The Bonus

"I'm in here hoping they put the Dolphins-Redskins preseason game on that TV up there. We don't get reception on the ship."

"That itty-bitty screen up there? You'll hardly be able to see it even if they have the game on. And you are going to watch it alone?"

"I don't mix much. Sort of shy."

"Nobody should watch the games alone. Which team are you a fan of?"

"The Dolphins, of course. They're a Florida team."

"Me too. I'm just going home to watch it myself. Some guys were coming over, but they all bugged out. And no one should have to watch a pro football game alone. Where's the fun in that?"

"I don't know."

"Say. Maybe you'd like to come watch it with me."

"Uh, I don't know. It's about dinner time and . . ."

"I was going to serve steaks. They're already thawing. And we could get that T-shirt clean for you. I dirtied it; I should get it cleaned for you."

"I don't know . . ."

"I live nearby. Nobody should have to watch a pro football game alone."

"Well, I guess . . ."

* * * *

As Jabril hoped, the young Gill couldn't hold his beer all that well, and in the third quarter of the game, he already was woozy and nodding off. He was shirtless because his was in the dryer—and as a gesture of camaraderie Jabril had taken his shirt off too.

Gill had been impressed at the widescreen TV in the Virginia Street house pointed directly at a futon sofa. He'd also been impressed with Jabril's Jag convertible and with the jazzy bungalow on Virginia Street and even more at the pool that ran the length of the bungalow and took up much of the small lot the house was on.

He asked Jabril if he was some sort of Mideast sheik and if this was where he lived. And Jabril just smiled and said this was one of his homes away from home.

They popped Gill's T in the washer and Jabril laughed and said he'd go skins then too, and they sat on the patio with the lights on in the pool and ate their steaks and drank beer, waiting for the game to start.

Jabril became increasingly friendly and as Gill got increasingly blotto from the beer, he became increasingly yielding and his guard lowered and he began, slowly and in subtle ways, to reveal that he, indeed, had known before his ship docked that Key West was one of the gay capitals of the world, that he had heard that the gay activity was free and easy here, and that, yes, he'd always been curious, although he most certainly had never done anything about it. But his being in Key West had made him tingly and he had come off the ship and out into the town on his own just because it was arousing to think of possibilities and what fantasies he could pick up.

He was jolted into consciousness in the fourth quarter of the game to find that the back of the futon sofa had been lowered, that both of them were naked and stretched out beside each other, that Jabril's hand was encasing his cock, that his other arm was embracing Gill to him, and that he was kissing Gill's neck. What really brought Gill awake—well, half awake—though, was that Jabril was working his cock into Gill's passage.

Gill drunkenly struggled, writhing in Jabril's embrace, and objecting in thick-worded babbling that made little sense.

Jabril shushed the young man, saying that he had told Jabril that this was what he wanted, that Gill knew this was what he wanted, and that Jabril was in the saddle now already. That Gill should just lay back and enjoy what he knew he wanted.

Gill quieted down, but he sobbed and moaned and buried his face in Jabril's shoulder when he ejaculated under the attention of Jabril's pumping hand.

Jabril too had ejaculated into the bulb of his condom in the waning moments of the game, and they just lay there in each other's embrace, Gill softly crying and still trembling as the Redskins trounced the Dolphins.

Jabril reached over for the remote and clicked off the commentary, knowing Gill wouldn't want to be reminded of defeat. And they lay there, neither speaking, both trying to regularize their breath.

"I asked for it?" Gill weakly said in a whisper, at length.

"Yes. I guess the beer loosened your tongue. You told me that you'd come to the coffee house looking for a hookup and when I appeared, that you hoped it would be me."

"I did?" Gill seemed to be confused, not being able to remember saying what he, of course, never said. But also unable to call it a lie. It had been obvious to Jabril that this was what Gill really wanted.

And this is what Jabril had come to Key West to do—to pop some young guy's cherry.

"I've got to go," Gill whispered.

"You'll want to shower. The pool looks inviting, though. Let's take a swim first."

"I've got to go," Gill repeated.

"You told me you wanted to swim. You told me you wanted me to fuck you in the pool. This is what you came to Key West for."

"I don't . . . I just don't . . ."

"Did you come off the ship to be fucked or not? Did you take this cruise because you knew it would stop in Key West and this would be your chance, or not?"

They went into the pool naked. Gill moved lethargically through the water, still dizzy from the beer buzz and the shock of what he had done—what he'd allowed this rich Arab to do to him, what he'd had to admit that he wanted.

Jabril moved to him in the water and embraced him and turned Gill's body to his. He wrapped one hand around his neck and brought his mouth in for a long, deep kiss. The other hand encased their cocks together and began to stroke. Gill trembled and shuddered and moaned as Jabril's tongue invaded his mouth cavity and took his breath away.

The second time Jabril fucked Gill was on the patio at the edge of the shallow end of the pool. Gill was on his back on a towel, his legs raised and spread over the water of the pool, gripped in Jabril's hands, as Jabril stood in the water and slow-fucked Gill's channel at the lip of the pool.

