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Hard Ball

© December, 2000

Chris Carr

 

 

 

III.

 

Trolling the remote pathways of the darkened park, August stopped, movement within some bushes catching his attention. Amidst hushed grunts and moans, he heard an occasional smacking sound. Peering between the branches, he felt his dick hardening.

Though he'd attempted to leave several times, it was scenes like this that kept bringing him back. Maybe this time it won't be a couple of tired queens slobbing on each other, he hoped. His eyes adjusting, he stared, disappointedly observing an older couple fucking behind the bushes.

The oldest hag gazed at August, lewdly licking his lips as a younger middle-aged man pounded him. God-dammit this was getting to be frustrating! Having stumbled upon several other pairings like the one he'd just seen, he wondered if he was just too damn picky. The rest of those guys slurping and humping about the park seemed happy with their selections, why couldn't he find something too?

Go home, he conceded, making an effort to leave for the umpteenth time that night. Had it been that long? Fuck that, he resisted. And fuck Juice too, he blasted, kicking a soda can.

What really frustrated him was the way men, and boys, he thought referring to Vincent, were so shady. Just what did they want, anyway? Juice lives with his lady and only came around when he was hotter than July, and Vincent was impossible to figure out. Why did they even come around? What the hell did Vincent want and why was he mysteriously absent now? What was the magic formula?

 

Moping across the park, he returned to a favorite fantasy. One where he was mowed down by a speeding car. Or passes out in a crowd, the dire victim of a heart attack. Imagining himself near death in a hospital bed, he felt a warm rush all over at the thought of his man, rushing to his side.

"I’m sorry baby," Juice would supplicate, tenderly holding his hand. "Don't die baby. Please! I need you too much."

Would serve that punk right, he fumed, trouncing past a taco stand. Surprised it dared staying open so late in the hood, he slowed, a particular Latino catching his eye. Yeah, maybe that's what he needed. Something other than some trifling nigga, fucking him on the side and returning to his skanchy ho' afterwards.

For something as foine as this boy, he'd gladly give up Juice, Andre or any other confused nigga. Damn, look at that mo'fo's chest, August drooled. Pecs like that could only be the result of much working out... or something.

He lookin' at me? August blushed, pausing. The youth eyed him sullenly, leaning against the stand's counter. Lingering in the dark, just outside the stand's well lit exterior, August waited, hopeful. Make yo' move, he taunted, striking a coquettish pose.

Jerking his head upward in the familiar, 'wassup' gesture, the boy observed August warily. August returned his gesture, adding a girlish flare to his nod. Com'on brown eyes, he bid, you know you want it.

The boy glanced around, checking to make sure he wasn't being watched, then slowly approached. "'Sup?" he grunted, standing just inside the stand's arc of light.

"Huh? Oh… Nuthin'," August panted, batting his eyes.

Damn he foine, August swooned, studying the youth's dark, smooth features. Hesitating, the youth studied him, uncertain what was transpiring. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he watched as August's eyes focused on his package. August's intense attention to his concealed goods raising unwanted sensations, he felt an unavoidable stirring below. Fingering his tool seductively through his pockets, he marveled as it hardened beneath August's gaze.

"So, what's your name?" August tendered.

"Raphael," the boy said, still a couple ticks behind. August glanced repeatedly at his crotch the whole time they talked and to his amazement the boy stayed fluffed.

"You stay 'round here?"

"Nah."

"What you gettin'?"

"Huh?"

"What you buyin'?" August said, gesturing at the taco stand.

"Oh... ain't buyin' nothin'... just chillin'."

An awkward moment passed, August biting on his lower lip, then Raphael said,

"You want this?"   pushing his dick forward in his pants. August blushed, a little startled, nodding his head coyly. Raphael looked around then led him back to the park he'd just left. As Raphael rounded the baseball diamond, August's heart raced, excited. He couldn't believe his luck.

He'd no sooner joined the boy, behind home plate, when his name rang out from the parking lot.

"August……. August… August!"

Whirling around, he discovered the source of the insistent voice.

"Ho', get yo' ass in the car!" Juice glared, opening the door to, apparently, his new car...

 

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