Cocky Batter

by Drake Rockford

  “Shhh,” returned Dale in a gentle whisper. “You’re talking louder than you think. Pull your chair up beside mine and I’ll give it to you blow-by-blow. But be quiet.”

  Adrian nodded and scooted next to Dale. He sat close enough that Dale needn’t move his head to explain things. A minuscule tilt would bring their temples together and allow them to watch the performance while talking softly enough not to disturb the other patrons.

  A note sounded, distant and echoing, coming at once from both where the stage should be and from behind them, as if the music was everywhere. The note was low and mournful, the mating call of a lonely violin searching for love in the vast darkness. The call lasted and lasted until a lonely flute followed in response. As the musical courtship progressed, bells chimed soft declarations of love before submitting to the powerful keyed trumpet and its aggressive change in tempo. As the trumpet blared, lights emerged with the miraculous wonder of the dawn of new life.

  Human sounds of ecstasy bellowed throughout as dancers shimmied in from left and right, skipping without effort on their toes. They gathered center stage, sashaying to the undulating rhythm of some phantom drummer. The soles of their feet tapped a somber ballad as a figure in a flowing black and orange shroud leapt from the crowd and glided across the floor, legs and arms akimbo, feet echoing the siren song.

  Her slim buttocks thrust into the air and fell again as a low moan escaped her lips. Around her a horde of men and women sidled in agitated fascination, their feet rising and falling, hips and pelvises gyrating as they jousted one another in a frenzied battle to reach the fallen woman squirming beneath them, beguiling them. Their faces, veiled in mystery, were downcast while she lay prostrate, her face upturned and arms stretched open toward her enthralled onlookers as if inviting them to join the celestial orgy.

  Beautiful robes made a flowing river of crimson and purple, jade and turquoise, black and blue—a perfect reflection of the eternal battles between love and lust, jealousy and pride, joy and pain; a triumphant depiction of the rise and fall of that eternal tempter, Lucifer.

  The woman sacrificing body and soul to the throng of lovers sprang to her feet, then fluttered from one eager recipient of her touch to another, kneeling before each to sample his or her sweet, milky nectar before moving on, like a monarch butterfly pollinating a garden of roses. It was a sight both beautiful and arousing to behold.

  With a crash of cymbals a lithe, male dancer flew onto the stage, pursued by three women. He wore a blue cape that fluttered behind him, making him both attractive and yet difficult to ensnare. The women circled him, some moaning with desire and others groaning with despair, yet all clamoring for a piece of him. They beseeched him with throaty chants—cajoling, pleading, and cursing him with their bodies, but he proved elusive. Baring his teeth in a silent laugh, he pranced about with a fool’s content. He spun from the circle and, in his playful search of escape, collided into the monarch butterfly. He fell forward at her feet and gazed with ardor upon her beauty. So smitten was he, he gave no regard to the lustful vixens enclosing the pair in a blanket of gray, trapping them both from the vision of the onlookers.

  Then boom! Djembe and bongo drums roared to life in unison, the deep reverberations of the djembe complementing the high-pitched wail of the bongo.

  The harem scattered, rattled out of their wits. Beneath them lay the protective grey shroud on a crumpled mound. Blood-red light flooded the stage. Slowly, the veil rose in the form of one being, and from beneath the trails slipped orange and black threads, flowing into a pool of blood.

  As one the monarch and her new king scurried to a corner, but the twirling vixens broke their escape. They fled to the other side of the stage, but danger awaited there, too. The horde was closing upon them.

  Frantic to protect his queen, the king raised her high above his head. He stretched his limbs beyond their ability, until she rested on an invisible wing. Safe and secure, she extended her hand to him. His fingers grasped hers not a moment too soon.

  The king in his majestic blue cape and the queen in her stunning orange and black, rose. She lifted him and they ascended together into a blinding light. The drums quickened to a deafening crescendo as the orgy advanced and grasped thin air as their capes fluttered down upon the heads.

  The music stopped.

  Darkness blanketed the stage.

  When the light came again, it fell on a man clothed in red, with large horns protruding from his head and bearing a pitchfork. He stood in the very spot the lovers had ascended, but they were gone, lost to him and his minions.

