Chapter Seven
Frederick
Against my better judgment — and probably the judgment of the higher-ups and my peers equally — I decide to leave the base. Leave my “protective custody” lodging and head into life outside this stifling place I’ve been put in. I’m not going to a bar or diner though. I have other plans. Say what you will — call me crazy, too stupid to be in the Navy or living life without a legal guardian even though I’m twenty eight — but rejection has that effect on me. It makes me obsessive, stubborn and bullheaded. Even more so if someone or something tries to keep me tied down and sequestered away.
Technically, I shouldn’t know where any of my Captains live. I have no reason to know anything about their lives off base. Luckily for me though, Captain Gibson decided to host everybody at his place for an after party following Brad and Lance’s wedding.
And before you go thinking that I wrote it down and memorized it, or some other creepy thing like that, I didn’t. I just have a really good memory. Nearly photographic according to the people who initially evaluated me for service in the Navy. That memory, when it isn’t weighed down by fear and trauma, is part of what got me in the SEALs to begin with. The elite unit I’ve served with for a number of years.
I remember my way to Captain Gibson’s place like I’ve driven there hundreds of times before, not just one time.
The drive is a nice one and a good breather from the regimented, closed-off vibe of the compound. A welcome relief to the dead, claustrophobic air inside my room. But even as I make the 20-25-minute drive to Captain Gibson’s ranch house on the outskirts of Albuquerque, I find myself sinking down in the driver’s seat. I’m trying to avoid looking at people driving next to me and wonder how much they’ve seen of my face and the Navy officer uniform I’m still wearing.
Among the stupidest things I’ve done this afternoon, I forgot to change out of my “work clothes” before leaving base and stepping out into the world of the “public” — non-service members. Not doing so means I stand out like a sore, shiny thumb.
It’s something I’m even more keenly aware of, now that I know I’ve brought false charges against one of my Captains. I feel like everyone on the streets and in their cars might know the news, even though the Navy makes it a policy to keep all Navy-related affairs internal… unless of course it involves a member or members of the public. So, while I know logically that I should be safe from further censure by the general populace, I still feel naked. Guilty. And in the perpetual spotlight, even as dusk begins to fall.
When I finally reach the lonely, grand driveway — I think it’s grand, compared to the small quarters I have on base — I feel a little more secure. A little more insulated from judging or prying eyes. I turn off the engine and headlights to my car and check my phone—not for calls but for the time. It’s just before 5 p.m.
Which means he should be getting home soon. I unbuckle myself, looking anxiously at the road behind me in either direction. I watch for his car, for some sign that he is as punctual as I know him to be. I shouldn’t have to wait here long, at least I hope I don’t. I whimper, feeling even worse about that damn counseling session where I pinned these charges on Captain Gibson. It’s like an infection: the longer I let it go, the worse it gets and the nastier it becomes. But I really need to make him understand. I need Ethan to know that I didn’t just do all of this to make trouble for him. To torture him. And make his last year in the Navy before retiring a living hell. I didn’t. I just—cracked—or something.
I growl at myself, that’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard. Ethan’s not going to buy it and neither is his lawyer, or anyone in court for that matter. Fuck. At this rate, I’m going to get slapped with a false-statement charge. Multiple, probably. Or worse: defamation and libel of a distinguished Captain. Something I’m sure I’m going to get more than court-martialed for. Christ. There’s a reason “don’t ask don’t tell” was so popular for such a long time. If you keep your fucking trap shut, nothing bad happens. Everyone gets to go on their merry way. But no. The stupid therapist just had to ask, and I just had to tell her.
Headlights from an approaching car, shine on my horizon… and more thoughts, before they can get any more morbid or self-hating. I watch the headlights wink at me as the car rumbles over uneven patches of asphalt. As the car turns into the driveway, I watch it slowly, creeping forward. Captain Gibson’s seen me, seen my car, and is probably wary of me and my presence at his house. Ya think?
I unbuckle myself, dive out of my car and get ready to present myself to him. Before he can even get a window rolled all the way down, I’m standing there, speaking to him.
“I know you’re not expecting me. I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, or ever. I know I’ve created nothing but problems for you today, but I need you to listen. I need to talk—away from the base—away from everybody, Captain.”
