They’d driven straight through the night. In the car were housemates Jackson, Nate, Brandon, and Tyler. Chase, a friend of Tyler’s and notorious seducer of jocks, especially football players, tagged along as well. They’d each taken turns behind the wheel and greeted the morning just past Jacksonville, but in the end it was Jackson who had done most of the driving. He hadn’t needed as much sleep, and the others had been far more tired than they’d realized. They'd gone on their spring break road trip straight from a kegger hosted by Tyler, Jackson, and his fellow housemates.
When they finally arrived at The Rusty Anchor, Jackson took one look at the two-story property with midcentury detail and knew it had seen better days. Formerly known as the Sea Manatee from what Jackson remembered reading, the motel had once been a vivid turquoise and almost chosen as housing for the film crew of Where the Boys Are
. It now sat—a revolting neon pink with sea-foam trim—overlooked even by the locals who saw it as more of an eyesore.
In its heyday, it had done a brisk trade, teeming with straight young men and women on spring break. Now, the clothing optional “resort” catered largely to gay men and sat in the sun, basking in slow, decadent decay, stained with the memories of human experience and a sad reminder of the gleaming, carefree days that beckoned throngs of horny college students.
Walking out of the office with Tyler, Jackson wore a navy-blue T-shirt, patterned board shorts, and a Spiderman baseball cap. He readjusted it so the brim was lower, shading more of his face. As Jackson climbed behind the wheel of the car, Tyler passed out a set of keys to each traveling companion.
“Sorry, guys,” he said. “They had just the one room left, so we’ll have to share. I know the place doesn’t look like much on the outside, but the pictures of the rooms weren’t half-bad.”
“All we need is a room to flop in for the next few days,” Jackson offered and drove around the corner to their assigned spot near the side entrance of the motel. He parked, switched off the ignition, and they all tumbled out. They grabbed their bags from the trunk, stretching their limbs, eager for spring-break adventures to find them.
They followed the heavy bass through the narrow passageway and into a rectangular courtyard where loud dance music filled the air, thumping so loudly as to make teeth rattle.
A bevy of men formed a lively, boisterous, and colorful crowd. Banners announced: HAPPY HOUR, MONDAY TO SUNDAY, 5:00-9:00 P.M.; SUNDAY T, HOSTED BY HOE LOTTA SEAMEN AND FEATURING SPECIAL GUEST DJ TONY BANKS; and BEARFILMS, RECRUITING AND FILMING ON LOCATION, THIS WEEKEND ONLY!
To the left, shirtless, humpy guys poured drinks under a striped awning covering the crowded bar. At first glance the bartenders appeared to be frat boys, but Jackson could tell they were older than they looked and probably not all of them gay.
To the right, a kidney-shaped pool shimmered in beckoning aqua. Water slapped against the sides as a fat, bald man swam naked. Guests sat near the edge, their feet dangling below the surface, occasionally splashing at themselves.
Chaise lounges lined the perimeter of the pool. Most were occupied by men sunning themselves in swim trunks, though a few wore bathing suits far smaller than they should have. The brave and those who simply didn’t care unabashedly bared all, leaving nothing to the imagination.
One or two guests actually held books, reading while others pretended, stealing glances to ogle naked men, to see who might be watching them
, and glimpse those who were kissing and making out. Then there were those who had chosen to lose themselves in e-readers, tablets, or smart phones and earbuds, ignoring the cacophony surrounding them.
Amid the hedonistic revelry, men of all ages, sizes, and shapes sidled by, sauntered past, or stood still. They posed, flexed, and advertised, putting their best assets forward. There were bulging, mouthwatering crotches and round, perky asses all laid out for inspection while the shy opted for hiding beneath the sticky protection of sunblock, a sweaty T-shirt, or baggy board shorts.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Nate exclaimed with hushed wonder. “This must be how Dorothy felt when she first set foot in Oz!”
