Date: Wed, 27 Jul 2011 06:35:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: Baseball Diamond Tails - 2A

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 - 2A
(copyright 2011, Joe Hunter)

Baseball - the Great American Game, the national pastime...  As much myth
and legend as it is sport...  All over the country, every summer afternoon,
the kids come on their bikes, or get dropped off by a parent, for team
practice - and there they receive traditions handed down from coach to
player; the traditions and experiences that are the heart of baseball.

Not all the drama and great plays are in the major leagues.  Some OF the
most exciting are done on ragged diamonds by young boys with only a handful
of spectators to witness.  Those exploits go unrecorded, yet I want to
believe that the diamonds themselves remember.  The small fields and
sandlots...  What stories they could tell if only we knew how to listen!
They might speak of a little second baseman's courage, taking a hot
grounder to the face and still making the play; or perhaps they would
describe the fear a young boy must overcome to stand in against fast
pitching when the game is on the line...  The eternal challenge of
performance and competition...

I coach on the new field now; shiny aluminum stands, lights for night
games, spacious dugouts, grass kept green by a modern sprinkler system -
all the little extras.  I'm not complaining.  But on occasion, in the long
summer twilight when fireflies are dancing, I wander down to the old
baseball diamond and sit on a crumbling wooden bleacher staring out at the
pitcher's mound and the overgrown infield...  Listening for the memories...
Waiting for the voices I once knew so well to come to me again out of the
darkness...


::::::::::::::::::
 Catcher:  Part A
::::::::::::::::::

"I guess I'm your catcher, coach," Todd said happily.  He snagged a ball
thrown from the infield and tossed it underhand to me at the plate.

"I guess you are, kid.  You've got the strong legs for it."

I smiled at the blonde athletic looking boy and gave him a nod to show my
confidence in him, but mentally I was crossing my fingers.  I hoped that he
wouldn't get killed back there behind the plate.

Todd was a sturdy, well-built kid, but he was not big.  He was what we
coaches called a 'young thirteen'; that is, he was really still twelve and
would not turn thirteen until nearly halfway through the season.  The
league president had assigned me a team in the Colt division of the Pony
League that year; boys in the midst of their growth spurts, a stage in
development where there is considerable physical disparity.  Some of our
fourteen year olds were almost men.  The vision of one of those monsters
hurtling down the third-base path at Todd made me wince.  They would
flatten him like a freight train going through a school bus.

But I had little choice.  Already, on this first day of practice, it was
clear I had talent problems at almost every position. I had no natural
catchers and no one except Todd who really wanted the job.  Todd said he
liked it, he had the sturdy upper leg and butt strength needed to get
repeatedly in and out of the crouch and, despite his athletic build, I did
not see him as a good fielder.  I had noticed that he was a little afraid
of the ball.  Behind the plate in protective gear, where all he had to do
was stop the pitches and make an occasional throw to second, he might be
all right.

After practice that same evening I discovered Todd had no doubts that my
choice was the right one.  I was putting the equipment bags away in my
truck when I overheard him announce to his friend Pauli, "I'm the starting
catcher.  Coach says I'm the only one strong enough."

I first saw Todd at tryouts, and he was not a kid anyone could easily
overlook.  Although slightly below average in height, the classic symmetry
of his slender yet sturdy athletic build caught the eye.  Many of the other
boys had that gawky, coltish look of early adolescence - long legs, big
feet and immature upper bodies.  Todd had a more finished look.  His
shoulders had some breadth.  He was more muscled.  In that field of awkward
thirteen year olds he looked like Man o' War in a herd of mules.

Up close he was even more striking.  His dark blonde hair was bleached by
the sun to the color of bright gold.  He had large, friendly blue eyes, an
upturned nose and a dazzling smile in a lean tanned face.  As a model for
the All= American boy-next-door he would have been perfect.

