Mark Wildyr: gay encounter

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Thursday, December 21, 2023

An Army Brat and a White-Vined Park Bench (Part 1 of 2 Parts)

Markwildyr.com, Post #255

Image Courtesy of Amazon:

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to one and all. Please enjoy the holiday season but be careful, there are a lot of crazies out there.

During this busy time of year, I’d intended to publish a repost for this week. But Layton and the white-vined park bench he’d stumbled onto in last post prompted so many memories from yore, I couldn’t let it go. Hope you enjoy the second story.

* * * *

AN ARMY BRAT AND A WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH

My name’s Layton Dunelton, and I’m one confused son of a gun. An army brat, I had traveled blamed near all over the world by the time I reached age eighteen. But I’d never seen anything like what I saw when I arrived at Harthbrow Academy for my senior year in high school. It started off last Monday after school was over for the day. I’m a hiker—and a loner, by the way—and went to this park near my house after I’d seen some graffiti in the boy’s room about a white park bench.

Don’t know if I was looking for that bench or not, but I spotted it in a little secluded glen screened from the rest of the park by some trees. All the message said was, “Meet you at the white vine tonight at eight.” Anyway, my curiosity got the better of me, and I sat at another bench not far away. Dunno why, wasn’t anywhere close to eight o’clock. Heck, it was the middle of the afternoon. And I didn’t even know when the note was put on the wall.

But I figured things out right fast when a guy sat down on the white bench and got picked up by another guy. Looked like college students. They moved back in the trees and started making out. Guess they were too involved in what they were doing to notice me, but I sure got an eyeful when one dropped his britches. They left before things got too heated up, heading for somewhere more private, I guess. But as they left, one of them, a really handsome guy with dark, curly hair noticed me and gave me a grin and a thumbs-up behind his buddy’s back.

What was even stranger was I’d never even thought about fooling around with guys, but what I’d seen about set me on fire. I even went back at eight that night to see if anyone answered the note, but nobody showed, and I felt creepy sitting in the dark watching that empty, white-vined park bench.

I tried not to give the park much thought the rest of the week, but the following Monday afternoon, I went to the head and saw that graffiti again. Somebody’d added the word “Wow!” below it. That’s all it took to start my imagination racing again, so I left school after last class and headed straight for the park.

Once I got there, I wondered what the hell I was doing. There were some kids playing a ball game way down the green, but nobody was at the path running in front of the white bench. Or on the other bench farther back in the trees where I’d watched last Monday.

On impulse, I sat down on the white bench and spread my legs like I’d seen the guy do the other day. But as soon as I saw someone approaching, I closed them like I needed to protect my manhood or something.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, I decided sitting on this hookup bench and spreading my legs to bait a trap wasn’t for me. I stood to leave, but froze when I saw that same dark-headed college kid striding this way on long, athletic legs. Panicked, I didn’t know whether to sit down or run away. And I had to do one or the other because my knees went weak.

When I saw him turn his head to look at two girls walking down the path on the other side of the green, I whipped around the bench and took refuge on the other seat deeper in the trees. Maybe he wouldn’t notice me. Like last time.

I sat still as a marble statue as he approached the white bench. Was he going to sit down? Was he meeting his friend again? Would I see them move deeper in the trees and drop their trousers? Would….

Upon reaching the white bench, he stretched languidly, hiking his short shirt up and giving me a flash of brown midriff. Wow, he was built. Athletic, I mean. Not like a wrestler; more like a runner or a swimmer. Long, hard muscles.

I saw the instant he spotted me. He paused, flashed a smile… and headed my way. My insides shriveled. God! Would he recognize me as the peeping Tom kid? Before I had time to react, he stood in front of me.

“Hello. Wondered if I’d see you again.”

Oh, crap! He recognized me.

“I came back a couple of times last week hoping I’d see you,” he went on.

He wanted to see me?

He indicated the bench. “Mind if I join you?”

“Y-yeah, sure.” Crap, I probably sounded like a ten-year-old.

He sat beside me on the small bench with our thighs touching… scorching my flesh.

He offered a hand. “My name’s Ken.”

“Uh….” I verbally stumbled as I accepted his firm grip. Seemed like there was heat in that touch too. “Layton.”

“Good to meet you, Layton.”

“W-why did you want to see me?” Gee, he must think I stuttered.

“Wanted to get your take on what you saw Monday.”

*.*.*.*.

Uh-oh, is the college guy fishing around to see what Layton saw a week ago? Should Layton confess he’d gotten an eyeful or play dumb? Would Ken be pissed if he’d seen too much? College boy had been dogged about finding Layton again. What did he want? To make sure the kid kept his mouth shut? Or maybe something else. Let’s see next post.

JMSBooks has contracted with me for another short story anthology for publication in February of next year. This one is a series of related stories about Curt Huntinghawk and his running buddy Grover Whitedeer. It’s called Huntinghawk, An Anthology. Let you know when I get a firm publication date.

My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @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.

Thursday, December 7, 2023

The White-Vined Park Bench

Markwildyr.com, Post #254

Image Courtesy of Pinterest:

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.