Gill sobbed again through the fuck.

"Remember, I've never before . . . before today . . . please be gentle"

Jabil slammed his dick home and started fucking hard. "You want it hard, I know you do."

Gill just sobbed and took it.

"Are you OK?" Jabril asked at the front door where they were both standing, neither really knowing what to say. Gill seemed sad and confused still—and embarrassed. Jabril was doing what he could to mask his elation.

"I've got to go," Gill whispered. "There's a curfew on the ship. I've got to get back."

"Do you want me to drive you?" Before the sentence was completed, however, Gill had faded into the darkness of Virginia Street, headed for the night lights of Duval.

Jabril showered and slipped, naked, between silken sheets, pleased with himself that the trip had gone so well. He'd have to get up early in the morning to get everything in the house back in exactly the shape he'd found it. When he returned the keys to the bungalow to Scotty, Scotty would want assurances that the owners would have no idea anyone had been there when they returned from their trip to the Redskins-Dolphins game in Washington, D.C.

He masturbated himself to sleep, reliving the moment when his cock had breached the young man's sphincter and Jabril had claimed his innocence. The young guy's virginity. What was his name? Jabril really wanted to remember the names of his conquests. He'd probably remember in the morning.

At 10:00 in the morning, while Jabril was finishing up with his housecleaning, there was a knock at the door.

He almost didn't answer it; there wasn't supposed to be anyone here. But he could see through the side window by the door that it was the young guy from last night—Gill. He remembered now. That was his name.

"Ummm. Hi. I just came by . . . I wondered . . . oh, god, I want . . ."

Jabril moved out onto the front porch and brought the door close to shut behind. "Uh, this isn't a good time, Gill. I've . . . I've got my stockbroker with me. But come back at 2:00. I'll have something for you then. I'll do you fine then. That's what you've come back for, isn't it?"

Gill hung his head and studied the toes in his sandals, unable to speak. Too embarrassed to say it. "Uh, OK. 2:00, then. I'll be back."

Jabril leaned over, cupped Gill's chin with his hand, and brought their lips together in a kiss.

Gill looked guiltily up and down the street when they parted, but he was smiling and there were tears in his eyes.

"Good-bye, Gill . . . for now."

* * * *

The flight into Baltimore-Washington's Thurgood Marshall International airport was an hour late arriving, but Angelo lived just a few minutes away, in Colombia, Maryland, so he had plenty of time to retrieve his Ford pickup in the distant shuttle lot and get home before Cindy was home from work and the kids were back from school.

He arrived in time to unpack and to hide his Jocko wear and the Speedo bathing suits in the bottom of the duffel bag with his tennis gear before he heard the lilting voice of his wife from the entrance hall.

"Hello! Is Mr. Gianinni on the premises? Mrs. Gianinni is home. Your truck is here; you can't be far behind."

"Hi, babe. Missed you. Have you missed me?" Angelo said as he walked slowly down the stairs and took his wife in his arms. He gave her a deep kiss and fumbled with the material covering her breasts.

"Down, boy, I hear the school bus. The urchins will be invading any moment now. Of course I missed you."

Later, when the kids had gotten the presents Angelo had brought them and had been bundled off to begin their homework, Cindy put a cup of steaming coffee down on the kitchen island counter, and Angelo perched on a bar stool.

"Everything go OK in Atlanta? The weather good? You got what you needed done?"

"Yep, everything good," Angelo said. "It rained Tuesday night, but I'd made it to the hotel by then." Angelo had quite carefully checked the weather in Atlanta every day he was gone. This was a standard Cindy question. She always asked it—just to have something to ask him about his business trips. It wasn't like she'd ever check. Angelo was so dull and predictable.

"Business was good too. I got everything done I went there to do." Angelo lifted his coffee cup to hide the sly little smile that that statement had brought to his lips. "But I'll have to go back in a couple of months. There always is more to do."

"They work you too hard at the office," Cindy said.

"It's a job. There are so many without jobs now. I have to keep plugging away at this one."

"Yes, I know. But you never get out to blow off steam anymore. When was the last time you played tennis?"

Angelo's heart skipped a beat at the mention of tennis and his thoughts went to whether that duffel bag was a good place for his stash. But, yes, of course it was. That didn't have anything to do with Cindy's mention of tennis.

"I have a good life. We have a good life, Cindy," he said as he reached over and took her hand in his.

"Yes the salary's good. But they really should give you bonuses—you deserve a good bonus for all these trips you take."

"I don't really see the possibility of that," Angelo said. But this wasn't the thought that came to mind. What he was thinking was how grateful he was that his boss gave bonuses—good ones. His most recent one, the one that took him to Key West, was for $5,000. But the best part was that his boss hated the IRS so much that he gave the bonuses under the table and admonished his employees not to let their spouses talk about them, which meant, of course, that none of them even told their spouses about the bonuses—so no one but he and his employees knew about them.