. The cops worked different shifts which meant that whoever was home changed the beds, vacuumed, did the laundry, ironed it, put it away. And they did it effortlessly. It took me a little bit to realize that I hadn’t even put my clothes away in some little while; It was all done for me. I’d had a discussion with Duffey about rent, said I was happy to have them live there rent free so long as they contributed to the food fund-the three of them ate a lot more than me. He wasn’t as happy with that arrangement as I’d thought, saying only that they needed to put up some sort of sum, just to make them feel they’d done their share, plus the food. Okay, that’s how it was.

Friday night, Duffey and I were in bed just on the verge of sleep when he whispered that not to plan anything for Saturday night and maybe Sunday. He’d heard there was to be a Marine Fucking and I was expected to be there. Before I could ask any questions he’d instantly gone to sleep, a talent I envied. Just on a hunch I slid out of bed to see if I could find anyone else who might have some information. Terry was in bed asleep, Ian was on his shift so whatever was on the schedule, I’d have to wait until the morning for more information. It was a restless night.

However it took until dinner to corral everyone to get the full picture. As if on cue, when I woke up, apart from there being a fresh pot of coffee, no one was around, the only sound was that of the washing machine somewhere in the basement. Later however, facing some somber faced men, I learned that the following evening, Saturday, we were going to a Marine Fucking in honor of my son or because of him. The guys who’d raped him were going to be picked up and ‘prepared’ for us, show up around twenty hundred hours, dress casually and wear shit you could throw away.  There were smiles of a certain sort, not happy smiles, not smiles from a birthday party but smiles that anticipated something they wanted to do, something not so pleasant. As Duffey left, he mentioned he’d found the hangers I’d bent and twisted right after Pete….and he was gone.

Of course I was late, couldn’t help it, called Duffey, told him, got told not to worry, whatever we needed to do would ‘keep’ and then there was a slightly sardonic laugh. “Yep, it would keep for as long as it took us, no hurry.” I felt like Fagin, in Oliver, had just told his gang of boy thieves to ‘be back soon’.

Dinner, surprisingly, was from a take out place-a buddy owned it, and, sure, former Corps so the Styrofoam boxes contained enough Tex-Mex for tonight, breakfast, lunch, snack by the pool and, if you wanted, reheated for dinner. I was told his handle was Spicko-I winced-and my name was now known to him, I wanted anything, go in and ask for him. Beyond the pile of food, there was a duffel bag beside a pile of clothes. Not new clothes, just hit the Salvation Army and fill the bag with enough for four  men. While we plastic forked the great refried beans and the rest, Lee and Ian took turns sorting through and making four piles. Not hard to guess, I just wondered whether I’d get the one with the torn Levis, not the fashionable kind, the kind torn at work or the one with elderly Dickies plus, for all, a stack of T shirts-I was told we’d need to switch off now and then.

About then a knock that no one bothered to answer but the owner of the property who was restrained from doing so. “It’s okay, just a delivery.” Somehow I didn’t think it was UPS, Fedex, DHL or the USPS with a special delivery.

Garbed in the kitchen, we looked more like men who’d been begging at the door, had been led in, were fed and now would work for their meal by doing,..something. Duffey appeared with another duffel bag, this one filled.

Lee and Ian clipped badges on the shreds of shirts, I got one attached to my belt loop while Duffey used his Marine metal instead of a belt buckle; Apparently the evening was informal. Outside there was a jeep-the delivery from earlier-which had seen better days and years until you started it and realized it had been careful camouflaged to look decrepit-to match the occupants no doubt. In the slight bed behind the second row of seats were some bags and boxes, not explained.

I asked a question and was told I’d do better if I just did what seemed appropriate at the time. Okay, I could follow non-orders.

In my years of dropping in bars for a quick one I can honestly say I’d never seen what had to be described as a ‘Dive’. The name, illuminated by two 40 Watt bulbs, was ‘Ch rlies”. The door had the encouraging sign, “If it opens, come in”.  There were a couple of cars in what might or might not have been dignified with the term ‘parking lot’-at least one of them seemed to have come to its final resting place based on the lack of two tires.

We went in. The two patrons were, well, not so much at the bar as slumped on the bar. Our host, the bartender, was wearing a tank top that might have been white prior to the Treaty of Versailles and, one notable feature, had hair under his arms long enough enough to wind as a May Pole. Odd to be the cleanest thing in the place; I hoped we weren’t going to sit down.

