The last resort

by Cris Kane

Wayne persuades his ailing partner Mac to travel to a mysterious health resort for one final trip.

Added: Apr 2021 6,316 words 1,798 views 5.0 stars (3 votes)

M
McKinley Sinclair wheezed as he attempted to get out of the taxi. He’d shakily gotten both legs out of the car and was attempting to stand up when his legs gave way and his congested lungs voiced their opposition with a loud, phlegmy coughing jag.

“Mac, what in the hell are you trying to do?” yelled Wayne Archer, frantically pushing a wheelchair he had retrieved from the lobby. “I told you to stay put.”

“I wanted to stay put, back home, but you wouldn’t let me.” Mac had argued forcefully against this trip ever since Wayne first suggested it. Mac didn’t know much about medicine, but he knew cars, and in his experience, if multiple parts are failing at once, it doesn’t make sense to put more money into a failing jalopy. If he were a car, he should definitely be traded in for a newer model. Unfortunately for Mac, the best he could hope for at this late stage was to be scrapped for parts, not that any of his worn-out organs would be of much good to anyone else.

Maybe his eyes could be salvaged. They had managed to stay free of glaucoma and cataracts, and they were certainly working well now as he scoped out the staff of the resort. Much as he had complained every step of the way getting here, he had no complaints about the scenery now. Everywhere he looked were fit young men in their late teens to mid-twenties, rushing about in crisp pastel polos, tight khaki short-shorts and white tennis shoes with ankle socks. Wayne smiled as he noticed Mac’s head swiveling madly, unable to control his gawking as one young hunk after another whizzed past. Young women were busily attending to their duties as well, but none of them got a glance from Mac.

“Where have you taken me?” Mac asked. “Heaven?”

“Next best thing,” Wayne assured him. “Maybe even better.” He scooted the wheelchair beside the taxi and attempted to maneuver Mac into it.

“Let me help you there,” shouted Luis, one of the bellboys, sprinting over on tan well-muscled legs. He placed his hands in Mac’s armpits and lifted him up like a 73-year-old feather, carefully swinging him over and lowering him gently into the wheelchair. It was at this moment that Mac realized his nose was still donate-able too, as he could clearly make out both Luis’s natural sweaty musk and his cologne (Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion for Men—a passion which Mac shared with Liz). While Wayne remained back at the taxi to instruct another bellman on what to do with the baggage, Luis eagerly pushed Mac’s wheelchair through the automatic doors and into the grand lobby.

“Thank you, young man,” Mac smiled, attempting to reach a shaky hand into his pants pocket for a tip.

Luis waved him off and backed away. “Tips are forbidden on the island, sir. But if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask for Luis.” He pointed to his nametag and gave Mac a wink before jogging off. Mac stared wistfully as Luis’s firm ass shifting in his shorts. That was another organ Mac would not be donating: his cock. That motherfucker hadn’t been worth a damn in a decade.

Wayne walked inside, another impossibly handsome worker wheeling a baggage cart alongside. Wayne told Mac, “I just need to make sure we’re all checked in, then we can get to our suite and relax.”

Mac watched as Wayne marched over to the check-in desk, his back still as ramrod straight as he’d been taught in the Marines, although his spine had to work harder than ever now, thanks to Wayne’s prodigious beer gut. Wayne had his own share of maladies, with arthritis in his joints and hearing aids in both ears. Mac wouldn’t wish his own problems on Wayne, but he would take Wayne’s infirmities in a heartbeat.

They definitely were no longer the relatively young men who had met thirty-two years ago when a newly-retired ex-Marine walked into Mac’s auto dealership looking to buy a Jeep. Wayne’s brown crew-cut was already slightly gray even then, but his body was in peak condition with a rich tan well-earned from years spent outdoors. (Oh, right, Mac had almost forgotten about Wayne’s skin-cancer scares over the years. God, the two of them sure were the picture of health, weren’t they?)

