Markwildyr.com, Post #254
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Well, how did you like meeting
Charlie and Red Leg over the last two weeks. Think you might get some interest
up if you met those two?
Let’s try some flash fiction this
week. Read on and meet a shy, high school senior Army brat and see if you can
share any of his feelings.
* * * *
THE WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH
“Hi, my name’s Layton Dunelton,
and I’m an army brat who gets transferred around a lot.”
That brought a rumble of
laughter from my new senior class at Harthbrow Academy. I mean to say the class
was new to me, not that the class was new. My dad’s an Army major, and you’d
think I’d grow accustomed to switching schools, but the truth is I’m shy as
hell and have a hard time meeting new people. Sometimes I hate my dad’s
profession, although it’s been good to us. You know, great medical benefits and
respect and all. But it’s hard on the kids, I can tell you.
Anyway, this was my first day
in class at a new school, always the hardest. I could readily spot people I’d
like to get to know but didn’t always make the connection. Guess that’s an
awfully shallow way of picking friends—by the way they look—but nobody’s ever accused
me of being deep.
I made it through the day and
started for home, by foot since we lived no more than four blocks from the
Academy. Before leaving campus, I stopped off in the boy’s room to drain the
pipe for a more comfortable walk. Like lots of places I’d attended, Harthbrow
was not immune from graffiti. I casually read and dismissed them, but one
caught my eye. Obviously old, the ink was faded, it simply read, “Meet you at
the white vine tonight at eight.” I guess it snagged my attention because I
wondered if there was a teen joint in town I hadn’t heard about.
I got my chores and homework done
early, there wasn’t anything else to do. Boredom drove me away from the boob
tube and out looking for something to occupy my time. Not far from the house, I
found a nice city park. At first, I thought it was just a small thing, but as I
wandered around, I found it went on for blocks. The broad swath of green was
fringed by trees as thick as a wild forest and interspaced with heavy, iron
benches with backs fashioned like interwoven vines. A perfect place for
walking. This’d be my hiking spot. I did a lot of hiking, my form of physical
exercise. As I explored, I found little sheltered nooks. A little green space
would open unexpectedly through the trees, and as a dedicated loner, I gravitated
toward sheltered places.
A little after passing the
obligatory His and Her restroom hut, I came upon a really attractive place.
This little park was almost totally screened from view by trees. Pulled by a
sense of serenity, I entered the little place. No more than twenty-five yards
wide in any direction, the glen felt like another world. Spotting one of those
remote cast iron benches even deeper in the trees, I walked over and sat down.
Surprisingly comfortable, although it probably wouldn’t wear on the butt well.
I sighed and decided to claim the place for my own.
A few minutes later, a man
walked past the screen of trees, or at least, I thought he was going to.
Instead, he claimed a bench I’d not noticed no more than ten yards in front of
me. One not so deep in this little glen, but still somewhat isolated from the
bigger expanse of green beyond. His back was to me, but he looked a little
older than my eighteen years. Like a junior or senior at the college in town.
At any rate, he had a sort of—I
don’t know—expectant air about him. There wasn’t much traffic in the park at
this time of day, but there was some. As I observed—a loner’s often a great
observer of life around him—I noticed something. If a woman or girl walked by,
he nodded courteously, but if a man—especially a young man—approached, he
spread his legs and watched the guy approach. Like a hunter watching his prey was
what came to mind. But what was his bait?
After about ten minutes, a guy
who looked like he was another student walked up and stopped in front of the
bench. I could hear voices but not words. Didn’t need them. The second guy sat
down beside the first and took a long look either way before moving his hand.
Although their backs were to me, I would have sworn he was groping the other
one.
They got up and moved deeper
into the trees. If they hadn’t been so intent on one another, they would have
seen me, but I remained as still as a stone. When they were well screened from
the public portion of the park—but easily within my sight—one of them, a curly,
dark-headed guy, leaned against the bole of a tree while the other pressed against
him. I could swear they were kissing. They were! Moans reached me. Then the
blond-headed one dropped his britches, baring his butt to me. It looked like
the other one’s trousers drooped, as well. More moans and groans as they
massaged one another.
Damn, if this wasn’t beginning
to get to me.
They halted their activity and
started discussing something. I couldn’t hear plainly but enough to realize
they were compatible—whatever that meant. Then I heard, plain as day. “My
roommate’s gone for the night.” They restored their clothing and started back
to the public area. One looked startled when he spotted me, but grinned and
flashed a thumbs-up behind his partner’s back.
Damned, if that didn’t send
something crawling around inside me.
When they were gone, I got up
and walked to that bench. Sitting—and spreading my legs, I have to admit—I kinda
experimented with the feeling. Then I noticed something I hadn’t before. The
park benches were all painted different colors. This one was white. A white-vined park bench. Could that be what the note on the toilet wall meant?
Yeah. This was a pick-up spot. A meeting place for those people. Those people?
Damn, I had a raging boner.
Did that mean anything? Naw. Well, maybe.
Anyway, I was sure as hell gonna
come back tonight and see what developed. Hell, maybe I’d sit down and spread
my legs now that I knew what the bait was.
My, my, what do
you suppose he’s figured out the bait was? Will it work? Will it be okay with
him if it does, or will it be a case of the dog catching the car? Figure it out
for yourself. Or… I might write a second story, we’ll see.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email:
markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t
copyright it. His bad.)
See you later.
Mark
New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.
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