Bottoms Up (About a Bottoms, Vol. 1)

By Etienne

RN First Assistant Chris Bottoms enjoys being a bottom. Though abused by his stepfather as a boy and conditioned to enjoy sex only one particular way, he’s come to make the most of his life. And he enjoys bottoming to the hilt whenever and wherever he can.

As if colorectal cancer wasn’t enough of a trial, the subsequent botched surgery robs him of normal bodily functions no more prostate massage for Chris. In the middle of his medical drama, his best friend, Mickey O’Donovan, accepts a promotion that brings him to live in Jacksonville. Roommates in college, they’ve remained friends and occasional fuck buddies ever since. Chris’s crisis brings their relationship to a new level, though, and long-suppressed feelings are revealed.

Chris and Mickey settle down together and life is good, even though they can no longer indulge in their favorite sexual position. But Chris can’t seem to catch a break. When his past rears its head, Chris and Mickey must face a new challenge, together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Etienne
• Release date: Sep 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370526895

Etienne

Etienne lives in central Florida, very near the hamlet in which he grew up. He always wanted to write but didn't find his muse until a few years ago, when he started posting stories online. These days he spends most of his time battling with her, as she is a capricious bitch who, when she isn't hiding from him, often rides him mercilessly, digging her spurs into his sides and forcing the flow of words from a trickle to a flood.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013, 2016, 2020 by Etienne

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Wherever possible, the syntax and spelling in this book follows guidelines set forth in The Chicago Manual of Style, 14th Edition, and in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary.

Cover Art © 2016, 2020 by Gerald Lopez

Acknowledgments

To Jim Kennedy, my personal editor and unsung hero, thanks.

To my partner of twenty plus years, thank you for your support.

And to the helpful people who read and critiqued the book for me, I am deeply grateful.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Ken, who deals with more personal inconvenience every day of his life than I can possibly imagine.

Author’s Notes

Many people have written to inquire if the places described in the Avondale stories are real, and I'm happy to say that most of them are. Avondale is a very real neighborhood in Jacksonville, Florida, situated between Roosevelt Boulevard (US-17) and the St. Johns River. It is bounded on the northeast by McDuff Avenue which separates it from the neighborhood known as Riverside, and on the southwest by Fishweir Creek.

After the great fire of 1901 leveled much of downtown Jacksonville, destroying over two thousand buildings and leaving nearly ten thousand people homeless, the Springfield neighborhood immediately north of downtown was developed. Then the city began to move west and south along the St. Johns River, and first Riverside then Avondale were born. Said to be the first planned community in Florida, Avondale was developed in the nineteen twenties.

The restaurants frequented by our guys are very real, and pretty much as described in the stories:

The Derby House, sometimes referred to as Gorgi’s Derby House was a popular restaurant for several decades, until it closed circa 2011, give or take a year or so. It was the kind of neighborhood hangout where people seated themselves. After its closure, the building was remodeled, enlarged a bit, and a new restaurant emerged, known as The Derby on Park.

Biscottis, which opened in the fall of 1993, is a very popular restaurant located in the Avondale shopping area.

The Pizza Italian in Five Points, was opened by a Greek immigrant in the spring of 1976, and he dished out good pizza, wonderful lasagna, and the best meatball subs in town for just over forty-one years. Sadly, the restaurant closed in 2017, due to the owner’s age and health problems.

Richard's Sandwich Shop in Five Points, for some thirty years offered the best Camel Riders* in town. Unfortunately, the owner sold the property and retired in 2016.

The Goal Post Sandwich Shop is located across the street from the complex that houses The Loop, and has been a fixture in the neighborhood for a very long time.

The Cool Moose Café has been serving breakfast and lunch to neighborhood residents for some twenty years.

The Loop Pizza Grill, home of the best grilled chicken sandwich in town and locally referred to simply as The Loop, began in Jacksonville in the late eighties, and has grown to several locations around town. The Avondale location, situated on Fishweir Creek, was popular for its deck, where one could sit and watch sea birds foraging in the tidal estuary while eating. Unfortunately, the entire complex was razed by developers in 2017, and replaced by apartments. The Loop moved to another location nearby, but that location, sadly, lacks a deck on the water.

