Date: Fri, 27 Jul 2012 05:48:33 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: Baseball Diamond Tails - 7D

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

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Support Nifty!   Joe

____________________________

BASEBALL DIAMOND TAILS - 7D
(copyright 2012, Joe Hunter)

:::::::::::::::::::::
 Left Field:  Part D
:::::::::::::::::::::

I managed to give the team two more good practices that week on Thursday
and Friday, cramming as much batting as I could into both sessions.
Offense was definitely our biggest problem and I racked my brains to come
up with more things I could do to help the boys hit better.  Andy stayed
late every evening doing his exercises with the heavy bat.  Then he would
scramble into the truck, pull his clothes down and we would fondle each
other as I drove him home.  Every night he called on the phone to talk
about his homework.

Saturday morning we played our next game.  The opponent was another one of
the league's good teams so my kids had a tough time.  There was no
overpowering superstar pitcher like with the last club we had played, but
they had boys throwing fast enough and hard enough to intimidate my
batters.  Once again we could generate no offense.  In the late innings we
were losing 9-1.

The humiliation of such a lopsided score was bad enough, but this was a
Saturday morning game so the final innings were witnessed not only by the
families of our two clubs, but also by the players and families of the
teams that had the following game.  The boys in my dugout, particularly the
14-year-old veterans, knew quite well what they would face when they
returned to school on Monday.

I was doing everything I could to encourage them, finding ways to praise
whatever they did, even if it was a disaster.  When Jimmy, my 13-year-old
right fielder, dropped a fly ball and was jeered by spectators in the
stands, I made much of the fact that he had reacted quickly and made a nice
throw to his cut off man.

"It's OK," I told him with my arm around his shoulder.  "You recovered
perfectly.  Remember when you couldn't do that?  And you had yourself
positioned just right on that fly ball.  You're so much better at that.
You'll catch the next one.  I'm proud of you."

To Lester, the 14-year-old who simply could not hit the ball, I said, "Hey,
it's okay.  You went down swinging.  And you're starting to make some
contact.  That last cut you took really looked nice.  You're really
starting to come along!"

For every boy on the team I had some good thing to say, not allowing
anything they did to go by without finding something good to say about it.
I kept clapping my hands, urging the boys to cheer for one another, and for
the other team as well when their kids made an exceptional play.

"Come on guys, let's hear some noise!" I called whenever we had a man on
base.  "Let's get a hit and bring him around!"

Just as in practice, Andy stayed close to me during the game and I saw him
watching as I tried to keep the boys' spirits up.  I know he was trying to
help.  He was always first to cheer and he tried to get the others to make
noise with him.  I saw him talking to boys after they had made a good play.
Andy was too quiet and self-contained to be a team leader, but he was doing
his best for me.

I put him on the mound to pitch in the fifth inning and once again his
combination of slow speed and accuracy stopped the big hitters for a while.
Then when he came up to bat for us in the sixth he got a hit, but was
thrown out trying to stretch it into a double.  He trotted back to the
dugout all dirty from his slide, looking up at me like it was the end of
the world.

"I'm sorry, Coach."

"For what?"  I gave his shoulder a pat.  "It was a great try.  Next year,
when your legs are longer, you'll make that double.  You would have had it
today except they made a perfect throw on you.  That was good hustle."

His face brightened and he gave me his little smile.

Out in the field later in that inning Andy made a play that was the
highlight of the game, an incredible jumping catch at the fence that robbed
the other team of a home run--and in the process gave me the worst scare I
had in that entire season.

Of the three or four boys I had on the team who could actually play the
outfield, Andy was the best.  But the loudest was always RayBan my black
centerfielder.  He was a tall 14-year-old who looked every inch a
ballplayer, skinny and fast, and he talked a great game.

"I'll be snaggin' 'em for ya' out there, Coach," he would tell me over and
over.  "I'm gonna' be robbin' 'em at the fence!"

Unfortunately, he was only a mediocre fielder, and at the plate he was a
disaster.  I never was able to solve his problem of swinging over the ball.
He never actually did do any of those things he bragged about.

It was quiet little Andy who did.

In the bottom of the sixth we were still losing 9-1 and I was praying we
could get out of the inning without the other team scoring any more runs.

"Just keep their total under 10," I was thinking, "and maybe get lucky and
score another run ourselves in the top of the final inning.  The game'll be
over after our at-bat and it won't be too bad."

But circumstances were not cooperating with my plan.  With only one out, my
pitcher loaded the bases.  It appeared as though the other team was about
to run the score up and embarrass us badly in front of the parents watching
and all the players and parents arriving for the next game.  And there was
nothing I could do.  Zach, The boy on the mound, was the best pitcher I had
left and he was doing his best.  My only option was to cross my fingers and
pray.

"Settle down, now," I called encouragingly.  "Rock and fire!"

Zach nodded, wound up and delivered a strike.  But the batters on the other
team were having no trouble hitting his stuff.  The kid at the plate
unloaded on the pitch.

"Wang!"

Up that ball soared, higher and higher, drifting way out over left field
like a 4th of July rocket.  It looked gone to me.

"Oh Lord," I thought.  "A grand slam!  We're screwed!  My kids will be
devastated."

Then I saw Andy going back.  He had been playing deep to begin with, and
now he was sprinting, looking up at the ball over his shoulder -- heading
at full speed right for the fence!  My heart went into my throat.

"Andy!"  I shouted as loud as I could.

Our outfield fence was chain-link, four and a half feet high with a tubular
steel frame and posts.  It had absolutely no padding.  To my horror I saw
Andy's compact little figure leap into the air and smash onto the steel bar
at the top of the barrier.  The ball landed in his outstretched glove and
the boy ended up draped across the top of the fence, half hanging over the
other side.  Somehow he managed to fall back onto the field, stagger to his
feet and then attempt a throw toward the infield.  The ball went about ten
yards, bounced, and Andy collapsed to the ground clutching his side.

