Date: Fri, 31 Aug 2012 05:24:39 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: Baseball Diamond Tails - 7G

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 - 7G
(copyright 2012, Joe Hunter)

:::::::::::::::::::::
 Left Field:  Part G
:::::::::::::::::::::

We had two games scheduled that week.

The second one, scheduled for Saturday afternoon, I had pretty much crossed
off.  We would be against the team that had beaten us so badly the time
their star pitcher had tried for a shutout.  However I had great hopes for
the Tuesday night game.  That opponent would be the only other team in the
league with players like ours - rejects the better coaches had not wanted.
My heart was set on a victory; and we would play them twice, once on
Tuesday, and again on the last day of the season, so we had two chances to
beat them.  I wanted my boys to be able to say at school that they had
gotten at least one win.

On Monday I gave my kids a fast-moving, upbeat practice with exciting base
running drills and a quick round of batting to finish.  They all did well,
especially Andy who was now injury free.  The exercise program was starting
to make a difference and he ripped out a few nice line drives during the
final batting drill.

He stayed late to do extra work with the heavy bat and once the other boys
were gone I asked, "How 'bout those new clothes?  Did you wear any to
school today?"

Andy's return look of love and gratitude was all the reward I could ever
have wanted.  He got his book bag, opened it, and showed me the clothes
folded neatly inside.  "I wore some today, Coach.  They look really nice."

I could smell Gap cologne coming from the bag and knew he had used it.  He
stepped up close to me, took off his team cap, and touched his hair.  "See,
Coach?"

He had put on the styling mousse.  I brushed my hand over his head,
assuring him, "You look wonderful, Champ."

Andy beamed proudly.

We worked for nearly an hour with the heavy bat and then put all the
equipment into the truck along with Andy's mountain bike.

"How are the exercises?"  I asked.  "Any problems?"

He shook his head.  "I did 'em three times yesterday.  And twice already
today."  Andy's eyes were shining as he said this, because he knew I would
be pleased.  "I'm extra good on the hand stand presses," he added happily.
"I can do a lot.  Some other kids were tryin' to do 'em with me in gym.
They couldn't do any!"

This last he told me with great satisfaction and I patted his shoulder.
"That's 'cause you're the best.  You're a champion and they're not.  That's
why you got a high school coach recruiting you and they don't."  I patted
him again and gave him a hug.  "I'm so proud of you, son.  And I love you
so much!"

Andy looked up, eyes wide, shining with affection.  "I know, Coach."

As soon as we were in the truck he stripped and I caressed him as we drove
slowly back to his house.  That night, as always, he called me to check his
homework and to talk.

"I sure hope we win tomorrow night, Coach."

"We gotta give it our best shot, Champ.  You got to help me get the kids up
for it."

"I will," he promised.

The next morning I was nervous at work, thinking about the game.  And I was
still jumpy when I left in the afternoon to go to the field.  I parked in
back of the snack trailer to shield my truck from foul balls and lugged the
two big equipment bags to the first base dugout, which was the visitors'
side at our diamond.

As usual, the first boys to arrive were Andy and his schoolmate Benjy.
They greeted me with excitment, helped unpack the equipment and I gave them
a ball so they could warm up.  Gradually players and parents from the two
teams arrived.  I unlocked the snack trailer for the mothers who had duty
for the game and helped them get set up.

The coach for the other team arrived, Peter Klein; a nice young fellow who
was a Phys Ed teacher at one of the local schools.  I called him 'Pete' and
his players called him 'Coach K' after the famous basketball coach.  We
both shared a lot of the same ideas about baseball and kids.

"Nice evening for it," he said with a smile as we greeted each other.

I looked up at the sky.  It had been a warm day and now the sky was clear
except for a couple of small fleecy clouds.  "Perfect," I said.  "I bet
this is a fun game!"

"Yeah," the young coach agreed, chuckling.  "What a nice change that's
gonna be!"

We both knew what he was referring to.  His team had suffered a few of the
same humiliations we had.  I helped him take his equipment bags to the
third-base dugout and then went to switch on the field lights.  The lights
were not needed to start the game, but it would be dark by the time we
reached the last innings.

