Kurt Yarley, one of my best friends, owned a landscaping company and seven years ago, he'd roped Aaron, Drew, and myself into playing baseball—just a group of buddies playing ball and the rest is history. We had a fairly well stacked team and usually ended up with the Championship Title, which was nothing more than bragging rights, but we were totally fine with it.
I played sports all of my life and was a respectable athlete. There weren't too many sports I didn't play at some point or another. It was baseball, football, and wrestling that consumed my time in high school.
I'd been a catcher since I was nine-years-old and never had a desire to play any other position. Of course, I did because they forced me to. But catching was second nature to me and I loved the pressure and the adrenaline rush you can only get when squatted behind home base. Plus, it was a prime view for all of the men that passed by.
I wasn't interested nor was I good enough to play in college. It didn't hurt my feelings at all, I was busy trying to stay ahead in school and get decent marks in my classes. I would've died, had I had anything else on my plate. I was always somewhat of a nerd wrapped in a jocks body. I loved sports but more so I loved academia.
I got great grades and dreamed of going to college to become an architect. Unfortunately, my father had a very strict view on what the role of a man should be. He only
just
accepted me as gay, thanks to my love for sports. Drawing pictures (as he referred to it) for a living crossed some line in his mind. It wasn't something that men did, not real men. If it was one of my straight brothers I don't think it would have been an issue, but I was gay, therefore I had more to prove. He never explicitly told me I
couldn't
be an architect, but it was strongly implied, and there's something to be said for not wanting to disappoint your dad, no matter how old you are.
Instead, I became a structural engineer and specialized in commercial buildings. I'd grown very passionate about it and considered myself mildly successful. I worked for myself and whore'd myself out for a comfortable amount of money.
*** *** *** ***
I remember the day vividly, it was the first baseball practice of the year. There's always something magical about the first practice of the season, of any sport. The freshly mowed field, the smell of old leather, dust from the equipment bag, and the sudden change of physical activity (that one gets harder to cope with as the years go by).
Our team great, which made practices enjoyable. There was electricity of excitement in the air as we played that opening practice. We were winding up practice when the team scheduled to practice after us started filtering in. There were two reasons I didn't pay them any attention; they were the competition, and I don't typically waste my time getting to know people.
Typically.
It all changed when I dropped the ball and it rolled behind me. After retrieving the ball, I was struck dumb where I stood when I glanced at the group of guys watching us finish our practice. He was standing there, laughing with his friends and, in my feeble mind, it was every cliché that ever made me want to throw up.
As a whole, he and his friends were not my type. They were over the top and flashy; everything I'd been trained to dislike. But he stood out to me. He was taller than most of the others. He was over the top compared to every gay man I'd ever met in real life, but
less
over the top and obvious about his sexuality than his friends. His hair was too perfect, his face was slender, soft, and sharp all at the same time.
Whenever he laughed or smiled, his wide smile and thin lips lit his face up like a roaring fire. Whereas his mouth was big, his eyes were the opposite, they were narrow and almost exotic—and when they caught mine for the first time, my breath hitched in my chest. They were a deep-green that danced in the evening sun. He was beautiful and radiant and, for a moment, nothing else existed.
I did the only thing I'm capable of doing; I said something that was sarcastically rude and/or condescending. Yep, that's what I do best. I don't remember the exact words I said because they had no meaning, they were just words I said to break the ice while protecting myself.
To my friends and random hookups, I exuded confidence and charm, but to guys I was actually interested in? Forget it, I'd make a better impression if I was dead, and that's exactly what might as well have happened.
His face hardened at my comment and I instantly regretted opening my mouth, but I didn't know what else to do. Most guys wouldn't take anything I said seriously because they knew I was nothing more than a moron, but he wasn't typical, and he didn't know me. I wondered if he was going to be emotional, like a girl, and make a big scene. I didn't have a lot of experience with the really feminine types, so I wasn't sure what to expect. Heck, I wasn't sure if I was actually interested. I only knew he'd caught my attention, but was it enough?
So, I watched him at his practices and even went to his games. It didn't help, I only became more confused and more hated by him. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the stupid.
I was surprised by his natural skill and felt that with a little practice, he could be a decent ball player. I also I found myself wanting to be the one to show him the ropes. He seemed to have good form but lacked the strength or training to be anything more than mediocre, which was to be expected from someone of his...delicate qualities? I don't know. For a gay guy myself, I could be really clueless.
My confusion and frustration seemed endless. One minute, I'd be entranced by him and the next, I was annoyed by him and his friends. Some of us took baseball seriously but they clearly didn't. They literally pranced (and I do mean literally) around the field and danced like a bunch of fireflies after a rainstorm.
Between games and practices, I watched him befriend almost everyone in the league, including
my
best friends. Yet, after trying multiple times to talk to him, and making things worse, it became clear I wasn't going to join his friend group in the near future. I could never seem to say the right thing. 'The right thing' being anything that resembled kindness. Deep down I blamed my dad. It's hard to change years of condition.
My work schedule prevented me from doing my normal morning workout routine so I ended up going mid-week/mid-day, and—boom—there he was, running naked on a treadmill. Ok, he wasn't
fully
naked, but his itsy bitsy running shorts left nothing to the imagination. His lithe, toned body flexed and rippled with every step, and he had a little bubble-butt that jiggled as he ran. It was his slender and beautifully sculpted back and shoulders I loved the most, though. I was a sucker for a sexy back.
In an effort to mend things, I decided to talk to him. I stepped onto the treadmill next to him with the plan to say hi like a normal person. It really shouldn't have been too hard. The guy was a bit intimidating though. He wasn't big or mean looking, but he had real confidence—the kind that I lacked. I opened my mouth but instead of '