"Shit!"

Disregarding game, score, base runners and everything else, I threw my
clipboard to one side and sprinted out into the field.  In my mind were
visions of broken ribs, collapsed lungs, perhaps worse....

I got to the little figure huddled on the ground as fast as I could and
knelt down beside him.

"Coach, don't take me out," was the first thing he said.

"Shut up and hold still!"  I snarled.  I was scared half to death.
Reaching down I moved his hands away from the injured side.  It was his
left; the same that already had the big scar.  Feeling around I could find
nothing that seemed out of place or broken.  The relief washing through me
was so intense my hands began to shake.

"Thank God," I whispered,

With an arm around the boy's shoulders I helped Andy sit up and by that
time my whole team was out there, standing around us.

"Is he okay, Coach?"  RayBan asked anxiously.

I moved my fingertips around Andy's back and sides.  "I think so.  I can't
tell if he's hurt inside."

"I'm okay," Andy assured me.  "Don't take me out.  Please, Coach.  I come
up in the next inning."

The boy took a breath and I saw him grimace.  My arm tightened around him.

"It hurts, doesn't it."

Andy shook his head.  "I'm okay.  I want to stay in.  Please, Coach...."
He looked up desperately.  I had never seen him look at me like that
before.  "Please...."

I patted and stroked his back.  "Yeah, all right.  Okay....  You can stay
in.  But if you have any trouble, you're coming out immediately,
Understand?"

He nodded.  "Yes, Coach."

I hesitated, knowing damn well I was letting Andy talk me into something I
shouldn't do.  But who could resist his appeal?  It was so important to
him!  Finally I got up and helped him to his feet.

"If you have any problems you tell me right away!"  I warned.

"I will, Coach."

Andy stared up solemnly.  "I will," he promised again.  He reached to touch
my hand.

"All right," I said, patting him.  "I'm awfully proud of you."

I sent the other players back to their positions and started for the
dugout.  The crowd in the bleachers applauded and cheered.

"What happened on the play?"  I asked my shortstop.

"I had to run out to get Andy's throw," Chris told me.  "The kid on third
tagged and scored."

"Damn!  So now they got 10 runs?"

He nodded.

"Well, let's not give 'em any more!"  I shook my head.  "I don't see how he
ever got that throw off.  His side must be killing him."

Chris looked out into left field.  "Andy's tough, Coach.  Everyone in
school knows that."

Andy's miracle catch had the whole team fired up.  I heard a lot more
chatter in the infield while Zach threw to the next batter.  It was the
other team's number two hitter and I prayed we would get him out.

"Just don't let him hit it to left," I muttered, looking out to see if Andy
was all right.  I was having a lot of second thoughts about leaving him in
the game.

With the count two and two, the batter hit a fly ball to deep right where
Jimmy, the boy who had dropped the ball earlier, was still playing.  I held
my breath and watched him position himself.  The ball dropped into his
glove, he held on and it was the third out, ending the inning.

"Yes!"  I cried, throwing up a fist.  Jimmy grinned, trotting in holding up
the ball and I met him by the dugout to give him a quick hug.

"There you go.  See?"  I told him.  "I knew you could do it!  Nice job."

Andy had come walking in from left field.  "Nice catch," he told Jimmy.  He
reached up to pat the boy's shoulder and the two of them went into the
dugout.  I saw the other kids on the team talking to them as I got into the
third-base coaching box.

Benjy, my leadoff batter for the inning walked, giving us a base runner and
I clapped my hands a few times calling to Lester our next hitter, "All
right, let's bring him around."

Lester was trying.  He always tried hard, which was why I liked him, and he
had learned not to bite on pitches outside the strike zone.  He let two
balls go by low, but when a third one came in over the plate he swung,
missing the thing completely and I had to stifle my frustration.  Lester
had every physical characteristic of a good athlete; well-built, graceful,
excellent speed, good swing....  But he could not hit a baseball, and
nothing I had done helped.  The boy came from a very disturbed family
background, he was fearful of the ball and I knew the problem was
psychological.

"But we need something right now!" I muttered to myself

Andy was up right after Lester.  My tough little fielder was kneeling in
the on deck circle and had not taken any practice swings.  I was pretty
sure I knew what that meant.

I signaled for time and trotted down to home plate for a talk with Lester.

"Look," I whispered, putting my arm around his sturdy shoulders.  "You
gotta' make contact with the ball, Les!  You just have to!  Andy's coming
up next.  He's hurt and he can't swing.  He'll have to bunt.  You gotta'
get these infielders backed up a little for him, Les!  Don't let him down!"

Lester gave me a look I will never forget.  "I'll do it Coach," he vowed in
a fierce whisper.

I gave him a pat and on my way back to the coach's box I stopped to whisper
to Andy, "Bat lefty, Champ."

He nodded and I crossed my fingers, hoping for the best.

Lester settled into the batter's box with an expression of grim
determination and took his stance.  The pitch came in wide, close enough to
a strike so that Lester almost went after it, but he checked his swing
nicely and I grinned, yelling, "Good eye!"  The boy nodded at me, and then
got set again.

The next pitch was over the plate and Lester came around on it with
everything he had.

He did not get all of it because of his tendency to swing over the ball,
but the contact was good enough to zip the ball out into the infield with
plenty of ginger.  It took a terrific hop off something in the dirt and
whizzed right past the shortstop's head, causing that boy to go sprawling
backward.  The left fielder was there to help and got hold of the ball, but
we now had runners on first and second with nobody out--plus I also had an
ecstatic 14-year-old boy looking over at me from first base, grinning
proudly.  It was the first hit Lester had ever gotten.  I smiled, holding
my thumb up and his grin got even wider.

