Date: Thu, 11 Oct 2012 11:16:53 -0700
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Big Time Chapter 39

Greetings and welcome back to "The Big Time." This chapter has to
do with the varsity high school coach during the year our Mayfield
boys were in the seventh grade. The boys come to him with a
proposal and find a very unreceptive audience.

I am using a different technique in this chapter that will show up
again, although more in Part 3 than in "The Big Time". Eric, of course,
is the narrator of the high school story line, but the seventh grade
story line has been in third person. However, I decided it would work
best if the seventh grade story like was told by Eric as well. What I did
to indicate that was to write [ERIC] at the start of the section to show
that Eric is the narrator. In Part 3 the voices will be changing
frequently, and that will be how I will indicate who the speaker is. Not
to worry, when Part 3 starts posting off in the distance future I will
remind you how this works.

Remember that the story is mine. Please be 18 to read. Be aware
that boys under 18 are involved in sexual situations in this story. Be
safe, always, and please donate to Nifty.

Thanks for reading. Douglas at thehakaanen@hotmail.com


CHAPTER 39
COACH COLLINS

<Senior year, Thursday, June 14>

While I didn't see me as being the ace pitcher of the Falcons, I did
know I was one of the better pitchers on the team. But I wasn't an ace
like Rodney had been for us. Rodney had a lot of experience by the
time he was a senior. He'd pitched and won big games, and, maybe
most importantly, he had the stuff needed to blow away a team.

I had the experience, I'd pitched and won some big games, but I
certainly didn't have the stuff Rodney had. I relied on being smart and
good location, putting the ball where I wanted it. Oh, could pitch
harder than the average pitcher in A ball, but I didn't have that extra
blast of power that Rodney had.

Scott was as fast as or faster than Rodney, but he had problems
controlling his pitches and the problem was often worse in big games.
Don't get me wrong, Scott wasn't a choker. His problem was that he
often tried too hard, which had him overthrowing the ball, and the
result was his pitches coming in too high, leading to too many walks.
Walks are a killer and Scott had a way of killing some of his otherwise
well pitched games by suddenly losing the location of home plate and
letting too many hitters reach base on walks, instead of making them
hit the ball to get on. Plus, he'd often had problems controlling his off-
speed pitches.

Of our other pitchers, Danny and Kraig were both good for an inning
or two, but they were one pitch pitchers. For them it was fastball
maybe three-quarters of the time. They threw hard enough for that to
work for a few batters, but then the opponent would notice that almost
all they saw was fastballs and they would start to time the ball and tee
off on Danny or Kraig. But they were learning and getting better and
getting a changeup and pitching at different speeds.

Lars was a good, steady, pitcher. He had never had a lot of stamina,
but he was smart, had good control, and threw a little bit above
average fastball. A lot of us wished Coach Miller would use him as
our closer, but Coach liked to experiment, which in a lot of ways was
what summer ball was about. The experiment with Kraig hadn't gone
so well the last game, so maybe it was time to give Lars his shot.
He'd done some closing before and had been decent.

Hunter had good control as a pitcher, but he didn't throw hard for a
big strong kid. He made up for it by throwing strikes, but he couldn't
overpower good hitters. For all of his size and athleticism, in the end
he was our junk ball pitcher—the kind of frustrating pitcher who
changes the speeds of his pitches and the location of his pitches,
making himself hard to time as he kept batters off-balance.

Chandler was a very good pitcher. Even though he was only a
sophomore, he threw harder than Hunter. But his disadvantage was
that he was a sophomore and his inexperience sometimes got him
into trouble. Korey, on the other hand, pitched because he had a
strong arm, but I didn't see him as a starter. I saw him more like Kraig
and Danny, a one inning pitcher, at least until he got older.

The pitcher who had the best stuff was Blaine. He was a junior and
had pitched a few innings of varsity last year. But he had mostly
played JV ball, posting a 5-0 record with the JV team. If anybody had
a chance to be an ace it would be Blaine. He was strong, had a great
fastball, good off-speed stuff, and pretty good control. What he didn't
have was the poise and maturity of a senior, but I had the feeling that
he was going to grow up a lot during the summer. I hoped so,
because if he could get the take-no-prisoners competitive attitude an
ace needed, he could be our big game pitcher next spring, even as a
junior.