He had on last year's baseball shirt and cap along with tight gray baseball
pants, which he later wore to all our practices.  The tight pants
emphasized his slender waist, and the swell of firm, well-developed muscle
in his rounded butt and thighs.

Compared with his dazzling appearance, his throwing, fielding and hitting
were not all that hot, but I put him down as a solid alternate, figuring
that with such a good build, something could be done with him.  Also, he
seemed a friendly, enthusiastic boy who would be fun to coach.  And so,
when all the managers got together at the local Pizza Hut for the draft, I
picked Todd in one of the later rounds.

My evaluation turned out right on all counts but one.  I had hoped for an
athlete who might develop into something exceptional.  But, on the first
day of practice, I soon discovered that the only exceptional quality about
Todd was his good looks.  Other than that, he was average in every way.
Was I disappointed?  Perhaps a bit, but then I reminded myself that average
is what we make of it.  Todd obviously loved playing baseball and was
willing to try hard and do his best.  It was more than enough for me.

I am going to tell you now some things I did not learn until later.  Todd
had started playing sports at age seven.  Because he was a bit stronger and
sturdier than most other little boys he had initially done well; that is,
he was an 'early bloomer'.  But Todd's well-developed, athletic body was a
kind of trap.  I have said that his perfect proportions had a 'finished'
look, and that was exactly what they were.  He was not going to be very
tall.  Although still immature in other ways, the growth of his body was
past its peak and now most other boys his age were passing him, pulling
away like racecars from the family station wagon.  He saw this, and I know
it dismayed him a bit, but he liked playing ball and he had a cheerful
heart so he kept plugging away.

There was another thing, too.

Todd was the only child of an affluent, professional couple.  People like
that have expectations, conscious or unconscious.  Early on, Todd's happy
enthusiasm had led his parents, teachers and everyone else to believe that
he was going to be a 'bright' child.  Todd wasn't.  As the years went by it
became increasingly obvious that, while Todd was 'bright' as in cheerful
and enthusiastic, he was not and never would be 'bright' as in
intellectually gifted.  He was only average.  In elementary school this did
not matter much, but now Todd was entering grades where intellectual
differences were becoming important.  And here, too, other kids were going
past him.

For parents like Todd's, all this was a dreadful disappointment.  In life's
lottery their only ticket was - not exactly a loser, but not a winner
either.  And, naturally, since they knew it was wrong to think that way,
they felt guilty about it.

I know Todd sensed this.  Any kid would.  And it hurt him.

Todd's father made an appearance on the second day of practice and I saw
immediately where Todd had gotten his build.  The dad was a compact, stocky
man of less than average height.  To me he was polite but not overly
friendly, and he asked if what Todd had told him was correct.  "You're
going to play him at catcher?"

I acknowledged that I was.

"He doesn't seem a big enough to play that position."

"Well, he's not going to be the biggest catcher in the league," I said,
nodding to show I understood his point.  "But he's enthusiastic and he's
strong enough to move around in the crouch.  We're going to work with him."

"I guess so," his father said without too much interest.  "Just so he has
fun."  He looked around the field.  "I take it you have enough volunteers
to help you."

"Yeah.  We're all set."  I had three fathers volunteering that year.

"I used to help coach when Todd was younger," his dad went on, "But, now -
well, I just don't have time for it."

It was at that moment I knew, even before I learned all the other things,
that there were some difficulties in Todd's life.  I made sure from then on
that he got extra attention and praise.

In a way Todd made it easy for me to spend extra time with him because he
came to every practice early, just as I did.  He and his friend Pauli, a
runty kid even shorter than Todd, came to the field on their bikes directly
from school.  They were always there ahead of me when I arrived a half-hour
early to set up.  Pauli was on a team that practiced on the field next to
ours.  He would go over there after I came, and then Todd and I would talk.

He seemed comfortable with me right from the beginning and we quickly
developed a close friendship.  One of the first things he told me was how
glad he was I had drafted him.  "I was happy when it was you who called,
'cause all the guys say you're the best."

