Date: Fri, 23 Dec 2011 13:08:45 -0800 (PST)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: Baseball Diamond Tails - 4D

All the usual disclaimers apply:

+This story is a work of fiction.  If you think it is real, you have a very
active imagination.

+Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do
so.

+Scenes of sexual activity between an adult male and a young boy are
represented.  Do not read further if this offends you.

+Please do not imitate the actions portrayed herein - the author cannot
accept responsibility for any actions promoted by this story.

If you would like to get in touch, please e-mail me at:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Support Nifty!   Joe
____________________________

BASEBALL DIAMOND TAILS - 4D
(copyright 2011, Joe Hunter)

::::::::::::::::::::::
 Second Base:  Part D
::::::::::::::::::::::

Something had to be done about Danny's oversized uniform pants so on Monday
I looked up his mother at her job.

"The opening game's Thursday night," I told her, "I just don't want him
running the bases holding his pants up.  It's humiliating for him."

"Oh, I know..."  Sue gave me a rueful look.  "I've been meaning to fix
them.  He's so darn skinny.  And he runs around so much.  Half the time he
won't eat.  But you know, Coach..."  She paused a moment and her face
brightened.  "Lately it's been different.  He's happier and he sleeps
better now.  He never used to.  He'd have nightmares and wet his bed.  Now
he sleeps all night.  He even goes to bed early."

"It's all that exercise," I said laughing.

"He's growing, too," his mother said.  "He's started to fill out a little.
His arms and legs aren't just sticks anymore."

"Yeah, he's really coming along."

"You're all he talks about," she went on.  "Coach and baseball, baseball
and Coach.  It used to be nothing but video games."

"Geez, I hope he's still playing those," I said anxiously.  "I don't want
him to lose all the fast reflexes and good hand-eye coordination."

"Oh, yes," Sue laughed.  "He still plays.  He's the best of all his little
friends.  And he has no many more friends now.  All the boys from the team.
He never used to have many friends."

"Glad to hear that.  Now, if we can just get his pants fixed..."

"I'll try," Sue promised.

In the three days leading up to our opener I kept team practice intense as
ever, and Danny and I stayed for an extra hour after each one doing his arm
and shoulder exercises, swinging into the rubber tire, hitting off the
batting tee, and taking grounder after grounder at second base so he could
work on fielding and throwing.  Very slowly the boy was improving.

Sessions in the front seat of my SUV continued, too, but now before I did
him Danny would lean over to take me in his mouth, sucking and rubbing
until I exploded and he could swallow my load.

"It's making me strong," he said happily as he squeezed my shaft and licked
the last drops off the tip.

"You're getting stronger every day, Little Ace," I told him, stroking his
naked back.  I bent to kiss the top of his head.

The boy looked up anxiously.  "I'm startin' at second base tomorrow night,
aren't I, Coach?"  It was a question he had asked at least twice that
afternoon.

"Yup.  You're the starting second baseman.  You'll play half the game."

League rules called for every player to get one at-bat and half an inning
of defense in official games, but I always fixed it so the boys on my team
got at least half a game and sometimes the whole thing.  With a roster of
thirteen players this took some juggling.  Against good teams in the
regular season (and in all post-season playoffs) my five top kids played
every inning and the other eight boys substituted half way through.  But
when we met what I judged were weaker opponents, subs like Danny got a
complete game and the 'stars' had to take turns on the bench.  It was a
policy that gave every boy a chance to learn and develop, but it required
strong nerves.  There were a fair number of close games, nail-biting
finishes and even a few outright disasters.  "Win-at-all-cost" parents
needed diplomatic handling.

"My pants are fixed so they fit perfect," Danny assured me, "And my uniform
shirt's all pressed.  Tonight I'll oil my glove."  He reclined back on the
seat so I could lean over his gleaming nude body.

"You're gonna' do fine tomorrow, Little Ace, you'll see."  I began stroking
his long rigid boy stick and he closed his eyes, stretching with pleasure.

"I like this, Coach..."

We had the late game on Thursday and when I got to the baseball complex
both our diamond and the adjoining coach-pitch field where the younger kids
played had afternoon games still going on.  The parking lot was jammed so I
left the SUV out by the road and humped the equipment bags across the lot.

Danny's bike was in the stand next to the snack bar and within moments he
had spotted me.  "Lemme' help, Coach," he said, running over.  I let him
take a handle on one of the bags but kept the weight off him as we made our
way to the third base dugout.

