Big Weekend

Yes it was.

Wow.

I'm wearing a collar. Yup. It's true.

I'll begin at the beginning, where we left off on Friday.

I headed up to NYC. We had the first games of the new softball season on Saturday. And this guy whom we are calling Big was in town from San Fran. He was staying at the apartment of a friend of his, and (small world!), his friend was the ex of a guy on my softball team. I'd been in that apartment before to get a massage when my back was wrecked last October or whenever. How about them apples?

Anyway, I dropped off Faithful Companion at the boarding place, fixed dinner for my father, and hit the road. I have never had such an easy time getting into NYC! I practically had the NJ Turnpike Extension to myself, I zipped through the Holland Tunnel toll plaza, and went flying up Hudson Street. Had there perhaps been some huge mishap? Was a tidal wave approaching the city? Just angels, I guess. Angels watching over me.

As planned, Big and I were meeting at Starbucks at 16th and 8th Ave. Wouldn't you know it, I found parking at 15th and 8th. (Angels again.) With all due trepidation I walked a block. And there was Big. This guy I had only seen pictures of on the screen of my laptop.

Wow. Surpassing all of my expectations. The man was hot.

He was on the sidewalk with the ex and the ex's new beau. We exchanged helloes, commented on the smallness of the world, then ex and beau headed off into the night, and Big and I headed to Food Bar so I could get something to eat.

And we talked.

We talked. Falling right away into conversation. Easily. Mostly we asked questions of one another, filling in the blanks. It turns out that Big's current job bears close resemblance to my old job at the non-profit I ran. Ditto for the joys and frustrations. Big and I have a lot in common.

Beyond professionally, we hold many of the same opionions. We see eye-to-eye, for example, on the whole gay marriage thing. In fact, Big shares my ideas about power-inbalance relationships (he's a big fan of Sir/boy... very cool) being the best that two men can do.

We talked a lot about that. About how that relationship plays itself out again and again among men. Coach, boss, mentor... it feels so right as a way for two men to relate to one another.

After dinner, it was a beautiful night, so Big and I lit cigars and took a passegiata through Chelsea and the West Village. Talking. Talking talking talking.

And, from time to time, Big would take me in his arms and kiss me deeply. I just melted.

What an amazing man.

We were heading back towards Chelsea and the car when we stopped, and sat on a stoop. On Bank Street, I believe. The night was balmy. Everyone had that First Nice Spring Day cheerfulness that New Yorkers get.

Sitting on the stoop, smoking cigars, Big positioned me on a step lower than his, between his boots. He massaged my shoulders and the nape of my neck. More kissing ensued. I think I was hard the entire time.

Then it was back to the apartment where Big was staying, on the Upper West Side. At this point, I was exhausted. I had a long week of work and a long drive behind me. It was getting so I could hardly hold up my head. I sat on the bed to undress, and Big put his booted foot over my crotch. I took the hint immediately. I unlaced his boot, removed it, raised it to my lips and kissed it, then followed suit with the other foot.

Nice.

Naked, we piled into the bed.

Big felt wonderful in bed, his firm body, the brush of the hair of his chest against my cheek. I became inanimate pretty quickly, turning off like someone pulled my plug.

I woke up. The sun was up. But it seemed early. I needed some more sleep, after all, I had two softball games to play. There was Big, next to me, lying on his side, facing me. I turned onto my side, facing away from him, and nestled my back up against the fur of his chest.

And nestled my asscrack up against his dick. Which was already hard. I started squirming, Big started squirming, and just like that, he was in me.

It felt wonderful.

Really wonderful.

Really really wonderful.

(Cut the scene to waves crashing against rocks and the strains of violins on the soundtrack.)

After a few more hours of blissful slumber, Big and I woke up, took showers, and headed down to a local diner for breakfast. During breakfast, I gave Big an out for the softball game that day. I explained that we were playing out in Bloomfield, New Jersey. We had two games. It would probably be a six or seven hour ordeal. Most of the time, I'd be giving my attention to the game. If Big wanted to stay in the City and we'd meet up afterwards, that would be fine with me.