Andy went to the plate, looked towards me for the sign and when I gave him
the signal for a drag bunt he stepped into the batter's box, his face
completely expressionless.  I knew he was in pain, but no sign of it
showed.

The very first delivery from the pitcher was a strike and Andy bunted it
perfectly, sending the ball rolling up the third-base line, tantalizingly
close to being foul, but in fair territory all the way.  The pitcher got to
it first, but by the time he got control Andy had made it to first base and
everyone was safe.

Andy's bunt had loaded the bases and there were no outs!

I wasn't thinking about that because Andy had staggered a little after
crossing the bag.  He dropped to one knee for a moment but then got right
up again and tagged at the base.  I stared at him intently across the
diamond and took a step in that direction, but he nodded and waved to show
that he was all right.

Our next batter was Jimmy, my right fielder, another of my problem hitters.
The kid was skinny and in addition to lacking physical strength he was as
nervous as Lester about getting hit by the baseball.  And now his
nervousness was off the scale because he was up in a bases loaded
situation.  Andy called out something to him from first base and he nodded.

To my delight and amazement Jimmy got a hit!  It was the classic example,
seen so often, of a boy making a good defensive play and then getting a hit
at his very next at-bat; another demonstration of psychology's enormous
role in the game.  My weedy little right fielder belted a pitch into the
gap at right-center and all my base runners started moving!

The hit took every one of the fielders completely by surprise.  All the
outfielders were playing up, expecting a weak grounder or a bloop fly, so
when the baseball went sailing over their heads on the way to the fence
there was a moment of shock and disbelief before they reacted.  By that
time Benjy, our lead runner, had scored and Lester was around third.  Andy
went scurrying over to second as fast as he could, but he was holding his
side and not moving as well as he usually did.

I waved my arm in big circles, signaling the runners to keep going, and
while the centerfielder ran back to the fence, tracking down the ball, Andy
rounded second, with Jimmy, looking more excited then I had ever seen him,
not that far behind.

As Andy came into third I could see that he was grimacing in pain, but I
just kept circling my arm yelling, "Take it home, Champ!"  We had nothing
to lose by trying to score as much as we could and Andy might as well take
a shot.  My little ballplayer tagged the base and headed for home plate,
holding his side tightly.  Behind him, Jimmy was already half way to third.

The centerfielder finally got the ball and then, instead of hitting his
second base cutoff man or throwing it home as he should have, he chucked
the ball to third base.

Jimmy almost collided with the third baseman who was trying to take the
throw.  Skidding to a stop Jimmy turned, ran back toward second with the
third baseman in pursuit and meanwhile, Andy scored.  Behind me our dugout
was going wild.

Jimmy was skinny, but he had speed and the third baseman could not catch
him.  The boy threw to second in an attempt to continue the rundown, but
the shortstop and the second baseman had both gone out to help the
outfielders and no one was covering the bag.  The ball bounced away and
Jimmy alertly changed direction, sprinting to third where he made a
spectacular slide into the bag although there was no reason to because the
right fielder was only then rounding up the ball.

If he had not slid in I might have risked sending Jimmy home, but as it was
I just called time, helped him to his feet, and then gave the excited boy a
huge hug.  When I released him he stood on the bag in front of me, bouncing
up and down on his toes with a happy smile on his face.

"Nice going!"  I told him.  "Geez, what a hit!  And great base running!
Stay sharp now, let's see if you can get in to score."

The boy was so pleased with himself he was wiggling with happiness.

I grinned at him.  "Feels good, huh?"

He nodded vigorously.  "This is great, Coach!"

The other team finally got itself sorted out and regrouped.  Play started
again and the rest of the game went quickly.  Our next batter, Ronny, hit a
hard ground ball to the second baseman and was thrown out, but Jimmy scored
on the play.  He slapped my palm delightedly as he trotted back to the
dugout where he was mobbed by his teammates and I gave Ronny a pat as he
went by, too.  "Nice RBI," I told him.  "Way to drive in that run!"

The boy smiled at me happily.

The last out was made by Kirk, our second baseman, a 13-year-old who had
not yet hit a ball out of the infield.  He sent a looping Texas leaguer
into left field that got caught, but it was still a nice job of hitting for
him and he got a congratulatory palm slap as he came back past me.

"That's the way, slugger," I told him.  "Next time you'll put it over their
heads.  It was a beautiful hit."

Just then Chris came up to me.

"Coach.  You better look at Andy.  I think he's really hurting.  He's
crying."

I went quickly to the dugout.  Andy was on the back bench seated between
RayBan and Jimmy, both of whom looked at me anxiously.  Andy was bent over
holding his side and I could see his shoulders heaving.

"He's hurt, Coach," RayBan told me.

"All right, Andy," I said crouching in front of him.  "It's okay.  I'm
right here.  That side's really hurting, huh?"

When he gave me a little nod, I put my hand on his side and rubbed gently.
Then I straightened him up.  The boy's face was tear streaked.

"How's your breathing?"  I asked.  "Can you still take a deep breath for
me?"

Andy breathed in deeply and let it out again.

"Okay, Champ," I said.  "You just bruised yourself pretty good.  You're
gonna' be okay."  I moved Andy so he was leaning on RayBan and put Jimmy's
hand on Andy's side, rubbing it in circles.  "Keep massaging him like
this," I told the boy.  "Just keep him quiet for a while."

Then I stood up and looked at the rest of the team.  "Let's go shake hands
with the other guys.  Make sure you tell them that they played a great
game, because they did.  They made some terrific plays.  But so did you!
You've nothing to be ashamed of!"

I led the boys out of the dugout, got them in line and when the two teams
walked past each other shaking hands I noticed that the other kids gave
mine respect and there were congratulations on both sides.  After a little
pep talk to buck them up I sent the boys off to the snack bar for their hot
dogs and Cokes.