Jackson let loose with a hearty laugh. Though to be fair, it was a bit like being transported into another realm.
“You boys need help finding your room?” A short, slender Latino bar back with lips and ass for days stopped before them, tray in hand. Jackson showed him his key ring. “One-oh-nine. This way.”
The bar back sashayed forward, ass jiggling enticingly as they crossed the courtyard. They were stared at, brushed against, and even groped as they continued to soak it all in.
Just outside their room, Nate pointed with a morbid yet excited curiosity.
“Uh, guys? Wh-what do you think is happening over there?”
At the far end of the courtyard diagonally across from them, a handful of men stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Most were clothed, but a couple had towels wrapped around their waists. One was naked, showing off a dark tan and startling white buttocks, obviously stroking his cock. They all faced an open door and peered through a large window.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Chase countered. Brandon snorted with amused disbelief, and Tyler cocked his head with raised eyebrow.
“Gentlemen?” Jackson beckoned with a grandiose gesture as the bar back walked away with a smile. One by one they stepped inside the room. The door shut behind them, effectively muting much of the noisy cavorting.
In the coolness of the small marble-tiled foyer, the boys silently ogled a ’50s style room that was a blend of retro and modern chic, simply yet tastefully designed with clean lines, crisp linens, and colored pillows.
Against one mirrored wall was a cocoa-colored, two-person leather sofa. On the opposite side, two full-size beds called invitingly. At the far end was a bathroom and closet with mirrored bifold doors.
“Hmmm. Not bad, Jax,” Brandon declared as he stepped down into the sunken bedroom. “And also not at all
what I expected. Judging from the outside.”
The sudden outburst from his campus buddies delighted Jackson, and he watched with somewhat detached amusement as they staked their claims on where they would be sleeping for the next five nights.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m heading out to that pool and checking things out.” Nate, the virgin nerd, tossed his bag on the left side of the far bed and rummaged for his swim trunks. He stripped down, carefully rolled up his clothes, and put them away before slipping into the baggy shorts.
“Are you kidding? We have a pool on campus.” Tyler, a one-time fuck buddy Jackson mistakenly thought he’d fallen in love with, took possession of the right side of the bed closest to the door. “I didn’t come all this way for a pool
. I’m hitting the beach!” He proceeded to get naked and donned a square-cut Speedo, a tank top emblazoned with their college mascot, and a pair of flip-flops.
“Well, screw you both.” Chase fished in his bag for just the right thing to wear. Out came cock rings, a leather vest, lube, a dildo. “I
am heading straight to the Club.”
“I haven’t been there in ages.” Brandon, the twink of the group, propped his suitcase on the right side of the far bed.
“What’s the Club?” Nate shoved a hand into his shorts and adjusted himself.
“It’s a bathhouse.” Nate worked one of the metal rings over the head of his cock and down the length of his shaft. Then he pulled his shaved-smooth balls through and stepped into a red jockstrap. “All the cock and ass you could possibly want. It’s also where I plan to be for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I plan to be a complete and utter whore
“Butcha already are, Chase,” Brandon quipped in his best Bette Davis. “You already are!”
Jackson chortled and Tyler guffawed.
Nate, clueless over the reference, added with mild repulsion, “Why would you want to go there
? Seems to me you might have the same opportunities here and never have to leave.”
“This is where we sleep
, Nate. The Club is where Chase is going to fuck
,” Jackson explained. “Mix the two together, and we’ll have all
kinds of perverts knocking on our door at all hours of the night. And with five of us in the same room—”
“What he’s trying to say is…be careful who you bring back to the room,” Tyler cut in. “Sometimes people can be…not what you think.”
Abruptly, a cell phone interrupted them with a pop jingle. Brandon reached into his front pocket and perused the screen. He grinned, his middle finger flipped at the others as they teased.
“Booty call?” Jackson asked once Brandon slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“You know it! But dinner’s first. Derrick’s just invited me to Pier 66,” Brandon replied.