Back on that day at the dealership, Mac was definitely aware that Wayne was staring at him a lot, but Mac was used to that. He was a media fixture in the San Diego area as “Mad Mac” of Sinclair Motors, thanks to a series of outlandish TV commercials. He’d already earned his nickname for doing crazy stunts to draw attention to his business, but when the movies Mad Max and The Road Warrior came out, he kicked his productions up another level, delivering gonzo rapid-fire spiels while barreling cars down the highways and backroads of Southern California while being chased by lunatics who wanted not his gasoline like in the Mad Max movies, but his “low, low prices and crrrrraaaaaazy deals”. Back then, he was willing to do anything to build his business, and in the years that followed, it had paid off richly, with a total of ten dealerships and an income that allowed him to live lavishly.

At first, Mac simply assumed that Wayne was gawking at him as he would any celebrity, but Wayne was new to the area and had never seen one of Mad Mac’s commercials. He was just checking out the handsome middle-aged salesman with the slightly receding dark-blond hair and the slim build. Mac sent back just enough of the right signals for Wayne to know he wasn’t fishing in the wrong pond. Mac announced to the showroom that he was taking Wayne out for a test drive, a drive that just happened to lead circuitously to Mac’s modest but well-appointed home in the hills.

Mac invited Wayne to come inside so he could check out the fabulous view of the Pacific. “It looks particularly good from the bedroom,” Mac informed him as he turned around, only to discover that Wayne had already stripped out of his body-hugging olive-drab t-shirt and revealed a torso well-honed by twenty years of Marine training. This particular test drive continued for three hours, going all the way from the bedroom to the living room to the laundry room to the kitchen to the garage, with the men alternating who was driving. By the end, the sun was sinking toward the horizon and both men were arm-in-arm in Mac’s hot tub, totally exhausted.

What Mac wouldn’t give now to feel half as healthy as that “exhausted” 41-year-old version of himself. These days, whenever he saw young folks like the bellboys at this resort breezing through their days without a care or complaint, Mac found himself thinking a lot about that old expression, “Youth is wasted on the young.”

The employees at the dealership had placed bets on how long it would take for Mac to return with the customer. They had seen other studly men being taken on “test drives” before, but none had lasted this long. Most of the time, Mac would return, drop the customer back at his old car and the dude would drive away, not having made a purchase. But on this day, Mac brought Wayne back to his office, drew up the paperwork and sold the man a brand new Jeep. What the employees didn’t know (until Bernice the accountant noticed it later) was that Mac had paid for the Jeep himself. He would buy Wayne many things over the subsequent three decades. Amazing everyone Mac knew, Wayne soon moved in with Mac and remained by his side in the following years through a series of larger and larger houses with better and better views.

Despite his outrageous TV persona, Mac was actually a quiet stay-at-home kind of guy. Besides, he was too recognizable to the public to go out exploring San Diego’s growing gay scene for fear that he would be “exposed” and his business would suffer. This was only the Eighties, after all. Wayne would make it down to Hillcrest once in a while to check out the sights, but he was content to remain home with Mac too. They became well known for their dinner parties and game nights which became a coveted social invite, even among the straights of San Diego. And in all these years, no one heard a rumor of a single infidelity on either of their parts, nothing that might have strained their relationship. Mac and Wayne just seemed right for each other from day one, and they had stuck by each other loyally through all the tribulations they had faced since.

This mutual devotion was the only reason Mac was finally worn down by Wayne’s incessant pleading that they take a trip to this exclusive resort island off South Carolina he had heard about. “My doctors say traveling would be a bad idea,” Mac griped.

“It’ll be good for you to get away. You can look out at the ocean…”

“I’ve already got an ocean to look at right here. One that I paid good money to see. And I get to see the sun SET, which at least feels appropriate. I have no interest in seeing the sun rise. It just reminds me that the sun’s gonna keep on rising every day for everyone else, while I could croak by noon.”

Wayne tried his best to bat down all of Mac’s arguments, but Mac’s stubbornness was the only part of him that had grown stronger over the years. Wayne eventually broke down weeping beside their bed and said, “I just want to do this one nice thing for you, to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me.”

Mac watched his partner kneeling on the floor with his aching joints and finally understood—even if it really still would be Mac’s fortune paying for this lavish trip. Soon enough, all that money would be going to Wayne anyway—Mac had required his lawyers to make sure of that—but maybe it would be nice for them to have one final trip together.