Big said he wanted to come see the Ball Breakers play softball.

And so off we went, down to the Dugout, where the Ball Breakers were meeting up for the trip out to Bloomfield. I introduced Big around to the team, and to a couple of guys, explained that we were on our first date. Our coach commented that the last time I brought a guy (Special Guy, that would be) to a game, my playing improved considerably. He hoped that Big would have a similar effect.

And so did I.

C-Ball.

Jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick.

For the past two years, the Ball Breakers have played in D Division. Known euphemistically as 'the recreational division.' In other words, we were the equivalent of the second grade spelling 'Brown Group' that met in the special room in the basement. But this year, we'd been kicked up to the C Division. Somewhat more competitive. We were all a bit antsy about that.

And, the team we were playing, the Rookies, was the best of the C Division. In the opinion of many, they really belonged in the B Division.

They sure opened up a can of whoop-ass on the Ball Breakers. The score was something like 22-6. I mean, these guys were really good. Every hit was a beauty. No errors in the field whatsoever.

But, the Ball Breakers, of course, were there to have a good time. And we did.

And I got in a few really good hits. One of those six runs was made by me running across the plate.

That felt really good.

And, of course, what felt even better was returning from the field to where Big was sitting in my fold up chair, plopping down on the grass next to him, and having him massage the nape of my neck and tell me how good I looked out there.

The nape of my neck...

I started to think about that. The nape of my neck. I wondered if Big was thinking that what my neck needed was a collar.

We played two games against the Rookies, losing both of them, although it seemed in the second game they went a little easier on us. Thanks, Rookies! They were a good bunch of guys. And, although I struck out once at the plate, I got in one of the best hits of my softball career.

And I definitely had the impression that with Big, I was batting a thousand.

Back in the city, I decided to forgo post game festivities with the Ball Breakers at Ty's and instead continue the first date with Big.

Now, the plan I had was to take Big out to dinner. Specifically, I wanted to take him to Brooklyn. Big has been to NYC a number of times, but I'm willing to bet most of that time has been spent in Manhattan. Well, most of my time in NYC I was a Brooklyn Guy. If you ever need a Brooklyn restaurant recommendation, I'm the man to talk to. And, perhaps, if the weather held, after dinner we would drive out to Fort Tilden for a walk on the beach.

But we stopped for a bite to eat, and... well... we started talking again.

Whaddya gonna do there, huh?

After our light repast, I remembered that Big had mentioned wanting to shop for leather while he was in NYC. So, we headed to the Leatherman.

We weren't in the door ten minutes when I saw a pair of boots I wanted to try on. Wescos. Boss boots. 18 inchers. Since I was still wearing the blousy athletic pants from softball, I decided to slip into a pair of jeans before trying on the Wescos. The guys at the Leatherman had no problems with that. I pulled off the rack a new item from the boys at Nasty Pig: jeans made from cotton and spandex. So they're really really tight. Made to be worn under chaps. Me in the jeans got a 'Woof!' from Big.

The boots, unfortunately, didn't fit. In a weird way. My left foot was way too tight, and my right foot was way to loose. We tried the next size up, and the same thing was true. It could very well have been due to me having spent the day running around a softball diamond. Then I got an idea.

Y'see, I had just the day before deposited my massive throbbing tax refund check (Thanks, George Bush!) When the Leatherman guy suggested I might want to consider a pair of custom boots from Wesco, I decided to go with that. So I was measured for my custom made Wescos. I'm getting 18 inch harness boots. My Frye harness boots are about to give out on me. cubby suggested that it was time to give them a rest. And these have the really cool treads on them. And they're Wescos. So I know they'll be comfy.

Oh. Did you know that if you send your Wesco boots to Wesco they will completely recondition them and make them like new, no matter what shape they're in? Neither did I. But my Wesco loggers are taking such punishment at work (they're the only boots I own that are kind enough to my feet that I can spend forty hours plus at work on my feet wearing them). I think once I get my harness boots (in about twelve weeks!), I'll send off my loggers to the good folks at Wesco.