“Whore!” Tyler tossed a handful of condoms at him.
“Who’s Derrick?” Chase asked as he stepped into a pair of skintight white jeans, then pulled on a fresh, clean T-shirt. The black material clung to his torso and did nothing to hide his pierced nipples.
“Derrick Jane is an older man who lives in Rio Vista. He’s very
rich and, once upon a time, my father’s best friend. And as luck would have it…” Brandon paused for dramatic effect. “He’s also the man who popped my cherry.”
“No fucking way!” Nate cried. “That’s just… I don’t know.”
“As fucked up as I am!” Chase gave Brandon a high five.
“If you guys are nice to me, I just might
invite you to his end-of-spring-break party. He’s got a gorgeous
house, and there are usually loads
of college guys, all of them drunk off their asses, doing all kinds
of things they wouldn’t normally do when they’re sober. Don’t expect me back tonight!” Brandon turned and rushed from the room.
“Guess I’m next.” Chase pocketed his key and headed for the door. He stopped and thought a moment. “Think I’ll stop off at the Elbo Room first. I hear the place is usually crawling with horny straight boys. They all need blowjobs, right?”
“Heaven forbid you actually settle down with one of them,” Tyler quipped.
“Why should I when there’s so many to be had?” Chase aimed a warning finger at them. “And if any of you so much as texts me, it had better
be an emergency.” Seconds later he was gone.
Backpack in tow, Tyler pulled a rolled-up beach towel from a wicker basket on the floor by the sofa. He stuck it under his arm and walked toward the door. “Dinner tonight, Jax?”
“Depends.” Jackson finally dropped his bag on the left side of the bed Tyler had chosen.
“C’mon, Ty.” Jackson cocked his head and spread his hands. “In the time we’ve known each other, when have I ever made plans for anything? Even dinner?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Tyler turned to Nate. “Guess it’s just you and me, kid. I’ve heard there’s a good steakhouse up the road. I hear they have hot waiters too!”
“I dated a waiter once,” Jackson mused. “He was so…dirty
“Exactly.” Tyler grinned and slipped out.
you planning on doing, Jackson?” Nate asked as he too made his way toward the door.
“Don’t know. But first
…I’m going to dye my hair.” Jackson strode to the mirrored wall and took off his baseball cap. His otherwise spiked black hair was flattened. “I might just end up at the Elbo Room like Chase.”
“Whoa!” Nate exclaimed and drew closer. “What happened to your hair? It wasn’t like that last night at our party.”
“Of course it was!” Jackson turned his head this way and that, fingering the quarter-inch of silvery-white roots that were his natural color. His father had warned him this might happen. Then again, his father had always warned him about all sorts of things that could
Jackson wondered briefly why his hair hadn't changed the last time he'd come down, then remembered. Jackson had had protection then.
Mildly annoyed, he replaced his cap, spun Nate around, and ushered him out. “You don’t remember because you were passed out drunk in the bathtub.”
“That wasn’t me! That was—”
“Nate, there was a time when millions of college kids our age would flock here just to partake in the rites of spring. Now it’s your turn! So get out there, get laid, and cause a ruckus
“No buts, just go!” Jackson shoved Nate out of the room and closed the door behind him. For good measure, he turned the lock and slid the chain into place. In the sudden near-perfect quiet, with only the hum and vibration of the old air-conditioning unit to keep him company, Jackson took a deep breath, then made his way to the bathroom. He flicked the light switch and stood before a pedestal sink. Tentatively, he pulled off his cap once more. Another quarter-inch of white had spread along the length of his hair in the time it took to usher Nate from the room.
“Fuck. The old man was right,” Jackson muttered. “This is no
place for someone like me.”
Walking out of the bathroom, toward the nightstand between the beds, he picked up the phone and rang the front desk.
“Yes, hi. This is Jackson Frost in room 109. Can you tell me where I can find the nearest drugstore?”