"Really?" I was flattered.  Maybe my coaching skills were finally being
recognized.

"Yup.  They say all the other coaches are screamers and you're not."

"Oh," I said, a little deflated.  "Well I'm sure glad I did draft you,
Todd."

"Yup." The boy smiled happily.  "Without me we wouldn't have a catcher!"

Over the next few days I learned quite a bit about Todd.  He told me about
his school, his teachers, how he liked to build models and watch TV
wrestling.  He loved video games, including one that he boasted proudly, "I
play better than anybody."

I knew the game and passed on a few tricks he had not discovered yet.
"Cool!"  He said, giving me a delighted look.  "I'm gonna' try that
tonight.  Thanks coach."

"There's a few other things," I told him with a grin, "But I'm not gonna'
tell you those.  You'll have fun finding them yourself."

He was immensely proud of his bike.  "It's a Mongoose," he told me.
"That's the best trick bike to have."  I had some knowledge of trick bikes
and mountain bikes, so we had some fun discussing the various types.

Todd was anxious that there be no doubt in anyone's mind about who the
starting catcher was.  He helped me set up the field every day, and the
moment we were done he would buckle on the shin guards so no one else could
use them.  During infield drill he would stand proudly beside me with the
guards on, shagging balls and taking throws to the plate.  I often rotated
the other boys through different positions, but not Todd.  He obviously was
happy where he was.

He always worked hard in practice.  He listened attentively, did not play
around more than any other boy, and he tried to please.  At various times
the volunteer assistants all worked with him, but mine was the praise and
approval he wanted.  "Is that what coach wants me to do?"  He was always
asking the assistants.

If he made a good play or got a nice hit - and he would from time to time -
he was always looking to see if I had noticed.  Criticism devastated him.
I was very careful never to be heavy-handed.  A slight frown or little
shake of the head was more than enough.

He never left at the end of practice, but always remained to help pick up
the equipment.  After we put the heavy bags in my truck I would think of
something from practice to complement him on, and this always got me one of
his happy, dazzling smiles.  Then he and Pauli would ride off on their
bikes.

Todd and Pauli were not exactly close friends but they were always
together.  I suspected it was no accident that Todd chose to spend time
with a boy who was shorter than he was, and probably not as good in school
either.  In my conversations with Todd I heard a lot about Pauli and his
older brothers - and about the clubhouse, an abandoned car shed near
Pauli's house that was a meeting place for the older boys and where Todd
and Pauli were allowed to hang out as well.

"We keep all our stuff there," Todd confided to me.

"What stuff's that?"  I asked, trying to keep my voice casual because I was
afraid he was talking about drugs.

"Magazines and stuff," Todd said.  "Movie magazines and lots of 'Wrestling
Mania'.  They're my favorites."  He looked around and lowered his voice.
"There's some Playboys there too, and an old Penthouse magazine."

I smiled and nodded.  "Yeah."  Then, after a pause I asked, "What kind of
stuff you do there?"

Todd cocked his head to one side and smiled.  "We mess around and talk.
Sometimes we play cards.  We wrestle almost all the time."  He glanced
around, leaned closer and then went on, lowering his voice, "And we do like
the other stuff."

"Oh, yeah," I said and chuckled softly.  "That stuff.  What kind do you
do?"

Todd took another glance from side to side. "Stuff like grabber, and beat
it."  He paused a moment, looked up at me quickly and then lowered his
eyes.  "Sometimes we like play strip poker."

I nodded.  "Sure," I told him.  "Everyone does that."

We were sitting on the back gate of my truck.  Todd looked down at himself,
idly lifted the edge of his baseball shirt and studied his lean, bare
stomach.  I was surprised to see how much definition he had.  He put a
finger into his belly button and pushed on it.  "Sometimes we play it
different when David's there."

"Play what?"  I asked.

He pulled his shirt back down.  "The strip poker," he said with another
glance at me.  He swung his legs and looked around.

