“My brother, God love him but he has a prudish side. Over in France, he saw syphilis and gonorrhea take out as many soldiers as the Huns did. Still, he’d rather the birds and bees peck and sting him to death before he has a man-to-man with his boys about sex. So that leaves me to do the dirty work. Oh, sit still, this conversation won’t kill you. You’re a good egg but you’re at a hot-blooded age and come summer, this town is crawling with dames looking for a lover. Nothing wrong with tom-catting around when you’re young, but it’s all fun and games until your paramour starts barfing her breakfast. Or worse, until it starts burning when you take a piss. You feel like explaining your cock problems to ol’ Doc Jensen?”

“Jesus H, no.”

“Then take those, use them, and when you run out, get more. If you’re embarrassed, go get them in Ogdensburg where nobody knows you. Any of your friends scoff and say real men don’t wear rubbers, scoff right along but take it from me, real men are smart.”

The conversation was rather killing, mostly because of words Kennet wasn’t used to being bandied about—Sex! Lover! Cock! Rubbers! But always wanting to prove he knew his onions, Kennet put the box in his pocket and thanked Major for the advice.

“What are uncles for?” Major exhaled heavily, muttering, “One down, three to go. Cheese on a cracker, Ingrid, did you have to have four boys?”

All the unspoken rules concerning Major’s sexuality had Kennet’s tongue in a practiced vise. So he didn’t ask the obvious question and when he thought about it, the answer seemed obvious as well. Sometimes you didn’t know what you wanted until you tried a bunch of things and eliminated what you didn’t want. Just because Major preferred male company didn’t mean he was completely ignorant of women. Hell, women loved him. No doubt he took a few spins before deciding the ride wasn’t for him.

Then again, what the hell did Kennet know?

He had his first summer tumble at sixteen, and every summer since. The assignations took on a familiar pattern. Some heady flirtation on a boat tour or a daily ferry ride. A discreet signal. Sometimes a bold proposition. The passing of a hotel room key. A frantic, rigorous coupling. Sometimes a bit of chat afterward but nearly always, as soon as breath was caught, the key was given back and Kennet was shown the door.

No wonder he came to view summer as the time for sex, and sex as something you did fast and fervent.

What did he know?

Nothing, it turned out.