Date: Fri, 4 May 2007 23:59:20 -0400
From: S
Subject: Full Count, Bases Loaded!

"Full Count, Bases Loaded"



I



	Ivan swung the bat like a statuette in motion.

The ball shot in high arc, zipped over the sunlit field, and double-tapped
the trimmed grass.  Swift as an acrobat, the left fielder snatched and
threw the ball.

Ivan slid back onto first base.

	Colt turned his face to golden-haired, gay Wesley and to
khaki-haired, bi Kyle.  "He slammed the ball toward left field," Colt said
suggestively.  "I guess he wants to score with you dudes."

	"Our third baseman's not interested in their butts, like you are,"
Felipe said.

	"Then, why did he almost tear that ball to tatters?" Colt
challenged.

	"What kind of a nutty question is that?" Felipe said, about to slug
the spike-haired dark blond across the queers.  "Ivan hit the ball because
he wants our team to win."

"No!" Colt yipped, swinging a headshake.  "Ivan wants to get enough of us
on those bases so that Wesley can strike out and give Ivan and the rest of
us an excuse to fuck Wesley."

	Jason huffed and pushed his back away from the wall on the home
plate side of the dugout.  He zigged his fingers through his fine, short
hair of honey-brown.  Why, Jason wondered, couldn't his university allow a
gay or bi baseball team?  Then, fags like Wesley and Kyle would leave that
league and stop inciting straight athletes like Colt and Felipe.  Sure, the
clubbings of the early 2020s had necessitated the banning of queer teams.
But the hostility between straights and nonstraights had petered out
considerably in the five years since then.  Furthermore, several state
universities had begun to re-implement bi sports leagues at the behest of
proud, bisexual athletes.  Why couldn't North Carolina do the same?

	The Bobcat shortstop stepped safely onto first base.

"Whoo-hoo!" everyone but Jason yelled.

	The husky coach with short, curly hair turned to Wesley from above
the dugout.  "You'll soon be next in line, Wes."

	"Hit a home run, and my cock is yours," Colt said.  He grasped his
crotch to the delight of the capless players around him.  "Strike out, and
your ass is mine."  He cuffed the blond's tight butt.

	Wesley smiled humbly; his incisors showed with the whiteness of
toothpaste; and he hopped the two steps to the field.

	"By the way, we lose the game, and your ass is mine, too," Colt
added, turning to Kyle, the pitcher.  "What do you say, Felipe?"

	Felipe was slouched on the wooden bench.  "Count me in."

	In righteous disgust, Jason scrunched his somewhat diamond face.
"Why the fuck do you have to joke like that?"

"Don't worry," Colt said.  "I'm sure Kyle will lend you a piece of his
ass."

  	"Bastard!" Jason bawled, storming toward Colt.

	Three athletes scrambled toward Jason.  They bent under him in
their taut, white pants with vertical, black stripes and restrained Jason's
arms.

	Jason struggled to shake himself free.

The fiftyish coach rushed below to pull apart the tight pack of guys.
"What the hell is going on here?"

	Jason grumped, "This jerk keeps playing sexual games here, instead
of where they're meant to be played."

	"Like in the locker room?" Colt said.

	"I'll kill you!" Jason exploded, lunging at Colt.

	The coach and the three collegians tried to hold Jason back.

The sophomore's resentment, however, had been building for weeks.  Yowling
like a caged leopard, Jason nudged two teammates to the ground—including
Phil, his buddy.

Kyle yanked Colt away from the bench.  At last, the coach was able to rein
Jason's arms.

	"Tell him to stay the hell away from me," Jason said.

	"Come with me," Coach Wagner said.  The man with salt-and-pepper
hair gently took Jason by the arm.  The coach towed Jason away from the
other players and motioned for him to sit.

	Jason sucked his teeth in a fret, and his duff rattled the wooden
bench.

"Why does Colt's banter trouble you so much?" the coach said.  "He's only
doing what most athletes do at times like these."

Jason stared ahead in oblivion, and he slumped his legs off the bench.

A gust of wind blew upon Jason's face like a wad of feathers.

Something about the air's smell of grass and salt made Jason uneasy.  The
spring breeze—blended with the cavorting of the players—brought Jason to
the verge of panic.

	"Just look at the situation out there," Coach Wagner continued.
"Full count.  Two outs.  Bases loaded.  9th inning."  He raised Jason's
mildly dimpled chin.

Was the coach queer, too? Jason wondered.

"Colt's just trying to calm his nerves," Coach Wagner said.  "Not that I
don't sympathize with where you're coming from, and I promise that after
the game, I'll have a serious talk with Colt and the rest of the team."

	Wesley hit the ball.

	"Alright!" Felipe said.

The left fielder hustled to catch what had eluded the central fielder's
reach.

"Run, Wesley!  Run!" Felipe yelled.

	The ball, however, landed on the left fielder's glove, ending the
game at 6 to 10 in the opposing team's favor.

	The rival league's 3,000 fans cheered from the bleachers.  Except
for Jason, the visiting athletes cussed.  Defeated, the former batters
walked back to the dugout.

	Seldom had Wesley flunked such a crucial part of the game.  Even
with the odds against his team, he would joyfully slug the ball past the
opposing players' reach—landing a hit, at least!  Now, by contrast, Wesley
lowered his round chin and tumescent nose and bounced into the dugout.

The team, Jason concluded, was falling apart.







II



	The athletes stormed into the locker room and chucked their
dark-blue baseball caps—save for Phil, who had a habit of keeping his on.
The caps hit the floor and sounded like a swarm of wet Frisbees.

Colt flumped onto the bench that was staked between the two rows of
lockers.

The aqua cushion ruffled softly.

"I can't believe we lost," Colt said.

"I can't believe we scored six runs!" Coach Wagner countered.  Stern
avuncularity emanated from his voice.  His dark eyes of glass expressed
disappointment.  "I mean, half of you were making out in the dugout, while
the other half was sweating blood trying to even the score in the last
inning."

