FALCONER’S RIDGE

Another story from back in the Land of Nostalgia. Does this remind you of something from your days of yore?

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FALCONER’S RIDGE

          No one can remember why it’s called Falconer’s Ridge, but it’s been there forever, a bluff right at the edge of the city park. The climb isn’t too steep or dangerous, although over the years there have been a few broken arms and dislocated elbows.

          It’s a great place to watch the activity on the baseball field below. I grew up thinking I couldn’t play sports because of a childhood illness I eventually overcame, but I like to watch. Not the games so much, but the budding athletes cavorting on the field. PeeWee sports don’t do anything for me, but the high school games rev up my interest.

          There’s a clear spot about ten feet below the ridge’s crest that’s a good place to sit and watch. And I do a lot of it. But my secret place is about ten yards to the west where some bushes screen a comfortable niche perfect for watching what goes on below without anyone knowing. Sometimes I use one spot, and sometimes I use the other, depending upon my mood.

          Whenever Das Brumfield pitches or Kerry Jones catches, I use the hidden spot. They are both so… so… sexy I guess you’d say that I hide out there where no one can see my hard-on. And I always get one when I watch them play with such manly grace. I wish I could move like that, look like that. But I look exactly like what I am. A library freak.

          A week after I graduated, I hunkered down in my open spot and took in an impromptu game. For some reason, I was sorta down. Probably because in a few weeks, most of those players and I would be heading off in all different directions to college. It wasn’t an exciting prospect. I had trouble enough getting along with guys I’d known all my life. What would happen when I got shipped off to a placed where I didn’t know anyone?

          As I concentrated on the game, I noticed Das wasn’t pitching. He had been a few minutes ago. Where had he gone? To the head maybe? I shivered just thinking about him standing exposed before the urinal. I was taken so much by that mental image that I almost didn’t spot him climbing the ridge.

          Entranced, I watched the muscles play in his long back as he slowly scaled the bluff. Handsome, deeply tanned, he was as close to an Adonis as anyone I’d ever known. I liked and admired him unreasonably even though he’d never said a word to me except in passing. Not that he was stuck up or anything. I just didn’t register.

          As he neared the top, he took me by surprise by edging along the ledge toward my spot. A moment later when it was clear he was heading straight for me, my underarms broke out in a sweat. My right foot jerked involuntarily.

          “Hi, Rafe,” he called. My name was Rafferty, but the kids made Rafe out of it.

          “Das.” The word came out weak because my throat had gone dry.

          “You like to perch up here, huh? See you a lot.” He turned his handsome visage on me and blinded my eyes with a smile. “I watched you once through the glasses. You know, binoculars. Curious about what you were doing.”

          “Just watching. Good place for it.”

          “Yeah, it is. But there’s something odd about it, too. If you wanted, you could come sit beside the field and see everything up close. Hell, you could even come and play.”

          I felt my ears go red.

          “When I saw you get up and go over there—“ he nodded west. “—I got it. That’s your jerk off hideout, isn’t it?

          My cheeks joined my ears. In fact, I felt the flush start in my neck and move upward.

          “I was real curious, so I watched through the glasses. Couldn’t see too clearly, but I saw enough movement through those bushes to figure out what you were doing. You want to show to me?”

          I swallowed hard. “S-show you what?”

          “Your private jack off place. What else did you think I meant?”

          He stood and scooted around me on the ledge, his fly brushing my nose as he did so. Then he made his way to my private spot. After a moment, I followed along behind him.

          “Ah, a nice comfortable place,” he said, nodding his approval. He plopped down where I usually sat and peered through the protective bushes. “Tell me, who do you watch when you do the dirty deed? Kerry?” He grinned. “Or me?”

          I struggled just to get a word out. “Y-you.”

          He spread his denim-clad legs. “Well, here I am. You’ll never get a better chance to get a closer look.”

          It took me all of a second to accept his invitation.

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Ah, what happened next? But Rafe and Das want a little privacy, so we can only put our imaginations to work. Let me know what you think happened at  markwildyr@aol.com.

Thanks for being a reader.

Mark

The next blog on the first day of the succeeding month at 6:00 a.m.