"Thanks, Little Ace," I told him.  "Hey!  You look great!"

Danny stood beaming up at me, ball cap at a jaunty angle and a spill off
wispy brown hair over his forehead.  The boy's uniform was pressed and
spotlessly clean.  Around his dainty waist the elastic of the pants fit
snugly and the seat had been taken in so the cloth was tight over a rounded
butt and slim thighs.  He was so perfect, the delicate features lit by such
a sweet smile, that momentarily my vision blurred and all I could see was a
golden figure in the late afternoon sunlight.

Something must have showed on my face because Danny came close and put a
hand on my arm.  I knelt by his side.  "Who am I?" I whispered.

"You're my Coach," Danny said, wide dark eyes shining

"Who are you?" I whispered again.

"I'm your Little Ace!"

"Yes!" I told him.  "My Little Ace!  And today - my starting second baseman
in our opening game of the season!  I'm so proud of you!"

We stared at each other, Danny's face glowing with excitement, and if I
ever saw love in a boy's eyes I saw it then.

I patted his firm little butt and stood up.  "Where's your mom and dad?
Aren't they coming?"

"My mom's coming later," he told me.  "My dad has to work."

"It's good your mom's gonna' be here.  I want her to see how much better
you can swing your bat."

Danny gave me a shy little grin.  "I'll try, Coach."

When the first game ended we helped the kids in the third-base dugout pack
equipment and then their coach and I re-lined the base paths.  By that time
all my boys had arrived and after taping up a copy of the line up I sent
them onto the field for warm-ups.

From Major League on down, no manager wants to lose the first game of the
season so I was going all out.  My top pitcher was up on the mound, I was
using my best lineup and I had a lot of confidence in my 12-year-old
veterans.  But confidence does not win ball games.  The other team was
good, too, and right from the start they gave us trouble.  By the end of
the first inning we were trailing by two runs.

Danny had an at-bat in the first inning and struck out swinging at a ball
that was high.  When he trotted back to the dugout I gave him a little
encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"It's OK, Little Ace.  At least you went down swingin'."

But he shook his head.  "I shoulda' let that one go, Coach.  I'll do better
next time."

Starting off the second inning my best pitcher walked the first two batters
and I began to have that sinking feeling you get when a game starts going
away.  If things busted wide open and we got too far behind the kids would
get discouraged and half a season might go by before I could rebuild their
confidence.  I had been crouching by the end of the dugout, but now I stood
up as the third batter of the inning came to the plate.

"OK, here we go now!" I yelled to my pitcher.  "Rock and fire!  Rock and
fire!"

The boy nodded - and then threw his next one right into the dirt, bouncing
it so wide of the plate our first baseman had to race down to help the
catcher find it.  Both runners advanced, one to second, the other to third,
and we still had nobody out.

"Oh, boy," I muttered to myself.

My pitcher was staring over at me with that deer-in-the-headlights look.

In situations like these managers are expected to say something, the
traditional selections being: "Follow through," "Bend your back" or my
favorite, "Just throw strikes!" (Like the kid isn't already trying to do
that?)

As I recall, my response here was to clap my hands and yell out the
following inspired clichés, "No prob!  Deep breath!  You're the man!  Put
one in there!"

I don't know, maybe it did do some good.  The pitcher actually did take a
deep breath, which I guess showed something about his belief in my
coaching, and he did get the ball into the strike zone on his first pitch
to the next batter - who swung and hit it a mile high to the right side of
the diamond.

I stared up, heart sinking, my worst fears realized.  There was no way the
right fielder could get in on time.  The only player within range was
Danny, and I had not drilled him on fly balls except for the few all the
infielders got as part of their regular practice.

He's going to miss it, I thought.  Then it'll bounce away.  He'll make a
throwing error.  Two runs are gonna' score.  Total panic...  More walks...
The other team starts a merry-go-round...

I was already contemplating damage control options when the miracle
happened.

Actually, two miracles.  The first was that Danny called for the ball.

"I've got it!"  I heard his shrill little voice yell.

"Bless that kid," I said to myself.  "I don't care if he misses it.  He
remembered to call for the ball.  I'm proud of him."

Half running, half backpedaling, Danny was stumbling around trying to get
under the ball.  But he sky was dark, the field lights were on - I was sure
he would lose the ball in the glare - and he may have.  He wavered
uncertainly, glove held up...