"Who's David?"  I asked.  I was still a bit worried about drugs and I
wanted to be clear on everything.

"He's Pauli's older brother," Todd explained.  "He's fifteen."  He looked
at me again and said in a confidential whisper, "I think he smokes."

Damn!  I thought, knowing that by 'smokes' Todd meant marijuana.  I knew
it!  "That's a bad thing for him to do, Todd," I said, now seriously
concerned.

Todd nodded.  "They're always asking me to try it.  But I don't," he
assured me.

"That's smart, Todd.  The stuff's no good.  It can do you a lot of harm."

He nodded again.  "They all say I'm a little wuss, but I still don't do it.
I like to play sports and that stuff messes you up.  I told them I'm the
starting catcher and if I ever touched that stuff it could wreck me."

"It's not quite that bad," I told him.  "But I'd rather you didn't use it.
Why don't you try this?  Tell them I asked you not to use it and you want
to do what I asked."

"Okay."  This earned me a grateful look. "That'll work.  They all know who
you are."  There was a moment of hesitation while Todd stared at his knees,
and then he went on very quietly, "Actually, I did try it once."  He
glanced up at me.  "But it was just to see what it was like.  I never did
it again."

I smiled and gave his thigh a pat through the tight baseball pants.  "Okay.
I'm glad you told me.  Just stay away from it from now on."

The next day, after we finished picking up the equipment and were sitting
once again on the tailgate of my truck Todd confided more about the
clubhouse and what went on there.

"Pauli smoked a lot last night, coach."

"Who does he get it from?  David?"

Todd shook his head.  "No, his big, big brother."  He gave ne a solemn
look.  "I didn't touch it, coach.  I told them what you said."

"Good, Todd," I said.  "I'm proud of you.  It takes guts to say no."

He smiled, the way he always did when I praised him.  "We played grabber.
Pauli likes to play that when he gets high."

"How do you play?"

He looked around and then said in a lowered voice, "You both hold each
other like this."  He glanced around again and then grabbed his crotch.
"You count three and then you both like grab and rub.  The first one to
move or laugh has to take something off and you keep goin' 'til somebody's
naked."

I smiled.  "Who won?"

"Me," Todd said and laughed.  "Pauli always wins when he doesn't smoke, but
when he's high I can always beat him."

"Was it just you two guys?"  I asked.

He shook his head.  "Nope.  There was a couple of our friends, too."  He
swung his feet on the truck tailgate and then looked around before lowering
his voice to add, "Afterwards we all did like naked wrestling."  He smiled
happily.  "I always win at that."

"Sounds like fun."

He nodded, still kicking his feet.  "Jerry likes to play beat it."

"What's that?"

"You got to be naked to play," he told me in a low voice.  Then he rubbed
his hand on his stomach inside his shirt, and continued, "You like all turn
your backs and you...  You know..."  He touched his crotch and made a jack
off motion with his fist.

"Can you do that?"  I asked him, keeping my voice casual.

He shrugged without looking up.  "Sometimes..."

"Then what do you do?"

"When you think you're like ready," he continued, "You say 'Beat it'.  When
everyone has said it you all turn around.  But you keep your hand over
your..."  He cupped his crotch.

I nodded.

Todd went on, "You go around the circle.  If it's your turn you point to
someone and say, 'Truth or Dare?'  If he says, 'Truth', you have to take
your hand away and show him.  If you... you know... have something, then he
has to lick you."  Todd pointed to his crotch and then held his forefinger
to his mouth and licked the tip.  "If you don't," he continued, "Then you
have to lick him."

"What if he says, 'Dare'?"  I asked.

"Then you have to guess on him," Todd replied.  "After the guess and the
forfeit the one who had to show is out."

"I get it," I said.  "Who taught you that game?"

"David and Jerry.  Pauli and me and our friends are the only ones our age
they'll let in their gang."

"Pretty cool," I said with a smile.  "Bet you don't tell your parents about
any of this."

