Ask and I'll Tell

Chapter 1 The radio startled him. The voices garbled, mixed with static, Pad strained to hear the pilot talk to the tower as the C-130 announced its approach for landing. Pad looked at his watch, then lowered the volume. He grabbed his gym bag by the foot of his chair, stood, double-timed it out the door, after making sure to put the “Out to Lunch” Post-it on his computer. As he stepped out of the beige Quonset hut, the light blasted his eyes. The scorching sun enveloped everything here in the desert. Steeling himself for the humidity caused by the proximity to the Persian Gulf, Pad stepped out in the heat. “Hey, Pad,” yelled Alberto. Pad turned to face him. Alberto squinted, scratching his dark hair before putting his cap back on. “You joining us for lunch?” he asked as he headed over to where a couple of guys from the squadron waited by the beat up 4 x 4 pickup truck loaned out by the Saudi government. “No.” Pad held the bag, which contained his goggles and trunks, high. “Swimming on the lunch break.” “Sure you are, Senior Airman Padrick McLaughlin,” Alberto said. “It’s not because the lieutenant’s scheduled to swim there too, right?” Pad caught the upturned lip that Alberto gave him and responded to the smirk by flipping him a bird. “f**k you,” Pad whispered. As he cursed, he jerked the collar off his neck, as the humidity walloped him, he felt the trickle of sweat on his nape. Except for the months of December and January, when the weather was somewhat tolerable, Dhahran was not the most hospitable place. Yet Pad whistled as he turned away from Alberto, happy because he had a couple of weeks before he out-processed and returned home to Tampa. He grabbed the bike outside his door and pedaled to the pool a few blocks away. Since stealing in this country could result in an arm or two being amputated, he never worried about leaving his bicycle unlocked outside the office. None of the guys from his area would take it either since they thought it was crazy to bike. Pad did it anyway, believing that it gave him freedom to go when and where he wanted. In this case, he knew he would be rewarded if he timed it right. The radio chatter earlier gave him the heads up he needed. He wanted to reach the pool before Lieutenant Ransom James Davis, his supervisor, arrived. He didn’t mind sweating since the pool’s blue waters would cool him, and he got to see his boss. Shit! You’ve got a serious man crush on a straight guy. As Pad arrived at the pool, a few blocks away, one of the security guards waved and cleared him through the gate. Even though the American military had privileges on this compound, many of the facilities had to follow Saudi rules, especially since the Kingdom owned the base, and the collection of compounds were run through royal Saudi authority. The pool designated for Americans was secured with high concrete walls so prying Arabic eyes wouldn’t see the immorality of half-naked men and women lounging or swimming together. In reality, though, the only time both sexes were at the pool occurred during the weekends when families gathered to hang out to escape the heat. Pad paused by the sign near the pool exit that warned about showing public displays of affection and wearing improper clothes when leaving the area. Pad wiped the sweat from his brow then grabbed a towel from the stack near the entrance and headed for the only shade. As he reached the tree-lined corner, he checked the pool area, saw no one, so he stripped to his boxer shorts and put the towel around his waist. He switched to his board shorts just in time because Ransom James Davis—RJ—appeared at the other end of the pool. Pad’s heart beat faster. Like clockwork, the lieutenant stripped, unzipping his flight suit easily, taking off his T-shirt, socks and boots, revealing that he had on colored, high-rise briefs. Today, he had blue briefs that showed the ever-present prominent bulge. RJ put on his goggles and then began laps. From the shade near the tree, Pad watched, fascinated as he had been the last few months with his supervisor, a trained C-130 pilot, and executive officer of the squadron. Everyone noticed RJ. His light-brownish wavy hair, violet-blue eyes, lean six-pack torso, and Hollywood idol looks, stuck out in this desolate sand dune of a country. RJ arrived eight months before, and as the admin and personnel specialist, Pad completed the paperwork to process him into the flight squadron. He found out RJ was four years older than Pad, attended Ohio State, and after completing college he attended officer training school, followed by pilot training. Pad’s dorm stood next to the single officer’s dorms. He noticed that while other officers dated British and Irish nurses from the local hospitals, and took them back to their dorms, Pad never saw the lieutenant with any woman. Pad sighed. RJ hadn’t acknowledged him when he arrived at the pool. After RJ swam for a few minutes, Pad walked to the side and took the steps farthest away from the lieutenant. Azure, rippling water enveloped him, cooled him from the heat. After he slid underneath one of the dividing pool ropes, he began his own set of laps, going at a slower pace partly because he knew he couldn’t keep up with the lieutenant, partly to watch him as he swam. Both of them swam like this for a while, RJ doing two laps for Pad’s one until Pad saw the lieutenant had stopped. Breast-stroking to the edge, he leaned over a rope, panting from the laps. “Hey, Lieutenant.” RJ took off his goggles and smiled. “What’s up, Pad? Didn’t see you earlier till you got in.” “How was the flight to Riyadh and back?” “Same old shit.” RJ shook the water from his face. “Not much to see other than desert. I’m jealous that you’re leaving this sand trap and going back home.” Pad squinted then closed his eyes because the chlorine stung. Wish we could talk about something besides work. “You done with the laps?