That stupid fly ball dropped right into his mitt, and I know it surprised
him because he damn near dropped it.  But somehow, by luck, pluck or blind
fate, he hung on.  Suddenly, instead of disaster it was just an out, a
routine fly ball.

The runners returned to their bases, Danny trotted over to the mound and
gave the ball to the pitcher.  (I know he didn't trust himself to throw it
to him.)  The pitcher said something and gave him a pat on the back, and
then as Danny trotted back to his position both the first baseman and the
shortstop yelled, "Good catch," or something to that effect, and play
resumed.

So many times it's the small things, the little plays that make a
tremendous difference in the momentum of a game.  My pitcher struck out the
next batter.  The one after that grounded out on a fielder's choice and the
inning was over.  We were still two runs down, but I heard confident
chatter as my boys came in off the field.  No one doubted that we would
catch up.

Danny smiled when I gave him a quick hug and I could tell he was bubbling
over with pride.

"Nice play, Little Ace.  And you called for it, too.  That was really
good."

"You told us to always do that."

"Yeah, but not everybody remembers, and you did."  I gave his shoulders
another squeeze.  "I am so proud of you."

I took my place in the third base coach's box leaving Danny sitting happily
in the dugout, beaming with pleasure.

We got four runs in that inning.  Danny's play had made all the difference.

Danny had another at-bat in the third inning and got nice contact on the
ball sending a grounder between third and short.  The other team's third
baseman, a kid I sometimes coached in wrestling, made a good play to his
left, scooped the ball and threw out our lead runner at second.  But Danny
reached first safely and I'm sure that to him it felt like a hit.  He
danced around excitedly on the base, looking over toward me expectantly.

I smiled.  He's probably hoping I'll give him the steal sign, I thought.
And then it struck me.  Why not?  Who'd expect it?  He looks like a
nine-year-old out there in that batting helmet.  It'll take them completely
by surprise.  It's his lucky night.

A lot of times in baseball he pays to follow your instincts.  I gave Danny
the steal sign.

I'm sure my assistant coach over at first thought I had either made a
mistake or lost my mind.  I saw him start in surprise and I was going to
give the sign again but then I saw that Danny had gotten it all right.  He
was down on his marks like a track star.

The pitcher wound up, threw and as soon as the ball crossed the plate Danny
took off.

Once again fate took a hand.  The pitch was in the dirt and the catcher had
to block it with his body.  By the time he got the ball under control Danny
was well on his way to second, little legs churning.

The poor catcher was caught completely off guard.  He tried a rush throw to
second that not only went wide, but almost beaned his pitcher who was
trying to get out of the way.  The ball sailed into center field and Danny
never slowed down.  He hit the bag at second, made the turn and started for
third.

I saw the center fielder coming in to back up the play and realized he was
going to make a throw.  "Get down, Ace!"  I yelled, giving the slide
signal.

My Little Ace came scurrying toward me, hit the dirt and attempted a slide
into the bag, ending up about a foot short.  The kid just did not have the
size or momentum needed to slide well.  With a desperate scramble he
reached the base, but as it turned out there was no need to rush.  The
centerfielder's throw had flown right by the outstretched glove of the
third baseman and disappeared through the gap in the fence by our dugout.

"Go, Ace!"  I yelled and pointed at home plate.

"One base on the overthrow," the umpire cried.

The umpire's ruling meant that Danny did not have to run, but he was far
too excited to think about it.  He flew down the third-base line and slid
into home plate in a big cloud of dirt accompanied by scattered applause
from our small cluster of spectators and the screams of his mother who was
jumping up and down in the stands.

The cheering and clapping continued as the little boy got up, dusted
himself off and trotted back to the dugout grinning hugely, where he was
mobbed by excited teammates.  I gave him a high five as he went by.  "Way
to get that uniform dirty, Little Ace!"  I said, smiling at him.

Inside I was groaning.  From now on, I was thinking, every time he gets on
bases he's gonna' want to steal!

Danny got one last defensive inning and it was then that he made the play I
was waiting for.  There was one out and the other team had gotten a runner
on first.  I had a relief pitcher up on the mound and was concentrating so
hard on his mechanics I almost missed Danny's good play.

