Disclaimer: This is a work of gay fiction. It will, eventually, contain scenes describing sex between adult males. If that offends you, if you are underage, or if it is illegal to possess such material where you are, then stop now!
I appreciate your constructive comments. Email me at letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com Copyright held by the author. Do not reproduce without permission.
CHAPTER TWO: SEDUCTION
Knowing I was going to be apart from Stephanie for the summer did not do anything good for my study habits just prior to finals. In the brief intervals while I was building up more cum, we did attend class, and she did some shopping and made other arrangements for her trip to France. The rest of the time, we just fucked. Poor Al had to barricade himself in his room with the stereo blasting to avoid the sounds and smells of constant, insatiable sex.
As we lay on our backs recuperating from a particularly intense mutual orgasm, Stephanie caressed my right nipple casually, and said, "So what are you going to do for relief while you're on this self-improvement kick all summer?"
"After this, I won't need any all summer."
She socked me playfully in the bicep. "Don't lie to me, dickhead. I, of all people, know what a sex-pistol you are."
I held up my right hand with fingers spread. "That's why God gave us opposable thumbs, baby. Really, it's all guys on this thing. As opposed to a landscape filled with sexy French people."
She laughed. "Just stay away from areas where there are sheep, then."
"Baa," I said, and rolled onto her for another go-around.
By Saturday morning, Stephanie and I had said our tearful good-byes, pledging eternal love and fidelity, and I was sitting on the steps of the apartment at 7:58, wearing cargo shorts, a tee shirt, and sandals, otherwise empty-handed as instructed. I didn't even take a cell-phone or an I-pod, fearful that they would just take them away from me.
At 8:01, a silver Benz pulled up, driven by a dark-haired man in sunglasses. The passenger window rolled down, and he called out, "Hop in, Douglas."
"Front or back?"
"Front is fine. We have two more stops."
I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. He offered a hand and said, "Welcome aboard. I'm Evan." His grasp was warm and firm. His smile was wide and sincere. What is it with teeth on these guys, I thought. His were as fit for a toothpaste commercial as Colin's. Similar great complexion, only darker-skinned. Evan had a very neat, short goatee that set off the wide mouth and dimples. Even seated in the car, he cut a dashing figure, in red painted-on golf shirt and black shorts hiked up to expose strong, tanned thighs. He also had sandals, but his were pushed back against the driver's seat: he was driving barefoot. I would wager that girls creamed themselves if this guy even spoke to them. Shit, I nearly did, too.
We drove only a few minutes before we pulled up alongside another apartment building. "Two guys from one school? Is that unusual?" I asked.
"A little. Not so much from this school, though, it has a pretty select student body."
I wondered if I would know the guy we were picking up. I didn't. In a couple of seconds, he came trotting around the corner of the building. He had nondescript brown hair, kind of spiky, and wore gold glasses. He had on a blue wife-beater, of all things, and baggy shorts over flip-flops. I supposed right away that this Association outfit had more work to do on some than on others, if they were going to bring us guys up to the standard of Colin and Evan, in appearance, at least. He hopped into the back, and Evan introduced him to me as Patrick.
"Pat," he said, and offered his hand over the seat to both of us.
We hit the interstate, and for a couple of hours, we drove mostly in silence. Pat did bring his I-pod. He popped in his ear-buds, and that was the last we heard of him. I dozed for a bit, but woke as we were exiting the highway. I recognized the campus of one of my Uni's great rivals.
"Only one student from here," I chortled pridefully.
"This year. Over all, we get a lot from here. It's my alma mater," said Evan matter-of-factly.
"Oh, sorry, man. Didn't mean to offend."
"No problem. In The Association, little things like college rivalries, regional differences, even age and race become mere details. You'll get used to it."
We pulled over to the curb outside a residence, formerly single-family, now divided into several student apartments. An oriental guy was sitting on the front steps with a book open. When summoned by the name Matthew, he rose and strode to the car, smiling shyly. Pat slid over, and Matthew joined us.
"That's it for this car-load," said Evan, after introductions. "Now, we're off to the airport."