Seven athletes watched the coach with dismay.  These included Wesley, Colt,
and Felipe, who were sitting left-to-right on the bench.  For some reason,
however, Phil stared petulantly at the tall, green lockers of metal.

Was Phil enraged because Jason had elbowed him to the ground? Jason
wondered.  Or was Phil angry at Colt for trying to instigate fagginess
among the players?

"We blew it, fellows," Coach Wagner proceeded.  He swept his bulging
eyeballs across the wiry athletes.  "We could have won today.  But with you
duds breaking ranks, I wouldn't be surprised if we drop to third place next
week."  The coach exhaled with the tension of a compressed accordion.  "You
chaps have to learn to get along."

"We're getting along fine!" Colt said.  He pointed at Phil and Jason.
"They're the ones who don't wanna be team players."

Phil stepped aggressively toward Colt.  "You wanna be a team player?"

"Hey!" Coach Wagner snapped, whipping out his wrestler arm in front of
Phil.  Again, the coach puffed in discombobulation.  "I don't know what has
gotten into you, fellows.  But whatever is going on, you need to work it
out among yourselves.  Now, I know that we've been playing away from home
all weekend and that those of you with girlfriends haven't had a chance to
be with them."

"You got that right," Felipe said.

"But that's the nature of sports.  And I trust that you guys can find a way
to work through this—if you truly want to."  The coach turned his
skin-of-orange face toward the dugout door.  He returned to the players.
"I'm gonna have a drink, as I need a break from you tigers."  He started
for the blinking exit sign.  "Don't forget to lock the door before leaving.
I'll see you at the bus stop at five.  We have a press interview there."



* * * *



The door of stainless steel hummed shut, and a disquieting silence fell
upon the room like a blanket.

"Did you hear that?" Colt said.

The stillness shattered as if to a crashing brick.

Colt went on, "Coach Wagner wants us to learn to get along."

"Yeah," Felipe said eagerly.

Colt's irises of blue-gray gloated with sneakiness.  "And coach trusts that
we can find a way to work through this."

"You mean, being separated from our girlfriends," Felipe said.

"Exactly," Colt answered, his voice cracking.  "And Wesley and Kyle caused
us to lose the game."  Colt rose from the bench like a helicopter and
glanced suggestively at the fruit players.  "I say we fuck their butts in
revenge."

The words pummeled Jason's stomach like a boxer a punching bag.
Butterflies rippled in his head.

Never, Jason thought, had the beardless players with various haircuts come
close to sucking each other—much less, to fucking.  All those sexual
hijinks at the dugout, however, had incited the loaded athletes toward a
breaking point.  This point of no return was precisely what Phil and Jason
had tried to prevent countless times before.  After all, Phil and Jason
knew that even straight players were vulnerable to temptations from left
field.

"You don't have the guts to put your pecker in a dirty ass—let alone, two,"
Jason challenged.

"Yeah?" Colt said.  Top to bottom, the dark blond began to unbutton his
green baseball shirt.

The yellow letters that spelled Bobcats parted on Colt's green shirt.  The
3 on the bottom-right and the bobcat insignia on each of the upper-outer
sides of Colt's sleeves collapsed to Colt's unbuttoning of his shirt.

Jason's dick twitched like the wing of an airliner encountering an air
pocket.  "You're bluffing," Jason said.  He kept a straight face.
"Besides, how do you know that Wesley and Kyle will surrender their butts
to you?"

Colt flapped his green shirt off and revealed sculpted hills of muscle.
"What do you say, guys?" he said, jolting up his chin at the queer players.
"Is Jason right about you fruits?"

Kyle towered the exit door end of the bench like a basketball player.  His
tanned arms were crossed like lanes hugging the front of a mountain.  A
silver earring hung from each of Kyle's earlobes—the same set of attached
lobes that the other athletes had.  Kyle's neck was long as the trunk of a
piglet, and it had an Adam's apple.  All of this was topped by a crew cut
that accentuated the squareness of Kyle's face.  Master mediator of the
team, Kyle lowered his dispassionate baby blues, trying to balance in his
mind the delicateness of the situation.

"Well?" Colt said with the freshness of a brat.

Kyle slowly raised his eyes.  "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm
responsible for us losing the game.  As pitcher, I deserve to be punished."

The athletes shifted their transfixed eyes to Wesley.

"And I kept you guys from scoring," Wesley said.  He looked sadly at the
floor and shed crocodile tears.

Colt turned his narrow nose bridge back to Jason.  "I guess you'll have to
watch me in action.  If, indeed, I have the `guts to put my pecker in a
dirty ass, let alone, two,' then you'll need to provide me with some
betting reward."

Phil stepped forward like the mallet of a typewriter.  "I won't let you
touch Jason's butt.  Instead, Jason and I will put you in your place."

"How do you intend to do that?" Colt said, his voice bolder than ever.

"We're gonna make you suck our dicks," Phil said.  "Then, we're gonna fuck
your ass."

"No problem," Colt said.  He unbuckled his black belt of leather,
unbuttoned his white baseball pants, and unzipped.  "We're teammates, and
teammates do things for each other."

Was Colt so horny that being a top or a bottom didn't matter to him, so
long as he got his rocks off? Jason yowled in his head.

"I'll meet you all at the bus," Ivan said with a faint grin.  He pulled
open the green door of his metal locker, lifted out a green knapsack, and
walked his cream-skinned body toward the red of the exit.

"I'll join you," Vishon hollered.  He duplicated the door-backpack shebang
with his chocolate-colored forearms.

"Me, too!  I mean, me three," Delsin called.  He rushed his muscles—the
ones under his skin-of-kiwi complexion—to catch up with the bailers.