Captain Gibson opens up his door after unbuckling, and I step away to give him room to get out. As I do, I see that he’s also in uniform. But, unlike me he doesn’t look like he was ever disturbed or embarrassed by that fact. He has nothing but confidence radiating from him. And, more than that, he doesn’t look irritated at me or uncomfortable with me being there. Just a little tired and troubled maybe, as if he’s been looking for an escape from this bad day as well.
“I get it kid. I don’t blame you for needing to get away from there with everything that’s popped off as of 11 AM this morning.”
With this, he closes his door and hustles right past me up toward his front door. As he walks, he fishes his keys out of his navy-blue Dockers and readies them for the door. I follow dutifully behind, happy in some way that he hasn’t just told me to get the fuck out of his driveway, or threatened to call the police on me.
“You can talk to me, but just don’t count on it changing my mind or what’s already happened.”
“I understand,” I say, coming to a stop behind him.
Captain Gibson unlocks his door and pushes it open some, before turning to me.
“I’m listening,” he says, “get talking, kid.”
I fold my hands together and rest them delicately in front of me. I don’t dare meet his eyes fully. At least not yet. Not after everything I’ve caused today.
“As I tried to explain earlier, I’m not out to get you. I’m not just doing this because I’m vindictive or out for revenge.”
I shake my head, frustrated by how dumb I sound and how all of this is probably just making me sound more guilty—crazier, not saner like I want to come off as.
“None of this was supposed to happen at all Captain. It was supposed to be a counseling session for some anger issues I had with someone throwing shit on me for being gay. An issue about coming out rather than staying in the closet with my clothes.”
I close my eyes trying to erase any memory of sitting in that stupid office. Of even saying anything about the memory I experienced.
“That counseling session was supposed to be a safe space, and instead it led to this! It led to me experiencing some kind of repressed memory and accidentally labeling you as the person who abused me!”
Here, I dare to look at him, if only so he can slap me in the face if he wants. I would deserve it as much for all the shit I’ve brought on him… maybe more. “I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t know why my brain told me it was you. I don’t know why my fucked up head made you the bad guy when I know you’re not.” Tears fall and a tightness enters my voice.
“I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve been abused. All my life.”
“So my lawyer told me,” he answers.
“In the Navy too,” I add, not liking how unimpressed, uncompassionate he sounds. “I know. I don’t know what to tell you, but I know logically you didn’t, you couldn’t have had anything to do with this. Not one damn thing, but that’s what my brain told me, and before I realized what I was doing, I blurted out your name, and that fucking therapist wouldn’t let it go. She said she was bound by the law to report abuse and victimization, but I begged and pleaded with her to leave it alone. I told her that I didn’t want you or anyone else brought into this.”
Tears well out of my eyes and threaten to go down my cheeks, but I wipe them away, not wanting anything else to leak out without my permission. I grit my teeth realizing that saying all of this is hopeless and futile. And I seem to confirm it too when I study Captain Gibson’s face. He looks rather unmoved by what I’m saying. As if I’m talking about the weather forecast.
I begin sobbing now, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by how much respect I have for Gibson as not only a Captain, but as a gay man. A gay man from an earlier generation who was so able and confident in coming out to everyone at the wedding. Lance and Brad have been like idols to a lot of us closet dwellers and it showed so much courage to do what he did and where he did it.
“I respect you, Captain. I admire you.” Tears break away from my eyes now and my throat growls with emotion. “I admire your courage. Your strength. Not just in your years of service, but in how you are able to be as a newly-out gay man. How strong and calm you are and naturally comfortable you seem in your own skin… even though I know you must have agonized over your identity for decades.” I draw in a shaky breath, feeling a new level of low. I’ve never hated myself more than in this moment.
“You are the last person I would ever want to accuse of anything but the highest standards of conduct. Your outstanding service and treatment of others, of all of us,” I say, “and here I accuse you of the worst things possible. Of abusing me! Forcing yourself on me, when I know it’s not true. But my brain’s fucked up—it has to be to see something so clearly like I do right now, and yet get it so, so wrong!”
Here, I actually break down and begin crying more than talking. I somehow wish he would just punch and kick the shit out of me to somehow make us even…even though it never would. As I let loose more tears, I’m overrun by other feelings. Other memories, and before I know it, I’m just letting it all out. I begin telling Gibson everything I’ve been keeping pent-up since before and after the wedding we attended.