Wayne would not let Mac make any of the arrangements, but just seeing their accommodations made Mac realize that this trip must be costing him a bundle. Their third-floor suite was practically the size of a house, with a wide white-railed veranda that looked out on lush foliage and, beyond that, the quietly lapping water against the shore. If Mac did croak here one morning, there were worse places to end your days.

Wayne wanted to put as little stress on Mac as necessary, so their lunch was not simply brought to the room but prepared in the room. The chef and waiter were just as easy on the eyes as the rest of the staff, although the chef did wear a long apron to protect his sleek, muscular legs from grease splatters and the like. Mac’s doctors would have clucked disapprovingly at the salt, the fat, the red meat, the real butter. Mac gazed across the table at Wayne and said with a smile, “So you did bring me here to kill me.”

Wayne reached across the table and took Mac’s bony hands, brushing their papery skin with his callused thumbs.

“We’ve had a good run together, haven’t we, Wayne?”

“Can’t imagine my life without you,” said Wayne.

The waiter served Mac his meal, offering to cut it if necessary, but Mac insisted he was still capable of doing a few things for himself. He cut through his tender filet mignon and took a mouth-watering bite. He closed his eyes and let himself absorb the flavor. “If there’s one thing I’m going to miss, it’s a good piece of meat.”

Wayne cleared his throat. “Won’t you miss me?”

Mac opened his eyes mischievously and said, “Why don’t you think I was referring to you?” Wayne blushed, and the chef and waiter looked at each other amused.

Mac held a bite of his steak out for Wayne to try, but Wayne shook his head. “Come on, just one bite. It’s amazing.”

Wayne said, “I can’t eat anything right now. I’ve got a dip in the pool scheduled.”

Mac was surprised. “You’re going swimming? I haven’t seen you in a pool since your arthritis got so bad.”

“They’ve got a special pool here that I want to try out. After I check it out, maybe you’ll want to try it too.”

That made Mac laugh so hard, he began to gag, eventually having to spit up a chunk of half-chewed steak to begin breathing again. Wayne rushed to his side to check on him, offering to stay in case Mac needed him for anything.

The waiter spoke softly, telling Wayne he should go to his appointment. “We will get someone to watch Mr. Sinclair while you’re away.”

Mac nodded. “Yeah, go to the pool. You need to enjoy yourself on this trip too.” He turned to the waiter and said, “Can you get that Luis to come up here? He seemed like a friendly fella.”

The waiter grinned. “Yes, good idea. I think you and Luis have many things in common.” Mac couldn’t imagine what he would have in common with the spry young man from earlier this morning.

Wayne left the room, reluctant but excited. He pushed the elevator button down and made his way toward the pool.


Mac was slumped over in his wheelchair, his train-engine snoring offering ample evidence that he had not yet kicked the bucket. His head jolted backwards, waking him suddenly. He looked around the room dazed, taking a few moments to remember where he was.

Now he could recall his chat with Luis. It was very pleasant, and Luis had a surprising amount of knowledge about vintage cars for such a young kid. Luis was sketchy about the details of his life beyond working here at the resort. Mac figured the kid must be here illegally and didn’t want to risk divulging more information about his past. Mac had employed plenty of illegal immigrants back in San Diego and never had a problem with any of them. He only wished he had put more effort into learning Spanish so he could have communicated with them better, but like so many things, learning a new language becomes tougher as you get older. He picked up just enough Spanish words to salt into his sentences to get the message across, but was otherwise strictly mono-lingual like most of the rest of America.

Mac didn’t have many regrets about his life. He had been a successful businessman. He had been well-regarded in his community. He had found love with Wayne at a point in his life when he had given up hoping that could happen for him. He did wish he hadn’t dropped out of college after one semester, even though he did it to go work for his dad’s struggling car dealership which he eventually turned into an empire. But because of dropping out, he always felt he had been forced to become an adult too soon, had never really been able to explore his interests and discover if he had any other dreams, any other talents besides flogging cars and wearing goofy hats in television commercials.

