timeexc.html

Selected excerpts from: A TIME TO LIVE
A Novel by JIM BROGAN

Tempus had fugited for fifty-year-old Brian. If he went two days without shaving, he looked like a street-person, a bum, a complete negative contrast to the sexy young models or baseball players who deliberately showed off a few days of enticing growth. Oh, that insidious, ever-creeping hoariness taking over his sideburns, descending even lower through the light fuzz of his chest. And his silhouette wasn't so sleek anymore, either. . .
The next morning the fog had rolled in. Like a wounded animal Brian stuck to his lair, even when North Beach became sunny towards noon. By about two, however, he noticed the fog had cleared out at the coast. Twenty minutes later he was negotiating the steep trail that led to All-American Boy Beach, not its official designation, of course, but as good a name as any, given the fact that no one seemed to know what to call it.
Looking down the beach towards the Golden Gate Bridge, he saw no one in sight. He walked toward the magnificent orange-rust span. Since the tide was low, it was a breeze to cross the rocks to a spot that was simultaneously one of the most public and most private anywhere. There was all the motor traffic above, on the bridge, and the Channel itself was a super-highway for both commercial and pleasure craft. It was easy to climb to an upper level and lie against the immense concrete retaining wall, under the south end of the bridge.
Brian stripped and jogged naked along the upper beach, past historic Fort Point with its windows boarded up and on the final stone pathway to a perch that afforded a view of the surfers who dared the swift tidal currents of the Channel. And there they were, just fifty feet away. Not surfers but three brown-skinned naked men were standing around joking, the one in the middle, the most handsome one, batting his cock back and forth from one thigh to the other. Brian waved them a friendly greeting.
As Brian watched, the trio moved forward to the lower level and into the water's edge, grabbing themselves in mock-agony each time the frigid surf slapped against them. Sensing no reason to inhibit himself, Brian joined them in their play. Could he approach them? He'd be content just to be near their smooth willowy, brown bodies. Yet he did sidle through the surf over to the closest one, the cutest one. "God, the water's cold."
"Great beach, though. I've got to bring my girlfriend here." Brian smiled, then, taking the hint, withdrew towards a nearby cove, not wanting to disrupt the chemistry. The short thin one, very comfortable showing off his erection to his friends, got laughs every time he, without using his hands, jerked his hard cock up and down. The third guy, more hunky, with a mat of straight black hair on his chest and stomach, reached down and grabbed one of his socks, slid it over his dick, a la the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and danced about.
The uncertainty of what was going to happen next started bothering Brian. This window of opportunity would soon close. They would not all remain alone here very much longer.
The handsome one broke the stalemate. He trotted off to the opening of the cove, then disappeared from sight. Brian joined his two friends in laughing at his antics, then motioned for them all to go towards the cove. The two friends, after some more laughs, however, walked back to the water and dove in. Brian followed them, needing the salt water's cold sobriety. After he rode a small wave back to the shore, he trotted over to the cove where he could drink in that sleek brown figure at the base of the cliff.
It was an electric moment. As he stared at the young man's face, he could swear it was yet another, altogether different young man, this one a clean-cut preppy who might have gone to Harvard. But, no, that was actually him–the guy just had this incredible, classically beautiful face.
Once in the cove Brian took about twenty suspense-filled steps towards the young man. How would the guy react? He turned partially away as Brian approached, causing the older man to panic, to retreat to the other end of the cove to allow for the possibility of the thing fizzing out. When Brian turned around again to face him, however, his brown Adonis was looking at Brian and smiling.
Once again Brian approached and stood side by side with the young man, both of them facing out toward the ocean, toward the warm sun. Eighteen or nineteen, Brian guessed. Probably rarely shaved. Downy fuzz on his cheeks. Brian pressed in closer, thigh against thigh, then playfully caressed his tiny bit of baby fat. Picking up on the kid's affinity for touch, Brian put one arm around his shoulder as they started playing with each other. . .

After a few moments they rushed to the surf, diving in to wash up. The friends were busy chatting, pants back on, but in no great hurry to move on.
As they emerged from the surf, Brian, as he usually did, asked for a name.
"Jésus."
"Where are you from?"
"El Sobrante. Good to see you, my friend. But it is late. We must go back." Jésus walked over to his friends and got dressed.
Jésus of El Sobrante! Seeing him clothed, Brian felt a warm glow. No one would ever guess how outrageously Jésus had behaved, with such total abandon. Only he would know how soft the touch of Jésus's cheek against his own. How wonderful that Jésus had been able to seize the moment and then return, fully accepted by his buddies.
Jésus heals, at least for a while. Bless the brown-skinned trio for letting him briefly feel that he belonged with them, was one of them.
As he trudged back to his towel, he felt the whole episode with Timothy from the previous night falling into perspective. It was no big deal. Yes, Jésus saves. He waved good-bye to the boys and retrieved a book from his pack. The afternoon was young.

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