Three Strikes - 9. Mr. Neighbor and his crew

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 grandkids 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.

“R.B., only I don’t like using initials, so Arby is the name version of R.B. Get it?”

They chuckled and nodded with understanding. I’m sure it was all trivial information for them as they only wanted to move the story along. I started by explaining our complex background—how we met during softball and that he was a real jerk, aka, Rat Bastard. The evening at the club, miraculously arriving at his house, etc. I’d finished retelling the weekend with a little more detail when Jack spoke.

“That was great and all, but Mickey wants to know about the sex. Was it good?”

I suspiciously eyed Jack and smirked.

“Yeah? Mickey wants to know? Sure, blame it on the gay guy.”

I winked, and he blushed. He’d been caught red handed in a lie by trying to pawn his interest off onto his gay friend. I’d always wondered why straight men couldn’t admit to their curiosity. We’re all naturally curious, but it doesn’t have to mean anything.

They might’ve temporarily found Jack’s faux paw funny, but they quickly returned their attention to me. They were waiting for answers. I dramatically threw my hands up in surrender then looked at them, letting them know my next words needed to be taken seriously.

“Fine. What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential. I’ve never breathed a word of this before and I’ll never breathe it again. If anyone asks me about it, I’ll deny it.”

They quickly nodded in agreeance.

“Okay. Long story short, the sex was fucking amazing! I don’t sleep around a lot. I’m not a ho—well, maybe sometimes I’m a little ho-ish—but I don’t usually do one night stands. In my experience, they never live up to the hype we build in our minds.

“More often than not, it’s incredibly awkward and weird. At best, it’s decent, but Arby? He! Blew! My! Fucking! Mind! Even if I’d been of sound mind and able to leave right afterward, I wouldn’t have been able to. He wrecked me! When I say ‘he fucked me within an inch of my life’, I don’t mean a porno fuck.

“It wasn’t balls to the wall or fast and furious nor was it a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am situation. I can’t explain it. It was consuming, that’s the only word I can think of. I was totally consumed by him. It was intense as fuck and powerful.

“I swear, there might’ve been a moment when we stopped being two people. I swear, if he’d been anyone else, I’d say it was more than just sex.”

I didn’t know if I felt better or worse after admitting to a group of old men how I’d really felt about the sex that night. It’d been weighing on my chest like a boulder, but admitting it out loud? I don’t know, it made it too fucking real.

Thomas was more than a little shocked I wasn’t boning Arby up his ass at that moment.

“If the sex was that good, why are you here with us and not in bed with him?”

“Oh, hell no! Have you all forgotten why we’re calling him Arby? He’s such a jerk. It might’ve been the best sex of my life, but I’m not desperate—not even a little. Besides, assholes like him think they can treat everyone like dirt and still get what they want. I know he doesn’t want me, but it doesn’t matter because I’ll never give him the satisfaction.”

“Well, he sounds like a fool. I’m not gay, but you’re definitely a catch. I’d marry you off to any one of my grandsons tomorrow. I bet you’ll be the star of Mickey’s jerk sessions—indefinitely.”

There was a roar of laughter and it was nice to see Mickey take it in stride. He even added to the laughter when he admitted it was true.

“Well no shit. I’ve spent the last thirty minutes staring at a nearly naked, twenty-something male with a rock solid body, who explained, in great detail, his gay sex life. I might even have enough ammo to try for twice in one week, so yes, you’ll be starring in this eight-seven-year-old’s wank fantasies.”

The laughter magnified and the friends spent the next ten minutes throwing perverted comments back and forth. I was on the ground, hysterically laughing. I’d never heard old men say so many crude things, especially revolving around gay sex. They also shared a lot of very erotic things from their personal lives.

I shouldn’t have been surprised because all men, regardless of age, are nothing but adolescent boys at heart. I felt privileged to be amongst such fun, accepting, and hilariously funny men. I knew I’d made some new best friends.

I’d been hanging out with them for well over an hour by the time I picked myself up from the ground. They invited me to come back next week and I accepted without hesitation. My life needed a little of what these guys had to offer. I hadn’t made it more than ten feet before Thomas called after me.

“Ray Charles! You didn’t tell us what your name is, and I think we’re past secrets.”

“Donovan Allerton.”

Thomas looked amused.

“There was a college baseball player named Donny Allerton. He had all the makings for making it in the big times but disappeared. My grandsons were obsessed with him. We went to a bunch of games when they played down south. I even took them to Oregon once to watch a home game.”

I stood there, shell shocked. I’d only played for two years and hadn’t played during the seven years since. To say I was surprised by the recognition would be the understatement of the century. I rarely talk about my college days, but I figured my secret was safe with these guys. Plus, it added to the excitement of my walk of shame story. I recovered from my shock and gave them a timid smile.

“Well, I have news for you. I am he, but that’s a story for another week.”

Thomas’ mouth dropped open and I playfully waved goodbye as I resumed the task of finding the way back to my car.