The batter hit a weak roller into the right side of the infield.  Danny
charged, just as I had taught him and positioned himself nicely.  Even if
his glove had not scooped the ball his body still would have stopped it.  I
saw him glance toward second, checking the lead runner just as I had
drilled him to do.  No chance.  The ball had rolled out too slow and the
runner had too good a jump.  He turned to first, hesitated for a heartbeat
as I had told him to do so he could he sure he had control of the ball and
was not rushing his throw.  Then he fired a nice medium hard toss to first,
exactly as I had showed him.

"You're not trying to kill your first baseman," I had told him over and
over.  "You just want to get it to him smartly."

The first baseman stretched.  The ball smacked into his glove just before
the batter hit the bag - and Danny had just thrown out his first base
runner!

I leaped to my feet in the dugout.  "Yeeeooowww!  Way to go, Little Ace!"

Danny heard me because I saw him flash me a smile.  I turned to the other
subs in the dugout.  "Did you guys see that?  Every one of you can improve,
just like Danny's doing.  You're all goin' in the game after the next out
and I know you're gonna' show some good stuff, too!"  I patted each boy on
the shoulder.

When the players trotted back to the dugout after the third out, I was
there to greet Danny with a high-five.

"Did you see me, Coach?" he said happily.  "I threw out a runner."

It was all I could do not to pick him up and hug him right there in front
of everyone.

"I saw it."

"That's one of the things you asked me to do.  I didn't forget, Coach."

"I'm so proud of you, Little Ace..."  I had to stop because of a lump in my
throat.

Danny smiled up at me in that special way he had.  "I told you I was good,
Coach."

I substituted for him then, giving one of the other boys a chance to play
and he spent the rest of the evening staying as close to me as he could,
sitting right beside me in the dugout keeping the pitch count, or when I
was in the coaching box at third, standing at the screen of the dugout just
by the door, ready to run out if I needed anything.

We won that game.  It was close.  The boys on the other team played well
and there were good plays - mistakes, too - by the kids on each side.  But
we were the home team and had the last at bat.  We went in down by a run
and scored the winning two on a double hit by our shortstop.  It was the
sort of exciting, come-from-behind finish that brings a whole dugout of
boys to their feet, cheering wildly.  As a first game of the season it was
just right.

The boys formed a line to shake hands with the other team and then headed
in a noisy, laughing group to the snack bar for their free hotdogs.  I
gathered up my clipboard, got a stray batting helmet off the field and went
out to circulate among the parents under the lights, taking care to talk
with every one of them at least once, dropping encouraging remarks and
reminding them how important it was for them to be supportive of their
sons' play.

Danny and his mother were there, Danny bouncing around in happy excitement
and his mother beaming.  "Coach, he was just wonderful!  We had no idea he
was so good."

"He's just getting' started," I told her with a smile.  "By the end of the
season, he'll be even better, right Little Ace?"

Danny grinned and nodded.

"Remember," I warned him, grinning back, "You won't be so lucky every time
you try to steal.  There are a few catchers in this league who can throw to
second."

This made Danny giggle and he touched the fist I held out to him.

"He played very well today," I assured his mother.  "And thanks for fixing
his uniform.  It means a lot.  More than you might think."

Sue looked proudly down at her son, then back at me.  "We're just so glad
he's on your team, Coach."

"He's got his bike," I told her.  "And we don't want him riding in the
dark.  You want me to bring him home?  That bike'll fit in my SUV."

"Oh yes, thanks Coach."  Sue turned to her son.  "You stay with Coach,
Danny.  I'll have supper for you when you get home."

Danny gave me a sly grin and nodded.  "OK."

Eventually the crowd of excited young ballplayers and their parents cleared
out.  The volunteers at the snack stand closed up and cars began streaming
out of the parking lot.  I checked both dugouts, picked up trash and then
packed the equipment bags.  After humping the bags to my SUV I drove over
to the snack stand to load in Danny's bike and by that time the parking lot
was deserted except for my vehicle.

Using my key I opened the breaker panel and switched off the field lights,
plunging the two-diamond complex into sudden darkness.  It was an isolated
spot.  Except for the noise I made re-locking the panel there was absolute
stillness.  The fields, washed in silver light from a quarter moon
overhead, took on a ghostly appearance.

"Danny?"  I called.

I put my head in the first-base dugout.  Nothing.  Walking around behind
home plate I checked the stands on either side of the backstop.  Everything
was silent and empty.

"Danny?"  I called again.