"For our trip out West," added Pat.
"Yeah, West Virginia," smiled Evan.
"Oh? Colin told me it was out West, too,"
"I believe he said you could tell your girlfriend that," Evan explained. "Don't worry, you'll be just as much out of civilization and cell-phone range where we're going."
It dawned on me then just how out of control of this situation I really was. My anxiety level picked up a notch. But there was nothing to do but watch the scenery slide by.
It wasn't far, though, to the small airport, where a private jet awaited us. Another car, this time a black Caddy, was there ahead of us with three more prospects in it, all looking as hesitant and disheveled as I felt. Two more sedans pulled up within the next quarter hour, a Jaguar and a Lexus. So there were an even dozen of us for this jet. There were no further introductions, but the four drivers clearly knew one another well. They hugged and patted on one another like old team-mates. Every one was as handsome and ripped as Evan. I doubt if one of them even knew what a zit was.
The other vehicles contained two black guys and one apparent Latino among the crew of Anglos, so it did look like a moderately diverse bunch. I couldn't figure out much that we had in common: one was really quite skinny, but with a little, out-of-shape paunch on him. One was on the stocky side, with freckles. Several wore glasses. Two had beards. What exactly was The Association looking for, I wondered? I sure didn't see this lot coming out at the other end looking like the guys I'd met so far. I began to regret having spent so long in the car without asking Evan any questions. I wondered if he would have answered any.
I sidled innocently up to Evan when the opportunity presented itself, and gave it a shot.
"So are you guys all full members of The Association? And if you are, then why are you chauffeuring us around instead of being out fulfilling all your dreams?"
For a second, I was afraid I'd said something really out of line, as he looked at me critically, with eyebrows raised. Here I was being the smart-ass on Day One. Then, the man next to him, who had heard my question, guffawed and punched Evan in the arm.
"Damned if that isn't a really good question, Evan, way better than average. Tell the man why!"
Evan seemed to relax a bit. "Yes, we're full members. We're doing this because we haven't yet completed our education. We're all still in graduate schools. But all members of The Association do what they can to keep things going. You'll meet some older members, too, later on. Now, get your butt over there with the others and get ready to board the plane."
We did board in just a few minutes, and off we soared to the wilds of West Virginia. I had no idea what towns in that state had airports, but in any case, I completely lost track of where we were heading, as there was no recognizable terrain below at all, even when I heard the wheels lower and we began to descend. Suddenly, just below cloud level, I felt our wheels hit the ground with a jar, and we rushed along a runway with trees visible on both sides of the jet. We had landed on a private runway built along the very ridge of a mountain-top.
Belted into the plane as we had been, and on such a short hop, we still had had no opportunity to speak to one another beyond a few words. I was seated beside a brown- haired guy named Mike, a gangly, farm-boy type and a man of few words. I did find out that he was from Iowa, and was a student at Penn State. Across from us was Greg, dark- haired and spectacled, the shortest man on board at about 5'9", from Ohio, via Princeton, and next to him, one of the black dudes, Lamar, a Georgian from MIT. The four of us stuck together, along with Pat and Matt from my car-load, as we boarded a bus at the end of the tarmac.
As we drove off the runway toward a narrow track that angled down the mountain, our jet, turned and revved up for take-off. So this was it. We had arrived at our training camp, and there was no turning back now. Mike glanced at me and raised his eyebrows resignedly, no doubt thinking similar thoughts to mine.
I must say, what we arrived at didn't look like a camp to me at all. It was, in fact, a great mansion, like an English manor house strangely transplanted onto the West Virginia hollow in which it nestled, surrounded by verdant and immaculate landscapes. The coach took us right up the long, tree-lined driveway and disgorged us onto a brick- paved turnabout before the wide front doors of the house. The doors opened, and five strapping men, wearing the signature colorful golf shirts and pressed slacks of the Association men we'd met so far, stepped out onto the wide verandah. Every one had GQ model looks and poise to match. The one in the center greeted us, introducing himself as Adam. He also introduced, to his left, Adrian and Dennis, and to his right, Frank and Owen.
