In Step

Rush rush rush.

Get my paycheck to the bank, rush home, get Faithful Companion to the kennel, rush back home, throw clothes in a bag, check the list of things that Sir wanted me to bring for the weekend, make dinner for my father, hit the road, fight traffic so I could pick up Big when he arrives at Newark airport.

Made it!

Big's flight got in at 8:09 p.m., when I got out of my car in the parking lot, it was 8:05 p.m.

Alas, I had parked at Terminal B when I wanted to park at Terminal A. But a quick ride on the light rail brought me to where I wanted to be. I positioned myself at the gate, and who should I see but... Cubby J. Sherwood! Cubby was also meeting someone at the airport. An amazing coinky-dink, no? And pretty soon, here came Big up the corridor, looking none to worse for the wear for air travel as we know it these days.

So Big met Cubby, and Cubby met Big. Very cool.

Big and I took the light rail back to terminal B, found my car without too much trouble, and headed towards NYC. Perhaps because of the chance meeting with Cubby, I had an idea for dinner. Not the culinary offerings of Gotham, but those of humble Jersey City would be our fare. I took Big to a vietnamese restaurant that Cubby had introduced me to. I had Pho, Big had shrimp, and we split spring rolls.

Then, it was across the river, and off to the Upper West Side. Once settled, Big presented his boy with not only the most beautiful collar the boy has ever seen, but the most beautiful he can imagine ever seeing: a length of chrome plated chain secured with a silver Master lock. Wow.

Wow.

When I dropped off Faithful Companion at the kennel, my eye was caught by a selection of leashes they had for sale. Really nice leashes. I found one made of a length of black leather, six feet long. It was made by a local saddlery. I guess you would want a longer leash for leading a horse. Or a boy. Big gave me a collar, and I gave him a leash. It was like the Gift of the Magi, only... y'know... it was All Good.

Big was full of gifts. He presented me with a (black) leather bound book. A sort of Book of Big. Laying out information about him, the protocols he is looking for his boy to adhere to (nothing to strenuous, my slave policy and procedures is a monastic rule in comparison), and his ideas about the boy/Sir relationship.

I mean, it's beautiful. Really beautiful. And must have been so much work. No one has ever put so much effort into a gift for me. Ever.

This boy is deeply moved.

And then, there we hit the hay, both being exhausted. Another night spent in Big's arms. That is paradise.

The next morning, it was Time for Softball! Big and I showered, had coffee, dressed, and headed to Randall's Island to meet up with the Ball Breakers.

It was a great day for softball. We were playing the Renegades. You might remember the Rookies, the team that slaughtered us two weeks ago? Well, last week, the Renegades slaughtered the Rookies.

Welcome to C Division!

And we went down in flames the first game. They made hits, and we made errors. You'll have to find your way to the BASL website to get the score. I'm not about to report it here.

But, we had a fifteen minute break in between games, and then got ready to be trounced again.

But it didn't happen that way. The Ball Breakers beat the Renegades by a score of something like 22-4. By my lights, three things happened. First, they had a different pitcher. Second, the heat got to them, but not to us. And third, we got smarter. Our fielding errors reduced significantly. And, we kind of noticed that our right fielders were getting no action whatsoever. Every ball they hit was going to the left field. So we were prepared, all the time, getting the balls back in, and making things much much more difficult for them.

And oh yeah. We won.

After the game, Big and I stopped in at Ty's for a celebratory beer, and then got some coffee and headed to the grass pier to relax.

It was glorious. The warm sun. The water. Coffee. Big. And both of us talking. Talking and talking and talking. From the first moment, there has been a rapport that we have. If I believed in reincarnation, I would say that we're picking up where we left off, although we've only just met. Amazing and wonderful.

Then back to the Upper West Side for a nap. And before we fell into the Arms of Morpheus, Big gave his boy another gift: Sir bred his boy. And that, too, was pretty wonderful. Really wonderful. It's never been with me like it is with Big. I am desired and possessed at the same time. Diving into a deep pool, and going down down down. Truly sublime.

We woke up late, and as we were preparing to head out, there was a flash of lightning and a peel of thunder. A storm had come rolling down (or up) the Hudson.

New York City is a fascinating place during a storm. I couldn't help thinking of that date I had with Special Guy, when then, too, a storm blew up, stranding us under the awning of the flower seller at Christopher and Bleecker. And while I advised a woman on how to get to a subway without getting drenched (like that was gonna happen), Special Guy bought a single red rose, presented it to me, kissed me deeply, and asked if he and I could be boyfriends.

Truly, there is magic in the air when there's a storm blowing in New York City.

Despite the rain, which would pour down and then abate for a time, before pouring down again, Big and I managed to get down to the Moonstruck Diner, have a dinner that was frankly weird (clearly, the person who made my roast pork loin had never eaten pork in his life, and as he was probably a muslim, go figure, huh?). And then, we headed to the Eagle.

The Eagle. Sic transit gloria NYC.

There were, besides Big and I, perhaps half a dozen men in leather there. And by the confused looks on their faces, they were all tourists who had read in HX that this was supposed to be a leather bar. The Eagle is so totally not a leather bar. It's just a gay bar. And a particularly noisy and poorly lit one at that. And because of the weather, smoking cigars on the roof was not an option.

Big and I ran into blackbird, who introduced us to a friend of his, who is apparently quite the admiring reader. (Hi, David!) And we hit the road.

Another night in Big's arms.

Are things going well?

Oh yeah. Things are going really well.

Something I noticed. Two weeks ago, our first meeting, when Big and I walked, holding hands, smoking cigars, I had to concentrate to keep in step with him. I'm a fast walker. I pass joggers. And my stride is longer than Big's. At some point this weekend, maybe as we walked to the pier, or heading to Moonstruck in the rain, or somewhere, that Big and I walked in stride, and there was nothing to think about. Just naturally in stride. Me to Big's right, the boy position.

Walking in stride. Thunderstorms of Gotterdammerung proportions. Fortuitious meetings. The most beautiful collar in the world. A miraculous comeback on the softball diamond.

What is going on here?

I used to feel in the dreaded seven year relationship that I was an actor, cast in a role, unable to read the script, but time after time thrown onto stage, and forced to make up the lines as I went along on a part I didn't understand and for which I was ill-suited.

And now... and now... This is the role I've always wanted. I know this part. This is me playing me. I am the hero of my own life. And kudos to the stage manager and the scriptwriter for all those great touches.

Life, as I told my Sir before I drifted off to sleep last night, is sweet indeed.

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