The President's Son
As he wandered the halls of the White House, looking at paintings and the clutter of over two hundred years in each of the rooms he passed, he wondered if it wasn't just the holiday blues. James stood in the Yellow Ball Room and stared at the portrait of George Washington, wondering how old George would have handled the concept of gays in the military. Don't ask, don't tell was a bitch, but he knew of many people who somehow made it work. In the Academy, he hadn't wanted to push it. His dad was up for his first term and all of the kids were being watched. If Sam could screw up, the media vultures hoped one of the others would too. But James kept his nose in his books and graduated with honors. Then he started his very rapid rise in the ranks, and now he captained his own sub. He was proud of his crew, of the job he'd done. It wasn't the biggest or brightest boat in the fleet, nor was it the pack leader, but it was his. He took pride in it. While on board, he funneled everything that he was into that ship. It was only when he had shore leave that he began to doubt. Those doubts were getting louder with each passing day. But it had been so long since he'd even tried to date that he knew he was fiercely out of practice. Hell, the embarrassing part was that he had never even kissed someone, let alone had sex.