Back in the dugout RayBan had an arm around Andy's shoulders and Jimmy was
rubbing and stroking.

"How we doing?" I asked and Andy looked up.

"It's better, Coach."

"Good job, fellas," I told Jimmy and RayBan.  "You guys get Andy to the
snack bar, make sure he gets something to eat and then put him in my truck.
I'll get your bike, Andy.  Don't worry."

"Is Andy gonna' be okay, Coach?" Jimmy asked anxiously.

"Count on it," I assured him.  "He'll be sore for awhile.  But he'll be all
right.  I'll take care of him."

The two boys helped Andy get up and then stayed on either side of him as
they went out.  I started packing up the equipment.

On the way to my truck with the heavy bags, I was waylaid by parents and
spectators who wanted to talk about the game--especially Andy's catch and
our last inning scores.  It took me quite a while to get away.  Finally the
bags were in the pickup bed and I went in search of Andy's bike.  He had
chained it up with some others by the fence and I did not know his
combination.  I headed back to my parking spot, getting into a few more
conversations on the way, and found Andy sitting all alone in the truck.
The boy looked tired and pale.  I opened the passenger side door and leaned
in.

"Hey, Champ.  Did you get something to eat?"

He nodded and then gave me a grateful look when I stroked his side.

"Still breathing okay?"

He nodded.

"You've got your bike all chained up.  Give me the combination so I can
bring it over."

He told me what it was and I gave him a little hug.

"I'll be right back."

Once the bike was unlocked I wheeled it over and loaded it in my truck.
The teams for the afternoon game were warming up and the players and
spectators from our game had left.  I slid into the driver side got the
truck started and as we drove slowly out of the parking lot Andy shifted
over so he could lean against me.  I put an arm around him and the boy
rubbed a hand on my thigh.

"You were very brave today, son," I told him softly.

I drove straight to the bike store where I dropped off Andy's mountain bike
for service and then took the boy to my house.  When we were in the garage
with the door down I went around to the passenger side, lifted Andy in my
arms like a baby and carried him into the house.

"Andy, I want you to stop getting hurt.  Last week I was bandaging your
knee up, and now you got me worried about broken ribs."

In the bedroom I laid him gently on my big double bed and slowly stripped
off his ball cap, shirt, leggings, socks, and pants.  The boy moved just
enough to help me, all the while gazing up with his wide dark eyes.

He was naked under the uniform except for his jock and when I slipped that
off his thick little erection jutted up hard and straight.  I rubbed it for
him a few times and then nudged for the boy to roll onto his right side.

Sitting beside him I went over the injured left ribs carefully, pressing
and pushing.  Andy was sore, but nothing worse than that.  Rubbing the old
scar with a fingertip and then stroking and caressing the firm little body
I worked down to Andy's knee, where all the cuts and scrapes were healing
well.

I nudged Andy again and he pushed his hard thick rod up against his tummy
before rolling onto his stomach.  I stroked his rounded silky butt, slid a
hand between his thighs and the boy opened his legs as far as he could.  I
spread his cheeks and ran a finger around his boy hole while Andy bore down
to open it for me.  The rim was smooth and clean.

I stood up and Andy rolled onto his back to watch as I striped, tossing all
my clothes in a pile on the floor.  Then I picked up the naked boy,
cradling him tenderly in my arms, kissed him and took him into the
bathroom.  While I was adjusting the hot water and filling the tub he
leaned against me, a slender arm around my waist, hugging and moving his
warm fingers on my throbbing shaft.

When the tub was full I eased the boy into the hot steaming water, letting
him relax into it until he lay stretched out with his eyes closed and head
resting on the back wall.

Using a scented body wash I sudsed him gently, not missing any part,
lathering between his toes and into the creases of his groin, sliding a
soapy finger up his hole and stroking suds up and down his hard quivering
rod.  Tenderly, I lathered his sturdy little chest and worked down his firm
flanks, using gentle massage on the sore area.  Then I cleaned under his
arms, around the delicate hollows of his neck and in the folds of his small
ears.

When I had the boy completely clean I went back to stroking and rubbing his
side with one hand, using the other on his jutting boyhood.  Eyes closed,
Andy squeezed his butt to swell the stiff shaft against my sliding fingers
and I felt the hard thick branch throb.  The boy spread his knees beneath
the water, writhing slowly.

After a time, I opened the drain and as the water level dropped I helped
the boy to his feet, got into the tub with him, pulled the curtain and
started the shower.  With the water temperature good and hot I soaped the
boy completely again and then Andy did me.  The boy's small warm hands
explored every inch of my body, rubbing and stroking.  He knelt and washed
my feet and lower legs.  Then his hand was between my thighs, stroking up
into my groin, soaping my hard quivering rod with his slippery fingers,
sliding his little fist on the shaft and rubbing the sensitive head.  I
knelt so he could soap my upper body, letting his hands linger on the thick
muscle in my chest and shoulders.  Then I shampooed his hair and he did
mine.

When we were both rinsed off I straightened up slowly.  Andy stood in front
of me, arms around my waist, pressing his warm naked body to mine, hugging
sweetly.  Gradually he let himself slide down to his knees, held my
throbbing shaft in his small fist and then I felt the lick of his warm
tongue on my slit.  Suddenly the head of my rigid pole was engulfed in hot
tightness as the boy took it into his mouth.  His little fist began moving
quickly, sliding and rubbing.

My head arched back.  With a groan I pushed gently on Andy's head and the
boy took me deeper, sliding my blunt tip all the way to his throat.  He
rubbed harder and faster, and I began to thrust my hips slightly as I
groaned again.  A tremor went through my body.  I was losing all control.
I felt a shot of fluid gush from the slit of my quivering member.  Andy's
hot little mouth enclosed me tightly, his fist sliding faster and faster on
the base.  A huge tide was building in my loins.  I could not hold back.
My body arched.

