I fee like this needs to be said: Like my other stories and my future stories, there is more to this story than sex. This chapter in particular as none.
I want to thank Oldnakeddad for taking the time to edit this story. Any errors are likely the product of my need to tweak.
Also, shout out to Alice, Allen, AwayThrow, Candace, Erin, Laura, MFA607, MKFanatic, Vanessa, SoftSighs, Nina, and MrTimTam009. For some reason you guys think it's worth the investment, and for that, I'm incredibly humbled.
--MrsG
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Instead of going to the gym on Wednesday, I decided to take my run to the great outdoors. Typically, I used a treadmill when running because I enjoyed being able to control my distance, track calories, pick a specific incline, and set a consistent pace. But sometimes a change of scenery is beneficial.
Benson Park was a beautiful park with lots of running trails and beautiful trees that were in full bloom. It was everything you'd imagine in a perfect park—runners and walkers waving at each other as they pass, old men playing chess on park benches, dogs catching Frisbees, and kids playing tag with their friends while their moms sat on the sidelines enjoying a mommy break. I'd also seen a few ladies secretly sipping
mommy juice
, too—the park had some sly ass bitches, no doubt.
I didn't run there too often and therefore, I wasn't familiar with the maze of paths. I ran wherever I wanted. On various runs I'd choose my path based on keeping pace with a cute runner only for the scenery, sometimes I'd take every left turn there was, and sometimes I'd take all the rights.
For the run that day, I'd decided to alternate in order to follow an extremely capable looking woman in her fifties. "One Way or Another", by Blondie, was the theme song I listened to during my pursuit of her, but I'd held no pretense that I could out run her at any point. I knew what my fate held, but she seemed to be a good challenge—and she was.
I managed to keep her in sight for three miles before I lost my steam. In my defense, she was freakishly fast and it took all of my energy to keep up with her. All in all, I felt good when I finished and lost, but I'd been so focused on the woman, who was trying to shake me, I hadn't paid attention to where I was.
My cool down walk was actually spent wandering aimlessly through the park while trying to find my way out until I heard a man's voice.
"Well, if it isn't Ray Charles."
Knowing the voice I heard was talking to me, I turned to find, none other than, Mr. Neighbor and three of his best friends. His three friends all wore short sleeved, collared shirts, Mr. Neighbor wore a long sleeved, collared shirt, and all four men wore slacks. It was the stereotypical old man apparel line.
Mr. Neighbor was the tallest and most fit of the group, two others appeared to be a few inches shorter—one was very slim and one was average for his age with a gut—and the shortest one was also the heaviest. All of them seemed friendly and inviting.
I pulled my earbuds out and walked toward their bench while laughing at the turn of events. Only on Wisteria Lane would I run into the old man whose bushes I was found hiding in.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Neighbor."
I smiled, wickedly. I could tell by the look on their faces that I'd
just
missed the weekend update that starred none other than me, Donovan Allerton, and my fabulous walk of shame.
"Well, I see you didn't waste any time catching everyone up on the juicy weekend details.".
"Hell, Thomas called an emergency meeting just to tell us," the shorted of the group said.
I assumed Mr. Neighbor was Thomas. I looked at him with my mouth agape and playfully slugged him on the shoulder. I was both surprised, and not, that he'd been so anxious to spill the beans.
"Well, shit. It's nice to know not everyone was negatively affected by drunken, misguided adventures."
"No, not at all! We haven't had this much fun talking about something in years. Our lives aren't as exciting as they once were, so your story was definitely a breath fresh air."
The heavy set man gushed and waved me to take a seat with them, which I did. As I sat, he continued.
"Please, indulge an old gay man and tell me everything."
I cannot explain the excitement I felt when he said he was gay. I thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world. Although being gay was widely accepted, it was still common for men of his generation to be hushed about it. They grew up in a different culture and that tended to make a lasting impression on someone.
Regardless, I didn't know them, and there was no way I was going to sit there on a park bench, wearing nothing but a pair of tiny, neon running shorts and tennis shoes, while telling strange men about my deep dark secrets.
"First of all, you're adorable! Second of all, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell to a bunch of strangers, so at least tell me your names."
My heart smiled when they all laughed and fought each other to make introductions. It felt as though they were eager to be my friend, not just to hear my story.
It turned out Mr. Neighbor was, in fact, Thomas Meridian. George and Harold were actually Jack Keller, David Henton, and Mickey Morris, the latter being the adorable gay man.
They met weekly over a game of Chess, which Jack traditionally dominated, but mostly they met simply to spend time together. They each talked for a little while and shared about their lives.
Thomas lost his wife last year and is still in the grieving process, Jack and David are both still married, and Mickey's partner, of twenty years, died seven years ago from cancer and there's been no one since. They're all retired, but Jack works five hours a week at the golf course and Mickey volunteers for an outreach for homeless Veterans. The thing I loved the most was that they'd been friends for decades. Better yet, their kids were friends and now, they're grand kids were friends. I thought about how cool it must be to have three generations of friendship.
"Now that we're not strangers anymore, can you tell us all about the weekend?"
His smile was pleading for more. Knowing he probably didn't have any gay friends and grew up in a highly repressed era, I understood why. Stories like mine were sugar coated gumdrops for him.
"Honestly, Mickey, I think you know everything. There's not much left to tell."
"That's ridiculous. We know all about the morning after, but I want to know about the man. What's he like? Handsome? Hung? How was the sex? Have you talked to him since? There's so much we
don't
know!"
I looked at the rest of the group and it
appeared
unlikely that three seventy-plus-year-old heteros wanted to hear about a twenty-seven-year-old gay man's lust life.
"Is this is something you all want to hear? No detail spared?"
As if on cue, they rested their chins on their palms and eagerly awaited story time. It was the damnedest thing I'd ever seen. I shrugged my shoulders and resigned to the fact that there was a strong possibility I was about to give them a reason to be lobotomized.
"Okay, but you guys asked for it, so don't interrupt when things get juicy. First of all, I need a nickname for my one night stand."
I thought about it for a second and lit up when I found the perfect name.
"Okay, I've got it! Before I found out what his name was, I called him Rat Bastard, so I'll call him Arby, like the fast food chain."
They looked a little confused as they tried to figure out the connection between Rat Bastard and the fast food chain, Arby's.
