Boy Story: The Road Taken - 17. Saturday Night

Saturday Night

Now that we were boyfriends, frequent phone calls were not uncommon. Whenever we talked, it seemed like there was a new drama in Parker’s life. Yes, he was a bit of a drama queen, but I usually found it entertaining, plus I could usually provide some sound advice. When there wasn’t anything new to report, we’d just express how much we wanted to jump through the phone lines to be there in person.

I was under the impression that I had fallen for him harder than he had for me; thus the “I love you more” response to his “I love you.” When Parker said “impossible” to “love you more,” he was sure there was no way I could love him more than he loved me. Over time I realized that it was equal. We were experiencing the same feelings for each other. Since it was never a contest (at least in my mind) to prove who loved who more, I always let Parker have the last word. That’s what love is, even if it’s a disagreement about love, sometimes if you let the other person win, you win too.

I knew our first official date on Saturday was on the horizon, and then we’d be back together again. That was only two days away really—Thursday and Friday…and OK, a half day on Saturday. But it seemed like it couldn’t come soon enough. While it was still fresh in my mind, on Thursday after classes I called the restaurant to make reservations for dinner on Saturday. I couldn’t decide on dinner at 6:00 or 7:00, so I split the difference and went with 6:30. Parker's mom said it was fancy or something like that, so when I called about the reservations, I asked if there was a dress code. He said, “No, but if you are wearing a T-shirt and jeans you might feel underdressed and if you are wearing a suit and tie you might feel overdressed.”

I called Parker Thursday night to clue him in on our game plan. He asked what we should wear, and I translated it for him, “Dress nice but casual, you know shoes, collared shirt, and a nice pair of pants like chinos…no jeans. You know, like what you might wear to a country club.”

“You mean with the plaid pants and a silly cap?”

“No! OK, forget that I said country club,” I knew he was just busting my balls, but scenes from Caddyshack suddenly flashed through my mind.

“Good, because I don’t have any plaid pants or a cap with a red pom-pom on the top,” he mused.

“Just be ready when I come to pick you up at 5:30 on Saturday night, young man,” I advised.

“I will be anxiously awaiting your arrival, young man,” he promised.

Saturday finally rolled around and it seemed like I used up most of the day getting ready. I spent a good deal of time on getting my hair right using just a little bit of hair gel. I shaved and put some expensive (for me anyway) skin cream on my face, but nothing too smelly. Some guys add the final step of putting on cologne and they wonder why their date is rolling down the car window. Hey, if you take a shower and use soap and put on deodorant, you will smell fresh. And that’s what you want. If you use cologne, you are not doing anyone any favors. My dad used to have an obsession with his Old Spice after shave. You could still smell it hanging in the air an hour after he’d left for work. More appealing than body odor I guess...but barely.

I arrived at Parker’s at 5:30 as promised and I remembered the gift certificate that Ginny gave us, which was the main reason for the choice in restaurants in the first place. I rang the bell and Parker answered the door. When I saw him, I immediately started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asked all embarrassed.

His hair was still wet from a recent shower and he had it parted and neatly combed.

“My god, they’ll arrest me now for sure,” I laughed. “With your hair that way, you look 12 years old! Ha ha ha.”

“Really?” he said running to the nearest mirror. “No way...I think I could pass for at least 14,” he giggled looking at himself. “Give me a chance to blow it out a little. It would be embarrassing to have you dragged from the restaurant in hand cuffs.”

So I waited while I heard the blow dryer running in the bathroom. Thankfully, I left more than enough time to get to the restaurant. He came walking into the living room minutes later and asked, “Is this better?”

“Now you’re talking. You look like a Bon Jovi clone, but you’re way hotter!” I replied.

“Good, then maybe I’ll get lucky tonight,” he smirked.

“How about getting lucky right now?” I said pinning him against the wall and kissing his mouth.

“Wow, that worked really quickly,” he said before returning to our mouth to mouth session.
“Mmmm, I missed you so much!”

“Same here,” I managed to get out. “But we should leave now before we’re late.”

“OK…to be continued,” he promised. And we headed out to the car. Parker and I had a strategy session on the way to the restaurant about the gift certificate. We had $100 to spend, so we could each order up to $50 worth of food, which depending on the prices could be a lot of food.

“Oh, can we both get lobster? You do like lobster, don’t you?” Parker asked.

“Sure, I love lobster. I can’t imagine it would be out of our price range.”

We found the restaurant without much trouble. Directions were printed on the gift certificate. Of course we found no street parking near the restaurant, so we went up a block and pulled into a parking garage, which I hoped was reasonably priced. We walked a short distance to the restaurant and as we entered, Parker took a hold of my hand. I looked over at him as he was searching me for a reaction. I simply smiled back and gripped his hand tighter, which made him smile too.

We were a few minutes early, but the restaurant wasn’t crowded, so the host sat us right away. He said our waiter tonight would be James and he’d be right over. We held hands across the table while we waited.