Jason said, "You three aren't gonna let a bunch of fairies chase us from
taking our rightfully due showers after a game, are you?"

The bailing party lowered their disposed eyes and round chins.

Why, Jason thought, was the seceding group thinking so hard?  Did those
dudes really think that three out of nine players would have sex against
the will of the majority?

The letters atop the exit blinked red onto the short, black hair of the
defectors' heads—on and off, on and off.

Reluctantly, Ivan touched the exit panel.

The door hummed aside.

Cut grass, moist soil, and ocean salt wafted into the room, as did a few
ruffles of hubbub from the departing fans outside.

Ivan looked toward the sunbeams ahead of him.  One-by-one, his group walked
out.



* * * *



The steel door hummed back center, sealing out the afternoon sun.  The
fluorescent lights overhead re-flooded the locker room with the whiteness
of an F-class sun.  These lights were complimented by soap-white walls and
by whitish-cream floor tiles.  In a slice of a minute, the warmth and wild
smells of the external world receded to the coolness of the air conditioner
and to the odor of sweat, cushions, uniforms, and neoprene.

Wesley and Kyle were sitting on the bench.  Colt and Felipe stood at each
end—chess horses guarding the checker pieces of the middle.

Across from the foursome, Phil and Jason crossed their arms like sentries
at a canvassed coliseum.

Phil's gray irises of jello reflected the coiled, white lights above
everyone.  In Phil's hooded eyes was a glint of coldness.  Those eyes
turned toward Jason's and said, 2 vs. 4.

How could we find ourselves in opposition to Colt and Felipe, fellow
straight athletes? Jason answered, his eyes angled left.  Jason shifted his
oval eyes back forward.  "You four don't realize what you've done."

"I'm a young man with a throbbing dick," Colt said, pressing his thumb and
forefinger together for emphasis.  "If college regulations prevent me from
bringing my girlfriend to games away from home, I will not hesitate to
unload my balls with my teammates.  Now, other than you two featherbrains,
I don't think that any of us has a problem with that."

 "Three athletes walked out because they have a problem with that," Jason
said.

"We didn't," Colt rumbled.  "Wesley and Kyle caused us to lose the game,
and Felipe and I are gonna make them pay for it."

"Then, you're gonna pay for disrupting team discipline," Jason said.

Colt stepped bullishly toward Jason.  "Yeah?"

"Yeah!" Jason echoed louder than an oboe.  "But first, get your turkey face
away from me."

Colt widened his peach-hued cheeks in front of Jason's tawny face.  "Make
me."  Colt's whisper caressed Jason's lips.

Jason hoicked down Colt's loosened black belt and unzipped white pants.
"Get him!"

Phil shoved Colt to the floor, clawed Colt's short hair spikes of dishwater
blond, and pulled them as if scooping up spaghetti with a fork.

A kneeling Colt unhooked Phil's black belt and jerked down Phil's streaked
pants, white briefs, and cup strap.  Then, Colt tore into Phil's banana.

"Fuckin' horndog!" Phil bawled.

With the cup that Jason was wearing, his boner started to bend painfully.
"Hurry up with Phil, asshole!"

Colt sucked Phil's cannon good and hard.

Abruptly, the others began to unbutton and to unzip.  The room quickly
buzzed with whoos, ahs, and uhs.  Black cleats and white socks flew right
and left, sprinkling the shale mega-tiles with pinches of sand grains.
Belts, pants, shirts, cups, and briefs followed suit.  These items whizzed
by in front of the sperm-like scratches on the metal of the green locker
doors.  Uncut wieners of around seven inches fingered different things.
Capping off the surrealism of that scene, pre-cum dropped to the floor here
and there.

Bubbles sizzled inside Jason's testicles like foam in a fizzing can of
soda.  Never had Jason experienced anything like this with girls.  This
scared the bejesus out of him!  Oblivious to his feelings, Jason's sexual
energy wafted up like the smoke of incense and furled around his body to
form an atmosphere.

Jason grasped his genitals as if to a ready-to-explode bladder.  Suddenly,
he unbuckled his black belt, undid his striped pants of white, and pushed
everything down.  Jason yanked Colt's upright hair spikes away from Phil's
crotch and rammed his snake into Colt's mouth.

The second baseman scarfed the right fielder's cock as though it were laced
with chopped onions, relish, and ketchup.

"Fuckin' A!" Jason said.

By the aqua bench, Wesley and Kyle knelt like sea lions.  The two moved
their face caves with the repetition of pulleys and cables—one pulling away
from Felipe's sausage and the other diving into it.  The peach-colored lips
of the queers blended so well with Felipe's chestnut-brown cock that the
fragments of skin looked like those of a patchwork baseball glove.

Jason's hazel eyes drank from the perfection before him.

"That's it," Phil whispered.  "Suck my buddy's dick."

Colt moved his head faster.

Sweat oozed from Jason's pores.

Jason ripped off his green baseball shirt.

Phil bared his chest.

The sea of muscles on Phil's chest complimented Jason's chest muscles.
Phil's light-cream skin, in turn, contrasted gorgeously with Jason's
wheat-brown skin.

Colt arched his eyebrows of yellow-brown and checked out Phil and Jason's
pecs.  Colt lowered his eyebrows, closed his eyelids, and sunk his lips
again onto Jason's willy.

Jason turned his satiny face left.  "Look at him, Phil!  Colty boy really
likes cock."  Jason pumped his thing into Colt's mouth with the roughness
of an arm trying to shake limes off a tree.  "Colt wants cock bad.  Don't
you, cowboy?"

Colt vroomed under his breath like the racing engine of a sports car.

The pale droop of Phil's sex gun regrew beyond belief.  "My turn."

Colt drew his eyelids.

Phil moved closer to the sphinxlike lock of bodies.

Into his mouth, Colt squeezed Phil's dick past Jason's.

Phil huhed as if ice-cold drops had fallen onto his back.

