Michigan Mitch
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By Dudley Jarvis-North
One night as I am scouring profiles on a daddy dating site, I get a woof from a young man with an intriguing face.After typing the requisite thank you, a conversation begins.
Mitchell -- he prefers Mitch --is 24 years oldand lives in Detroit. Right off the bat, he projects authenticity and confidence, hard to find in a young man in search of an older man while also being in search of himself.
While drawn to the cheery smile in his profile photo, I notice something else in his other portrait pics, something darker-- a pain on his face he can't hide and Ican't ignore. Being a daddy, I want to make whatever that pain is go away.
After several more weeks of texting, Mitch opens up.
His parents are homophobic religious zealots who will never accept that he likes men. He is close to his twin brothers, but he isn't out to them. His early life has left scars. Home is supposed to be a comfortable place growing up, but his father is ridiculously strict and his mother ice cold. They have drained some of the joy out of him.
I want to know more, but ...
"Can we change the subject?" he says. "I don't want to talk about them."
We continue to chat online and on our cells. The gay app is a new experience.Mitch has been predominantly straight. He had girlfriends in high school and hadn't been "with a guy," to use that quaint expression, until two years ago on his 22nd birthday.
Mitch is all-boy-athlete, plays pickup basketball on Detroit's playgrounds, goes snowmobiling, and even deer hunting with his brothers in the Michigan woods. His athleticism is almost as appealing as his beautiful face.
He brags about his prowess on the court. "I mostly play against black dudes," he brags. "I watch their shocked faces when I hit a jumper over their outstretched arms. Black kids think that white kids can't play basketball. I love proving them wrong."
One day he texts a picture of himself with his twin brothers on opening day at Comerica Park, where the baseball Tigers play. The bro's are playing hooky from work, with Mitch taking the day off from his job at the Ford Motor Co. That job pays well enough for him to buy a little house outside the city.
He talks about his ups and downs, some of which seem to be caused by the chip on his shoulder. One day I need to tell him that he is his own worst enemy in the hope that he will stop sabotaging himself.
Mitch has this combativeness that comes through on the cellphone. He gets into gratuitous sparring matches with coworkers. He jousts with his brothers and friends. I wonder if this is young testosterone at play or something deeper, born of early wounds. He seems to get in car accidents, though not all are the result of his aggressiveness. One daya driver crashed into his beloved Ford Ranger. There is good reason for anger, but when he reports this misfortune, his is over the top. He needs to vent, so I let him vent.
"I was at a light and this asshole rear-ended me. Why does this shit always happen to me?" he rages. "At least the guy's shitbox got totaled -- hooray for that -- but my truck is stuck in the shop for a week. My brothers have to drive me to work and pick me up."
I'm not keen on angry outbursts -- a carryover from a volatile Italian father -- so Itry to calm him down. "Ya know, Mitch, shit happens. Everyone deals with it. Don't make yourself crazy. The truck will get fixed and in time you'll forget the whole thing happened."
Mitch listens and does calm down.
As I get to know him, Mitch reveals more about himself, not all to myliking.He struggles to pay (1) his mortgage; (2) the loans on his Cherokee;(3) the loans his snowmobile and (4) the loans on his motorcycle! Ya know what I'm getting at.
He lavishes himself with expensive toys he can't afford. He also takes vacation trips to South Florida, California and Mexico, which are expensive. Truth to tell, he needs to become financially responsible.
You ask why I am attracted to him knowing his character flaws. The answer goes beyond his good looks. I am drawn to his neediness, and against my better judgment, I have always tried to rescue troubled young men, especially troubled young men who stoke my sexual fire. But that's my issue.
In a burst of generosity, I tell Mitch that if he ever is short on a mortgage payment to can count on Daddy -- that would be I. No way he can lose his house and move back with his awful parents. He had amazing courage at 19 in breaking away from a bad home life and buying his own place. How many young men do that?
Mitch's reaction to my offer? "Thanks, man, you are too kind, but I can't take money from you. I pay my own way."
Eventually, we exchange photos. No nudes, just shots in our underwear. When I open the attachment, I salivate at his tight body, washboard stomach, and the white cotton briefs he favors that cling to his pouch, butt, and muscular thighs.
He is not all preppy vanilla, though. A startling tattoo swerves from his waist up his right side all the way to his shoulders. The design is a stylized ram with one of its eyes directly on his right nipple. The red, blue and green beast's ornate yellow horns stop at his neck.
I should have known he was an Aries because he is virulently independent and much of his focus is on himself.
Many times I try to get him to reveal his sexual predilections -- Is he a top or a bottom? -- but he deflects my questions, admitting only to liking older men.
Mitch is fascinated that I write porn stories, and asks if I'll send one via email. He loves The Bass Player, probably because the hero is semi-straight just like him and likes sex with older guys just like him. The story has the bassist passively reclining on a sofa while an older man rims him and sucks him off. Is that what Mitch wants me to do to him?
One Friday night as I am relaxing on the sofa after a hard week at work, my cell phone rings and Mitch's name pops up.
"Dude!" he enthuses "Guess what? I'm in Boston. Are you free to get a drink?"
Just like that.
"You're in Boston?" I fumble for words at this shocking development. The thought of meeting my fantasy knight, while tantalizing, is also making me anxious. The expectation dilemma weighs heavily. Not that he will be a disappointment, but will I measure up? Will my weathered face and older body appeal to an athlete like him? You know how that worm of doubt works.
I need to get ahold of myself.