After a few sentences of welcome, he went on, "Men, you complete our class for this summer. Others have arrived before you. You will find them in the reception hall to your left inside the foyer, where you will be offered some refreshment. At one o'clock, you will be summoned to lunch on the east terrace. After that, you may wander around the grounds a bit on your own. Please do not explore the house itself, yet, however. You'll get your tour of that later. At precisely three o'clock, I want you back here where you are right now. We'll proceed with your orientation, and then we'll get to work with your program. Room assignments will come at the end of the day."
With that, he led us into the elegant, marbled foyer, then left into a grand receiving room. Waiters appeared in tuxedoes bearing trays of elaborate canapes, mostly composed of fruits and vegetables, it seemed, with a bit of fish here and there, and others offering beer, wine, and effervescent waters. I felt downright awkward, but pulled down a Heineken nevertheless along with the others.
It was a relief when the double doors on the interior wall opened and the one named Dennis entered.
"Gentlemen..." he called, and we followed like puppy dogs out and down the wide central corridor, past an unused dining room in the front part of the side wing, and out onto the terrace beyond. Luckily, the tables were set for six, and the little group I had attached myself to was able to sit together. We had an excellent fresh salad, an entree of trout on couscous, with asparagus, and a tropical sherbet for dessert. Everything was top- notch, in terms of quality and preparation, but the servings were a bit small for a bunch of big college men, I thought.
Our table was on the edge of the terrace, overlooking an expanse of lawn. In the distance, we could see a hole or two of a golf course, and there were outbuildings of some kind, apparently barns, behind a row of trees and shrubs. Two men on horseback emerged from behind the trees, cantering their mounts along the edge of the trees on the smooth turf. The horses were gorgeous. So were the riders. And, except for boots, the men were completely naked! The six of us watched them ride by, and then we looked inquisitively at one another.
"It's guys only here, I guess," Matt observed.
"Hurts my nuts to watch," said Mike wryly. "They must be good riders."
We finished our lunch and agreed to take a stroll around the circumference of the surrounding lawn. In our circuit, we saw two or three foursomes play through the hole of the golf course visible to us. We crossed a rocky, rippling stream, on which three or four fly-fishermen were visible. We passed the tennis courts, with players on three of the four courts. We found a large outdoor swimming pool, at the back of the house, which connected to an indoor pool through a large door, presently open. Half a dozen men jogged past us. In all, I guess we saw fifty or so men enjoying the facilities in one way or another. Except for footwear and perhaps a cap, every one of them was jaybird naked. In age, they went from thirties to perhaps sixties. But every one of them was also remarkably fit and trim.
None of my new buds said a further word about it. But I knew they noticed, and I knew they were thinking about it, as I was.
By the time we finished our circuit, it was five minutes before three. Perplexed as we were about the naked members running around, we were also plenty impressed by the grandeur of our surroundings. This was a fine piece of property, meticulously maintained.
It was Frank who summoned us inside the house this time. He led us to the right off the foyer, into another large room containing three dozen chairs in four rows of nine. We milled about for a moment finding seats, as Frank watch imperturbably. Once we were seated, the side door opened immediately, and Adam strode in. Frank sidled back behind us, where I also saw that Adrian, Dennis, and Owen had come in. Adam led our orientation.
As he began his remarks, I looked him over judiciously. He was at least 6'2". His hair was coal black, short and neatly trimmed. He had the tanned, clear complexion, dazzling teeth, and shapely, masculine frame I had come to expect of Association men. In a pleasant, conversational style that no doubt made each of us feel as if he were talking directly to us alone, he ran through some basics about The Association, and about our summer of training.
The Association prefers full names, he told us, no nick-names and no shortening. We are not children, he said, nor mascots, but grown, responsible men, and we use grown, responsible names. Get used to it.
There was a run-down on how we would be incommunicado for the whole summer. No exceptions, no whining. Get used to it.
All cell-phones, reading materials, timepieces, and personal electronic equipment would be left behind in this room. We would be provided everything we would need henceforth. There would be precious little time for private entertainment.