That's the list of our pitchers for the summer. On Thursday we only
needed one of them, me. I pitched all seven innings as we won 5-1
over the team from Rockville, evening up our league record at 1-1. I
was in control the entire game, giving up four hits and walking one
while striking out seven. The only run I gave up was in the fourth
when the Wolves got a hit, a stolen base, a fly out, and a double. Our
overall record was now 2-6.

On Saturday we had a double header scheduled against the team my
friends from Tacoma played for. I think some of us would rather stay
in the dugout and make out with our Tacoma friends more than we
wanted to play baseball against them, but it was going to be fun.

The next day, Friday, Noah and I rode our bikes around the lake to
visit Coach Sanders and Coach Miller. Because the weather was a
Pacific Northwest drizzle we carried dry clothes in our bike saddles,
ready to change when we got the coaches' house.

The coaches had invited us to lunch, but the invitation was more to
talk baseball then it was to eat, not that the food was bad. Coach
Miller, as we discovered way back in seventh grade before we hired
him, was a master sandwich maker. Actually, he was a pretty good
cook all the way around.

Because the weather was cool and drizzly, we sat in the dining room
to eat. The room had sliding glass doors that opened onto the deck
and large floor to ceiling windows, giving us a view of the lake.

The deal we had for a visit to the coaches was that after any opening
comments we might have, we couldn't talk about our team, although
we would talk baseball in general. This year's Mustangs were a fair
topic. How could we not talk about a state championship team? What
did happen on these visits is that Noah and I both learned a lot about
the game of baseball from two smart men who loved to teach it. They
admitted that they also learned from us. Coach Sanders had changed
quite a bit since the day when we were seventh graders and he met
us at his front door, telling us he shouldn't be socializing with players
and students. Noah and I weren't the only players to stop at the
coaches' house during the summers, but I couldn't help but think that
we were the coaches' favorites.

Our sandwiches were roast turkey breast on wheat, with lettuce,
tomato, avocado strips, and some kind of kick ass sandwich spread.
We also had chips, of course, along with the usual staple to drink—
lemonade.

As the four of us ate and talked about how the Mariners' ace Felix
Hernandez dominated the Angels on Wednesday, I couldn't think
about how different things could have been for us with different
coaches. As far as I was concerned we had the best coaches we
could possibly have, because of what they knew about baseball,
because of how they taught the game and ran a team as fairly as
possible, because they were good ethical men, and because they
cared about us players as people. I know a couple of parents couldn't
accept their gayness, but for us players it has never been an issue.

"Are we ever going to have our team banquet?" I asked. "The date
keeps getting moved. The seniors are going to be gone soon if we
don't get it done. I mean it is pretty sad that the state champs can't
seem to get their postseason banquet going." I had no problem being
forthright with the coaches.

"You are going to be the first to know," Coach Sanders said. "We
keep running into conflicts, but Mr. McCall and I decided on a date. If
you can't make it, you can't make it. You're right, we should have had
it long ago and we can't put it off forever. It's next Friday evening at
the school cafeteria. It will be catered by Harmon catering."

"But they're from Kentburg. Are you sure they won't try to poison us?"
Coach Sanders looked at me like I was serious. "I was joking," I said.

"That's more what I would except from Noah than from you," Coach
Sanders said. "You're usually totally serious."

"Which all goes to show that you can never be sure," I said with a big
smile. "And it looks like Noah and I are the first to know, just like you
said."

Sitting with two men I respected greatly and who I knew respected
me too, just made the experience of playing baseball all the greater.
I'd played for one or the other of them since sixth grade and had
grown up with them as my coaches and mentors.

I couldn't help but be reminded of sitting with another coach in the
coaches' office of the high school. That meeting was not as pleasant,
in fact it was downright uncomfortable. It probably would have been a
total disaster except for some help that day from an unexpected
source. In some ways the day of that meeting might have been the
day that started the events which would eventually lead to a change
of head baseball coaches at Mayfield High School.