Trotting back to my dugout I saw the umpire drive up.  Signaling for Doug,
my catcher, to join me I went out on the field to start formal team
warm-up.

The game that evening was as good as Pete and I had hoped it would be.  Our
teams were evenly matched, and right from the first pitch it was exciting.
I could see the difference it made in my players.  There was no need to
encourage them to cheer.  They were up making noise all the time!  And when
it was their turn to bat, there was none of that fearful hesitant look they
so often showed hitting against other teams.  Instead every boy looked
determined and confident - the way Andy did all the time.

I used Andy as a pitcher for the first inning; not as effectively as usual
because Pete's pitchers were similar to ours and his players were
accustomed to slow speeds.  But Andy still had accuracy and that nasty
changeup, which he used to advantage.  The other side got a few hits off
him, but no one scored.  I met him with a big grin as he came to the dugout
after the third out.

"Okay, Champ.  Now you can relax in left field for the rest of the game.
You got 'em all set up.  We'll put Chris in next inning and he can dazzle
'em with his speed."

Andy gave me his little smile.  We both knew that even Chris, our best
14-year-old pitcher, did not have much of a fastball.

"Come on, Champ," I said, "You're leading off this inning.  Get a hit for
me!"

With a determined nod, Andy ran to get a helmet and his Louisville Slugger.

He did get a hit, too.  And we scored that inning -- but so did the other
team when they got to bat.  That game was close and the lead kept changing
back and forth.  Andy got more hits later, so did RayBan, and both he and
Andy made some good plays in the outfield.  All my boys were playing well.
It was exactly the kind of experience I wished every one of our games could
be.  But I was tired of telling my kids how well they had played even
though they had lost.  I wanted a win for them, and for a while I thought
my boys might get it.

Then in the bottom of the next to last inning one of the 14-year-olds on
the other team hit a home run with two men on base.  Kirk, my young
pitcher, who had taken over from Chris, got us through the rest of the
inning without giving up anything else, but the three run blast put the
other squad up by a run, and our last at bat was coming up.

"That's okay, it's okay!"  I told the boys as they came into the dugout.
"Let's get it back now!  Let's get some hits!"

Hitting was still our team's biggest challenge.  Even against the slower
pitching we were seeing in this game some of my boys still struggled, but
they all wanted to win and were trying their best.  Our first two batters
took good swings and simply had bad luck.  Jimmy grounded out to second
base and Taylor hit a short fly to center field, a long way for him, but it
was caught for the second out.

It was heartbreaking because I knew how hard they had worked to improve,
and yet neither got any success.  I made sure to encourage each boy when he
trotted back to the dugout.  "That's okay.  You made good contact.  Your
swing looks great!  Next time you'll get a hit.  Just keep trying."

Our third batter was Lester, the athletic looking 14-year-old who had so
much trouble making contact with the ball.  Ever since the game where I had
gotten him to hit a hard grounder for Andy his confidence had increased,
but he still was having a lot of difficulty.  Now I could see that he was
terrified of making the final out so I called time and went over to him,
putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Nervous?"

"Yeah, Coach.  Kinda..."  The boy's face was tense and pale.

"Sure."  I smiled at him.  "Hey, it's a pressure situation.  It's okay to
be nervous.  Try not to tighten up, though.  All right?"

He nodded and I got down on one knee next to him.  "Here's what you do.
Remember that nice hit you got when you batted in front of Andy in that
other game?  Let's see if you can do it again.  Andy's up next and we'll
see if he can't bring you around, okay?"  I gave Lester's firm butt a pat.
"See the pitcher?  He's watching me talk to you.  I bet he thinks we're
planning something really nasty.  Bet the poor kid's nervous as hell."

Lester was staring at me, still looking tense.  I straightened up and gave
his sturdy shoulders a hug.  "Just do your best for me, Les.  Go up there
an' take a shot.  Don't you worry about makin' an out.  I won't stop liking
you."  Leaning close I whispered, "In case I haven't told you, I think
you're terrific.  I love coaching you.  Take a good swing for me.  Whatever
happens, happens.  Let's have some fun!"