"Uhhhh...." I moaned, "Andy!  I'm coming!  Ahhhhhhhhh..."

With a huge contraction I exploded into the boy's throat, spurting cream
into his gullet.  I felt him gag for a second, then he pulled me in even
further, locking his face to my groin while I jerked into him over and over
again.

As my contractions eased the boy suddenly went limp, head lolling.  I slid
out of his mouth and hit him on the back sharply.  He coughed and took a
shuddering gasp.  I cuddled him, stroking until I was sure the boy was
breathing normally and then helped him stand.  Andy wrapped his arms around
my neck, buried his face in my shoulder and with hot water cascading over
us I stroked his firm smooth back and rounded muscular butt.

"Andy, Andy, Andy...." I whispered.

After a while I turned off the shower, we got out and I dried both of us
with a warm towel.  In the bedroom we stretched out together on the bed,
the boy with his arms around my neck, head pushed against my shoulder while
I stroked his injured side.

"My wonderful ballplayer," I whispered over and over.  "My brave boy."

Andy cuddled close with a knee pulled up over my hip.  His warm hands moved
slowly on my back.

"Coach?"  He said after a long time.  His voice was soft and high, like a
very young child's.

"What?"  I whispered, caressing his silky butt.

"Did you mean it?"  He pleaded.  "Did you really mean what you said?"

"About what?"

"About being proud of me?"

My throat tightened and tears came to my eyes.  I hugged him tightly.  "Of
course I meant it.  I'm so proud of you.  Prouder than anything in the
world.  Don't you know that?"

The boy sighed and hugged back.  "Uh-huh.  I just wanted to be sure."

After more caressing and stroking I leaned over to grab a bottle of
Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil from a table by the bed.  When I dribbled the
clear fragrant lotion on Andy's body he squirmed against me.

"That's cold," he said with a little giggle.

I rubbed the fragrant oil into his satiny skin, spreading it over butt and
thighs while Andy nestled close, leg pulled up on my hip.

"Finger me," he whispered.

I slid an oily finger down his butt crease, probing for the dimpled
opening.  When the tip pushed into the tight little ring it clenched for a
moment and then slowly relaxed as Andy bore down.  My finger pushed up into
hot moistness and I twisted it until the boy's hard little nub was under my
fingertip.  Andy's arms tightened around me.  He pulled his leg up even
higher on my hip, moaning softly as I pressed and rubbed inside him.

The boy was very tight.  As his small ring gradually stretched I forced a
second finger up into him, twisting and rubbing the nub between both
fingertips.  Andy groaned and his head arched back slightly.

"Hurt me," he whispered, "Make it hurt.  Uhhhhhhhhhh."

I pushed my fingers up into him as far the knuckles, penetrating his moist
heat and the boy arched, straining his knee up into the air.

"Ahhhh...  Ah...  Ah...  Uhhhhhh," he moaned.  He pulled his head back,
eyes closed in ecstasy.

"Fuck me, Coach," he begged.  "Fuck me....  Fuck me...."

His passion and the twisting of Andy's hot smooth flesh against mine had me
so hard my shaft was throbbing painfully with every one of my heartbeats.
I withdrew my fingers and rolled the boy quickly to his other side.
Smearing lotion on my straining rod I stretched out behind the boy and
thrust the engorged head of my stiff pole between his greasy butt cheeks.
Andy felt it and wiggled to get closer.  With one arm around his sturdy
shoulders and another encircling his hard lean waist I drew the boy's firm
body onto my shaft.  As I felt the engorged head stretch his opening I
thrust to pop it through.  Andy gave a soft cry as he was penetrated, his
arms and legs jerked.  Then I felt his entire body tense under my
encircling arms.

"Harder," he pleaded.  "Harder....  Fuck me...."

Every muscle in his body was taut and straining.  I held him tight and with
a firm thrust slid deep into his hot sweetness, impaling him fully.  Andy
quivered and his legs thrashed.  Arching his head back, he stretched his
arms out, fists tightly clenched.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...." He groaned.

As his struggling eased I reached into his crotch to touch his flaccid boy
worm.  There was a warm drop of urine at its tip.  Sliding my impaling rod
in the hot tightness of the boy's cavity I rubbed him firmly and felt the
thick little shaft stiffen beneath my fingers.

"Oh...  Ohhhhhhhhh..." Andy moaned.  He stroked a palm over his hard
muscular tummy.  "Uhhhhh..." He moaned again, twisting on my penetrating
rod and pushing against his belly.  "I feel it....  I feel it....  In
me....  Ooooooooo...."

His boy stick strained outward in quivering rigidly as my fingers continued
to stroke.  I slid my engorged member in his tight cavity and Andy arched
in passion.  Rubbing even faster on his stiff boner I felt the boy quiver
and then his shaft throbbed.

"Ohhhhhhh..."

Andy shuddered, shaft pulsing rapidly as droplets of milky fluid rolled
from the tip.  My oily fingers brushed over his slit and the slippery drops
let me rub harder.  As the boy entered his climax, arching and twisting his
body, I locked my hips tight against his mounded butt and stretched up into
him as far as I could.  The boy heaved against my restraining arm, thick
little shaft jerking in a powerful contraction.  A silvery arc of droplets
flew from the tip as his hips bucked.

"Uh...  Uh...  Uh...  Uh..."

Andy jerked in ecstasy, head arched back, feet kicking in spasm.  Then as
the contractions gradually eased he went limp and I began to slide in and
out of him again, holding him tight around the waist.

"Ooo... Ooo... Ooo..." He whispered, quivering.  "Oh, Coach.  Fuck me....
Harder....  Ohhhhhhh...."