He’d always had responsibilities, more cars to sell, more dealerships to open. Not like the kids today and their cushy upbringings. Mac had never had the luxury to just fuck around and lie on the couch getting stoned all day. Their lives were so strait-laced and drug-free that, by the time he and Wayne finally decided in their fifties that they should give pot a try, just to see what it was like, it made them both so sleepy that they dropped off in each other’s arms before any of the “fun” part could kick in. Even so, Mac had to admit that it was a very good nap, which Mac had come to appreciate as he got older. Stoners probably had no concept of how invigorating a good nap could be.

“Being wasted is wasted on the wasted,” Mac thought.

Mac realized that Luis was no longer in the room. He heard a squeak out on the veranda and thought maybe Luis had moved out there to enjoy the view and the breeze. Mac rolled himself toward the doorway, struggling to summon the strength to push the wheels.

When he reached the door, there was no sign of Luis, but an even more handsome boy was propping himself up on the porch railing in a purple Speedo. He had a short brown haircut and a lovely but serious face. His skin was deeply tanned all over his body, with athletic arms that bulged in just the right places and a distinct if shallow eight-pack. The boy leaned back on the railing, grasping it with his fingertips so he wouldn’t fall backwards. His legs were not as well-muscled as his upper body, but their contours were more than pleasing and even his feet looked cute. Until now, the only person whose feet looked genuinely attractive to Mac was Wayne.

“Where’s Luis?” Mac asked the stranger.

“I sent him away. It’s my turn to help you,” the boy said with a smile.

“I should be fine, thanks. My partner should be back soon.”

The boy hopped down from the railing and walked across the porch, springing on the balls of his bare feet. “Well, I can do anything for you that Wayne could. Actually, I can do a lot more.”

Mac was starting to feel uncomfortable as the boy knelt down beside the wheelchair. Mac asked, “How old are you?”

The boy grinned. “You wouldn’t believe me.” He kissed Mac on the hand. Mac pulled away his hand briskly, although those soft lips had certainly felt nice.

“No, thank you. I mean, I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not interested.”

The kid looked at Mac with surprise. “Seriously? I thought you might like me.”

Mac was becoming flustered. “You’re a very, very nice-looking young man, but honestly I’ve never cheated on my partner and I’m not going to start now, especially when he could walk in here at any minute.”

“Oh, I think we’re safe from that happening.”

“Besides, no matter what they’re paying you, you shouldn’t be wasting your time on an old man like me. Trust me, I’m just looking out for you. I could have a heart attack on you. Or if we tried to have sex, the only way I could get stiff is if rigor mortis set in.”

The young man chuckled and rubbed his cheek against Mac’s shoulder. Mac was feeling very kindly to and protective of this kid he had just met, but he again pushed the kid away.

“I mean it, son, I’m flattered, but a boy who looks like you should really be with someone his own age.”

The young man hopped to his feet and clapped once. “That’s what I hoped you would say.”

Mac stared at the boy, baffled but enjoying the way the lump in the kid’s swimsuit bounced. The kid stood straight up and stared at Mac with his hands on his hips. “You ninny. You haven’t figured it out yet?”

Figured out what?, Mac wondered. He shrugged and looked at the kid. Something did look vaguely familiar. He had just assumed this was one of the many workers he’d seen throughout the hotel since their arrival, but as he studied the boy’s face, he knew he had seen it—or a face similar to it—somewhere further back in his past. “I’m an old man, you’ll have to give me a hint.”

The young man ran energetically back onto the veranda, his bare feet slapping on the wood. He then re-emerged through the open doorway, standing with perfect posture and his arms hanging out exaggeratedly. “Excuse me, my good man, I would like to buy a Jeep.”

Now that the connection was made, Mac could definitely see a resemblance to Wayne, especially in the old pictures he had seen of when skinny young Wayne first joined the Marines straight out of high school, before he seriously bulked up. So who could this be? He knew that Wayne had relationships with women during his days in the service and didn’t come out until after he retired. Could this be Wayne’s long-lost son? Love-child? But any kid he had in the Marines would be over thirty by now, and for this kid to be Wayne’s… Mac simply couldn’t imagine that Wayne had fathered a child since they had been together. And even if he had, Wayne was not the type who would ask his own son to come on to Mac. No explanation made sense.

