james thomas beckham
PENITENT LONER
"Nice guy," one says. "Really sweet," claims another. "Makes a great Sex on the Beach," states a third. All these statements are true, but is there more than just a disarming smile and a great hand at bar that makes James Beckham who he is?

He's the Friend, not the Father. Polite, but distant. Happy to see you come in, and happy to help you out the door after a few too many drinks. He likes his autonomy, and he likes his company. So his hobbies are a bit on the solitary side - he still doesn't mind stopping his jog to exchange the latest news with a familiar face. He's patient, he doesn't judge, and he cherishes all the Kings and Queens he hosts in his club and bar. These are all decidedly nice, low-impact traits. What of the rest? Well, it's a mystery to most. Temper, history, insecurities all remain behind the careful bars of that pearly white smile.

There's nothing wrong with James Beckham, but he seems more like 2/3rds of a person.

THE PAST WILL RISE AGAIN
James has a few old memories rolling around in that head of his. Those memories aren't the pleasant kind, or the pretty kind, or even the niggling kind that make sure you've got milk in the fridge and bread for tomorrow's hasty breakfast. No, these old memories are the kind that put men in hospitals sometimes, or drive them to do deeds they never dreamed of when life made sense and 'peace' was just an abstract phrase.

James came out of the war better than most. He had nightmares only sometimes. Years passed, and they grew less and less. He managed to find a girl and marry her, and make his parents proud by transitioning from field medic to EMT with few hitches. He still felt the old haunts of the men left behind, however. Men he knew, shared supper with, shared stories with who came home in bodybags, or not at all. Men that lay strewn across the battlefield in unrecognizable pieces. He dreamt of them less and less, but he still saw them sometimes as cold faces in a crowd.

No matter his success, they weren't leaving.

PHYSICIST'S NIGHTMARE
Whenever James passes a drink along his counter, no matter how full or short or briskly pushed, it never tips or spills. Convenient, right? No lost alcohol here.

ANYTHING ELSE?
James, 38, and Dana, 34, divorced in the autumn of 2013. It was an amicable process that left Dana with the better half of the deal, and James was happy to concede to it. In fact, he shocked himself with his own excitement toward the prospect of living alone again. He preferred it, and thus exchanged pleasant goodbyes with Dana as she proceeded to walk out of his life.

James is an avid runner who fully plans on running 'til the day he drops dead of a sudden heart attack. He's encountered the whole gamut of runner's issues while training for and surmounting a marathon. He's had runner's trots, bloody ankles, bloody nipples, and heat stroke and never once regretted his decisions for going through yet another race.

Many of his race photos (including the bloody nipples) are posted in his gay bar and nightclub, The Manhole. He tends bar Monday through Friday with no complaints. A plaque near the door dedicates the bar to Stephen Qin.

James has ash blonde, tightly curled hair with darker roots, and grey-blue eyes. He is a heavily-tanned caucasian of Swedish descent.