The boy smiled and we touched fists.  Then he stepped to the plate while I
trotted back to my coaching box at third base.  As I passed Andy in the on
deck circle I winked at him and my wonderful leftfielder gave me his little
smile.

Although I had concealed it while talking to him, watching Lester hit in
this situation had my heart pounding just as hard as his probably was.  I
wanted to win and was by no means sure that my hapless 14-year-old could
get the ball out of the infield.  I had cured him of his two worst habits,
stepping in the bucket and swinging at balls over his head.  But it still
was a struggle for him to make contact and I could see he was tense despite
my encouragement.

Fortunately the pitcher was nervous too, and like our guys, he lacked both
velocity and a curve ball.  Mostly he concentrated on just getting his
throws over the plate, so Lester got some chances to make contact.  He
whiffed at the first two strikes and then backed out of the box to turn and
look up the baseline at me in dismay.

I nodded and smiled encouragement, clapping my hands.  "It's okay!  You're
lookin' good!  Next one's yours!  Give it a ride now!"

Some of the fear left his face.  Taking a deep breath, Lester squared his
shoulders and stepped back in.  The next pitch was wide.  He thought about
swinging at it.  I cringed when his shoulders twitched, but then he held
back.

"Good eye!"  I called.  "Make it be there!"

He swung at the next one.  The ball was just a little low but Lester got
his bat on it and the ball shot off to the left of the mound.  The pitcher
made a stab, missed, and the spinning ball skittered through the middle of
the infield.  By the time the shortstop chased it down my long legged
14-year-old, who could run like a gazelle, was on first.  There was a lot
of cheering from both our dugout and the parents in the stands.  Lester
stood on the bag, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, grinning
happily at me.  I grinned back and gave the happy boy a thumbs up.

Now Andy came to bat and I flashed the 'hit away' sign to him.  He stepped
into the box confidently, batting right-handed, his strong side.

With all the extra practice, plus his exercises, I was confident Andy would
do something, and I was not disappointed.  On the very first pitch he
unleashed a powerful swing-

WANG!

The ball rocketed off the sweet spot of his Louisville Slugger -- a
beautiful line drive straight to the left centerfield fence!

"Yeah!"  I shouted.  There was a cheer from the stands and our dugout.

"Go!"  I yelled.  Lester was sprinting for second base and I swung my right
arm in big circles, shouting, "Keep going!" as he rounded the bag.

There was a mad scramble for the ball in the outfield.  Lester neared third
and I saw one of the other team's players juggle the ball, looking for his
cut off man.  I could have held Lester at third, but he was fast and we
desperately needed the run!  I gambled.

"HOME!"  I yelled and pointed to the plate.

Lester obeyed without hesitation.  He was running the bases exactly as I
had taught him, watching only me and paying no attention to the ball.  Now,
at my signal, he rounded third at full speed and sprinted for the plate.
Everyone watching was standing up, cheering wildly.

The ball came in.  I had hoped the throw would be off line, but it was not.
It was going to be close!  Lester slid clumsily as the catcher stumbled
trying to apply a tag.  There was a confusion of bodies...

Then the umpire's deep voice...

"Yer' out!"

There was an awful moment of silence and then the other team's players
began to scream and yell, throwing their gloves up in the air, celebrating.
They had won.  It was their first win of the season and they were wild with
the thrill of it.

I watched sadly, telling myself, 'It should be my kids celebrating.'  But
even as the words formed I knew what an ungenerous thought that was.

Andy stood beside me looking discouraged.  He had made it to third on the
play and I put my arm around his shoulders, hugging him.

"Nice hit, Champ."

He nodded, hugging back... Then I remembered Lester.

"Oh geez!"  I tugged at Andy.  "Come on!"

We trotted down the third-base line to home plate where Lester was
untangling himself from the catcher, trying to get up.  14-year-old boys
would rather die than show tears, but this one was very close to doing it.
I helped him to his feet, dusted him off, and before he could say anything
told him, "It's my fault.  I shouldn't have sent you home.  You did a
beautiful job.  You did everything I asked.  I shouldn't have sent you.  I
messed up!  It's not your fault!"