  In a terrible wrath, he stalked the remaining orgy of men and women. They quaked in fear as he flung worshippers aside, whom flailed and fell motionless in his wake. He skulked toward a dancer unaware of his master’s arrival. As the demon neared, a glowing sphere of jade engulfed the dancer, illuminating him and signaling his fate. The dancer beheld his executioner and fell in prostration as the music mimicked a soulful mourn. With cupped hands, he begged for mercy but the creature was unforgiving.

  Grabbing the dancer, he dragged him kicking and thrashing toward a fiery blaze of flickering red and orange light. Hell. The minion pleaded with fearful earnest, but it was no use. The flame engulfed them both.

  Again darkness and silence enshrouded the theater. But when the lights arose this time, the stage was empty. The battle between love and lust had ended and the devil had dragged temptation back to hell. Only the river of emotions remained.

  Then, once more, the lights went out.

  Adrian released his breath. The performance had so captivated him that he didn’t even realize he had been holding his mouth agape. He turned to look at Dale, grinning with wicked glee.

  “What did you think?”

  “Amazing,” said Adrian. He shook his head in amused bewilderment. “Who knew theater could be so—" He shook his head again, his voice lost in a deafening ovation as the performers took a bow.

  “Did you understand the theme?”

  “Enough of it,” replied Adrian. “I think it was a take on Adam and Eve, and the devil was using sex to tempt them away from heaven. The throng was random lovers coming between them, experiences they had almost lost themselves in until they rediscovered one another. I didn’t understand every nuance or character. But you explained things pretty well.”

  Dale and Adrian walked past the usher and Adrian shook his hand vigorously. He dug into his wallet and thrust a couple of bills into his hand. Then he nudged Dale with the same playful abandon of the dancing fool, bumping him shoulder-to-shoulder as they poured out of the theatre with the other patrons. Outside, he flung an arm around Dale’s shoulder.

  “Thanks, Dale. That was pretty damned good. Fun even,” conceded Adrian. “I owe you.”

  “I had fun too,” said Dale.

  They stood side by side on the road and watched as the traffic from the theatre dispersed. The night air was cool and refreshing, almost sobering. But he didn’t want the evening to end.

  “What now?” Adrian asked, swaying a bit from the wine.

  “Back to your place? We should get started on the paper while the memory is fresh.”

  Adrian clapped Dale’s shoulder emphatically. “You’re good peeps,” he said. “I'm never gonna forget this. I owe you, man. Whatever you want, you name it.”

  “A goodnight kiss?” ventured Dale.

  “A kiss? Don’t be a pussy! I’m gonna give you what you really want.”

  “What’s that?”

  Adrian hooked his arm around Dale's neck and pulled him close. “Dick,” he whispered and guided Dale’s head towards his crotch.

  Dale jerked away and pushed Adrian aside. “You're drunk, Addy.”

  “Drunk and horny,” deadpanned Adrian. “Aren't you?”

  “I'm not drunk,” replied Dale.

  Adrian smiled. “But you’re horny. So let me fuck you. I want to fuck you, Dale. It’s the least I can do.”

  Dale studied Adrian. Adrian stood patiently,
watching Dale’s eyes darken with what seemed doubt, or perhaps inner conflict. Then a shadow of regret seemed to creep over his face.

  “I can’t, Adrian. Not while you’re like this.”

  Adrian reeled Dale close once more. “Don’t worry, man. I’m of sound mind and body. I know what I’m doing. Better take the offer while I’m feeling giddy.”

  “Maybe,” said Dale noncommittally.

  “What? Am I not good enough?” groused Adrian.

  “Of course you are,” assured Dale. “You’re perfect.”

  Adrian fixed Dale with an incredulous gaze. He suddenly felt very lucid. And vulnerable. “Really?”

  Dale shrugged. “For me, yeah. But you play for the other team.”

  “Not tonight,” said Adrian, his confidence boosted by Dale’s declaration. “Just for tonight: same team.”

  “You’ll hate yourself in the morning.”

  “Nope!”