Jason gaped in shock.  Colt is a straight dude! Jason railed upstairs.
Yet, Colt was simultaneously sucking two cocks that had doorknob fronts and
plenty of foreskin.  Not only that.  Colt was not gagging, coughing, or
withdrawing.  How was this possible?

Colt's saliva appeared to take a life of its own.  It made sucking sounds
and moved in tiny waves of foam around the dicks.  Colt, in turn, blew Phil
and Jason as hard as the sounds were soft.

Jason watched Colt in spellbound fascination.

In circles, Colt started to rub the base of his woody.

Jason's heart shook like a maraca in beat.

Kyle hollered, "Explore their nuts, Colt."

Jason couldn't believe Kyle's casualness of tone.

Quick as a hand slipping off a wet glove, Colt backed his head away from
Phil and Jason's members.

Phil and Jason's dicks popped out of Colt's mouth like water pipes coming
loose from a wall.

Colt licked the oilskin of Jason's sperm sack.

"Fuckin' nay!" Jason shot into the white ceiling.

Colt devoured a nut of Jason's.

Phil croaked, "You are fuckin' going to die, Jason buddy."

Colt ate Jason's second bird egg.

"Fuckin' way!" Jason said.

Colt fluttered his stuffed tongue around the skin of raw chicken.

"Uh-huh!  Uh-huh!" Jason whiffed.  He squeezed shut his heavy eyelids and
gripped the short bristles of Colt's dirty-blond hair.

Phil's forearm dabbed Jason's back like a moist brush.

Jason opened his eyes in panic.

Before Jason could further react, Colt took Phil and Jason's hoses back

into his mouth.

The feel of Phil's cock by his in Colt's mouth nearly made Jason cum.

"Hey!" Jason said, pulling out.  "I'm not squirting in your mouth."

Colt tightened his wet lips around the sole dick left in his mouth.

"Nuh-uh!" Phil said, and too scraped away from Colt's incisors.

"We're gonna fuck your ass," Jason said.

Colt's white briefs of cotton finished propping up in front like a
battalion tent.  "You wanna stick your wiener up my butt?"

"You got that right, Colty boy," Jason said.

"Then, what's keeping you?"

"You little piece of—" Jason said, going for Colt's jugular.  "Crap!  Help
me out of this."

Like the cleats of the rest of the team, Jason's black cleats had three
vertical stripes of white on each side.  Toward Phil, Jason extended his
foot.

Phil pulled off Jason's black cleat.

Jason extended his other foot toward Phil.

Phil pulled off Jason's other cleat.  Then, Phil stretched forth each of
his lower legs toward Jason.

Touching Phil's soiled cleats and white socks brought an emotional
intensity to Jason's chest.  Jason peeled off Phil's white socks of
nylon—and found himself enjoying the feel of Phil's feet.  This shocked,
scared, and amazed Jason.

Across the bright room, the other athletes knelt onto the bench and got
into a curious chain.  Kyle ended up sandwiched between Wesley in front and
Felipe in the back.

Phil eyed the trio.  "Way to go!"  Swiftly, he stepped off his crumpled
pants, cup strap, and white briefs.

Jason followed Phil's lead, astounded that six briefs of white could be
such a turn-on.  How Jason's chestnuts churned!

Jason shoved Colt to the floor, yanked up the second baseman's legs, and
screwed off Colt's black cleats.

Phil fluttered his pale fingers over Colt's white socks of nylon.  "Oooh!"

"Look!" Jason shouted.  "Colt has a boner!"

"Yeah!" Phil said, his normally reserved voice loosened up.  "Colt likes
this kinky stuff."  Phil lifted the sophomore's lower legs further up and
brusquely kissed one of Colt's soles.

"Give me that!" Jason demanded.  He grabbed Colt's foot and sniffed Colt's
white sock.

The warmth of skin-under-nylon electrified Jason's nose and fingers.

"Let's pull off Colt's pants!" Jason said.

Phil tugged Colt's tight uniform along the left.

Jason tugged along the right.  "We're gonna plow your ass, so you better
get that lube sissies use."

Wesley whistled.

On the shale mega-tiles of the floor, Colt tilted his head back as though
it were a football.

Wesley threw Colt something that looked like a white tube of toothpaste.

Colt caught it as if snipping a fly off the air with pincers.

The dangle of Jason's prong rose toward the ceiling's white tiles of
melamine.  "Let me help you with those whities."

"Yeah!" Colt said, his voice that of a frat boy freshman.  "Get me naked."

	"Just wait till I'm done with your undies," Jason said.  His head
quaked to the strain of his otherwise smooth voice.  Jason kept pulling up
Colt's white briefs, Jason's fists roller coaster cars struggling to get to
the top.

	At last, Phil shook off Colt's striped pants of white.

Jason thought that Phil had shaken a blanket.  What, Jason wondered, was
happening to his mind?

Colt held up his crisp legs with the raw power of his knees.  Although lean
as the lower branches of an oak tree, Colt's legs looked wider and more
robust than on the diamond.

Such beefiness solidified Jason's hard-on.

Jason looped the white briefs around Colt's knee bend and shucked them off.

Colt let his legs fall.  He rubbed that silver gel of Wesley's onto his
puckered hole of pink.  As if doing backstrokes, Colt pulled some green
baseball shirts toward the underside of his raised back.  Then, Colt
lowered the back of his head onto the shale mega-tiles of the floor.

Jason knelt on the big tiles and brought Colt's calves toward his toned
shoulders.

Phil seized Jason's arm.  "I'm going first."

	"No, you're not," Jason said.  Not caring that Phil was tall as 6'
2" Kyle, Jason shook his arm away.

Phil grabbed Jason's tawny arm again and hauled it away from Colt.

Jason hauled his arm in the other direction ... and nearly fell.

"Just flip something," Kyle said, a yard in front of them.

