“My Dark Mystery Stud”
This is a monthly series, which began with the words: “The great love affair of my life started when New York City decided to totally rebuild the Parade Grounds, a large park which consisted only of athletic fields located across the street from my apartment.” To read the introduction to the series, and Chapter One, go to: http://rainingmenamen.blogspot.com/2012/01/my-dark-mystery-stud-chapter-one.html
Photo "Drama for gods" by Andrei Vishnyakov of Vishstudio, Russia. http://vishstudio.deviantart.com/
I first noticed the man early in the spring when construction had just ended. Although not yet “officially” to be opened until almost summer, the Parks Department began to give permission to organized leagues to use the new fields, and the public was able to use some of them, too.
The “soccer” side of the Parade Grounds had been covered with artificial surf, so that during the spring and summer it would be reserved for soccer, while American football could be played there during the rest of the year. The other side had an interesting new configuration. Near the center was an official, full sized baseball field, complete with bleachers, brick dugouts, and a lighting system for night games. That caught my attention before construction was even finished; hardball is not played by children, but by adults, or at least by older teenagers. There were four softball fields like the former ones, while a field that was now too small for that due to the big new baseball diamond and some new basketball courts was turned into a “general use field” for public use. All the fields on this side are natural grass, to be closed during the off season to allow the grass to recover. The problem of cleats on grass had been solved.
The first softball game that I witnessed made me grin in sexual anticipation. It wasn’t Little League. In fact, they never did return to the Parade Grounds, but their equivalent in youth soccer leagues, including one for tots, began to use the artificial fields. This first softball game was by teams in a league sponsored by Latino bars and ‘bodegas’; all of them adult men! Although they all appeared to be escorted by wives and girlfriends, a few of the men gave speculative looks at some of the men watching the game from outside the fence. Although I prefer openly gay partners, I am tolerant of closet cases and hot bisexual men.
The first hardball game was disappointing - not teens, but college guys in their early 20’s. I had to admit they were all well built, so it had been worth watching a few innings as their beautifully built bodies moved smoothly on the field. Only one of the young men had any sexual possibility; even in his uniform, I could see he was a young fur-ball. I wondered what his father or older brothers looked like, and I hoped to have a chance to watch this young stud mature in the next few years.
That game was during the first weekend when the fields were in use.
Early on Tuesday evening, while the sun was still up, I was walking my dog when I noticed a very mixed group of men playing a pick up game of soccer in the “general public” field. Unlike the formal adult soccer leagues, which tend to be divided into teams of national origins, this group had all sorts of men, from a hairy redhead in fantastic shape who was probably about 50, to a tall, skinny black guy who lived in my building and I knew was about to graduate high school. I heard at least four languages I could identify yelled by the two teams, which had adopted the American system of “shirts versus skins”.
One stud stood out above them all. Literally stood out; he was at least 6’4”. At first, I thought that he was on the “shirts” team and wearing a black mesh t-shirt. Then the ball came rolling over against the fence right in front of the bench where I was sitting with my dog, a Rottweiler mix, quietly drooling over a few of the men. The tall stud came running towards me, wearing cut off shorts that revealed beautifully muscular legs, showing me that the “shirt” was one of the heaviest mats of man-fur I’d ever seen. Now, I’ve been looking at and admiring hairy men since I discovered men when I was 13, a total of 37 years of watching, hunting and fucking bears. I saw that his legs and arms were almost as hairy. This stud was built like the proverbial shit house. And then some!
I couldn’t help but stare at him as he trotted towards the ball. I usually know better than to stare at a strange man in public; I was only fag bashed once in my life, when I was 26, but that had taught me my lesson about ogling tough looking men in my blue-collar neighborhood. The ball had rolled a few yards along the fence. He bent to pick up the ball, and my heart almost stopped. I freely admit that I’m a fucking ass man. I have been most of my adult life. Even during the confused period when I was having sex with women well dreaming about man, I preferred women with big rears instead of big boobs. His shorts did little to hide the fact that he had one of the hottest, fuckable, muscular asses I’d seen in years, and I could see some of his hairy ass crack.
Standing up, he looked directly at me, and then the dog, grinning. He had a dazzling white, even teeth, framed by a heavy mustache and full lips. His skin was dark, like a deep tan, but my glimpse of his ass crack had shown me that this was his natural skin color. But his handsome features gave me absolutely no clue to his ethnic identity.
I grinned back at one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. My hand unconsciously fell to my chest, lightly touching my erect nipple through my t-shirt. A beautiful deep voice said “Hi, there.”. and I managed to answer without squeaking up to the top of my tenor voice, something which still happened when I was either nervous or very turned on - and I was both. My dog barked, her tail wagging in a playful way.
“That’s a really hot looking dog you’ve got there.” The sexy deep voice continued, revealing absolutely no accent other than the same slight Brooklyn accent which I have, leaving me with no clues to his ethnic group. We chatted a few words about my dog, Milo, until a Spanish curse reminded him of the game. With a wave and another dazzling grin, he turned back to the game without us having a chance to introduce ourselves. I muttered to myself: “Shit. He knows my fucking dog’s name but not mine! He’s wearing a gold ring on his wedding finger but I couldn’t tell if it was a band or no! Is he interested, or just friendly?”
I watched the perfect poetry of his beautiful body at play for a half hour more, although I don’t understand soccer at all, since it had been introduced to most of America when I was already an adult. He never looking in my direction again. Between this dark, mysterious, masculine beauty and the graceful, shirtless, mature, muscular redhead who did give me a couple of glances, and was almost as hairy and hot, I ended up with a painful case of blue balls. (I’ve always had a “thing” about redheads with red fur).
Rushing the dog inside, I called one of my construction worker fuck-buddies who I knew wasn’t working a new job yet. Mike was a brawny 5’8” muscle-bear, a hot little redheaded Irishman laborer with a great hairy body, who loved to be fucked hard and long. At 26 and recently divorced from a cheating wife, he’d finally accepted the fact that he was gay, so Mike had no interest in a relationship right then, wanting to “make up for lost time”. Best of all, since the divorce had happened just as he’d started working on the Parade Grounds project, Mike had decided to move to the area, so was living two short blocks away from me. He’d made it clear after our first few nights together that he was perfectly willing to get a “booty call” from me whenever I needed some action. I had taken him up on that a couple of times. Well, I really needed Mike’s eager and still tight ass!
He was home, horny and eager. He had no idea that the two big, hot loads this 50 year old man who has to walk with a cane shot in a rubber deep in his ass, and a third that I later licked up myself from his hairy chest was actually, in my mind, meant for the dark-skinned mystery soccer stud, a man who I assumed I’d never see again. Well, I’ll be honest; the third one had been inspired by thoughts of that hot red daddy-bear in bed with the mysterious dark man and me. Mike went home a contented stud, having matched me load for load.
As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if my dark mystery stud lived nearby, or just came by to use the sports fields with friends.
To be continued…