  “Then you'll hate me in the morning.”

  “Probably!” Adrian laughed and then nudged him playfully. “I won't hate you. I owe you, Dale. You’re saving my ass by helping me with this paper. You’re saving my career.”

  Dale’s chest heaved with a tremendous sigh. Then he smiled, but Adrian couldn’t tell if the expression was one of regret or contentment.

  “Let’s go home. You should get a hot shower to clear your mind.” Dale held him in that headlight gaze again. “If you want to have fun after the paper, then I’m game.”

  “First we fuck, then we write the fucking paper. Same team, you and me. Teammates. No shame.”

  Adrian gripped the back of Dale’s head and bumped his forehead against Dale’s with tender affection. It was just like Dale to offer yet another out when the stakes were serious; to look out for Adrian’s well-being as much as his own.

  Or maybe taking the next step terrified Dale. Having his desires realized after all his overt flirtations when the probability of them hooking up had been far-fetched had to be unnerving, even for Dale.

  Adrian certainly felt a tinge of anxiety beneath his alcohol-fueled bravado. The jokes and teasing were harmless so long as the friendship was based on mutual respect born from their competitive spirits. But a real dalliance would change things. For better or for worse.

  Dale flagged down a taxi and they entered the backseat and headed home in silence. As the late-night businesses zoomed in and out of focus, Adrian sank into the cushion and closed his eyes. Sleep crept upon him to steal him away, but he resisted the call.

  At some unknown point, he felt a slight pressure on his shoulder and opened his eyes. Dale had slumped or leaned into him, but his eyes, too, were closed, and his breathing shallow.

  Adrian smiled and allowed the gentle shaking of the taxi and its smooth purring to lure him into a dream-filled world of uncertainty and fantasy.

  Chapter 14: Taking One For The Team

  Adrian had drunk too much. His mind felt hazy and his reflexes slow. He’d closed his eyes one moment and opened them the next in front of his building. Dale paid the driver and then helped him out of the cab. He stumbled up the stairs ahead of Dale, insistent even while intoxicated on keeping up his exercise routine. Then he opened the door and stood inside the frame as Dale squeezed by. He hadn’t forgotten his boastful declaration, though parts of him wished he had.

  He wondered if he would even be able to perform. With all the thoughts running through his head about him and Dale, could he keep his erection up long enough with another man to deliver a mutually satisfying experience? And if he couldn’t, would that be such a bad thing? His ability to continue his academics and play baseball depended on him passing that stupid music appreciation class. But he could write a simple C- essay. Couldn't he?

  No. He couldn’t. He still didn’t know the least thing about music or dance. His writing skills weren’t exactly top-notch, either. That was a bad combination. He couldn’t risk losing everything after all his hard work to get to this stage. The team needed him and he needed the team. And the fans. He needed and craved the glory. It motivated him to keep pushing daily, to force his body to rise to its peak potential.

  He needed Dale.

  Of course, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Dale would be happy to help him write the paper with no strings attached. But he pushed that fact into the furthest recesses of his conscience.

  He needed Dale for other reasons. Because he hadn’t felt this self-assured—this content—for a long time. Theirs was a different relationship. It didn't revolve around the toxic sport subculture that reinforced the traditional masculine values Adrian felt he could never truly condone. They bordered on intolerance even when purporting support. With the team—except Pete and Rudy—he felt like a specimen being tested but never valued. Even Pete and Rudy (especially Pete) were too toxic at times, ramping up the aggressive personas expected of them.

  With Dale, it had always been different. He had been a model of balance, accepting himself and others despite his flaws—or what others saw as flaws; in this case, being gay. And after all these weeks of brusque camaraderie masquerading as rivalry, plus Dale preparing to leave, there was no better time than now for Adrian to risk being someone more than just the Hulk or a last name on a team roster. He could be someone’s Addy. At least for one night.

  He watched Dale go around the room and light the scented candles he had bought earlier (to relax him, he said). The wick melted the wax and saturated the whole room with a soothing, fruity fragrance. Coconut and strawberries. Shadows danced with the flickering fire. It was dark, but not too much.