With a hand on Lester's shoulder I stared directly into his unhappy face.
"You were terrific.  You did your very best, just like you always do!  I'm
really proud of you."

The boy smiled sadly.  "Thanks, Coach."

Andy was next to us, listening, and now he patted the older boy's hip.

"You did good."

Lester looked at him gratefully.

I got my boys lined up for the team handshake.  They went out to
congratulate the other players and since most of them knew each other from
school there was a lot of good-natured kidding.  Despite the banter I could
tell my guys were really down.  The other team had a win now, leaving us as
the only team in the league without one.  Their faces were glum when I
gathered them in the dugout afterward.

"I lost that game for you," I told them.  "It wasn't your fault.  I tried
gambling when I didn't have to and I lost the game."

I nodded at Chris, who had been due to bat after Andy.  "I took the bat out
of your hands when I did that.  I apologize.  I blew your chance to drive
in the run.  I was wrong.  I'll try to do better next time."

Staring around at all their young faces I tried to think of something to
say that might atone for my blunder.  "Look, I know you guys are
discouraged.  You've worked really hard, and you've all improved a lot.
But you still don't have a win.  I wish it was different.  All I can tell
you is this.  I think every single one of you is just the greatest.  I'd
rather coach you guys than any other team out here.  I'll never give up on
you, because I like you all so much.  Please don't give up on me.  Please
don't.  I'll try my very best for you always.  I'll see you all tomorrow
for practice.  We have a tough game coming up on Saturday and I promise
I'll have you ready for it."

I went around, touching hands and patting shoulders as the boys left the
dugout.  Andy and Lester stayed to help me with the equipment.  We got the
bags packed up and then I gave the boys some money.

"Go get some hotdogs, guys.  I gotta check a few things and lock up.  Andy,
bring your bike over to the truck.  I'll meet you there."

The boys ran off and I stood in the empty dugout, looking out at the field,
re-living the decision I had made to send Lester home.  More than anything
I wished I could take it back.  But it was done.  I shook my head, picked
up the equipment bags and lugged them to the truck.  Passing the snack
trailer I saw Andy, Lester, and a few of the other boys talking together.
They seemed to be in good spirits.

Maybe things will be all right, I told myself.

After loading the bags into the truck I went around checking the dugouts
for trash and stray equipment.  Then I doused the field lights,
transforming the diamond into that eerie collection of shadows it always
became in the dark.  With the humming of the transformers stopped, I could
hear the noise of planes taxiing at the distant airport.

I helped the team mothers close up the snack trailer, got that locked up,
and then went over to my truck.  Andy had his bike there and to my surprise
Lester was waiting with him.  The boys' uniforms showed as pale forms in
the glow of lights from the road out beyond the parking lot.

I swung the bike into the truck bed and then told them, "You guys did great
tonight."  Putting arms around their shoulders I gave both a hug.  "I wish
I hadn't blown it for you."

"It's okay, Coach," Lester said.  He slipped his arm around my waist and
hugged back.

"Are you all set for getting home?"

"I got a ride."  Letting go of me he exchanged a fist bump with Andy.  "See
you tomorrow."  Then he strode off into the dark toward a car that was
waiting.  I saw he was riding with Zach whose mother had been working the
snack bar.

Andy and I got in my truck and Andy slid over immediately to lean against
me.

"That kid's nice."

"Yeah, he is," I agreed.  "We're lucky to have so many nice kids on our
team."  I hugged the boy and then said fiercely, "Damn, I hate losing!"

Andy pressed against me.  "I know, Coach."

"Let's go to Subway and get you something to eat."

After I had bought Andy a big turkey sub and watched him wash it down with
milk we got back in the truck and started for his house.  The boy slid his
uniform pants and jock down to his knees, pulled up his shirt and leaned
back against me contentedly.  I stroked his tummy and then began to rub his
hard jutting boner while he sighed and pushed his warm hand into my groin.