This is not a hazing, he declared. Everything we would do would have a man- building purpose, tried and true over decades of The Association's life. Every instruction would be non-negotiable, to be obeyed instantly and without question. Sometimes, failure to do so could result in injury. We eat what's put before us, wear what we're given, do what we're told. Get used to it.
The first segment of the training would focus on physical development and spirit de corps. If it felt a bit like Paris Island, so be it. Get used to it.
We are responsible for seeing that we get through the course as best we can. We are also responsible for helping our partner get through. And we are responsible for getting our whole class through. We are to be a team. If one of us acts to cause harm to one another in any way, he loses major points. If one of us has the opportunity to help another and fails to do so, he loses major points. No matter what the reason.
We are to do anything, repeat anything, to help our fellow. Nothing, repeat nothing, to hinder our fellow. No matter what.
Decisions of the training team are final. There is no appeal.
Eventually, Adam asked for questions. There was a long silence, while he stood patiently, waiting, knowing that we had to be filled with uncertainties. But who was going to speak up?
At last, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand rise, and Adam nodded in that direction.
"What's with all the naked men around here this afternoon?"
Adam gave a small smile. "They are Members, enjoying this facility as a resort for men. During the cool months, we allow women and children, and we have full services for them. But during the summer, while the training program is going on, we cater only to our Members themselves, who are all male. Clothing is not necessary and, typically, they prefer not to wear it.
"Bear in mind, this organization dates from the years following the Civil War. In fact, one part of its purpose was to help erase the divisions that war produced. In the culture of that time, and right up until recently as a matter of fact, men routinely socialized and exercised together, with no women present, in the nude. In most organizations, that ended only when women gained entrance. But The Association remains entirely a male enterprise. There has been no reason for us to change our ways, and we haven't done so."
"How come no women, then? Is there an Association for women?" I think it was Pat who asked that.
"The Association has nothing against women. However, we have no idea how to build strong women. We know a great deal about how to build strong men. So we do what we are good at doing. If there is to be an equivalent organization for women, then women must establish it."
Another hand was up in the back. "You aren't going to make us run around naked, too are you?"
Adam looked more serious now.
"You men are uptight about a lot of things. What the fuck is the big deal? You all have the same equipment. You all use it in the same ways. Yet you have no sense of camaraderie, no brotherhood, not even any real sense of yourselves. You are going to get to know yourself extremely well, body, mind, and spirit, and you are going to get to know one another, too. You are going to emerge from this summer in September with no sense of shame, no feelings or fears of inadequacy, no self-doubt. You will be completely comfortable in your skin, and therefore, in your clothing as well.
"There was a time, just a few years ago, when I sat where you are now sitting, and I was more mortified than many of you about the prospect of stripping off in front of a group of other guys. Who knows what imagined inadequacies I was afraid of. I don't. Today, I would think nothing of walking naked down Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, if I had a reason to do it. Don't worry about it. You'll get used to it."
Adam turned and walked purposefully back out the way he had come in. Clearly, our orientation was ended. I glanced at my watch for the last time of the summer. It was five o'clock.
Dennis and company were moving up to the front of the room, each carrying plastic bags with names on them. "Your contraband items go in these, men. All of them. I mean, empty your pockets, no wallet, no watch, no keys--not even any damn gum." My bag contained only my watch, wallet, and keys, but most of the guys seemed to have all their pockets full of stuff. As we unloaded, we were directed to line up at the foyer door.
From there, Owen led us down the central hallway to a stairwell, and down to the level below, where there was an enormous game room. Plenty of pool, Foosball, air hockey, and ping-pong tables, pin-ball machines, and even arcade games to occupy twice our number. Without being summoned, waiters came in, as before, with beer, wine, and waters. No snacks this time, though--and I was beginning to get a bit peckish.
I settled into a game of eight-ball with Mike, which turned into a single- elimination tournament. I made it through the third round, and then turned to air hockey, and then some of the video games.
After three beers, the doors opened again, and Frank appeared. "Gentlemen, dinner is served," he intoned. He didn't have to call us twice.