Todd giggled.  "Heck no.  They'd probably have a heart attack!"  He looked
up at me.  "Don't you say anything, coach.  Please?"

I looked at him very solemnly and said in a pompous bass voice, "Your
secret, my young apprentice, is safe with me."

Todd giggled again and swung his legs happily.

Later that week, I arrived at the field and found Todd waiting for me by
himself.  "Where's Pauli?"  I asked.  "Sick?"

Todd grinned.  "Nope, just mad.  He had a fight with David and got
grounded."

I started pulling the equipment bags out of the truck bed.  "Why was he
mad?"

Todd glanced around first before answering.  "He had to be on the bottom in
USP and David won.  Pauli hates that."

We set the field up and then, while Todd buckled on his shin guards, I
asked, "What's USP?"

The boy's eyes widened.  He looked around and whispered, "Ultimate Strip
Poker."

I lowered my voice.  "Sounds pretty radical.  How do you play?"

Todd leaned toward me.  "It's like regular strip poker until the end," he
confided.  "But then you like keep going."

"Keep going?"

"After you're naked," Todd continued, "If you like lose again you
gatta'..."

Todd pointed to his crotch, and then he took his forefinger and pushed it
back and forth through his lips.

"To everyone?"  I asked.

He shook his head.  "Uh-uh.  Just the one who's winning."

"Then what?"  I asked softly.

"Then," he whispered, leaning even closer, "If you lose again, you gotta'
lie on your stomach an' like the winner gets to be on top."

He looked at me, and then took his forefinger and pushed it back and forth
through the fist of his other hand.

"Wow!"  I whispered.  "That is a wild game!"

Todd grinned and straightened up.  "We only like play it when David and his
friends are there."

"And Pauli hates to lose?"

"Only when David wins."  Todd looked down at his feet, smiling.  "He hates
that."

"Do you get mad when you lose?"

He shrugged.  "Nope.  It's cool."  He glanced up at me for a moment and
then went on, "Some times I try to lose."  There was another glance at
me. "Just to help Pauli if David's winning."

"Guess that didn't work last night, huh?"

Todd shook his head.  "Pauli won't stay mad long.  He likes the game too
much."

We had a two-hour practice that Saturday.  The weather was getting sultry
as we neared the start of the season and I kept an anxious eye on a few
thunderheads that seemed to be threatening.  All my volunteer coaches were
on hand and the practice hummed right along.  I had one of the fathers
working with Todd on his throw to second, so over and over Todd had to come
up out of his crouch and fire to the base.  In that sticky heat the drill
had him pouring with sweat, soaking the shirt and tight baseball pants he
was wearing until they molded to his body, revealing his perfectly sculpted
form.

"Lookin' good Mr. T", I told him when I came over to watch.  "You've got
the strength to play catcher all right.  Nobody does it like you!"

His throws were wide of the base and he was a little awkward coming out of
the crouch.  But it was not the time to tell him that.

Todd wiped sweat from his eyes and beamed at me.  "Watch me do another one,
coach!"

Sunshine streaming down through gaps in the gathering clouds made his wet
form glisten and I marveled again at the perfect build he had.  Because I
knew how much he wanted my attention I stayed to offer additional praise
and approval while he made several more throws.

We managed to get the whole practice in, but the thunder boomers finally
caught us just as Todd was helping me load the equipment bags in the truck.
I felt a few fat drops hit, looked up and saw a curtain of rain advancing
from the direction of the highway.

"Uh-oh!  Here it comes!"  I shouted.  "Todd, get your bike!"

The boy ran to the fence to grab his mongoose.  By the time he wheeled it
to my truck it was pouring in buckets.  I snatched the bike, lifted it into
the pickup bed in one clean sweep and yelled, "Get in!"

I scrambled into the driver's side of the cab while Todd ran around and got
in on the passenger side.  As he closed the door there was a "Crack!
Boom!" of lightning and thunder.  We both looked at each other and laughed.