Over and over, for more than an hour, I took the boy to climax after climax
while he writhed, limbs thrashing, droplets spurting from his throbbing boy
stick, dribbling on his tummy.  Andy went into a trance of passion, staring
sightlessly ahead, lips parted and his body arching in pleasure.

Finally I began to tire.  By increasing the rhythm of my thrusts I let the
hot walls of the boy's gaping chute rub my engorged manhood to its own
peak.  Andy's little ring gripped the base of my shaft, squeezing as he
squirmed with me.  The pressure built in my loins and I thrust harder,
grinding my hips each time I strained up into him.  My fingers rubbed his
rigid boyhood faster and faster.

Andy twisted in passion, arms extended out, fists tight little balls.  The
muscles in his belly felt like iron under my encircling grasp.  His dainty
feet twisted and he strained to get his knee up to open his thighs.

"Harder," he pleaded.  "Ooo... Harder.  Harder.  Make it hurt.  Make it
hurt!  Ohhhh....  Harder...."

I thrust faster, squeezing to hold back but losing control.  Fluid poured
from my tip spilling into the boy's heat.  I felt everything slip.

Andy's body shuddered as I tightened my grip on him.  I thrust up into his
hot sweetness, locking my hips to his rounded butt.

"Uhhhhh... Andy... Andy...." I cried, and then my throbbing shaft jerked
with contractions, spurting semen into the boy, filling him with my seed.
Over and over I pumped my cream into him, holding his taut hard body tight
against me.

At the pulsing he felt inside him, Andy's own shaft responded with throb
after throb, milky droplets rolling off the tip.  He pushed back
frantically trying to impale himself on my thrusting pole and for long
minutes our bodies writhed, twisting together in an orgy of passion.

At last my contractions ceased.  We collapsed down against the bed and as
our bodies relaxed I held the boy, stroking and caressing his heated flesh.

"Andy...." I whispered over and over.  "My champion.  My wonderful
ballplayer."

After gradually softening and slipping out I rolled him to his other side
and took the boy in my arms, letting his small firm body press against
mine.  Andy wrapped his arms around my neck, kissed me and then put his
head on my shoulder to nestle against me.  For a long time I stroked his
satiny skin, whispering to him....

"You're the best, son.  My champion.  I'm so proud of you."

Now and then Andy stretched, writhing against me, thrusting his hips, and
each time I put a hand down between our bodies to rub his thick hard boy
rod slowly with my fingers.

At last I sat up and rolled Andy onto his back.  He lay sprawled on the
bed, eyes closed, left knee pulled up, sagging to one side.  There were
streaks of dried semen glistening on the inside of his smooth thighs.  His
rigid boner strained upward from his body and I watched the tip jump
slightly with his heartbeat.  Slowly I rubbed my palm in a circle on the
boy's taut lean belly and then leaned over to slip Andy's stiff rod into my
mouth and tongue it gently.  The boy moaned and writhed.  He pulled up his
other knee and strained his thighs apart.

"Fuck me," he pleaded.  "More.  Please, Coach."

As I slid the quivering boyhood in and out of my mouth I reached down and
massaged his butt cheeks, gently spreading them apart.  There was dried
semen all around the gaping hole, but it was still slick with the
coconut-scented oil.  I caressed the velvety inner surfaces of Andy's
thighs and pressed around the stretched opening.

The boy arched and pulled his legs up.  "More," he whispered.  "Do me
more...."

I pressed and stroked his butt.  "This has to rest now, Andy."

"Noooooooooo," the boy moaned.

I stretched out on the bed and pulled the boy's unresisting body up on top
of mine so his firm rounded butt was resting on my belly.  Andy extended
his arms and let his head arch back over my left shoulder.  Reaching down I
took hold of the boy's hard shaft, rubbing firmly and Andy pulled up his
legs, opening his knees.

As I rubbed harder the boy began to squirm.  He pulled his head back
further, arching his body and straining his thighs apart.

"Ohhh," he groaned.  "Ohhh...  Ohhhhhhh..."

When I felt his entire body tense I put an arm around his sturdy chest and
he strained against it, pulling his legs up underneath as if doing a back
arch.  The boy went taut as a drawn bow, every muscle straining.

I kept rubbing, harder and faster, and the boy writhed in ecstasy, head so
far back he was almost doubled under himself.  He uttered a cry of
pleasure, every muscle in his sculpted body standing out in definition.
Then his rigid straining shaft contracted again and again, jerking under my
stroking fingers, arcs of milky droplets shooting from the tip.

As his contractions slowed, Andy shuddered, collapsing to lie sprawled on
top of me, head lolling back over my shoulder, knees sagging apart.  I
caressed his delicate waist, his lean tummy and then rolled him over so I
could kiss him tenderly.  The boy hugged, pressing sweetly.

"Andy," I whispered, hugging back.

I got up, cradling the boy like a baby and he buried his face against my
chest.  I carried him to the bathroom for another shower where Andy was so
weak I had to hold him up when we got under the water.  He clung to me
while I supported him with an arm around his small waist.  When we were
done and I was drying him off he leaned against me with his eyes closed,
stroking a warm little hand on my side.

"Fuck me, Coach," he whispered.  "Do it more."

I rubbed a hand down his smooth back and cupped his mounded butt.

"Later, not now.  You need to rest now.  I don't want to hurt you."

The boy sighed.  "I like it when it hurts."

My palm slid down his firm side, feeling the ridged scar under his ribs.
"You've been hurt enough, Champ," I said, kissing his dark hair.  "I don't
want you hurt anymore."

But the boy shook his head and told me softly, "I don't care if its you."

"Yeah," I whispered back, caressing his delicate waist and firm little
butt.  "But I care."

Andy raised his lips to mine and we kissed for a long time, our hands
moving over each other's bodies.

I carried the boy back out to the bedroom and began dressing him in his
uniform.  As I slid on his jock Andy looked up and asked, "Can I do my
exercises first, Coach?"