  “Get comfortable,” said Dale. He tossed him the pajamas and tank top from the clothes they’d washed together earlier. Had it only been twelve hours ago? “Relax.”

  “I’m fine,” assured Adrian. “Go get your precious shower.”

  “Are you sure you don't want one?”

  You mean want to join you, thought Adrian, not unkindly. He shook his head. It was one thing to agree to this. This he could compartmentalize. Sex was sex. But showering together? That was too intimate. That was gay.

  “Suit yourself,” said Dale. “Doesn't matter to me. I like the natural taste of a rugged man.”

  Dale chuckled, but Adrian didn’t join in. He could tell it was one of those half-jokes full of truth. He wasn’t sure if he found it annoying or enticing. Dale wanted him in his natural state, just as he was.

  Just as I am.

  “I’ve got scars,” Adrian said without thinking. He didn’t blurt or mumble. He said it clear as the night sky, as clear as if he were completely sober, but without any thought to why he was saying it. Dale hadn’t asked a reason he didn’t want to shower with him. Still, he compelled himself to give one. To let Dale know it wasn’t because of him that he didn't want to shower.

  “Scars? From what?”

  “Surgery.” He continued in that matter-of-fact tone, “I used to be fat. The kids used to say I needed my own zip code.”

  Odd that Adrian didn’t feel ashamed to reveal this. He had always feared someone would find out and he’d be a laughing stock again and have to fight off cruel jokes. Plus, he was giving his sometime rival ammunition to use the next time they were on a field together, whenever that might be.

  But he didn’t care. Neither, it seemed, did Dale.

  Dale shrugged. “You’re not fat now, Addy. Even if you were, I’d still want to share your zip code with you.”

  Without another word, he retired to the bathroom and closed the door. A moment later the shower came to life and Adrian stood staring and wondering what he had gotten himself into . . . and why wasn’t he trying to get out of it?

  Adrian stripped off his jeans and put on sweatpants, mindful to remove his compression underwear, which he remembered to do only after pulling the sweats up around his waist. More terrifying than sex with a man was having Dale reject his body; reject him. He’d suffered enough rejection in his life; now he hoped letting Dale this close wasn’t going to be a mistake he’d
regret.

  He put on a large crew top shirt, a relic that he kept around from his fat days as a reminder not to lose focus, not to lose motivation. It was threadbare and hung loose on his body, coming down near to his knees now. Before, it struggled to cover his belly.

  You’ve changed so much, he told himself. Not simply from that obese teen that stayed indoors because he couldn’t keep pace with the few friends he had, but also the past couple of weeks. He had changed from a rather stiff, idealized jock to a more relaxed, authentic person. The change was small, he realized, and not likely to last in the light of a sober day. But, like his fat loss, permanent change was incremental. Whatever new self awaited, tonight was a first step.

  Whatever happened after, there was no going back to who he was before after this.

  The absence of running water made Adrian turn around. Clad only in a towel, Dale was standing with the bright bathroom light behind him, framed by the doorway like some priceless art come to life. His arms glistened and beads of water dripped from his hair down his face, into his eyes. He blinked and smiled.

  Adrian had never thought about what Dale looked like beneath the baseball uniform and stylish outfits. Even if he would ever have dared to give it a passing thought, he never would have conjured the image before him now.

  In contrast to Adrian’s own soft, barrel chest, Dale’s torso was a sculpted statue of symmetrical proportions. His upper chest was two smooth mounds of taut flesh carved into a wide trunk that sloped down to a tapered midriff. Eight visible ridges punctuated his stomach. The shrinking of his midsection ended at the tiniest of waists, which seemed so narrow it should not be able to hold the towel in place on his hips. Except that his hips jutted like safety ledges to catch the muscles tumbling down his bust into his toned, well-conditioned thighs.

  Here, almost naked before Adrian, Dale looked more like a swimmer than a baseball player.

  For a moment, that uncanny feeling of jealousy stabbed his heart; this was what he worked so hard to achieve but could never be. And then the envy was swallowed by that old admiration, and a newer sensation he wasn’t even sure was accurate: Pride.