James turned out to be a somewhat handsome, skinny guy in his mid-20s, who was obviously gay as soon as he started talking. “Look at you two. What a cute couple!”

“Thanks, this is our first official date,” I said.

“Yeah, up until now we’ve just been having sex,” Parker added much to my embarrassment.

“Honey, that’s usually how they all start,” James whispered with a giggle. “Well, things must be working out if you made it this far.”

“Oh, it’s a workout all right,” Parker needled me and we all had a laugh.

He handed us menus and relayed the daily specials to us.

“Would you care for beverages to start?” he asked.

“Do you have anything special like in a bottle for our first date?” I asked.

“Well, since both of you look south of the legal drinking age, we do have sparkling juice, which tastes a little like champagne, just no alcohol,” he suggested. “I’ve tried it and it’s pretty good.”

“OK, that sounds great.”

“Red or white?” he asked.

“Uh, what goes best with just about anything?” I asked.

“Well, the white tastes most like champagne, so you might want to try that one.”

“That’ll be fine,” Parker interceded.

“Perfecto! I’ll be right back with your drinks, Gentlemen,” James said with a wink and headed off.

“Gee, you really know how to work it,“ Parker said smiling. “Were you trying to get us served or something?"

“Noooo, I just wanted something a little more special than a soft drink,” I explained.

“So we should order appetizers because we have money to spend, but it appears that there is no lobster on the menu. There’s this seafood platter that has lobster in it,” I said sizing up the menu.

“Wanna get oysters for the appetizer? I heard they are, you know, aphrodisiacs,” Parker suggested.

“Have you ever had them before?” I asked.

“No. Have you?”

“Yup.”

“You like ’em?”

“Yup.”

“Good, then we’ll get an order,” he said.

“But what if you don’t like them?” I asked.

“That’s OK. If I don’t like the oysters, you can eat ‘em all and I’ll just enjoy the benefits later on,” he plotted.

James returned with the drinks and filled our water glasses. We then ordered the appetizers and our meals.

Flashing forward, everything arrived like clockwork, and Parker found that he liked oysters on the half shell. However, when all was said and done, we didn’t have the stomach capacity to eat $100 worth of food. We did manage a piece of peanut butter/chocolate cake at the end, which we ate with one fork, skillfully maneuvered by Parker.

“This is sure easier than feeding you popcorn,” he mused.

“And tastier too,” I said and we kissed right there in public.

I discretely looked around, but no one seemed to notice except one older gay couple who simply smiled their approval. That was truly remarkable. Here we were two guys holding hands and kissing in a restaurant in plain view and it was openly accepted. If we did that anywhere else, we’d be taking a chance. At this restaurant, we had the benefit of being amongst like-minded people...at least until we left. Plus, now we would have a few dollars left on the gift certificate for a return trip.

During the week, I thought long and hard about what to do that night after dinner. As we were walking back to the car, Parker asked and I just said, “You’ll see.”

“Another surprise?” he asked.

“Life is full of little surprises. Have I let you down yet? Trust me.”

“Alright, since you’re the one driving,” he said.

We drove for a little bit and when we pulled into the parking lot, he said, “Bowling?”

“Yup, open 24 hours!”

“Wow, I haven’t been bowling since I was like ten,” he replied.

“Good. Then you should be so much better this time,” I teased.

Now, in New England we have an institution known as candlepin bowling. We grew up thinking candlepin was the standard. In fact, in Massachusetts you’d be hard pressed to find ten-pin lanes, and if you could find a ten-pin establishment, they would usually have candlepin lanes too. Such it is in New England.

As the name suggests, the pins are candle shaped—tapered at either end and wider in the middle. Of course, candlepins are much thicker than actual wax candles, but their tapered shape is how they got their name.

Candlepin bowling also uses smaller balls (sized a little larger than a grapefruit) with no holes drilled into them. You get three rolls per frame and you get use of any pins that fall, which is referred to as “wood.” In ten-pin bowling, the machine sweeps fallen pins and resets the remaining ones. In candlepin bowling, the lane is not reset until your 3 rolls are completed. I know all of this because I used to bowl in a candlepin league from ages 13 to 15.

We went inside, rented bowling shoes at the counter, got our score sheet, and were sent to lane 12.

“I hope you know how to score,” he stated. “I don’t have a clue.”

“Of course I know how to score. I got you, didn’t I?”

“You’d better watch it, pal,” he said as we both laughed and settled into our lane and changed our shoes.

Once ready, I proceeded to give him a quick-start bowling lesson. I went over the three-step approach, how to hold the ball, the delivery, the stop line, and no lobbing.

I bowled my frame first to demonstrate how to do it properly, and I got a 9. Then he went and, despite one gutter ball, pulled off a 7.

Every time he delivered the ball, he was bent over with that perfect butt pointing right at me. I could have watched him bowl all day. I kept thinking, “I’ve had that butt.” Bowling had never been erotic before—before Parker.