"Sure," I said.  "Is your side gonna' be okay?"

"I'm okay," he assured me.

Sliding off my lap to the floor he began doing his back arches and I got
dressed while watching.  When he was finished and lay sprawled, panting on
the floor with his knees sagging apart I stepped into the bathroom, got a
tube of medicated ointment and went back to kneel between the boy's firm
slender legs.  Andy lifted them, reached up to hold his knees and pulled
back to either side of his chest, spreading himself for me.  His bruised,
stretched opening gaped in front of me.

Tenderly, I spread ointment around the boy's swollen orifice.  Andy sighed
and squirmed slightly as I pushed in a greasy finger in and wiggled it
around.  He gave a tiny moan.

"Fuck me," he whispered.  "Please, Coach."

I shook my head.  "You gotta' rest now, and I do too.  We'll do it later."

"Promise?"

"Promise," I assured him.  "Let's get movin'.  We need to pick up your
bike, an' then there's some other stuff I wanna' do."

After wiping my hands I finished getting Andy dressed and we went to the
truck in the garage.  As I was backing out Andy wiggled close and asked,
"What other stuff we gonna' do, Coach?"

"Wait and see," I told him with a smile.

We drove to a subway first and I got Andy some sandwiches because the boy
was already hungry again.

"Guess the hotdog after the game didn't fill you up much, huh?"  I said,
watched him eat.

Andy shook his head and gave me his little smile.

The bike shop had his Mongoose ready when we arrived.  They had waxed and
polished the frame for him and it glittered in the sunlight as I loaded it
into the back of the truck.  The young man with the ponytail gave me his
card and a maintenance schedule.

"If your son uses the bike a lot you should bring it in every three
months," he told me.

I shook hands with him and then we drove off.  I looked at Andy.  He seemed
very happy and content, his lean sturdy body outlined beneath his tight
uniform.  I felt a stir in my crotch and when I shifted position on the
seat Andy glanced at me and slid over so he could lean against my side.  I
put an arm around him.

"Let's go to that sporting goods place again," I told him.  "I want you to
see something."

I drove to the strip mall that had the store where we had gotten his bat
and after parking I unloaded his bike.

"We're not leavin' this out here."

Andy wheeled the bike up to the store entrance where I held the door so he
could get it inside.  When a saleswoman came up I asked her if we could
leave the bike by the counter and she smiled.

"I'll keep an eye on it."

With Andy following I went to the back of the store where they sold clothes
and shoes.  Putting my arm around his shoulders for a little hug, I told
him, "Take a look around at this stuff, Champ.  See if there's anything you
like."

Andy gave me a quick grateful look and began sorting through the racks of
clothes.  Whenever he found something he liked he would hold it up
questioningly and I would tell him with a smile, "Get whatever you want."

He ended up choosing a pair of baggy pants with lots of pockets, two pairs
of satin soccer shorts, one red, one gold, and four brightly colored shirts
with the Atlanta Braves logo, his favorite team.

"Very nice," I said approvingly.  I led him over to the shoe area.  "Now
what kind of Nikes do you want?"

Andy took a great deal of time choosing.  He was looking at shoe after shoe
in all sorts of styles when a salesman came over to help, asking, "Is there
some special one you're looking for?"

"I gotta' find the right color," Andy told him.

At last, after a lot of looking, Andy held up the pair he wanted.  He
looked at me proudly.  "Our team colors.  That's what I was looking for."

I felt my throat tighten and I stroked his head.  "Those are the ones,
Champ."

After paying for Andy's selections I had the salesgirl carefully remove all
the tags from the new clothes and pack everything into one bag.  Then I
wheeled Andy's bike out to the truck with the boy following, clutching all
his new treasures.  I put the bike into the truck bed and we both got in
the cab, Andy keeping his bag on his lap holding it tight.

"What time does your mom want you home today?"  I asked.

Andy shrugged.  "It don't matter.  She won't be home till late."

He slid over, nestling against me and I hugged his shoulders.  "How's your
side?"

"I'm okay."  His warm little hand stroked my thigh.

We drove across town to Andy's trailer park rubbing each other through our
clothes, but without pulling down Andy's pants because Saturday afternoon
traffic was all around us.  As we turned onto his road the boy slid back
over to his side and straightened up.  Then, as we got closer to his
trailer I saw him lean forward, staring.

"My mom's home!"

The old sedan was in the short driveway.  I parked behind it, unloaded
Andy's bike so he could put it away, and as he was wheeling the bike into
the shed his mother appeared at the front door, standing there looking out.
I waved and walked over.

"Sorry you couldn't make it to the game today.  Andy was terrific.  You
missed a good time.  We took the team out to lunch, and then I took Andy's
bike over to the shop for some repairs."

"You want some coffee?" the woman asked, holding the door open in
invitation.

"Sure."

I went inside with her and as we were filling our cups I saw Andy come in
with his bag of new clothes and scurry off to his room.

"Just move that stuff if you want to sit," his mother told me.

I removed some magazines and what appeared to be dirty laundry from a chair
and sat.  The heavy unattractive woman got on her sofa.  I took a sip of
the coffee.  It was awful.

"We had an early day today," she told me.  "I just got in."

"It'll be nice for you to have a few hours off," I said politely.

She shrugged.  "I'm missing the overtime."

I took another sip of the terrible coffee.  "Listen," I told her.  "You
might want to keep an eye on Andy this evening.  He made a spectacular
catch in the outfield today, but I'm afraid he banged himself on the fence
when he did it.  He's got a lot of soreness in his left side.  I'm sure
he'll be fine, but if he has trouble sleeping tonight you might want to
give him an aspirin or something."

She shrugged again.  "He's always getting himself hurt.  I never seen such
a kid for getting hurt.  I told him I'm not wasting any more time with him
waiting around in the emergency room."