The young man lost his patience, slumped his bulging shoulders and yelled, “I’m Wayne, you fucking idiot!”

Mac took a few moments to process this concept. Then his jaw dropped. Impossible as it seemed, the most logical set of facts was that a 19-year-old version of Wayne was somehow standing in the room with him.

“But how?” Mac asked, lifting a frail hand from his armrest and reaching out.

Wayne walked over and knelt beside the wheelchair, letting Mac slide his gnarled fingers across the smooth tan flesh of his biceps. “I heard about this place from some of my old buddies from the service. The original idea was to come up with a safe way to build extra muscle on soldiers, you know, some kind of serum like how they made Captain America.”

“Right. But that was a comic book,” Mac argued, letting his hand slide down the curve of Wayne’s forearm.

Wayne proceeded. “Every branch was working on something similar, and the Marines got further than anyone else before the funding got cut. Seems it wasn’t producing the results everyone was hoping for. It hardly affected young tissue at all. It couldn’t put more muscle on a twenty-year-old kid, whose body was already doing everything it was built to do. But it did do a pretty good job of rejuvenating old tissue so it would regain the strength and vitality it had when it was younger.”

“I should say so,” said Mac as his fingertips drifted over Wayne’s tight belly and sexy abs.

“Turned out that was useless to the military, because no one wanted to take up the cause for a plan that would get old people into fighting shape so they could re-enlist in the Army when they turned 65. Any congressman who lobbied for that would be voted out in a second. Finally, one of the Marines involved in the program retired and decided to go into business for himself using the formula on civilians.”

“It’s a miracle. So, how does it feel?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” said Wayne, jumping onto the bed. Mac was starting to get used to Wayne’s new voice. It was definitely similar to the one he had known all these years but more youthful and vigorous. Of course, by the time he had walked into Mac’s dealership, Wayne had spent twenty years in the Marines and his voice had settled into a rougher, more bombastic tone. Mac had never met this Wayne, with a fresh face and an infectious excitement about his future.

“Isn’t that jumping bad for your arthritis?” Mac asked.

“What arthritis?”

Mac shouted, “Your arthritis!”

Wayne bounced down from the bed and strutted in front of Mac. “I heard you the first time, old man. I don’t have arthritis any more. And by the way, I don’t need hearing aids any more either, so you can stop shouting!”

Mac leaned back, astonished. “Incredible. And, just so I know, how much is this costing me?”

Wayne’s eyes twinkled. “We can afford it.”

“Oh, we can, can we? I get to sit here and drool over you, while you figure out the best way to spend your inheritance without ever having to wear more than a Speedo?”

“No, you knucklehead. You’re next.”

“Me?”

“Of course! We’re here so you can have the procedure. I only did it first because I wanted to make sure it actually worked before I would let them lay a finger on you.”

“But…what if it hadn’t worked?”

“Then I’d have been the one who jumped on the grenade, giving up my life so you wouldn’t be risking yours.”

Mac stared at Wayne, speechless.

“You’ve done so much for me,” Wayne said. “This was finally my chance to do something for you. Are you ready?”

Mac finally allowed his mind to accept the possibility of being young again. He could hardly imagine it. And could hardly wait.

Wayne called down to the pool, asking when they could schedule Mac. He was told they could come down any time. This resort was so expensive, and the process such a well-guarded secret, that they could pamper the very few guests on the premises and work around their schedules. Wayne called for Luis to return to the suite, and Wayne and Luis helped get Mac ready. They slipped his skeletal body into white swimming shorts which matched the bone-white hue of his skin. Mac was acutely aware of his frailty, his knobby knees, his broken-accordion wheezing, as he felt the virile arms of these two young men hoisting him back into his wheelchair.

Wayne walked alongside, holding Mac’s hand, as Luis pushed the wheelchair toward the elevator. Something occurred to Mac. “Luis?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How is it you know so much about old cars?”

“Just a hobby of mine,” Luis said innocently. Luis could see in the shiny doors of the elevator that Mac’s eyes were staring at him, not buying his story. “I worked on a lot of old cars in Cuba before I could escape to the States.”