"Yes, I'm free tonight. I'd love to meet for a drink."
Why am I so worried anyway? Most guys think I'm sexy. He told me that himself in our conversations. While I am double his 24 years, I do the gym three times a week and play half-court basketball and flag football on occasion. I am well acquainted with sports and could beat him at baseball trivia, which he would appreciate. Plus, how can he resist my dark Italian looks, Robert De Niro wise-guy smirk, graying hair at the temples and blue eyes, unusual for a guy with roots in Sicily?
I know, dear reader, I am laying it on about my attributes, but I need to pump myself up because he is the most appealing guy I've ever met and I am completely smitten by him.
Mitch's adventurous spirit turns me. He drove 700 miles in a burst of impulsivity. I wouldn't be brave enough to do that. A thought pops into my head:Did he drive all that way just to see me?
I suggest that we meet at 10 o'clock at Copperfield's, a sports bar on Lansdowne Street behind Fenway Park and its famous left field wall.
After taking a shower, I'm out the door. I pick that bar partly because it serves Labatt's, Mitch's beer of choice, and partly because I think he'll be more comfortable in a jock setting.
On the half-mile walk to Kenmore Square, I am more nervous than I usually am meeting someone, but that's a good thing. It means that Mitch has already carved a place in my heart, not just my loins.
I am inside Copperfield's. After a few sips of a VO and water, i see him walking toward me. He looks exactly like his pictures. He is wearing tight blue Levi's and a jean jacket with the logos of Detroit's sports teams on the sleeves. He shakes my hand and shows off his gorgeous smile. He has something of a babyface, but his voice is deep and masculine, more so than it sounds on the cellphone. His dimples stand out when he smiles. His brown hair covers too much of his forehead. I'd prefer that nothing hide his pleasing face, but that's how guys his age wear their hair these days. His eyebrows are thicker than they look in his photos and make his brown eyes stand out.
I hardly know this young man, but I feel the wings of love descend on me.
Mitch is slightly taller than my 5-9 and his shoulders are much wider than his narrow hips. When he takes off his jacket, his tight white cotton shirt with buttons down the front area perfect choice for his toned body. Most of them are unbuttoned, so I can see his luminous skin and a piece of his spectacular tattoo. What does the whole thing look like, I wonder?
When he heads to the bar for a Labatt's, his bubble butt looks delectable. Jeez, perhaps I should say a prayer to St. Anthony that he'll grace the two of us with chemistry? I have it bad for Mitch.
He brings a beer for me as well -- more points for him -- and we clink our bottles together in a gesture of masculine friendliness.
"So tell me more about yourself, Pete. " I'm intrigued that you are a newspaper editor and used to work for the sports pages. That must have been awesome in a sports-mad city like Boston."
He knows this city's reputation. He obviously follows sports news beyond his home town teams.
"You must have been in Fenway Park dozens of times," he says. I've never been inside myself, but looking out the window I can see the back of the Green Monster. Who would have guessed I'd be here today? Yesterday, I was in Detroit."
"To answer your question, Mitch, I've been at a hundred Red Sox games and dozens of Celtics, Bruins and Patriots games, too. Boston's teams are a pain in the ass when they lose, but I love them anyway."
"I know the feeling," he chuckles.
I remember that he and his brothers attend games at Comerica Park so I ask him what that's like. "Comerica is fairly new and has no defining feature like Fenway's Green Monster." He's referring to the 37-foot-high wall that makes a baseball game an adventure."It's kinda boring really. I'll like Fenway Park better."
He throws me a curveball.
"Hey, I've got two tickets for tomorrow night's Sox-Tigers game. You and I are going."
Just like that, he is taking me on a date. He doesn't ask if I want to go.
After a few more Labatt's, he grabs my hand, "Ya know, sexy man, you are much more handsome than your photos. Stunning really. I hope you know that."
So much for my anxiety about his finding me appealing.
It was now or maybe never. How many times would he be driving 700 miles to Boston on a whim?
"Want to head to my condo?" I ask.
"That sounds great," he answers, and we're on our way.We hop on a Green Line trolley at Kenmore Station for the two stops to Copley Square, near my condominium.
As we climb the stairs to the fourth floor, his hands find my butt cheeks. "Your ass is so hot. I bet it's hairy, too."
What can I say? I suppose it's hot; it is definitely hairy.
Once inside my place and before I can get us a beer, Mitch pushes me onto the sofa, climbs on top of me and kisses me really hard. I can taste Labatt's on his lips. It's obvious from his actions that he's a take-charge guy. Does that mean I am likely to get fucked tonight? I hope I'm not too tight. I haven't bottomed in a long time.
(to be continued)
Other stories I've posted are in Encounters: The Bass Player, The Pact (both Sept. 13,'17), James (Jan. 26, '18), At the Underwear Rack (2 parts,
April 23 `19). Aleksandr (Aug. 19 and 21, 2020). In Urination there are Drink It (2 parts, Sept. 24,'18) and Lesson at Rock River (Nov. 6,'18); In Adult Youth, Aaron's Basement (Jan. 12,'18); In Authoritarian, Taken in the Woods (May 28,'18), Forced Reenactment, Nov. 12, Dec. 14; The Punishment that Wasn't (Feb. 9, April 2 2020); Shane the Barber (Aug. 11, 2021). In Camping, the 4-part Camping
with Josh (Sept. 24, 18) and in High School -- William the Great (3 parts, Jan, 16, '19). In Incest, How Did My Bro know, March 16 '20) and Greek Reunion (July 17'21)