The sophomores stopped to the senior's words.  So did Felipe his pumping
forward into Kyle's butt—and Wesley his humping backward onto Kyle's dick.
Quickly, Wesley reached into his green locker of metal and threw his credit
card to Jason.

Jason snatched it off the air.  "Heads!"

"Tails!" Phil countered.

On Jason's left palm, the card landed upside down.

"Woof!" Phil said and knelt into position.

Reluctantly, Jason got up and tossed the card to Wesley.

  	The fairy with beautiful irises of deep blue caught the item and
chucked it right.  Like the steel wheels of a gondola on a railway,
Wesley's party resumed moving in rhythms of chug, chug, chug.

	Jason was so turned on that he thought that Wesley, Kyle, and
Felipe were actually rolling forward on the bench.

Phil's freckled face emitted a deep pink under the shadow of his cap visor.
"You want more of my wiener?"

"Yeah, man!" Colt said.  "Fuck me harder!"

Phil thrusted harder than a pestle pounding a mortar.

"Whoo-hoo!" Colt said.  "Fuck the cum out of me!"

The dark-blue "salute" of Phil's baseball cap jerked toward Colt's
forehead.

Colt's calves shook on Phil's shoulders like logs on a jouncing truck.  The
butterscotch curls on Colt's calves shook along.

	Watching that scene from above everyone turned Jason's blood into
all of the world's rapids.

As if releasing a bowling ball, Jason bent down and spanked Phil.

Phil jolted right.  "Hey!"

Jason straightened up.  Again, he stooped, and on Phil's buttock of light
cream, Jason released the weight of his arm-heavy hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" Phil bellowed.

"Getting even."  Jason erected himself triumphantly.

"If you can't hold yourself, go fuck Mr. Panty-Briefs over there."

"Coño, no!" Felipe said.  He drove his swarthy hips into Kyle's behind for
the last time.  "Wesley is mine."

Swift as a stage crew at the end of a scene, Wesley, Kyle, and Felipe
shifted the props of their moist bodies.  Wesley and Kyle ended up lying
across the bench—faceup—with their legs in the air.  Felipe brought
Wesley's calves to his strong shoulders, pressed his stick forward, and
squeezed a loud heave from the first baseman.  Felipe pulled back.  Upon
reentry, Felipe's cucumber drew a louder pant from Wesley.



* * * *



Felipe's bedroom eyes glazed into Wesley's angelic orbs.

Wesley gazed back into Felipe's irises of dark-brown.  Wesley's large
pupils, in turn, dilated even more.

"Caramba!" Felipe grunted in Spanish.  His sweaty voice echoed as potently
as he was shorter than Wesley.

Wesley moved his pink hips in quick, small circles.  "I bet your girlfriend
doesn't shake her booty like this."

"Heck, no!" Felipe said.  "She's too modest for that."

"I almost feel guilty for stealing your cream from her," Wesley lipped.

"No, you don't."

Wesley continued to speak in that mellifluous voice of his.  "Is fucking my
ass better than fucking your girl's pussy?"

Felipe pressed down Wesley's hamstrings as if leveling the inclined back of
a workout bench.  "See if you can take this!" Felipe said, driving his dick
to the hilt on this.

"Ouch!" Wesley wailed.

"Say another word about my girl, and you'll get twice of that."

"Oh, God," Wesley said, rolling his half-saucer eyes.

Steady as a washing machine on scrub cycle, the catcher kept pumping into
the first baseman.  The bench creaked with the thirst of an un-oiled door.
Wesley's head, in turn, tapped the crown of Kyle's head with the rhythm of
a bumping car.

Felipe's short waves of coffee bean brown kept swaying fore and aft.
"Carajo!" he said.  "Your dirty culo is delicious."

"You like your sausage up my culo?" Wesley said.

"Coño, sí!"

Wesley humped his tush up.  "What about now?"

"Puñeta!" Felipe said.  He thrusted back.

"Yeah," Wesley said, shaking his stuffed corkscrew.  "Fuck my ass!"

Straight bangs of golden-yellow and aubergine streamed with gaps over
Wesley's forehead.

Felipe clawed Wesley's lowlights.  "Sí, maricón!  Sí, maricón!" Felipe
gasped, pistoning faster.

Wesley shook back and forth brusquely; he let go the pink foreskin of his
wiener; and strings of pre-cum drooped from his dick like glue from a
turned bottle.

Felipe's semi-round nose started to make guttural noises.  "Take my
straight cock up your hot culito."

Wesley's eyelids fluttered half-shut.

"Huh!  Huh!" Felipe chuffed.  His abdominal muscles flexed and relaxed with
the rhythm of a locomotive.  Felipe tightened his grip on Wesley's shins
and calves, threw his squarish face back, and convulsed like a washer at
the end of spin cycle.

Kyle clapped slow and loud.  "Hooah!"

Jason became aware that Kyle was standing beside him.

Felipe collapsed onto the chiseled marble of Wesley's chest, slid off, and
hit the floor.

Jason unfroze his exhale.  To his astonishment, he discovered that he had
held his breath for quite some time.



* * * *



Phil squeezed the base of his dick as though pissing on himself.  Like
this, he bopped toward Wesley, knelt on some white socks that were bestrewn
on the floor, and fed his cock into Wesley's pooper.

Wesley let his heels descend onto Phil's square shoulders.

Phil withdrew and pressed his cannon in long strokes.  "Man!" he heaved.
"Your ass is swimmier than I expected."

Wesley's rosy cheeks bunched up in a grin.  His white incisors of porcelain
showed.  And Wesley's sapphire irises of liquid smiled at Phil with the joy
of a child.

"So hairy and tight," Phil went on.

"You like that, don't you?" Wesley said.

"Wouldn't you like that."

Like a couple of pythons, Wesley's calves wrapped around Phil's lower back.