"How would you like to see a JV game on Friday?"  I asked.

Andy turned, looking up eagerly.  "For real?"

"Yeah.  I'm not planning any practice on Friday.  Why don't you and I go
see your friends play?"

"Sure!"

"Just come to the practice field like you always do," I told him.  "I'll
meet you there and we'll go."

"Yeah!" Andy said.  I could tell he was happy.  When I stroked his rigid
shaft firmly he made a soft sound and pulled his legs up.  A little later I
felt him shudder.  His rigid boy stick throbbed rapidly and drops of
slippery warmth ran over my stroking fingers.

When we reached his trailer I took my time taking the bike out of the truck
so he could straighten his clothes.  There were lights on inside and his
mother's old sedan was parked by the front.

"Guess she's not working late tonight," I said regretfully.  "Maybe we can
do something Friday."

Andy gave me his little smile and a quick hug before pushing the bike to
the storage shed.  I waited to be sure he got inside the trailer safely and
then drove home.

The following afternoon, Wednesday, I waited nervously at the practice
field, positive that some of the boys would quit on me and not come.  I
wouldn't have blamed them, so I was relieved and very grateful when every
single one showed up.  I greeted them all warmly and we did a hard
practice, similar to ones I had given them in the preseason, going back to
drills on fundamentals.  I wanted them to see how much they had all
improved and it went so well I gave them a similar set of drills the next
day, pushing them hard.

To emphasize the kind of intensity I wanted I made both practices 'shirts
off', telling them, "You'll be sweating so much out here, you won't need
any shirts on."

The boys all liked this.  For two afternoons I was surrounded by a dozen or
so happy sweaty, half naked boys all trying to see who could outdo each
other on the drills.  Andy particularly enjoyed himself.  He was now the
acknowledged star of the team and he pushed himself hard to be the best in
all the things we did.  I could tell he loved the attention he got from the
other boys, plus he was constantly looking to be sure I noticed all the
good plays he was making.  I took care to let him see that I did.

In addition to Benjy, Andy had developed a friendship with Lester and the
three of them stuck together.  Even though Lester was not much of an
athlete he looked the part, well built with smooth defined muscles, and
when he, Andy and my slender young substitute first baseman were standing
together, afternoon sun gleaming on their sweaty skin, they were quite a
sight.

At the end of practice on Thursday the boys gathered around me, tired but
happy, their tanned bodies glistening.  "You guys look great out there," I
told them, meaning every word of it.  "Now, let's talk about this game on
Saturday..."

There were a few groans.  "It's gonna be another slaughter," 14-year-old
Ronny said hopelessly.

I nodded, grinned, and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

"Yeah, we gotta be realistic.  They got a ton a' talent.  But you know
what?  The hell with that!  Let them worry about winning, and the score.
Let's set our own goals!"  Getting down on one knee I looked around at all
my players, enjoying the sight of them, inhaling the wonderful scent of
sweaty boy.  "We'll do this -- Everybody makes contact!  I'll keep track of
hits, and foul balls!  Best hit, and most foul balls gets a Dairy Queen
coupon!"

"Yeah! ... All right!"  There were smiles and nods at this.  RayBan
exchanged a high five with Andy.

I grinned and continued, "We'll do a prize for best defensive play, too!
We'll make our own fun!  And here's something else...  If you don't wanna
do it, just say so.  But I'd like you all to come here, in your team
uniforms, on Saturday morning at 10 o'clock.  We can do a warm up, and a
special batting practice.  And then if you'll all bring something to eat we
can have a picnic.  Afterwards we'll go over to the field for the game.
How 'bout it?  I'll supply the cold drinks."

The boys all liked the idea, so we agreed to do it and they left that
afternoon as happy as I had ever seen them.

Andy stayed to do his drills with the heavy bat, just as he had the day
before.  He looked particularly good that evening.  The little muscles in
his chest and shoulders were definitely stronger, and with his shirt off I
could see how solid he was getting in the flanks and sides.  The little
planes of muscle in his tummy stood out each time he took a swing.  For the
first time he actually put zip on the ball when he swung lefty.

