I wasn't much of a baseball fan, although I did watch sometimes when Tim had a game on TV. Nevertheless, I was looking forward to the trip to Boston.
On Saturday, Mark and his father picked me up right on time. Traffic was a little slow on Route 3 and on the Southeast Expressway, but we arrived at the ballpark in plenty of time. Mr. Russell parked in a lot near the park and, before going in, took us to a little restaurant he knew nearby where we had a delicious Italian lunch.
The game was to start at 2:05 PM. A little before 1:30, we walked to the park, entered, and found our section. Going up the ramp we emerged near home plate, with the field stretching before us. That view alone was worth the drive. The grass was the greenest I had ever seen, and the infield was immaculate. Mark asked, "How would you like to take care of this place, Richard?"
I laughed. "It's a little too big for one person to do with a hand mower, but I would love to know how they get the grass so green. They must water it every day."
"I'm sure they do," put in Mr. Russell. There were ballplayers warming up in the outfield, and we could see the starting pitchers beginning to throw in the bullpens. Mr. Russell had bought each of us a program, so before the game began we leafed through them, talking about the players and who we hoped to see that day.
Following the National Anthem, the Red Sox took the field. Josh Beckett was pitching, which made us both happy. The Sox were having a fairly good year, and, although they weren't in first place, they would probably make the playoffs.
The great thing about our seats was that we could see the balls and strikes so clearly. Usually, we could call them before the umpire did, and usually we were right.
After the second inning, we went to the refreshment stand and bought drinks. Walking back, I said to Mark, "This is wonderful! I never thought I'd get to see a live game at Fenway. Thank you so much for thinking of it."
He flashed his sly smile and said, "Wait until tonight!"
In the fourth inning, Kevin Youkilis, my favorite player, hit a three-run homer. I was ecstatic. Mark and I high-fived each other and cheered loudly. Watching the replay on the big screen in center field we cheered again.
After the fifth inning, we bought hot dogs. After all, how could you go to Fenway Park and not have a Fenway Frank?
Tim Wakefield came on in the eighth inning to relieve Beckett. Wakefield was knuckleball pitcher whose pitches had wild and crazy movement that was nearly impossible for a batter to hit. It was great fun sitting behind the plate and watching the action on the pitches. The game turned out to be very exciting and the Sox won, 5 to 3. Walking back to the car, we rehashed the whole game again, while Mr. Russell just smiled.
We drove to the hotel, The Long Wharf Marriott, got out of the car and went in. I was awestruck by the lobby. It was huge! On the way up in the elevator, Mr. Russell gave each of us a key, saying that we had a room right next to his with an adjoining door. He looked at us a little slyly, and I thought I saw much of Mark in that smile. He promised that he would not come through the door without knocking first. I looked at Mark, who had the same smile, and he looked at me. This was going to be paradise!
Having told us that he would pick us up about 7:00 for dinner, Mr. Russell went into his own room and we went to ours. "Wow!" I exclaimed. The room was huge. It had two king-sized beds, comfortable chairs, a table, a TV, a microwave, a little refrigerator stocked with soft and hard drinks, and even an ironing board. We stood looking out the window, which gave a fine view of the harbor, before Mark asked, "Shall we?"
We did. When we had first begun having sex, we had often been a bit hasty because we were in such a rush to reach a climax. By now, we took our time, kissing each other, rubbing, fondling, licking, and only then getting down to business when our bodies demanded that we move on. Our sex was such a tender, loving experience, and each time was a little different.
Finishing, we lay facing and caressing each other. Mark asked, "Richard, do you know why gays can't drive faster than 68 mph?"
"Because at 69 they blow a rod." We both giggled.
By then it was time to get ready for dinner. We showered together, washing and drying each other as always, and despite our hard equipment, dressed for dinner. Mark had brought a suit. I didn't own one, so I was a little embarrassed, but he assured me I didn't have to be. I put on a sport shirt, slacks, and my best sweater and we admired each other before Mark's dad knocked.
Dinner was wonderful. There was a huge menu. I looked at the prices and gulped. "Richard, have anything you want," said Mr. Russell. Mark was going to order a shrimp cocktail. I had never had one and asked him what they were like. He tried to tell me, but ended up saying, "Go ahead and order one. If you don't like it, I'll take care of it for you." So I did; it was delicious.