I couldn’t resist at least once saying, “Hey, you got good wood!” He just looked at me bewildered and looked down at his crotch. I quickly explained that the fallen pins are called “wood.” And the rest of our bowling night was filled with jokes about our wood. It’s probably one of the few places where you can say “good wood” out loud and not have anyone stare at you.

We managed to finish the string without too much of a problem. I won but that was fully expected, so I didn’t make a big deal of it.

“That’s it?” he questioned me. “That went by awfully quick.”

“Well, we can bowl as many strings as you like. We just have to pay for them after.”

“How many strings did you used to bowl when you were in a league?” he asked.

“Three strings each visit.”

“OK, so let’s do three,” he suggested.

When I bowled in a league, we were on teams of four people. When you bowl on teams, it takes longer to finish a string because you spend a good amount of time waiting for your turn. With just two people, Parker and I could get through three strings fairly quickly. I had as much fun watching him as I did actually bowling. After the first string, he began to get more animated, using body English to will the ball one way or the other. Watching his gyrations had me in stitches. He was so cute.

So we finished our three strings, paid the man, and returned our shoes. Having watched him gyrate and bend over for 90 minutes was like waving raw meat in front of a hungry animal. I couldn’t resist, so I said, “Hey, we should probably take a pee before we leave.” He followed me to the men’s room, and I checked to make sure we were alone (we were). I just wanted to kiss him, and he was quite accommodating.

“I hear the men’s rooms at places like this are really cruisy,” he whispered.

“Really? Like this?” I said as I pushed him into a stall and stuck my tongue in his mouth.

He didn't miss a beat and matched my effort.

As we made out, I managed to sneak in, “Wanna go see a late movie next?” KISS

“Sure, which one?” KISS

“It’s across town, but we could catch the last showing of Boys Life 2,” I offered. KISS

“What’s that,” he asked. KISS

“It’s a movie made up of four gay-themed short films,” I explained. “You know, in keeping with the theme of the night.”

“Bowling isn’t gay,” he pointed out.

“It was from where I was sitting,” I said. “There was this hot boy on lane 12 moving all around and bending over.”

“Hey! Are you making fun of me?”

“No, it was totally hot!”

After some more VIP-level making out, Parker announced, “Maybe we should cruise on over to the movies before someone cruises in here and busts us.”

“You have a point there, boyfriend. Let’s blow this clambake.”

It was a bit of a drive to the theater, but it had a parking garage that was half price for movie patrons, which is a welcome perk in any city.

“You know this movie is rated R, right?” I asked.

“I don’t know a single thing about this movie other than we are here to see it.”

“Well, for an R-rated movie, you have to prove you’re 17 or older. Can you prove you are 17?” I asked.

“Of course I’m 17, almost 18!”

“Do you have ID that says you’re 17, almost 18? Like a driver’s license?”

“I have a learner’s permit.”

“Well, I hope they’ll accept a learner’s permit. Otherwise, we’ll have to cut you open and count the rings.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

Fortunately, this theater wasn’t strict about R-rated movies, so it wasn’t an issue. It’s not like the boy wasn’t legal, he was just ID deficient. This was also a sexually active boy; a boy who was quite familiar with XXX action. To preclude him from entering an R-rated movie would have been a laugh.

This seemed to be the perfect movie to cap off the evening, and we were able to catch the last showing. I paid for both of the tickets because he paid for the bowling.

He slowed as we went by the snack bar. “Hey, don’t you want to buy some popcorn and force me to feed it to you?”

“Who was forcing you? It was more a suggestion than anything else,“ I reasoned.

“Yeah, well you’re just damn lucky you’re so cute…and you have such a big cock.”

“Yes and it’s all yours now, so pipe down,” I said as we entered the theater and searched for seats.

We settled in and held hands through most of the movie. One of the episodes was about a bullied gay teenager who attempts to take his life. At the end of that short, Parker leaned over and whispered, “Matt, I love you,” in my ear.

I leaned toward him and said “What?” as if I didn’t hear him. He leaned in again to repeat himself and I quickly turned my head and kissed him. There was enough light emanating from the screen that I could see him smile after the kiss. Then he took hold of my hand once again and brought it up to his face and kissed it.

When the movie ended, we walked out with the small crowd. As we were walking, Parker took hold of my hand. I figured the only people walking through the lobby at that time had just come out of that movie, so they should be cool with it. We held hands out to the car. I opened his door first and let him in and then I got in and started the car. As I maneuvered our way out of the garage, Parker exclaimed, “This was probably the best night of my life!”

“Oh, c’mon. I wouldn’t go that far. I’m sure there were better nights that you are just not remembering,” I rationalized.

He was silent.

“C’mon, in 17…almost 18 years, this was the best time you’ve ever had?”

“Yeah, I really think so.”

“Well, the night is not over yet, my friend,” I announced.

“Boy–friend!” he said correcting me.

“Right. Boyfriend.”

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