A new adventure with some recurring and favorite themes. This effort began during the pandemic as a collaboration with a friend so it comes from two different and overlapping points of view for its story line. I'm Grady and my cohort writes the part of Hollywood icon Ryan Phillippe as we navigate the end of prep school and are reunited a decade later. While some of the places depicted are real, it goes without saying that this work is pure fiction and not meant to project, construe or support any assertion about the private lives of any of the public characters portrayed within the story. Outside of the public figures, all of the characters in this story are fictional and resemblance to any one person whether dead or alive is purely coincidental. Lastly, please consider making a donation to Nifty to maintain this website. Feedback is always welcome.
Grady McBride II
We drove west from Route 50 onto New York Avenue once we crossed the District line talking about past teachers and classmates from Mayo. I worked through the gearbox as we stopped and started again at damn near every red light as we got closer to 14th Street and Park Road in the northwest quadrant of the city before I pulled into the parking garage attached to a supermarket. Finally, this Columbia Heights neighborhood was beginning to reap the benefits of re-gentrification after decades of neglect and decay following the civil unrest of the late 1960s.
"Really, you live in a supermarket?" Matthew asked with his scrunched up eyebrow, "or is this so I can get a toothbrush?"
I smiled as we got out of Subes, "Really, you think I live in a grocery store?" I asked him as I led us out of the garage and across Park Road.
Scaffolding was still erected around the front of the two story building, plastic tarps hung hiding the facade as I guided us to the heavy steel door on the east side, just around the corner from the scaffolding. After undoing two deadbolts I let us inside, switching on half the lights to reveal the bays of the former quarters of Engine Company 11 and Truck Company 6 of the District of Columbia Fire Department. Matt could easily see the pride in my face as much as I could see the surprise in his having converted the old firehouse into my private residence, "much better than living in a supermarket wouldn't you say; and don't worry, I have an extra toothbrush."
"Fuck! Grady! This is so you!" Matthew exclaimed as we walked through the space partitioned off for the garage.
I pointed out the watch desk complete with an old fire alarm telegraph register and reproduction of nearby fire alarm street boxes and unit status board of other fire companies before we ascended the massive staircase to the second floor. Turning left at the top, the steps open to a great room with a high ceiling. A large oriental carpet defines a seating area anchored with an almost lodge-sized leather couch, glass and stainless steel coffee table and other furniture built with some combination of iron, steel, leather and oak ranging from simple Shaker and Craftsman styles through mid-century modern and contemporary design.
Under the front windows facing Park Road is a run of bookshelves loaded with books on firefighting, engineering and paramedicine. On top of the shelves is a timeline of photographs: family, my younger years in Paris, Mayo days including some pictures of Matt and I as well as numerous pictures of me playing lacrosse at Maryland, pictures of me during my year in major league lacrosse, my firefighting gear, fire engines and well, fires. Lacrosse mementos include a replica of the NCAA Division 1 trophy as well as replica conference title pennants. One other pic stands out, not unlike the one of Matt and I in our Mayo soccer gear. In this one I am with another handsome man, we're wearing our NCAA champions hats and hugging each other. I see Matt pick it up, "that's Christian Deale, my `bromance' team mate."
"The one who wanted you to be his best man?" Matthew asked for clarification.
"Yep, kind of broke my heart, crushed me in a bad way," I say, walking towards the kitchen space defined by stainless appliances and cabinetry, "another beer? Something stronger?"
"Whatever you're having," Matthew replied, his eyes tracking on me as I walked back past the tall dining table with bar high chairs around it, "you wanna tell me about Christian?"
I reached into the big commercial-grade fridge, fished out a couple of cans of a local IPA and two frozen glasses from the freezer and began pouring. As Matt walks into the kitchen I begin to unload, "Christian and I were clicking on the field like nobody's business, it was almost like we could read each other's mind and we began to do almost everything together, except he had a girlfriend at home, or at least said he did. By the time I was a sophomore, I had a nicer off-campus apartment by myself, a finished in-law suite over a two car garage not far from campus."
Sipping on the beer and watching him sip on his obviously having piqued his curiosity I continued, "part of me demanded being near him whenever possible; when we would study in the main library at one of the big tables, underneath our Nikes touched; just like you did with me tonight at dinner. If he spent the night, he'd start by sleeping on the couch but at some point in the darkness he would climb in the bed next to me. I can't tell you how much those brief moments thrilled me."
Another swallow and I pressed on, trying to guesstimate how deep in the weeds Matt wanted me to go before continuing, "Eventually I gave Christian a key to my apartment since he didn't get along with his roommate. Seemed like the cool and proper bro-ish sort of thing to do and if it gave me more time around him, with him, then it was a win-win in my book."
With the backstory front loaded, I paused for another long pull on my beer before launching into the moment that set us apart as more than teammates, "So, picture this, I roll into my apartment one afternoon before practice and there's Matt. What freaked me out was he was sniffing, I mean, no shit, his chin was buried in the heel cup of one of my Nikes sniffing the insides while he was fucking the other! Matt, this dude was thrusting his dick in and out of my sneaker like it was his palm, an ass or some pussy. He said those Nikes always made me look so bad-ass and he wanted to cum in them. I was blown away, I didn't know whether to be sad, angry or happy; I just watched him and he watched me watch him. After jerking off in my lacrosse gloves and shorts since middle school, I finally knew there was somebody else like me; I was not some sort of a freak anymore. And that was the start of our bromance."
Pausing but seeing the increased interest and curiosity in his eyes I pressed on with our history, "on the field everybody wanted to be like us, train like us, play like us and bond like us. Most would be horrified at how we bonded off the field. We fucked everywhere we could including the practice field on multiple nights. We fucked naked and we fucked in gear. At times we would wear each other's gear and clothes just to throw others off for fun. We both had similar builds and hair so it was easy for us to style our hair the same and dress the same. All this fucking and sharing went on until our graduation."
By now, Matt was well past semi-hard so I had no trouble continuing, "Christian and I were also adrenaline junkies. In addition to playing and excelling at a physically, almost violent sport, we also fed our need for our next rush with surfing for me and motorcycle racing for him. Similarly our sex became wilder and darker, almost like it was an extension of a demanding practice or come from behind victory we just had on the lacrosse field. We both enjoyed the rush of performing acts on each other that most might only experience from the safety and distance of the internet; happy for it to be their dark or dirty or forbidden fantasy. Kink, toys, gear, BDSM and strange places became the hallmarks of our unseemly bond and bromance."
Finally, I delved into how our relationship unraveled. "After graduation I continued to live with Christian at a larger apartment we shared in College Park before he took his first real job in New York City. A few months later I received a phone call from him asking if I would be the best man at his wedding. I swallowed hard and said I would have to think about it. He would call back every few days before it became once a week but I wouldn't, I couldn't answer. Eventually the calls stopped long before the nuptials; there was no way I could do that; not for him and not to myself. I haven't spoken to him since, and kind of hate myself for having treated him that way."
I felt Matt move in closer to me, pulling me into his arms, hugging me as I mostly whispered and with a bit of a sob, "I'm kind of damaged now, not that cute sweet lacrosse boy from the boathouse anymore and that's something about me you got to be okay with, it's part of me now."