"Oh, man!"  I exclaimed.  "We are soaked!"

"Your seats are gonna' get all wet, coach," Todd said, grinning at me.  He
seemed to be hugely enjoying himself.

"Never mind about that. They've been wet before.  What about your bike?"

He looked back through the rear window with a little worried frown.  "I
guess it'll be OK if I like dry it off soon."

The rain was coming in sheets with gusts of wind that shook the truck.  I
knew we weren't going anywhere for a while so I started the engine and
switched on the air conditioner to clear the humidity, using a low setting
so we would not get chilled in our wet clothes.

"Wow!  Look at that," I said.  Water sluiced off the windows.  The truck
might have been sitting under a waterfall.

Despite dripping hair and soggy clothes Todd sat on the passenger side
looking content and happy.  "Coach, I really am strong, ain't I?"

He was not the strongest boy on the team, and certainly not the biggest,
but his legs were sturdy and he had worked hard all practice.  There was no
way I was going to discourage him.

"You sure are."

Smiling, Todd stared down at his legs, which were outlined by the wet,
clinging pants.  Extending them up into the foot well, he flexed the muscle
and then took my hand, placing it on top of his thigh.  "Feel this, coach."

Up to that moment I had been cautious.  In our first few practices I had
given Todd the occasional shoulder or butt pat and he had not objected or
drawn away, but neither had he encouraged it the way some boys would.  Now,
alone with me in private, Todd apparently was comfortable with more.  The
rounded muscle of his thigh was rock hard beneath my hand.  Within moments
there was an equally hard bulge in the crotch of my soaked jeans as a
thrill of desire for the boy shot through me.

I tried to stroke my palm over the sodden fabric covering his thigh, but
the baseball pants, normally so tight, were now sagging with moisture and
the wet fabric bunched up under my hand.  Todd made a little annoyed sound.
He dropped his hands to the elastic waist, lifted his hips, and after a
quick look around, gave a little wiggle and twist as he slid the pants
below his knees.  The soaked cloth hugged his skin, but he peeled it all
the way down leaving it bunched around his feet.  Then he leaned back,
extending his naked legs once more into the foot well.

"Look," he said.

I needed no invitation to stare at the half nude boy that had suddenly
appeared beside me.  Todd wore only a jock strap underneath so the perfect,
half mound of his butt was revealed.  His legs had the elegant form of
classic symmetry with only the merest dusting of blond fuzz on the lower
calves.  The rest - butt, inner thighs, the delicate hollows behind the
knees - all were completely hairless.  The boy was beautiful.  There was no
other word for it.  I was momentarily stunned by the visual impact.

He had unusual definition for a boy his age, the curve and swell of each
muscle group was delineated like sculpture.  I put my hand on his thigh and
he flexed it proudly for me.  Then, when I stroked upward, he leaned back
so my fingers could press into his groin where the little pouch of his
supporter was bulging.

Rubbing back over the top of his thigh, I let my palm glide down to his
knee, massaged gently, and then stroked up to the glossy curve of hip and
butt.  Todd squeezed the rounded muscle into a tight, hard mass for me.

"Oh, man," I told him.  "That is really good."

He nodded and leaned toward me, pressing a hand on my thigh while I flexed
so the muscle bulged under the wet denim of my jeans.

"Wow!"  Todd exclaimed.  "That is big!"

"Weight lifting," I told him with a grin.

"You lift?"  Todd looked up in excitement.  "Awesome!  I wanna' do weights
but my parents like won't get me any.  Where are your weights?"

"At the house."

"I wanna' see them!"

"Feel this."  I put his hand between my thighs and then, using a clenched
fist to keep my knees apart, I squeezed my legs together.  The muscles of
my inner thighs bulged.

"Awesome!"  Todd exclaimed.  He stroked up into my groin and I felt his
thumb brush my erection through the thick wet cloth.

"You try it," I said.