"That is really good," I told him approvingly as we finished.

"I can feel a difference, Coach."  He looked at me with such love and
affection that my heart swelled and I had to brush my eyes.

"How are those exercises going?"

"Three times yesterday and three so far today!"

Andy was beaming with pride.  I reached out to put my arm around him,
stroking his naked back and side.  "You're the best, Champ," I said gently.

"I wanna do good against those guys on Saturday!"

"You will, Champ.  I know you will.  And don't worry about bringing any
food for the picnic.  I'll take care of you."

We picked up all the wiffle balls, put everything away in the truck, and
Andy scrambled into the cab.  He was already stripped by the time I got in
on the other side.  He slid over next to me.

"Andy, we're gonna' be at Subway in just a few minutes," I protested.

"I don't care."

The boy was enormously aroused. I put my arm around him and began to rub
his thick little boner.  The shaft quivered as I moved my fingers up and
down its rigid slickness.

"I wish we could go to your house," Andy whispered.

I finally got the boy home that evening, but he called me twice later to
check homework and talk.

"Meet me tomorrow at the field," I told him.  "Wear one of those
nice-looking satin soccer shorts I got you."

The following afternoon, arriving at the practice field, I found the vast
tract of land baking in the hot spring sunshine.  Except for a lone golfer
far away on the other side hitting drives, the huge area was deserted.  The
only sounds after I turned off the truck engine were the clicks of cicadas.
I walked down to the old rickety backstop and stood, looking at the empty
dirt infield.

My baseball season was coming to an end.  After tomorrow there would be
less than two weeks to the playoffs -- which our team would not be in.  The
days had gone by so fast!  I thought of other seasons, ones where I had
been a player and others as a coach in the big city rec leagues.  I had
been talked into coaching again by my friend, and now I knew I wanted more.
How many seasons would I have in the future?  I wanted them to go on
forever, but I knew they would not.

Looking at the diamond with its old backstop, I wondered if anyone used it
during the summer.  It was a perfect place for sandlot games.  I peered
around.  There were almost no houses here, but the field was not that far
from a residential neighborhood.  There must be kids who came to play ball
here once the season ended, I thought.  Did any of them dream of greatness?
Would any want some coaching?  Maybe.  Perhaps somewhere here this summer I
might find the boy who would be my next great ballplayer.  I made a note to
myself to come by once in a while and see.

Turning to look across the vast tract I saw a tiny figure on a red bicycle
leave the airport road and head toward me.  Andy, the ballplayer I had now.

How lucky I had been!  And what fools those other coaches were, not to have
seen how good he was!  A man might coach all his life and never have a boy
with half the ability or heart.  Eyes blurring with tears, I stood on that
deserted infield, watching my wonderful boy ride toward me in the bright
sunlight.  My kid from left field!  Every detail of that moment is still
with me, even now.  I will never lose it.  It is so fresh in my memory it
seems as if it happened just yesterday, instead of all those years ago.

I had myself under control by the time Andy reached me and greeted him with
a smile.  "Hi Champ!  Hey, you look great!"

Andy had on one of the sets of colorful shorts and baggy shirts I had
bought for him, along with his team cap and matching Nikes.  The boy was
positively glowing with happiness.

"I'm all set, Coach!"

"I'll say!"

We put his bike in the back of the truck, got in, and Andy started to slide
his shorts off.

I stopped him.  "There's gonna be a lot of traffic on the way across town.
And it's daylight.  Let's do it like this."

Pushing my hand beneath both shorts and his jock, I slid my fingers around
Andy's thick young hardness and rubbed.  Looking up with that little smile
of his, he leaned against me, covered my hand with a fold of his shirt and
relaxed against my side.

On the drive across town I kept rubbing and stroking while he told me all
about a project he was doing in class, getting so into it that when we
reached the High School and I withdrew my hand, he straightened up in
surprise.

"Coach!  Look at all the cars!"

The parking lot was full.  "Guess there's a few people here to see the
game," I told him.