Phil's walnuts began to slap Wesley—and sounded like squelches of soft mud.
"You're a true fox," Phil said.  "You know that?"

Wesley whiffled a cracked ah, and the golden-yellow curls on his lower legs
caressed Phil's back.

Phil straightened his spine and revealed his drum-tight chest of canvas.
He pumped harder into Wesley's waste hole.  "You like being the darling of
the team, huh?"

"God, yes!" Wesley said.

"But you lost the game for us," Phil said.  "I gotta make you pay for
that."

"Stop!" Wesley whined.

"You need real punishment."

Wesley shut tight his half-saucer eyes.  "I need a time-out!"

"I thought you were a pouf," Phil said, spitting droplets on pouf.

"I am!"

"And don't poufs like getting stuffed like wild turkeys?" Phil said.

"Yes, but—"

"Then, take my straight cock!"  To and fro, the center fielder kept jolting
the first baseman's slender physique.

Wesley rubbed the turbofan engines that huddled against each side of the
fuselage of his willy.

"You've been a naughty boy," Phil said.  "Somebody's gotta teach you a
lesson."

"I learned!  I learned!" Wesley panted.

"Fuckin' pansy!  I can't believe I'm about to—" Phil squalled the cry of a
tackled quarterback; he threw his mildly beaked nose toward the white
indented light above him; and he pinched shut his hooded eyes of gray.

Wesley fondled his testes faster; he thrashed his head; and he banged it on
the aqua cushion.  "I'm gonna rip!" Wesley screamed.

Wesley's birdie squirted the arcs of a rainbow.  Except for the color, the
ropes of raw egg white reproduced that curve of nature—beginning past
Wesley's prepuce and ending on Wesley's neck, pecs, and abs.  Wesley then
melted like an ice cube on a hot tarmac.

Amazingly, Phil continued to grind his hips.  The tower of his body,
however, collapsed, slipped off the bench, and plopped by Felipe.



* * * *



Never had Jason imagined that the missionary position would be a cinch
between men.  The fact that Wesley could arouse other guys as much as any
chick boosted Jason's excitement more than the biggest home run ever could.

"Your turn, bro," Kyle said, cuffing Jason's sand-colored butt.

Jason turned his face right with the briskness of lightning.

Kyle stepped toward Wesley and scooped up raw egg white from the first
baseman.  Despite his stooping, Kyle's nates held firm as the stringed
seeds of peeled coconuts.

Jason marveled at the contrast between the paleness, sturdiness, and baby
softness of Kyle's rumps.

Up his crack, Kyle inserted the rake of his gluey fingers.

Hard as Jason found to admit it, Kyle's duff cheeks were more scrumptious
than Jason could have ever imagined.  Moreover, the thought of a cock in
there seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Kyle walked toward his end of the bench.  His veiny dick pointed shakily at
the white ceiling.  Kyle sat on the aqua cushion of the bench, lowered his
back of deep peach, and raised his tanned legs.

Something about a handsome man's opening himself like that fired up the
panther in Jason.  He knelt on some white briefs that were scattered on the
floor, squeaked apart the pincers of Kyle's tanned legs, and fed his
wheat-colored cock into Kyle's split-open fig.

Kyle pushed as if on the throes of bodily evacuation.

Part of Jason wanted to pull out in disgust.  Part of him reveled in the
vulgarity of it all.

Jason squeezed the ripe papayas of Kyle's calves and slowly pumped into the
pitcher.

The amber pubes of Kyle's anus pressed raunchily around Jason's dick.  The
bushiness of those curls brought further friction to the tautness of Kyle's
butt.

Jason found this pubic seasoning mind-blowing.  Pussies, by contrast,
lacked hair inside.  Disconcerted as part of him felt, Jason could not deny
that guys' asses resisted with a tightness and a coarseness that made
fucking them seem more invasive—and thus, more wickedly thrilling—than
shagging girls' cunts.  How, Jason wondered, could nature have made the
backdoor more appealing to the animal in men?

With the coldness of ice, the shale mega-tiles of the floor ironed part of
Jason's knees.

Jason tried to focus on the warmth of Kyle's innards.

The feel of Wesley's milk fueled Jason's excitement.  Something about
mixing his semen with a teammate's—inside the ass of another player—felt
exquisitely dirty in a way that Jason had never thought himself capable of
enjoying.

Jason's short hair of honey-brown flowed back like a fountain.

Kyle zagged his strong fingers through the silk of Jason's hair.  "Ram me
harder!" Kyle said.

"You want true punishment?" Jason answered.

"I thrive on it!"

"I bet you do," Jason said.  "After all, you allowed our rival team to
score 10 runs."

As if engaged in a staring contest, Kyle's baby blues hooked into Jason's
hazel globes.

Jason forced his eyes to stay locked on Kyle's.  Jason found this easier
than expected, for Kyle's baby blues were warm as tepid soup.

Jason slunk his rager deeper into Kyle's bowels.  Deep enough? Jason said
through his eyes.

Kyle grunted.

"So this is how you bis have risen to 24% of the population," Jason said.
He thrusted harder into Kyle's tunnel.  "By getting more of us straights
horny enough to come around to your brand of sexuality."

Kyle roared like summer thunder in North Carolina.

Jason gasped.  "And in your recruitment plan, you draw no distinctions
between your kind . . . and mine."

"This is good practice, bro," Kyle said breathily.  "That way, you can fuck
your girlfriend with more gusto—and get her pregnant a whole lot faster."

"You better pray I do because if not, you'll get double the pounding I'm
giving you now."

"Oh, man," Kyle said.

Jason's balls slapped Kyle noisily.

The bench creaked faster than a railroad car jigging at 90 miles an hour.
Kyle's lower legs hung off Jason's upper arms "frog style," and Kyle's
tanned legs danced as if in such a train.

Jason slowed down, grabbed one of Kyle's feet, and sniffed its sole.