For dessert, Mr. Russell ordered a baked Alaska for all of us. "Wait 'til you see this!" Mark exclaimed. When it came it was on fire! The waiter set it on the tray, waited for the fire to burn itself out, then cut it into four pieces, leaving the fourth for us to deal with.
"How do they do that?" I asked.
"They pour brandy on it and light it," Mark said. "The dessert itself doesn't burn; only the alcohol does." I could see that Mark was enjoying introducing me to new experiences, and I loved it. The two of us split the extra piece.
By the time we got back to our rooms, it was almost 9:00. Mr. Russell told us that he would order a room-service breakfast for us that would be delivered about 8:00 AM. Then we would explore Boston before heading back to the Cape.
Mark and I climbed into bed and ever-so-slowly sixty-nined. Then we lay face to face hugging and kissing each other. We fell asleep still facing each other. Sometime in the night, I felt Mark gently massaging me. I woke up, smiled at him, and gave him a long, deep kiss. "Someday," said Mark, "we won't have to worry about little brothers or parents. We'll just be able to do this whenever we want." He took my cock in his mouth; I took his. And again we came, slowly and lovingly before falling into a deep sleep again.
We had asked the desk to call us at 7:00, and, right on the dot, the phone rang. We loved each other once more, went into the shower, washed and dried each other, and dressed. At 8:00 there was a knock on the door. Mark opened it and a waiter entered pushing a cart with all sorts of food on it. He left the food, and, as he was on his way out, Mark tipped him. "How do you know how much to tip?" I asked.
"Dad told me. Before we go we also leave a tip for the people who clean the room. Dad said that they don't get paid much and depend on the tips for their income." It seemed as though every time I turned around I was learning something new.
At 9:00 we met Mr. Russell in the hallway, went down to the lobby, where he paid for the rooms, and went outside. I discovered that one of the nice things about Boston is that you can walk everywhere because everything is within a fairly short distance. We went to Faneuil Hall, then walked up towards the Boston Common and the Public Gardens. In the gardens there were funny little boats with fake swans on their backs moving around a pond.
"What are those?" I asked. "They look familiar somehow."
Mark answered, "They're swan boats. Haven't you ever ridden on one?"
"Mark," I reminded him, "I haven't even been to Boston before." So we decided to ride on the boats, even though we thought we were a little old for it. We bought bags of peanuts and, as we rode, threw the peanuts to the ducks swarming around the boat, which was powered by a man sitting atop the swan and peddling a contraption like a bicycle.
Afterwards, we walked around the gardens some more and came upon some statues of ducks. "My gosh!" I exclaimed, "they look like the ducks in Make Way for Ducklings, a book I grew up on. Now I remember where I've seen swan boats before."
"They're the same ducks," said Mark. "I didn't know you knew that book. We need to talk about books that were read to us when we were little."
We saved that idea for the ride home. Before the morning was over, we had visited cemeteries where some of the early patriots were buried, Kings Chapel, where some of them had worshipped, and other spots that were connected to the American Revolution. I had never been in a place that had so much history.
After a good lunch, we retrieved the car and headed back to the Cape. On the way, we discussed kids' books, finding many that we had both enjoyed – Winnie-the-Pooh, Peter Rabbit, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins. The conversation was endless. We talked about parts of the books that we liked and threw quotations back and forth. So the ride back actually felt quite short.
When we got to my apartment, I gave Mr. Russell my heartfelt thanks and Mark a final kiss before they left.
The next week was our last vacation week, and it passed all too quickly, like the other weeks of this summer. Mark and I saw each other whenever we could. Joey came over on Thursday for a final swim lesson, and Mark encouraged him to join a swim team so he could keep progressing.
On Friday, we went to the beach in the morning, had lunch at Mark's, swam in the after noon, and enjoyed a leisurely love-fest before I had to go home. Before I left, Mark, gave his familiar smile and said, "Did you hear about the two gay men who went to London?"
"They were really pissed when they found out that Big Ben was a clock."
I laughed, and said, "Actually, I think Big Ben is just the biggest bell in the clock, but you're right that most people call the whole tower that." I gave him a kiss, got in the car, and rode home.