There was a muffled giggle and a shadow moved in the third-base dugout.  I
stepped through the gap in the fence and went in.

The boy lay stretched out on the end of the dugout bench, uniform shirt
pulled up, slender arms flung back over his head and pants pushed down to
his ankles.  His naked body lay open and inviting, knees spread wide.  In
the moonlight Danny's eyes glittered and jutting up from the shadowed
hollow of his groin his long boy stick was a rigid slender branch of
silver.

I knelt down to stroke warm silky skin, the heady scent of young boy
filling me with desire.  Tenderly I kissed the silky hollow of his neck,
licked and sucked on the tiny nipples and then circled a palm on delicate
ribs, smooth tummy and taut little waist.  The boy squeezed his butt,
arching to offer me his quivering rod and after a quick caress of his firm
thighs I put thumb and forefinger on the straining boner and began to rub.

"I did good tonight, didn't I Coach," Danny said in a dreamy voice.

"You were wonderful, Little Ace."

The boy squirmed, swelling his hard shaft against my stroking fingers.

"That feels good," he sighed.

I kept stroking until his legs jerked and I felt his hips lift.  Then I
gently pulled his knees to either side of his head, guiding the tip of his
long stiffy to his lips.  Danny licked and sucked himself as I straddled
the bench and bent over the dimpled opening lying in the center of that
stretched ass.  Gripping the boy's thighs I thrust my tongue into the tight
little ring, probing deep and heard Danny give a little moan.  A shudder
ran through his body and I felt him strain.  The ring gaped open and my
tongue wiggled up further as a quick spasm jerked the boy.  With a moan of
passion he tugged at his knees, pulling them apart, and my tongue slid up
farther.  Another shudder took him, a series of rapid throbs that left him
panting and spent as they died away.

I withdrew my tongue and helped the boy un-curl himself, letting his knees
sag to either side of the bench while he stretched out, head pulled back
and eyes half closed.  A droplet of fluid glittered at the tip of his long
rigid shaft.  I licked it off and then, after kissing the boy's satiny
thighs, I stroked his tummy and slender chest.

"Coach," Danny pleaded, "I wanna' go to your house."

"It's too late."  My hands roved over his nude body.  "Your mom's waiting
supper on you."

The boy stirred, stretching sinuously, long slender erection straining
upward.  "I'm coming on Saturday, right?"

"Yes, after practice."

"Coach?"

"Yeah?"  My palm stroked from delicate knees to tender armpits.

"When I play dead, you can do anything to me.  I'll let you."

"I know," I told him softly.

"Anything," he whispered.

I wanted to.  Oh, I wanted to.  But I told myself to wait.  I tickled the
boy and lifted him to a sitting position.  "How come you've got nothin' on
under your pants?" I asked, helping Danny pull them up.

He giggled, eyes sparkling with mischief.  "I like the way it feels."

"Danny," I said patiently.  "I know it feels good, but rules say you gotta'
wear a cup.  And what if you pop a boner during a game?  Your pants are
gonna' stick out a mile!"

This brought a delighted grin.  "I did pop one, Coach!  I got a big one
sitting with you.  I couldn't stand up!"

"I'll get you something.  You can't go around like this, even if you do
look great."

"OK, Coach," Danny said with another giggle.

We walked back to the SUV, arms around each other, and Danny pointed up at
the night sky.  "Look at the stars, Coach."  He named the brightest ones,
surprising me with his knowledge.

"How did you learn those?"

"It's in this video game."  He leaned against me and hugged.  "I like the
stars.  At night I go outside and look at them.  There's this, like, secret
spot behind our house where I can lie down."  Lowering his voice, he added
in a whisper, "Sometimes I take off all my clothes."

I stroked him.  "You're such a great kid, Little Ace."

Danny glanced down at himself.  His baseball pants were bulging way out.
"Look Coach!"  Taking my hand he placed it on his rigid boner.

"We've definitely gotta' get you something," I said, rubbing through the
cloth.

Danny smiled shyly and reached over to feel the erection straining up under
my jeans.  "It feels just like my spear," he whispered to me.

I hugged him tightly.  "Time to go home, Little Ace."

The next day, Friday, I stopped off at the post office and picked up some
packages I had been expecting, things I had ordered for Danny that I was
looking forward to giving him on Saturday.  Then I drove to a local
sporting goods store and bought three small size cups and supporters.