“Uh-huh. And what year was that?”

Luis tried to think of a year that would make sense with his story, before he finally caved in and told the truth. “1975.”

“And you look to be about twenty-one now, so you moved here about eighteen years before you were born?”

Luis smiled, caught. “That’s my story.”

Wayne looked admiringly at Luis’s body, which was bulkier and more sturdily built than Wayne’s new body (which of course was once Wayne’s old body). “So how did you earn your fortune in order to be able to afford the procedure?”

Luis hesitated, not sure how much the clients were supposed to know. But if they had paid to come here, why should there be any secrets? “I didn’t. I just worked in a garage. When I got lung cancer, the owner of the garage used to be a Marine and he said he knew of a place that could help me. They said they would take away the cancer and make me young again, and in return I had to work here for five years.”

“Is that the same for all of the staff?” asked Mac. “They have to work here in exchange for getting the procedure?”

“Most of them,” replied Luis. “But after five years, my life will be my own to do what I want. My wife was dead and my children were all grown, so it sounded like a good deal.”

“Whole lot better than being six feet under,” Mac wheezed.

“They say that when you get to heaven, you become young and healthy again,” said Luis. “So who knows, maybe this is heaven.”

Wayne asked, “But if this was heaven, shouldn’t your wife be here?”

Luis smiled. “Obviously, Mr. Wayne, you never met my wife.”

The elevator door opened and the air immediately had the damp feel and chemical scent of an indoor swimming pool. But it wasn’t the usual chlorine smell, although Mac couldn’t place it. Probably a closely-kept military secret.

Two young guys approached wearing rubber scuba suits from the neck down, and the tight outfits clung to every impressive curve of their bodies. A nerdy supervisor watched from a desk nearby, thin arms hanging from a short-sleeved button-down shirt. Mac figured that either he must be an actual young person on whom the formula would have no effect or he was an old person who got de-aged and this was, sadly, the best the guy had ever looked. Mac let his mind drift to how he would have looked when he was twenty. He started to grin.

The guys in scuba gear lifted Mac from his wheelchair and led him toward the pool, supporting him to give him the dignity of walking into the water himself. Mac asked them to stop and turn him around so he could face Wayne.

“In case this doesn’t work…”

Wayne shushed him. “It’ll work.”

“I’m just saying that, if it doesn’t, I want you to know how much I lo…”

Wayne put a finger over Mac’s lips. He looked at the men in the rubber suits and said, “Dunk him, boys.”

The two men carried Mac over to the pool and walked him down a series of steps, until the water reached his shoulder blades. Then one of the men pushed Mac’s head backwards so his body became completely immersed, like he was being given an old-time river baptism. As Mac thrashed about, it became clear why the men needed to wear such thick suits on their entire bodies, to prevent their skin from getting overexposed to the powerful pool water.

They let Mac up, and he sputtered angrily. He began to cough and wheeze, and the men dunked him again immediately. Concerned, Wayne ran over to the man at the desk. “They didn’t let him get any air. They’re gonna kill him!”

The skinny man at the desk didn’t take his eyes away from a stopwatch as he briskly informed Wayne, “The water needs to get into his lungs so it can cure his lungs. He may feel like he’s drowning, but it’s actually saving his life.”

Wayne figured that made some sense and walked back to Luis’s side. Luis gave a thumbs-up to indicate that the procedure was going as it should.

The skinny man blew a whistle and clicked off his stopwatch. The men carried Mac out of the pool, his body hanging limp and unchanged. He didn’t seem to be breathing as they stretched him out on a chaise. Wayne rushed to his side and hovered over him, clasping his arm and feeling for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he could feel Mac’s blood still pumping. In fact, his heart was probably pumping faster than it had in years.

Mac sat up suddenly, shocking Wayne who fell back on his firm young butt into a puddle of water poolside. A gusher of water shot out of Mac’s mouth, splashing around a floor drain and disappearing. Mac’s chin fell to his bony chest.

Wayne rushed back over and rubbed Mac’s back. “How are you feeling, honey?”