*THE TERM Camel Rider might sound like a pejorative to some in today's politically correct society, but in Jacksonville—which has one of the largest Middle Eastern communities on the East Coast—it's the name of a sandwich offered at the numerous sandwich shops around town operated by people whose ancestors fled the economic decline and religious persecution of the Ottoman Empire. Predominately Christian, they came from Syria, Lebanon, and other parts of the Middle East and settled in Jacksonville during the early twentieth century and shortly before.

All of the sandwich shops offer sandwiches in a pocket of pita bread, and these sandwiches are called riders. The Camel Rider is a pita pocket stuffed with lettuce, slices of tomato, cheese, and cold cuts, with a bit of mustard and a dash of olive oil. The camel rider is a very simple, but amazingly satisfying sandwich.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Afterword

About the author

Contact the author

Other books by Etienne

Bottoms Up

(About a Bottoms, Vol. 1)

Revised edition

Etienne

Chapter 1

Somewhere at sea

CHRIS BOTTOMS WAS in heaven, or at least in his version of what he hoped heaven would be like. He was lying on his back on a stack of boxes in an out-of-the-way storeroom. He was naked, his legs were in the air, and his ass was being plowed by an equally naked seaman, who just happened to be quite splendidly equipped for the task at hand. The seaman was horny as hell—it had been a couple of weeks since they’d last gotten together—so it didn’t take him very long to climax.

The seaman rested for a minute, then said, I think I’ve got one more orgasm in me.

Go for it, Chris said.

The seaman mounted Chris again and started pumping away. It took him a bit longer that time, but he completed his task. Afterward, they dressed quickly without exchanging a single word—they were in a hurry, and they were both there for one reason only, so conversation wasn’t really necessary. The seaman slipped quietly out of the main door to the storeroom, and Chris locked the door behind him, then exited by the rear door, locking it as well.

What a way to begin my shift, he thought. All it takes is a sex-starved sailor and a bit of privacy. He headed to the sick bay, where he would spend his watch caring for patients in the inpatient ward, and dealing with personnel requiring medical services. And with some five thousand personnel on board the carrier, the sick bay was kept busy and the inpatient ward was almost never empty. There was a great deal of dangerous machinery on board, and the takeoffs and landings of jets on the sometimes rolling decks of carriers were inherently risky, so accidents happened frequently. Then there were the usual problems of five thousand people living in extremely close proximity to one another—if anyone came down with a bug, it tended to spread like wildfire. He loved his job and he was good at it. What he loved even more was access to several of the men on board, who were more than willing to service him when an opportunity presented itself. During his three tours of duty at sea, he’d never been caught in flagrante, although he’d had a couple of close calls. In fact, truth be told, Chris loved the danger almost as much as he enjoyed the sex.

In the ward, he found five patients waiting for him—three accident victims, one guy recovering from an emergency appendectomy that had been performed earlier that day, and another suffering from debilitating migraines. Chris privately suspected the last patient was faking it, but he wasn’t certain enough about that to question the doctor’s diagnosis. He finished his shift and was about to leave when Lieutenant Masterson stuck his head in the door.

Chris, can I see you for a minute before you check out?

Certainly, Lieutenant, Chris said.

Two minutes later, he knocked on the lieutenant’s open door, saluted, and said, Corpsman Bottoms reporting as ordered, Sir.

The lieutenant returned the salute quite casually and said, At ease, Chris. Have a seat.

Yes, Sir, Chris said, and took a seat.

The lieutenant sat for a moment, obviously lost in thought. Then he opened a file and glanced at the top document.

Chris, I don’t have to tell you that you’ve done one hell of a job since you came on board, do I?

Thank you, Sir.

The problem is—and it has been from day one—that you’re hugely overqualified for what you’re doing. You have a Master’s degree and you’re an RN First Assistant. You should be in an operating room somewhere helping save lives.

I go where the Navy sends me, Sir.