The smell of dried sweat and of leftover laundry detergent tickled Jason's
nostrils like a feather.

Jason's hot dog throbbed with lust.  This was too much!  Yet, he couldn't
stop nuzzling Kyle's pinkish sole.  Never had Jason found a girl willing to
permit anything radical in bed.  Now, Jason's heart warmed like a baking
cookie.

Kyle crackled with the airiness of a growling stomach.

Jason planted a kiss on Kyle's callused sole.

"Fuckin' A!" Kyle said.

Jason sucked Kyle's big toe like a baby boar starving for milk.  With a
scowl, Jason shut his eyes halfway and moaned.  Abruptly, Jason backed away
from Kyle's toe and descended onto one of Kyle's hard teats.

"Alright," Kyle encouraged.

Jason licked Kyle's nipple.  Remarkably, the mesa was pronounced as a
woman's teat.  This filled Jason with wonder at the similarities between
men and women.  The flatness of Kyle's mounds, however, reminded Jason that
he was connecting with the wrong sex.  The profoundness of Jason's
rebellion rocked him with the suddenness of a storm draft.  Nevertheless,
Jason hankered to explore more of his masculinity this way in the future.

Jason kneaded Kyle's opposite pec three times harder than he dared to
caress any girl's breast.

"Looks like Jason is going bi," Kyle said.

Jason hoisted his lips from Kyle's erect nipple.  "And you're gonna pay for
it," Jason said.  His tense lips almost touched Kyle's lax ones.

The pitcher puffed on the right fielder, slow as a passing cloud and light
as a wedding veil.

Jason intensified his ins and outs.  "I wonder what your girlfriend says
about this."

"She doesn't mind," Kyle breathed on Jason.  "We have agreed to have an
open relationship."

"You have?" Jason said.  "Then, maybe you'll let me have her one of these
days."

"I'll see what she says," Kyle said glibly.

Jason pulled his sand-colored trunk up from Kyle's one of tanned peach.

The skin of Kyle's legs emitted the smell of a pancake skillet—one
charcoal-hot, sprayed with nonstick butter, and steaming upon contact with
cold water.

Jason allowed his oval nostrils to inhale Kyle's flesh.  The irony was that
this most unromantic of smells electrified Jason's hormones the way a
magical sprinkle ignited a morning mist in a recent holovision movie.
Jason snuffed the camel curls of Kyle's shin.

The room's air conditioner switched on in reply, and the breathing of its
ducts sounded as if a blizzard were raging outside of the locker room.

Jason kissed the beef-under-grass of Kyle's lower legs.

Kyle licked a forefinger, circled it on his drying areola, and dreamily
shut his eyelids.

Jason frowned in confusion, for he had never witnessed this style of
self-pleasuring.  After all, dudes were supposed to feel girls' bodies,
stimulate chicks' nipples, and give them pleasure.  65% of men played by
this rule.  Yet, Kyle was breaking one of the fundamental definitions of
manhood.  Or rather, he was redefining the mainstream's definition,
twisting a gender double standard that only allowed girls to pleasure
themselves that way.  In so doing, Kyle was showing the team a new model of
male freedom—the freedom of men to enjoy their own bodies beyond simple
meat beating.

In rapid succession, Kyle squeezed and released his crab apples.

What a queer method of masturbation, Jason thought.

Like a ship looming out of a fog, Colt approached Jason from the left.

"What the hell?" Jason said.

Colt stroked his monster dick downward.  "Why are you rubbing your nuts?"

Kyle answered, "Because I know that, more than likely, I'll have to take
another cock up my butt.  Thus, I can't allow myself to cum, yet."

"Then, you can prepare my dick for the main course by sucking it," Colt
said.  With that, he reclined his razed knee on the aqua cushion of the
bench, leaned down, and sank his wad into Kyle's mouth.

Kyle sucked Colt's glans as though it were a pom-pom.

"Fuckin' bi wanker!" Colt said.  He contorted his supple face in pain.

The penis-mouth interaction made the sounds of a puppy lapping water from a
bowl.  Kyle, in turn, gazed at Colt with a desire large enough to swallow
the Caribbean.

Colt narrowed his blue-gray irises on Kyle's baby blues.  Both sets of
pupils were Os in large font.

Jason began to panic.  Some invisible chord snapped in him.  This made
Jason more eager than ever to fulfill the queerest of fantasies.

Kyle's wet lips slid up and down Colt's zucchini.  They lathered it with
the skill of a masseur and slapped Colt's pubes faster and harder.

Colt grinded his pink hips in unison with Kyle's peach lips.

Jason thrusted roughly into Kyle's end hole.

Kyle shook toward Colt's cock.

Jason felt like he was sucking Colt's dick.  Half of Jason got off on that.
Half of him did not.

Kyle made a fist around Colt's dick and sucked harder.

"Now, this is what I've been trying to get my girlfriend to do," Colt said.

Kyle slipped off Colt's hot dog.  "Is that so?  Then, you're in for a
treat."  Kyle flicked Colt's frenulum, dragged his tongue downward, and
sucked Colt's balls.

"Unfuckin' believable!" Colt yelled.

Kyle bit around the base of Colt's sperm sack—not too hard, not too soft.

Colt threw his head back, panted like a hog, and gripped Kyle's
front-combed hair of khaki.  Then, Colt pulled the short brush of Kyle's
hair—up and down, right and left.

The more Colt pulled Kyle's khaki hair, the more Jason wanted to punish
Colt for leading the team down this path.

Jason humped violently into Kyle's rectum.

Fright descended upon Jason like a round of drizzle.  For him, the mere
thought of an anus sucking a fluid meant for reproduction was more than his
psyche could process.

"Your turn," Jason said.  He slipped out of Kyle's pipe down under.

Colt backed away from his end, sashayed down the bench, and knelt on the
same white briefs that lay on the floor.  "Man," Colt said, his cock
goosing the zipper of Kyle's behind.  "Your ass feels incredible!"