Mac faintly said, “Good,” then fell back onto the chaise. Suddenly, his body began to shiver. Wayne knew from his own transformation that this meant the change was beginning. He stood up and watched Mac as the aging process slowly reversed itself. Mac’s muscle tone grew stronger, his skin changed from chicken-flesh white to a subtle tan, his sparse white hair thickening and darkening. His formerly weak legs now sported firm muscle and a thick growth of hair. But the most amazing part was the smoothing out of Mac’s wrinkles as his face regained youth and vigor. Within seconds, he seemed to zoom from his seventies to his sixties and fifties, then past the age at which Wayne had met him and further into the past, to a serious but innocent young man whom Wayne had only seen in photos.

Mac let the spasms dwindle, then finally opened his eyes. At least those still worked. He saw young Wayne hovering over him, beaming with delight. Things must have gone okay. Wayne walked over, arm extended to help Mac get to his feet, but Mac waved him off and rose, shakily but steadily, onto strong legs.

He looked down, groping himself with no sense of embarrassment as he saw a body he had lost fifty years before. The body of the boy who was taking his one semester of college before his life took a different fork in the road. Although his arms didn’t look as pumped as Wayne’s, he felt like an athlete. As he looked over Wayne’s body, he nearly swooned from the rush of blood to his cock. No, he wouldn’t be donating that particular organ any time soon. In fact, he hoped to be using it in the very near future.

Mac shook hands vigorously with the guys who had led him into the pool and even the humorless guy at the desk. Luis offered to let Mac ride in the wheelchair back to his suite, in case he was still feeling shaky from the procedure, but Mac was full of energy and confident he could make it on his own two feet. Mac flung an arm around Wayne’s shoulder for support and the two walked back to the elevator like a couple of frat buddies on their way from swim practice. Luis followed along, just to make sure Mac had no problems.

When they returned to the suite, Mac and Wayne strolled out to the veranda and stared at the trees and the sky and the ocean. The sun might be starting to sink behind them in the west, but Mac and Wayne felt like they were staring at the beginning of a beautiful new day. Luis pulled out his cell phone and asked the guys to turn around so he could snap their photo.

When Luis showed them the shot. It was an odd sensation. They both now looked like they had half a century before. But since they hadn’t known each other then, it was bizarre to see those early versions of themselves as a couple. Luis left the suite so Mac and Wayne could finally have some time alone.

Despite years of familiarity with each other, Mac and Wayne had never explored each other’s bodies when they were so young and tight. It was a whole new experience that they both found stimulating. They stripped off their swimsuits and fell onto the bed, wrapped in each other’s sinewy arms. Face to face, they kissed, with Mac moving down Wayne’s chest, kissing his way along Wayne’s abs, past his navel, until he reached Wayne’s rigid cock, which Mac’s lips welcomed back like a long-lost friend. When it came time for Mac to push all seven inches of his reincarnated cock inside Wayne, he was pleased to discover that the process had restored Wayne’s ass to virgin status, and he knew that his own body had undergone the same revitalization.

All in all, they exceeded even the sex marathon which had begun their relationship. When they finally ran out of steam, the sky was dark and the moon shone brightly through the trees, casting intricate shadows on their firm naked bodies seated side by side on the veranda.

“Now what?” Mac asked.

“I’m too sore for anything else right now,” replied Wayne.

“No, I mean with our lives.”

“Oh. Now, I guess we do anything we want. Everything we didn’t do the first time. Last time I was this age, I joined the Marines and didn’t have a life of my own for twenty years.”

Mac nodded. “Last time I was this age, I had to drop out of school and didn’t have a life of my own…’til I met you.”

Wayne kissed Mac on the lips. “Lucky us,” said Wayne, “you’ve still got a fortune that we can spend on all the adventures we always promised we would do when we got older…”

Mac continued, “And never did, because we had turned into sickly old farts who were too fucking old to do anything but go to the doctor.”

Wayne smiled and rested his head on Mac’s chest. “Health is wasted on the healthy.”

Mac grinned. “And wealth is wasted on the wealthy.”

Update posts:
Weekly Update: 24 April 2021

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