Our practice that afternoon was a high point.  The boys were still excited
about winning their first game and Danny, in particular, was bubbling with
enthusiasm and happiness.  I gave a lot of praise to him during the drills,
knowing he would need all the confidence I could build in him to withstand
the tough moments that were bound to come in the games ahead.

Danny and I stayed late for our usual extra workout and just as soon as we
had the lonely field to ourselves I hustled Danny over to the SUV.  Opening
the door to give him a sort of shelter I told him, "Take off your shorts
for a minute.  And your underwear.  Get naked.  I got stuff for you to try
on."

Danny giggled, looked around quickly and then stripped off shorts and
briefs.  Standing behind the car door in just ball cap and Nikes he
stretched sensuously, admiring his slender lithe body, which was starting
to show a little definition.  His little boy worm, which had been flaccid,
began raising its head, stiffening and lengthening.

"The air feels good on me, Coach," he said.

I got one of the little supporters and showed him how to put it on.  The
fit was perfect, except his long boner did not fit in the cup.  I stroked
the blunt circumcised head poking up over the elastic waistband.

"You got a big one, Little Ace."

Danny looked down at himself and then turned his head to peer over his
shoulder at his naked butt.

"This is nice, Coach," he said delightedly.  "It feels good.  I like it way
better than these."  He kicked at the tiny briefs.

"I got you three of them.  That way you'll always have a clean one for
games.  I'll get you more if you need them.  Make sure your mother washes
'em.  Don't wear them if they're dirty."

"I won't," he promised.  "This really feels good."  He turned around to
look at his naked behind again.  "I wish my butt was bigger."

"Keep working out, riding your bike.  It'll get bigger."

Danny grinned at me, eyes sparkling with mischief.  "Which part of me you
like best, Coach?  This..." He put a hand on his bulge, "Or this?"  He put
his other hand back on his butt.

I knelt down next to him.  "I like both very much," I told him seriously.
"But here are the parts of you I love best..."  I pointed to his heart.
"And here."  I touched his face.  "I love your courage, Little Ace, and
your beautiful eyes and your lovely smile.  Those are what I care about
most of all."

I took the boy in my arms, kissed him and then as our lips parted said,
"Get dressed now, before someone sees us."

Danny pulled on his shorts.  "What should I do with this?"  He asked,
holding up his underpants.

"Put 'em in your pocket.  You can stick 'em in the laundry when you get
home."

"Can I wear the jock for practices, too?"

I nodded.  "Sure..."  Then, smiling mysteriously I added, "But I may have
something better for you."

"What, Coach?"  Danny looked up eagerly.

"Wait and see.  I'll show you tomorrow."

"Coach!"

"It's a surprise."  I patted his shoulder.  "You'll just have to wait."

"Oh, man!"

"Let's see how hard you can swing at that tire today, Little Ace."

I led him back to the field and within a few minutes Danny's slender body
was slick with sweat as we did his hitting drills.  By the end of the hour,
when I was hitting grounders to him, I could see he was getting tired, but
he still ran eagerly to the front seat of the SUV the moment we finished.
His shorts were already down as I got in on the driver's side and while I
got my own pants and briefs off he sat there admiring himself in his new
little jock.

"I really like this, Coach."

He looked to see if I was ready, and then pulled the waist of the jock up
over his long slender boy stick and slid it down past his knees to where
his shorts were bunched around his feet.  Then he leaned over to take my
rigid throbbing member in his warm little fist.

"This is so much like my spear," he whispered, stroking and rubbing his
fingers on the blunt tip.

Then he slipped my throbbing shaft into his mouth...

[ To Be Continued In Parts E and F ]

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Hope you enjoyed it!  This baseball series has a 'long' short story for
every position.  Look for a new chapter or two each month.

Thanks for taking the time to read my story and if you'd like to comment,
my e-mail address is:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

I will try to answer all serious mailings.  My on-line access is very
limited.  Rants and ravings will not get consideration.

To all you readers who enjoy these stories, please support Nifty with
contributions and keep the Archive online.  Check the Nifty home page for
ways to make contributions.  Without this Archive those of us who write for
you will lose a wonderful resource to get our stories out.

You can find links to all my other stories on Nifty under my name, Joe
Hunter, listed under the J's (for Joe) in the prolific authors list.  To
get that list click the Authors tab at the top of the Nifty home page and
then select 'Prolific Authors'.  I hope you will read and enjoy!

All the Best.  Joe