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, if you walked, I’ll give you a ride back to the office.” “I’m good. Rode the bike today.” “So you’re really serious about getting in better shape?” “Trying, anyway.” “Well, you can throw the bike in the flatbed of the truck if you want. It’s too f*****g hot to bike.” As he said this RJ got out of the water, shook water from his ear, then faced the lounge chairs, away from Pad. Pad edged closer to where RJ stood and stared at the outline of his boss’s c**k. He never saw RJ like this before. In times past, RJ would wrap his towel around the waist then head off quickly to the showers. He could see the head of RJ’s d**k and its long stem. Nice package. After RJ stopped shaking his head, he turned to Pad. Pad jerked his neck away just in time. Even though “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” on paper protected him as long as he stayed in the closet, he’d heard stories about the witch-hunts the military conducted to kick out gay men and women. “Well, are you going with me, or not?” RJ asked. “Sure, let me do one more lap.” Pad swam to the other side of the pool, counting numbers, hoping that his hard-on from gawking at RJ would subside. He got his wish, and his erection softened. As he got out, he saw the lieutenant head out into the changing room, RJ’s boots and clothes gathered in one arm. Pad grabbed his own clothes and scanned around the area. As usual, they were the only ones who swam during lunch. When Pad approached the changing room, Lieutenant Davis stood under the shower closest to the door, his face under the water. Usually RJ stood farthest away in the corner in the only stall that had a plastic curtain. But this time RJ stood in a one of the open showers that had no privacy walls. Pad ogled RJ’s very large schlong, framed by the light brown hair. His balls hung low, and the foreskin covered much of the head. Pad cut his observation short, once he saw his boss turn towards his direction. He jumped in the opposite shower, took off his board shorts, and prayed the cold shower would reduce his second stiffy. He focused on counting again, but his erection still remained. He didn’t hear RJ behind him. “Man, hurry up,” he shouted. Startled, Pad dropped his soap he held and without thinking, bent down. “Nice ass.” RJ laughed. “Now I’ll never be able to forget that view.” RJ opened his gear and started to dress. “Hurry up, Airman, I don’t have all day.” “Yes, sir,” was all Pad managed to mumble under the spray, afraid to turn around. Did RJ just tell him he had a nice ass? * * * * After he heard the locker door closing, Pad quickly dried off, observing RJ throw his wet briefs into a plastic bag. “Hey, I’ll wait for you in the truck, but make it quick. Got a briefing coming up.” “I’ll be quick,” Pad responded, picking up the pace. Pad took a quick look in the mirror to make sure his hair lay correctly. His hazelnut-brown hair, brown eyes, and freckled nose made him look younger than his twenty-two years. Back home in Florida, he still got carded when going to the clubs. Satisfied that he was presentable, he rushed to the truck where Lieutenant Davis sat. He saw his bicycle already on the flatbed. “Thanks for waiting on me.” “No worries, man. I wouldn’t do it for everyone.” RJ smiled. “I’ve got your back.” RJ backed out of the parking lot and headed the short distance to the office. The air conditioner blew full blast. Soon they pulled into RJ’s parking spot. “Hey, Pad, I need you to do something for me?” “Sure, what is it?” “I’m overdue on using my open ticket the Saudi government gave us. I don’t know why I waited so long for a vacation.” “Yeah, I used mine to go back home to Florida.” “Since you’re the admin guy, and I got to ticket it soon, can you book my flights for me?” “Sure. Are you heading back to Ohio?” “Ohio?” RJ laughed. “No, you know my family lives in New York and Boston, right? Anyway, I want you to book my flight to Bangkok.” “Bangkok?” Pad asked. “Sure, I can book the flights, just let me know the dates.” “How about a couple of weeks from now? I need to get out of here.” Pad gulped. That was when he was flying back home to Tampa. “Sure. That’s easy,” Pad answered. “I’ll take the open ticket and book it today. Did you want me to book the hotel too?” “Actually, if you could that’d be great. A friend of mine who works at the U.S. embassy there suggests I stay near the Patpong District. So can you do that?” Pad nodded. He’d heard about Patpong. It was the red-light district. There were infamous s*x shows, lots of women. And quite a few gay bars. * * * * Pad checked the flight numbers, the arrival and departure times. Everything checked out. He heard RJ approach and stand behind him. “How’s everything going?” RJ asked. “I have your flights done. I talked to the Saudi Air rep. I think I got it so you could be bumped to business class on the flight to Bangkok if there’s space remaining and there appears to be. I’ve narrowed the hotels down for you too. Which one do you want?” RJ hunched over to look at the computer screen, his face inches from Pad. If Pad turned ever so slightly he could kiss RJ’s cheek. “You know me better than anyone here.” RJ took the mouse and bumped Pad’s shoulder slightly in doing so. After RJ scrolled down the choices, he straightened out, and patted then squeezed Pad’s shoulders. “I can’t decide. Where would you stay?” RJ asked. Pad’s neck flushed. RJ had never once laid a hand on him in all these months together, but now RJ’s physical touching confused him. Why now? “Umm,” Pad stammered. “Maybe this one by the river.” “Sounds good. Haven’t spent any of my salary the last few months since I’ve been here cuz there’s nothing to spend it on.” “I’ll book it then,” Pad said. “Thanks, Pad. I’m really going to miss you. You’re a good guy.” RJ paused then lowered his voice to a whisper, patting RJ on the shoulder. “It’s too bad you’re not an officer because I’d ask you to tag along.” Pad smiled but continued to stare at the computer screen. After RJ left, he logged off the system, took his wallet out, then thumbed the dog-eared photograph. His Mom stood to the left, his aunt to his right. He was in middle school and her hair—his Mom’s—was still long. Her arm hung over his shoulder in front of the Busch Gardens sign. He turned over the photo, looked at his aunt’s Skype address. I’m sure she’ll understand.