Lee took the first conversational gambit. “Lookin’ for Pops, been here lately?”

“Maybe, who wants him?”

Lee touched his badge. “Friend of his family, we’re on a search and notify detail. These guys need to notify too.

There was a long pause while he looked us over. “Pops got somethin’ for ya?”

“Hope so, the family misses him. He here by chance?”

The guy jerked his head toward a door that I hadn’t notice-apparently they were saving electricity.

“Got some Christmas presents for Pops, mind if a couple of my buddies brings them in?” The guy shrugged, Ian and Duffey went back out then returned with bags and boxes from the Jeep.

There was a pause just long enough to produce an electrical sound as if a door had been unlocked, probably the door in front of us, the one we went through. If I hadn’t been with two cops and a Marine, I’d have been concerned when, after we closed the door behind us, it made the electrical noise again which persuaded me going back was not an option.

We were in what was probably a walkway between point A, Ch rlies, and point B wherever we were going. Maybe fifty feet long, lined on the sides, after a certain point by hard packed dirt, there was another door that opened just by turning the nob.

This was a large room that seemed to have no purpose save to hold the two men who were tightly spreadeagled with chains and ropes to the ceiling and the floor. They faced away from us but I could tell they were blindfolded...how long they’d been there? Maybe I’d find out. Who they were, I knew, these were the men who raped my son, we were here for the “Marine Fucking”. It had started the moment we walked through the door and would end...sometime.

Duffey, carrying a box which he put on the floor,  faced them. He stood there, his usual Marine stature, his face expressionless, his eyes on the pair.

“So you’ll know. I’m the Marine whose partner you fucked. That cute 18 year old, the one with cowboy boots and a gingham shirt. I know what and how and where you did all you did to him, that Marine, my partner. So. I’m here with a group of Marines to see that you leave here with some memories, sorta like the ones he has, he’ll always have. When he wakes up screaming from a nightmare in his bunk, you’ll be someplace and maybe that night, maybe another, you’ll wake up screaming with a nightmare about a man, my partner, the one you turds fucked and raped.”

He walked behind them.

“You may think, well, shit, they’re just gonna rape us, and that’s not gonna happen. Not one Marine here would stick their cock in your dirty asses, not one Marine here would let you suck their cocks, not one Marine here wants your putrid bodies to touch them. We can’t take out your souls cuz you ain’t got any but we can and will take you to a place you can’t imagine and leave you there. One other thing, a bit later, some police officers will be along and haul whatever parts of your asses remain down to the tank where you’ll be formally charged with a whole list of shit, some of which you even did. Oh, thanks for the semen, your DNA stomped your ass cuz you’d been in prison and they had an immediate match. You were nailed before my partner even came to me, bleeding, bootless, fucked then raped. I like it that you’re not new to the system, I like it that, if you even get out you’ll be labeled Sexual Predators, I like it that you’ll have to register with every cop shop you go near, I like it that once word gets around in prison that you raped a Marine….know how many Marines find work after their service as guards in prison? Once they’re sure you’re clean, they’ll do what we won’t, fuck you. In case you wondered, we’re not going to cut off your cock or your nuts though you can’t know how much I’d take pleasure in slowly doing that. I’m going to hear you scream, we all are, and each decibel, each time you open your mouth yells to a fresh faced Marine that you tied down and fucked that you are sorry….Remember chasing him? Remember catching him? Remember filling his mouth with your cum when he was still face up? Remember pissing in his boots? Remember turning him and tying him, gagging him, remember those cuts on his back? Remember bending the hanger to make the brand? Remember all that? Remember flipping for who got first fuck, laughing about how Marine cherry was the best kind ‘cuz it was the tightest? Remember taking your hands and pulling his ass cheeks apart, spitting in his hole then sticking him with your dirty cock? Remember how many times, remember laughing when he yelped, but do you also remember he’s a Marine and did not scream, did not beg you to stop, he just took it, even when you pressed the brand into his ass and cooked it. Like the smell of man flesh? Well, you didn’t smell that, you smelled Marine Flesh...and you just know….or you’re stump dumb, you have brands in your future and then you’ll smell man flesh, the smell of hair burning, the sizzle like a steak house, your ass on a platter.”

He turned to us.

“Gentleman, it’s time for a Marine Fucking.”