Yes, I know, and the Navy did its usual thing with you and placed a square peg in a round hole.

Yes, Sir. What the fuck is he leading up to? Chris thought.

Sometimes it takes the powers that be a long time to realize they’ve made a mistake, and to be perfectly frank, more often than not they never figure it out.

Yes, Sir.

But in your case, they’ve finally discovered that you’re being underutilized. The hospital at NAS Jacksonville as an urgent need for an RN First Assistant with your credentials, and the people at the Bureau of Personnel have decided that you’re the best man for the job.

NAS Jacksonville? As in Jacksonville, Florida? Chris said.

Just so, the lieutenant said. I was stationed there a few years ago; it’s not a bad city. A little on the redneck side, of course, but all in all, a pleasant place to live and work. Greater Jacksonville has a population of almost one and a half million these days, so you might find a little more social life there than you do aboard ship—especially given that you qualify to live off base.

But I like it just fine where I am, Sir.

Nevertheless, the Navy has, for once, decided to put a square peg in a square hole.

Yes, Sir. Effective when, Sir?

As soon as we make port. You’ll take a flight from there to Jacksonville. By the way, you’re authorized thirty days leave before your new duties begin.

What the hell will I do with thirty days?

You could go home and pay your family a visit.

Lieutenant, my only family lives in West Bumfuck, Arkansas, and I don’t have any reason to see them. In fact, I can honestly say that I don’t ever want to visit that particular hellhole again.

What about your parents?

My father has been dead for years. My mother is a drunk, and I don’t care to meet the deadbeat bum she’s shacked up with at the moment.

How can you be sure of that?

Because ever since my father died, there’s been a steady stream of deadbeat bums. That’s why.

I’m sorry to hear that.

Don’t worry about it. I’ve been dealing with it since I was twelve.

What about your grandparents?

I wouldn’t mind visiting my paternal grandparents, but they’ve been dead for a couple of years. If they’re still alive, my maternal grandparents are like my mother—trash, through and through.

I’ve wondered why you never talked about family, the lieutenant said.

Well, now you know.

Alternatively, you could use that time to explore and get familiar with the city of Jacksonville. Maybe even find an apartment—you qualify for that. You could stay on base while you do it. You do have a car, don’t you?

Yes, Sir. It’s in storage in Norfolk.

There you go, problem solved. I’ll arrange for you to fly to Norfolk instead of Jacksonville, and you can drive down to Florida at your leisure.

Thank you, Sir.

Chris headed out of the sick bay not in the best of moods. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought, I don’t really want to leave this ship. Later that evening, just before he climbed into his rack to call it a night, he decided to take a shower, so, wearing only a towel around his waist, he stepped into his shower shoes, gathered his soap and shampoo, and headed in the appropriate direction.

When he entered the head, it appeared to be unoccupied, although he could see steam coming from the direction of the showers. He stepped around the corner, hung his towel on a hook, and surveyed the shower area. He could see two guys in the far corner. Their backs were to him, but he could tell by the position of their arms and the motions they were making that they were having a mutual masturbation session. He headed for that corner of the shower area and made a point of standing under the nearest showerhead.

The guy closest to Chris looked over at him and said, Want to join us?

Chris looked pointedly at the guy’s erection and said, I’d rather have that up my ass.

Sure, as long as we can take turns fucking you while the other one stands as a lookout.

Got condoms? Chris said.

In the pocket of my towel wrap.

Then what are you waiting for?

Half an hour or so later, Chris returned to his berthing area and crawled into his rack feeling much better about things.

THE WEEKS PASSED by all too quickly for Chris. On the eve of his departure, he was once again on his back in the storeroom being serviced by Seaman Jones. Chris usually jerked himself off while being fucked, but for the first time ever, the seaman bent and took Chris’s erection in his mouth. After Chris was spent, the seaman kissed Chris with his final thrust.

You’ve never done that before, Chris said. Why now?

You’ve never wanted to do anything but get fucked before, the seaman said. Why? Don’t you like oral? You seemed to enjoy it just now.

