A baseball game. In a sports arena. Really? Here’s a conversation that never takes place:
“What do you want to do today?”
“Let’s go to the ballpark and see a game!”
Nope. Just doesn’t happen. Not that I have anything in particular against sports. Some athletes are studs. Rafael Nadal has an incredibly hot body. Something very sexy about that Spaniard. I’d go see a tennis match. If he was playing.
It’s just that there are other things I’d rather do than sit in the hot sun in a crowded stadium full of… well, sports fans. Still, the tickets were free, and there is some truth to the notion that you’ll never get anywhere unless you try something new. From time to time.
Besides, stadiums are filled with guys. Will any of them be gay, cute, single, intelligent, funny or otherwise interesting? Who knows? There is always the chance of meeting someone, especially when in a situation where a couple of hours will be spent sitting next to one another. It’s surprising how much information a person you’ve only just met will reveal during a bit of casual conversation.
Right off the bat, I did see one tall, dark and handsome guy who could easily have been on the cover of any number of fashion magazines. Impossibly gorgeous. Sitting a few rows away, but way out of anyone’s league. Anyone who isn’t equally stunning. Or a celebrity. The kind of guy you notice and then immediately un-notice. What’s the point, really? A guy like that will invariably be straight. The best looking ones always are, contrary to popular belief.
Besides, there was another fellow. Noticed him as I was walking toward the gate where my seat was located. Very interesting. Tall and slender, with great shoulders and a tousled head of dark curls. Reminded me of a combination of Jason Gould and a friend of mine back home. He was slightly goofy, which I have always found attractive. He spoke animatedly, although I was not close enough to hear his voice. He was fun to watch, though. Kept bending over to fiddle with his knapsack. Nice butt.
I’d hoped we would end up sitting next to each other once we got inside. It almost happened, too. While filing into the rows of seats, I went off on my own tangent to find some empty space. I’ve never liked crowds, and cannot understand the point of pushing and shoving in a line down a narrow aisle. It’s so much easier to wait until most of the crowd has thinned, or simply walk along an empty row to find a less travelled path.
Anyway, as I turned to sit toward the end of the row, I noticed this handsome goofy guy had followed me. He looked like he was about to sit next to me, but then hopped over the chair in front and grab his seat on the aisle. Shame, that. He was funny, and engaged the girl next to him the whole time they were sitting together. I enjoyed listening in, but would have preferred to participate. He seemed gay, and was not as unapproachable as the other guy. The movie star fashion magazine super stud.
He’s the whole point, by the way. That super stud. During the seventh inning stretch, everyone made for the exits. To find some shade. Or those honey roasted almonds they sell at the concession stands. True to form, people herded like sheep into the nearest hallway. Also true to form, I meandered off and found a hallway which was completely unoccupied. Except for me and the super stud.
He was on his cell phone. Listening in on a phone conversation seems somehow rude, more so than listening in on a real-life in-person conversation taking place in the seats right in front of you. Both may be slightly rude, I suppose, but for some reason the fact that only one side of the dialogue can be heard makes it seem even more improper. Or, maybe it was just that he was so good looking and I was doing my best to appear not at all interested. Truly, I wasn’t. He was way too perfect and way too straight and was talking to some guy about real estate. A house purchase being considered. Not that I was listening…
The word dude was used a few times, so I knew he was talking to a guy. Really, I wasn’t thinking about him, I was thinking about the goofy fellow. Until I heard the end of the phone call. He said something about how nice it would be to take a trip to Costa Rica once the purchase of the house was complete. With him. Both the trip and the purchase. Then he said, “I love you, too” and ended the call.
I love you, too. To a dude. The handsome too perfect model type stud has a husband. Well, of course he does. It was only the part about him being gay that was surprising. His being taken was a given.
He turned and walked down the hall. I watched him all the way, and wondered how much it would cost to see Nadal play.