And after I was measured for the boots, I decided that since I was wearing a pair of jeans made specifically to wear under chaps, I might as well try on some chaps.

Yeah, you guessed it. I own a new pair of chaps.

This is actually my only pair. The pair that I had I gave to the Leather Pride Night auction last year. They didn't fit right. I bought them because I wanted to fuck the guy who was working in the booth at MAL. So I don't have a pair of chaps.

Only now I do.

Big wanted me to have the jeans, so he sprang for those. And he also had me try on a nice chrome cock ring. Once I had it on, I... well... I got a big ol' hardon. Cause Big had given it to me to put on. Big wanted me to be wearing that cockring. I couldn't have gotten it off without cutting it off, and I don't know of a safe way to do that. So Big was more than happy to treat me to a new chrome cockring. Provided I don't take it off. So I'm not gonna.

Before we left, Big looked over the chains and padlocks that the Leatherman sells. Better believe my heart was pounding in my chest during that. But Big didn't like the selection, and said he already owned something he liked along those lines.

My knees just about buckled when I heard that.

Time for dinner after all of that grueling shopping!

Let me just say though that it felt great to drop some serious cash at the Leatherman. I love that store, and I like the guys who work there. If it wasn't for the Leatherman, there would be no leather at all in NYC. It's a valuable community resource. For many many men, the right of passage into leather is to get up the nerve to go into the leatherman and buy a chain wallet or a vest or some such. I know that thirteen years ago, I made the purchase of a leather rebel cap there, and it was a Really Big Deal for me.

But anyway, since Brooklyn seemed way to far to go, I opted for the most romantic restaurant I know of in the West Village, the Paris Commune on Bleecker Street.

More good conversation ensued.

At this point, I was really falling for Big. I decided to tell him a story. I told him about Mark Collier. How Mark and I had met at Inferno, and a few months later had started an email correspondence. And hit it off. Last year about this time, Mark asked me if I would be coming to Chicago for IML. I replied that I couldn't afford it this year. He suggested that I drive out, and as he was staying at the host hotel, he offered me the use of his apartment. That I could do.

So I loaded up the car and headed west for my first IML. And got to meet and spend time with Mark. Both of us were pretty taken with each other. But, y'know, it was IML weekend. We saw each other mostly in passing. But I was staying in his apartment, and is there a better way to get to know a person? Before I headed back, Mark and I had lunch. We lamented the fact that we had not had an opportunity to play, and made a date for Inferno.

Mark, of course, didn't make it to Inferno. He passed in August, a heart attack in his sleep.

"I never want to make that mistake again," I told Big. "I don't want to delay an opportunity like that."

After dinner, we headed back up to the apartment on the Upper West Side.

(More waves crashing against rocks.)

This morning, we got up, got showered, and headed out to get breakfast. And talked some more.

One more great thing about Big: he showered, then I showered. I am not a big fan of sharing the shower. Not when there's only one showerhead anyway. It just doesn't work. One person is enjoying the steam streams and rivulets, while the other person stands there watching, thinking, "C'mon already! Quit hogging the water!" When I build my dream house, there will be a nice big shower stall with at least two showerheads. Until then, I'll shower alone, thanks. Good in theory, bad (really bad!) in practice.

More talking over brunch.

And then... and then... it was time for me to hit the road.

That was really hard. I didn't want the weekend to end. I didn't want to say goodbye to Big. It had all be just so perfect. So right.

BAck at the apartment, Big sat me down on the sofa. He told me that he'd be back in ten days, and we'd see each other again then. And he told me not too think. Just invite it in. Good advices.

And then, he removedthe chain from his chain wallet. He put the chain around my neck, and I heard and felt the click of the clip securing it. Big explained that this was just for me to see how it feels to wear it. The next one he would padlock on.


Oh man.

Yeah.

Yeah!

He hissed. We held each other. Big walked me down to the garage.

If I were thiniking, I'd have a lot to think about. But I'm not.

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