“When I came out to my unit, all I wanted was some acceptance. Some recognition of the courage it took me to stand there before them as the man I really am. All I wanted was to know that I was still respected and cared for, but I didn’t get any of that. I just got people abandoning me left and right; saying they didn’t want to serve with me or be posted with me on any mission for any length of time, for any reason.”
I hiccup, feeling like my voice box might just bust my windpipe. Now my mind’s returned to my high school days. My middle school ones as well, where I had boyfriends, but they didn’t care about my dignity or my privacy. They went around telling others what a deviant I am, while forgetting to include themselves in the deviance. This caused people to ostracize me at school and not hang out with me, for fear doing so might give them AIDS. Might turn them “queer” like me. They all liked to pretend that I had the “gay” version of cooties.
“All of my life I’ve had people reject me because of who I am. I’ve had every person I’d ever care about dash any hopes I had for acceptance and love for myself.”
I grimace and grit my teeth as memories from my childhood surface further. Like memories of my father and uncle forcing themselves upon me. Using me and my body for whatever sick fantasies they wanted to.
“I’ve been treated like garbage, like a cum dumpster by my own family!” I look at Captain Gibson, feeling more tormented than I have in a long time. “Do I just exist simply for people to torture and get away with it? For people to not give a fuck about… while fucking me?”
I’m hysterical now, and that’s when Captain Gibson decides to grab for me and hold me closer to him, pulling me nearer to the house towards the open door. At first, I think it might be to tell me to shut the fuck up, that I’m disturbing his neighbors, or causing him more embarrassment. Instead he says something that I had not expected.
Now closer than ever to the inside of the door and house he says very deliberately yet tenderly.
“No, you don’t just exist to be someone’s dumpster or punching bag.” As he speaks, his eyes get that beautiful bronze glow to them. He’s close enough that I can see the slight specks of silver shine on the sides of his head.
“Whatever has happened to you at home as a kid or here in the Navy, you didn’t deserve. You were very young and didn’t ask for any of the abuse. It was wrong…they were wrong… and evil to abuse you the way they did instead of doing what they were supposed to be doing. And that was loving and protecting you.”
He scoots a little closer which allows me to get a whiff of his smell, the faint waft of snacks and aftershave along with his unique scent. I start to notice how soft his lips look and the gentle lines around his mouth. His chin is dimpled and has a masculine chisel to it. He has slight smile lines too, something I think really endears him to a lot of people, me among them.
“And as for the rest of your crew not respecting you and your courage to come out, your identity…fuck them. If they cannot be caring or civil and decent human beings about your orientation it’s their own problem and issue. You can’t keep waiting for other people to validate you, Frederick. You have to learn that you’re number one and do everything in your power to believe it.”
He leans into me further, one arm braced against the wall, but I don’t feel trapped. I don’t feel in danger, not even when he closes the front door with the heel of one of his shoes.
“Seeking approval from others is a long, pointless game. You are young and will find friends or lovers who will love you for who you are. And the people who don’t value you…you don’t need them in your life.”
At these words there is a sexy rumble in his voice, an enticing depth to it that’s making me lightheaded. With one arm braced on the wall behind me, I appreciate Captain Gibson’s strength, his age and wisdom. It’s something I can feel in his posture alone. No young guy has the presence or command like he does, and that’s when my knees start to go weak and begin to tremble, even under my uniform. While one part of my body is crumbling, another one starts to rise…something I want Captain Gibson to bring his other hand down to feel…but that thought quickly escapes me under his serious, tenderhearted gaze.
“You’ve got to accept yourself, Frederick. That’s all there is to it. That’s all you can do to get better and live a full and happy life. What anyone did to you in the past sucks and it’s good you at least acknowledge that. But you have to do everything in your power to not let it control your life. Do you —”
Just as he’s about to say “understand,” my head darts forward and my lips lock onto his, sinking into their warmth, like a lava on rock. Seconds after our lips connect, my brain — all rational thought — melts away. It dribbles down my spine…everything that he was saying seconds before…has disappeared, melted into his sensuous lips. My dick is really hard by now, and seconds later. the rational part of my mind is shouting at me. I’ve just up and kissed my Captain and I can’t pull away. I don’t want to!
The only thing that could stop me would be Captain Gibson himself. And he does. At least for now that is.