There were.  The stands were crowded.  I took Andy over to the dugout to
say hello to Coach Ben and was pleased at what a nice reception he got.
Not only by the coach, but the whole team.  Andy's friend Cap, the JV
Captain, came running over as soon as he saw him.

"Andy!  Cool!  You came to our game!  Coach, can Andy sit in the dugout?"

Coach Ben winked at me and then ruffled Andy's hair.  "Sure.  He can be
batboy if he wants.  That's OK, isn't it?"  This last was addressed to me.

"No problem," I said.  "Andy, you have fun.  I'll meet you after the game."

My boy grinned happily and went off with Cap.  The next thing I knew he was
out on the infield helping the JV Captain and 2Bad warm-up.  I smiled to
myself and found a seat in the bleachers.

Andy had a marvelous time at that game.  He sat in the dugout, cheering
with the other boys and from time to time would scurry out to pick up
discarded bats from the on deck circle.  When his friend Cap homered in the
third inning I heard Andy's shrill voice yelling louder than anyone else.

As I watched from up in the stands, I hatched a plan which I hoped could be
pulled off.

The JV boys won their game after a very exciting final inning and I went
down to meet with them afterwards.  I found Andy with his friends by the
side of the bleachers, standing next to Cap who had an arm around his
shoulders.  Andy looked very happy.  All the boys were talking excitedly
and exchanging palm slaps.

My congratulations were received with enthusiasm and I discovered that the
expedition to Rock City had made both Andy and myself quite popular.  After
some talk about the game I took Cap and 2Bad aside.

"Listen," I told them quietly, "I don't know what you guys are doin'
tomorrow, but I could use a favor."

"Sure," Cap told me.  "Anything, Coach."

I explained about the early team get-together that I was planning, the
picnic and the game afterwards.  "I could really use some assistance.  And
I know Andy would love it if you guys came.  How 'bout it?  I'll supply you
with any lunch you want."

Both boys grinned and after getting a nod from 2Bad, Cap told me, "You bet
we'll come.  How do we work it?"

"Be in front of your house tomorrow morning at nine.  I'll pick you up.  I
remember where it is.  But don't tell Andy!  I want it to be a surprise."

"Okay, Coach," they promised.

We went back to the group by the bleachers and I told Andy, "Come on,
Champ.  Tear yourself away.  We gotta get movin'."

The boy waved goodbye to the JV players and we headed for my truck.  All
the way across the parking lot Andy chattered happily about the game.

"That home run Cap had was sure nice," I said.

"Oh yeah, Coach.  He's just awesome!"

Once in the truck Andy immediately slid over next to me.  "Coach, can we
come to another one of these?"

"I don't see why not.  I'll check the schedule."

As we drove out of the parking lot, Andy glanced around and then pushed
down his shorts.  He relaxed against me, and when I began to rub him he
said dreamily, "I told my mom we were having a practice game, Coach.  She
don't expect me back till late."

I squeezed him playfully and he gave a delighted squeak of laughter.

"Good," I said.  "Let's go to my house."

Andy nodded eagerly.  He pulled up his shirt, stretched and then turned
slightly so he could slide his hand into my groin.  "I had fun today,
Coach."

"I know, Champ."

I hugged him and stroked his smooth shoulders.  Then I put my hand back on
his thick little shaft and rubbed firmly.  The boy closed his eyes and made
a tiny sound.  Then he tightened his butt and pulled up his legs.

"Don't stop," he whispered.

Later that evening, after I had entered him and pleasured him in all his
favorite ways, I held the boy's trembling body in my arms while he nestled
close, looking up at me in the dim light, eyes wide and adoring.

"I love it that you're my coach.  I don't ever want to be on anybody else's
team."

"You're my wonderful ballplayer," I whispered.  "I'm the luckiest coach in
the world."

When I took him back home that night, Andy stretched naked on the seat
beside me in a dreamy state of happiness and pleasure.  I rubbed and
caressed him as I drove slowly across town, deliberately not going too fast
so we could have more time together.

"Don't ever stop, Coach," Andy pleaded softly.

"Never, Champ," I whispered back.

[ To Be Continued In Parts H through J ]

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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