That was because you were pounding my prostate at the same time, Chris said. I like oral sex well enough, but getting screwed is the only way I can really get off.

Really! How come?

To make a long story short, I had a stepfather who screwed me from the time I was twelve until I turned fifteen. Let’s just say that I’m conditioned to really enjoy it one way, and one way only.

What happened when you turned fifteen?

I was a runt at twelve, but during the next couple of years I had a growth spurt. I waited until one Saturday afternoon when my mom was passed out drunk in her bed and he came after me like he always did. After he finished, he passed out in my bed and I cut his balls off.

You didn’t!

Cross my heart. He was out cold, so I tied a cord around his scrotum, hacked them off and flushed them. Then I called 911. As soon as I heard the sirens, I cut the cord and flushed it as well—even at that age, I had enough sense to know that it would be better for me if it didn’t look premeditated.

Good for you. Did you get into trouble for it?

No. What were they going to do to a naked and crying fifteen-year-old kid standing there with his attacker’s jism still leaking from his butt? They did a rape exam in the hospital and found plenty of evidence concerning the rough way he’d always used me. One of the cops actually congratulated me for taking care of the guy.

I hope he went to prison.

Oh, yeah.

He still there?

As far as I know, unless he’s met a bad end in prison. I’ve read that prisoners can be pretty rough on child molesters.

I’m sorry.

It’s ancient history. I was sent to another city to live with my paternal grandparents, and that, as they say, was that.

How can you be so casual about such a thing? the seaman said.

I’ve had thirteen years to get over it.

Yeah. I’m going to miss you, Corpsman.

And I’m going to miss you, too.

They’d been dressing while talking, and the seaman added, Well, I guess I’d better go.

Yeah.

The next day, the ship made port, and a few hours later Chris was in the air to Norfolk by way of two intermediate stops.

Chapter 2

Norfolk, VA

WHEN THE PLANE finally landed at Norfolk, Chris was more than happy to once again have his feet firmly planted on terra firma. He’d been on a different plane for each of the three hops he’d made across the country. Military transport planes offered little, if anything, in the way of amenities, or for that matter, comfort, so what little sleep he’d gotten was, at best, fitful. When he arrived at the entrance to the base, he called his old college roommate, Mickey O’Donovan, to let him know he’d landed.

Chris, glad you’re finally here, Mickey’s familiar voice said. I’ve been juggling my schedule at the bank ever since I got your call the other day, and I’m happy to report that I have two whole days freed up.

That’s great, Mickey. How far are you from the base?

Fifteen, twenty minutes tops, buddy. Are you at the main gate?

You bet.

See you in a few, then.

How’s Mabel? Chris said.

You can see for yourself in a few minutes, buddy. I retrieved her from storage a couple of days ago, and I’ll be driving her.

Great.

Other than getting screwed as often as possible, Chris had one indulgence in his life—a vintage Mustang he’d affectionately named ‘Mabel’. He’d spent countless months working on Mabel in his spare time: rebuilding her engine; repairing dented fenders; restoring her interior; and giving her several coats of what Ford had grandly termed ‘Presidential Blue’ lacquer back in 1968 when she’d rolled off the assembly line. The end result was that she looked as though she’d just been driven off the showroom floor. He’d entrusted her care to Mickey when he’d shipped out for his first overseas tour, knowing Mickey would treat her with the kid gloves she deserved. When Mickey’s job with First Bank and Trust had required a move from the West Coast to Norfolk, he’d towed Mabel behind his own car and stowed a great deal of his clothing and personal belongings in her during the trip. Then, with Chris’s consent, he’d put her in storage.

Chris glanced at his watch, and fifteen minutes later he stepped outside and looked down the road. A couple of minutes later, a familiar dark blue car slowed and then stopped in front of where he was standing.

Mickey hopped out of the car and said, Want to drive her?

I’m too tired from being in the air for what feels like days to appreciate the experience right now.

Your wish, my command, Mickey said.

Chris opened the passenger door, put his duffel bag in back, and settled down in the comfortable bucket seat.

She smells good, he said.

"You bet your ass she does. I