He straightened up, put a fist between his own knees and tightened his
legs.  "I can feel it," he said excitedly, stroking a hand along the inside
of his thighs.

He took my hand and put it between his legs.  "Feel," he demanded.

I stroked the sheeny satin of his inner thighs.  Todd had that perfect
natural development of muscle that some acquire only by hours of squats.
As my hand slid upward the edge of my palm ran into a hardness that was
pushing out the pouch of his jock.

"Wow!"

Todd glanced around quickly, but it was still raining and my truck was the
only vehicle in sight.  Leaning back, he put his thumbs under the elastic
of the supporter, pulled it up over his erection and slid the jock down
onto his thighs.  He looked up at me with a grin.

"I'm hard," he said proudly.

Like all the rest of him, Todd's stiff boy stick was exquisitely formed.
It jutted straight up from his smooth hairless groin, the circumcised tip
quivering with his excited heartbeats.  Todd squeezed his butt, swelling
the straining shaft, making it jump even more and then gave me another
proud smile.

I reached over, took the thick little shaft in my fingers and started
rubbing it up and down.  Todd flexed his butt a few more times to swell the
shaft for me and then said contentedly, "That feels good.  It's like always
better when someone else does it."

The rigid boner was straight and smooth under my rubbing fingers.  Todd was
at that stage of development where his nut sac was still tight but the
shaft of his boy rod had begun to thicken and enlarge.  The blunt helmeted
tip was beautifully symmetric, and its tiny piss slit in the exact center.

Todd lay back for a moment, closing his eyes to enjoy the play of my
fingers on his quivering aroused boyhood.  After a minute he stirred,
lifted his hips and pushed his jock down over his knees, all the way to the
pants bunched at his feet.  Then he twisted his body on the seat and
wiggled toward me.  With my help he peeled off the wet shirt, dropped it
over the gearshift and then leaned back against me, closing his eyes again.
I reached around his shoulders to push my hand into his groin and he
twisted slightly so I could get my fingers on him and rub the full length
of his throbbing shaft.  When I squeezed gently he flexed his butt in
response and giggled softly.

As I rubbed up and down I took in the sight of Todd's perfectly defined,
naked body.  His shoulders had slightly more breadth than was usual in a
boy his age; not bulky, but graceful with well-proportioned swells of firm
muscle.  On his smooth firm chest were tiny nipples with hard points.  The
silky sheath of his taut stomach was ridged in a perfect six-pack and it
tapered to a small tight waist I might have spanned with two hands.  A hint
of developing bicep swelled each upper arm.  Like his thighs and lower
legs, his forearms had tiny, sparse blonde hairs.  Otherwise his skin was
satiny smooth and hairless.  In the dim light of the truck cab his nude
body gleamed like polished marble.

Todd opened his eyes and lifted one arm, awkwardly pushing up across my
thigh and into my groin.  His fingers explored the hardness bulging under
the wet denim of my jeans.  "You're hard, too, coach," he said happily.

"Yeah."  I kept stroking and rubbing the boy while he explored my hardness,
moving his fingers back and forth.

"I think the rain is finally slowing down," I said.

Todd raised his head.  "Let's go to your house, coach.  I wanna' see the
weights."

I took my hand off him.  "What about your parents?  Don't you have to go
home for lunch?"

"They won't be back 'til later.  Come on, coach.  I want to see where you
live."

I stroked his thigh and squeezed it.  "OK."

"All right!"  Todd wiggled back over to his side, flashing a quick grin at
me as he pulled up and carefully arranged the jock over his erection.  Then
with considerable difficulty he squirmed and tugged his way back into his
pants.

"Ugh!"  He said.  "This feels gross!"  He lifted his wet shirt off the gear
lever and looked at it.  "I'm gonna' keep this off, coach."

I nodded agreement.  "Yeah, we'll put all your stuff in the dryer when we
get to the house."

[ To Be Continued In Parts B,C,D and E ]

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
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.  I
hope you will read and enjoy!

All the Best.  Joe