"So does your frankfurter," Kyle answered.

Colt's rumps of light cream scrunched like power balls inside tautening
fists.

Jason knelt behind Colt and poked Colt's butt crack with his dick.  To
Jason's amazement, Colt's cleft was still wet from Phil's ejaculate.  Jason
pressed his stick further in between Colt's giant testicles of meat and
muscle.

"I feel like I'm gonna shit," Colt said, about to lose it.

"Push like you're taking a dump," Kyle chimed in.

"Listen to your buddy," Jason gruffed, "as I'm gonna cream your ass."

"I feel like my crap chute is gonna tear in two!" Colt said in crescendo.

"Allow yourself to enjoy cock in the back alley," Kyle said.

For Jason, the idea of gayness being catchable was intoxicating.  Observing
Colt in the thrill of discovery could not match the highest heaven.  Seeing
and hearing his teammates in the throes of lust hammered Jason's heart like
a mallet bread dough.  Something about heteroromantic athletes turning
biSEXual fired up Jason like few things had up to that point.  Heck, he was
even thinking in the terminology used by open bis on campus.

Colt slithered his smooth hands down Kyle's curly quadriceps.

Jason straightened Kyle's heels along Colt's defined shoulders.

Colt sped his outs from Kyle.

Jason quickened his ins into Colt.

"This butt fuckin' sure beats shagging pussy," Colt said.  He turned back
his dishy face.  "Is that the best you can do?"

"You want more of my wiener?" Jason sputtered.

"You bet!" Colt said.

Jason humped harder than an angry hand reaching a hard-to-reach area with
the tube of a vacuum cleaner.

"Not so hard!" Colt said.

"That's what you get for turning half the team bi," Jason groaned.

"I'm sorry," Colt whined, pouting his lips mockingly.  "I promise I'll be
good."

"Too late, faggot!"

Jason sped the bench squeaks.

Colt turned his squarish face back front.

Jason spanked Colt.

And Colt wailed, his slender physique swinging rump-to-head in an irregular
wave.

"You have one hot butt, you know that?" Jason said.

"Catch my germs, swine!" Colt answered.

"Yeah?"  Jason bucked his hips so hard that he nearly fell.

Colt whooped so scandalously that he stopped pistoning into Kyle.

"Maybe that'll make you think twice before talking dirty to me," Jason
said.

Again, Colt started plowing Kyle's rectum.  "I lured half the team into gay
sex," Colt said.  His tone feigned seriousness the way a high school
student fakes respect toward a substitute teacher.  "Please, Jason!  Oh,
please!  Teach me the lesson I need to learn."

"I'm gonna smack your rumps till they turn to tomatoes," Jason said with
the harshness of an iron grating.  Slap on Colt's right bun!

Colt grunted.

Slap on Colt's left bun!

"Yeah!  Give me discipline!"

Slap!  Slap!  Slap!

"Harder!"

"Fuckin' whore-slut," Jason said.  "Just wait till Phil and I get you an
earring to wear, like Wesley."

"Make that two earrings," Colt said.

"One for each ear, huh?"

"Of course," Colt said.  "I like girls, too."

"So you like cock and pussy," Jason spat.

"Mmm-hmm!  Mmm-hmm!"

"Then, take my dick."  Whack!  Whack!  Whack!

Colt yawped.

Standing in a half circle, Wesley, Felipe, and Phil started to rub their
pricks at the opposite end of the bench.

For Jason, the threesome's circle jerk seemed vulgar.  This was because the
behavior came from largely quiet, well-mannered collegians.  The silver
relief of Mary on Wesley's necklace, the beige beads of cedar around
Felipe's short neck, and the black-cross tattoo on the upper side of Phil's
left arm accentuated the fact that regular, decent guys were—at heart—pigs.
This opened possibilities beyond Jason's wildest imaginings—and infused him
with excitement.  The more Jason eyed the pink, brown, and pale trio, the
more he couldn't help but feel sexually stimulated by their monkey motions.

Colt pecked Kyle's lips with a kiss.

Kyle pecked him back.

Colt and Kyle locked their youthful lips, and Colt's head gyrated like
cilia at the bottom of the ocean.

Jason had never seen anything like this.  He pumped into Colt faster than
the quickest meat beater, deeper than the lowest oil rig, and harder than
the toughest pestle.  "I'm getting close," Jason said, squeezing Colt's
nates.  "Oh, yeah!  Oh, yeah!"

"I can't hold it!" Colt said.  He twisted his back into a C.

Jason squirted into Colt's scorching ass.

Colt tightened and relaxed his chute—over and over and over.

The liquid vibration of Colt emptying his balls into Kyle squeezed larger
ropes of cum from Jason.

Grunts, moans, and howls filled the locker room like bats winging out of a
cave.  The smell of sex wafted everywhere with the speed of a spreading
wildfire.  And everyone's bodies quaked like shaking palm trees.

What had become of the team? Jason pondered in his subconscious.  Whatever
the answer, he was grateful that science had eradicated the major STDs.

At last, Colt collapsed onto Kyle; Jason onto Colt; and Wesley, Felipe, and
Phil onto the floor.



* * * *



Silence fell upon the locker room as though the place had been vacated.

The athletes, however, were resting on one another.  The lecithin-like
smell of cum throughout the room increased their stupor.

"Man," Colt heaved.

The word shattered the peace like a pebble a crystalline lake.

Colt continued, "That was the best fuck I've ever had."

"I never knew that gay sex could be such fun," Felipe said from afar.  "If
my girlfriend ever participates in something like this, she'd die."

"We gotta do this again sometime," Colt resumed.  "When is our next game
away from home?"

"Next weekend," Kyle sighed restfully.

"Dandy," Colt said.  "Just remember: not a word to our girlfriends about
this."