"This is nothing like that," I assured her hastily.

"Well, if he hurt himself, he can take care of it himself," she told me.

I drank some more coffee as I reflected on this statement.  His mother had
never asked me the score of the game or even if we had won or lost.

Andy came out from his room.  He had taken off his uniform and was dressed
only in a pair of old blue shorts that looked a little small on him.

"Coach, I'm gonna' do my exercises now.  Can you come an' like check to be
sure I'm doin' 'em right?"

His mother gave him an exasperated glance.  "Exercises, exercises!  That's
all I ever hear about.  That and baseball."

I got up quickly.  "It's okay," I told her.  "I don't mind working with
him."  I put my half drunk coffee on the kitchen counter.  "I'll come look
at them, Andy."

I followed the boy to his tiny room where we both squeezed in and I closed
the door.  Andy immediately hugged me around the waist and lifted his face
up for a quick kiss and then whispered, "She don't usually come back this
early.  I'm sorry, Coach."

"Me too," I told him softly.

Andy slipped off the tight shorts.  He was still wearing his little jock
and the pouch was bulging with his rigid boner.  He got on his bed, eyes
gleaming at me, and proceeded to do a set of back arches.  I watched his
hard little body thrust up and down on the bed, the complex swellings of
muscle under his taut skin shifting in a play of light and shadow.

In between each set the boy pulled his knees back to the sides of his
immature chest, opening for me in invitation.  His stretched ass was
slippery with antiseptic ointment and I could easily insert first one and
then two fingers, twisting them in his hot tight sweetness and rubbing my
fingertips over his tiny nub.  The boy moaned in pleasure, head arched back
as he strained to open fully.

Andy gave me eight sets and was exhausted at the end, lying sprawled on his
small bed while I rubbed his delicate waist, firm tummy, and stroked the
silky texture of his inner thighs.

Reaching down, Andy pushed his small hand beneath his jock, rubbing
frantically.

"Uhhh....  Fuck me," he begged very softly.  "Fuck me."

I could not resist.  With passion blanking all thought of his mother and
the danger from my mind, I undid my jeans, pushed them quickly to my ankles
and straightened up.  My man rod was jutting out, rock hard and quivering
eagerly.  Easing onto Andy's narrow bed I settled between the boy's legs
and he wrapped them around me.  As I leaned over him he grabbed my
shoulders, pulling up against me with his head arched back.  "Oooooo..." he
moaned.

I reached down, put the head of my throbbing pole into his gaping opening
and without resistance it pushed through the slippery ring to half its
length.  Then with a firm thrust I went all the way up, sheathing every
inch of myself in the boy's hot moist sweetness.

Andy shuddered, arms tightening around me.  His slender legs lifted off my
back as he strained to open completely.  Head arching back nearly double,
he gave a soft little cry, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh..."  Every muscle in his firm
compact body tensed into rigidity as I plunged in, penetrating as far as I
could.

I was so aroused by the boy's movements, plus the thrill and risk of the
situation, I lost control almost immediately.  Andy's tight hot chute slid
on my thick shaft, its muscular ring gripping me as I squeezed my butt,
stretching up into the boy.  He hugged trying to pull me in further, and
then I was coming in tremendous spurts, flooding his cavity with thick
cream.  At the sensation of my pulsing contractions throbbing within him
the boy heaved up, legs and arms locked around me, twisting in ecstasy, his
mouth open wide in a soundless scream.

At last I collapsed shuddering to the bed, trying to keep my weight off the
boy and not smother him.  With passion spent, fear of the appalling risk we
were taking reasserted itself and instantly I was limp, sliding out of Andy
as I listened for his mother's hand on the door.  But Andy would not let me
go.  He clung desperately, making tiny mewing cries.  When there was no
noise at the door I forced myself to calm and rolled partway on my side,
caressing the boy, stroking his smooth little body and kissing the top of
his head.

"My champion, my wonderful boy," I whispered over and over.

Slowly Andy relaxed, lifting his head at last to exchange a deep kiss as
our bodies pressed together.  Finally I released him.  "We have to get
dressed," I whispered urgently.  "Your mother is gonna' get suspicious."

He nodded and I got up with difficulty, my jeans all twisted around my
ankles.

Andy stood up as well, dribbles and smears of semen running down the
insides of his firm rounded thighs.  I ripped my boxers free to use as a
clean up rag, stuffing the sticky wet cloth back inside my pants when we
were done to hide it.  Andy pulled on his shorts.

"Next Saturday," I told him softly.  "Next Saturday we don't have a game.
Spend the day with me."

The boy nodded eagerly, eyes glowing.  I put a hand on his shoulder and
whispered, "Tell your mom you have a long practice or something.  We'll
have the whole day together."

He nodded again.

As we opened the door to his room I said loudly, "Those exercises are
really coming along, Andy.  You're doing them perfect!"

Out in the living room his mother was watching TV and paid us no attention
as Andy escorted me to the door.

I stroked his hair.  "See you Monday, Champ.  Take care of that side.
Don't do anything that'll mess it up."

"I'll be careful, Coach."  The boy stared up at me, the smooth skin of his
sculpted upper body glistening in the dim light.  He put his small hand on
my waist.  "Coach?  You know the Nikes I picked out?"

"Yeah."  I was gazing down on him affectionately.

"I got them in our team colors," the boy reminded me.

I nodded.

"I'm not sorry I'm on your team anymore, Coach."  Andy's face was glowing
with pride and love.  "I'm glad.  I wouldn't want to be on anyone else's
team."

I bent down and whispered to him.  "I love you, son."  Then I patted his
shoulder and left.

[ To Be Continued In Parts E through J ]

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

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.

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contributions and keep the Archive online.  Check the Nifty home page for
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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