That meeting wasn't the easiest thing I'd ever done, and as a little
seventh grader it was close to traumatic. I had no idea how profound
the end result of the meeting would end up being, and if I'd known, I
doubt I would have sat down with Coach Collins. Here is how it went
for me and the teammates who sat in with me.

<Seventh grade Wednesday, September 13>

[ERIC]

"When are we going to see Coach Collins about the ads?" Connor
asked me. He had stopped me as I headed past his locker on the
way to home room.

"Soon. I want to talk to the Dawg and Donkey first, like I said at our
meeting yesterday." The Go To State Team had held a brief meeting,
making some changes as to who would meet with Coach Collins. It
was finally decided that it would be Noah, Connor, Danny, and Vince.
I would still be the spokesman. I wanted to talk to the two high school
players in order to get a feel for what Coach Collins was like. I'd
heard too many things about him, most of them not so good, and I
wanted to get the opinion of somebody I trusted, and that would be
the Donkey. Not that I didn't trust the Dawg, but the Donkey tended to
be much more ready to offer his opinion.

I talked with Coach Sanders on Wednesday, trying to get his thoughts
on Coach Collins. Noah had gone to the coach's classroom with me.

"You two seem to be a single entity these days," Coach Sanders said.
"I never seem to see one of you without the other."

"We just bumped into each other in the hall," Noah said. "I thought I'd
tag along since I'm in the group that is going to meet Coach Collins."
That was, in fact, exactly what happened. I hadn't even made my
decision to meet with Coach Sanders until after bumping into Connor
in the hall.

Coach Sanders managed to tell me a lot of nothing, playing the role
of good team player. About all I found out was that Coach Collins
would be starting his sixteenth season as head baseball coach at the
high school, that he was well-respected by the community, that he
had never had a losing season, and had won four league titles and a
state championship.

Noah caught the fact that Coach Sanders didn't mention what his
players thought of Coach Collins, which led to the kind of comment
that only Noah could come up with without hesitation. "You didn't say
anything about what his players think of him."

"They play hard for him," Coach Sanders said.

"If he's so good why is there less and less interest in baseball?" Noah
asked.

With that question, I started looking around for a desk to hide under. I
mean I could be pretty upfront, but even as a twelve year old I tried to
be diplomatic about things. Noah liked to get right to the point, even if
it got to be awkward at times. There was a lot of steel under the skin
of the sweet looking little bespectacled blond eleven year old.

"The community isn't as involved as it once was," Coach Sanders
said.

"Then why doesn't Coach Collins work harder to get them involved if
he's so respected?" Noah asked. Hiding under a desk was not going
to be good enough, I thought. I needed a really deep hole to crawl
into.

"You'll have to ask him," Coach Sanders said.

"Please don't," I blurted out. Coach Sanders and Noah looked at me
like I'd suddenly materialized in the room. Then they both burst out
laughing, which relaxed me and I managed to get in a laugh as well.

"Good luck in your interview, boys. I will say this much. He is not
always the easiest man to talk to." He wrote passes for each of us to
get into first period and Noah and I headed for class.

"He didn't really tell us much," Noah said. "It was a lot of meaningless
nothing, unless you read between the lines."

"If you mean he didn't really say anything good about Coach Collins,
then I guess you're right. I'm kinda nervous about what he said at the
end."

"I'm not."

"Noah!" Noah knew exactly what I meant when I blurted out his name.

"Don't worry, I will fold my hands and be good in the meeting. But I
know and trust Coach Sanders, so I didn't have a problem saying
what I was thinking."

"I trust you not to stick your foot in your mouth," I said.

"I can still do it if I really stretch—at least my big toe."

I gave Noah a light punch on his shoulder. "You're such a silly dork."

We had to split to go to separate classes. As I watched Noah's cute
little ass head down the hall I couldn't help but wonder what would
have happened if we hadn't both been a bit depressed and stuck in
our shells when I first moved to Mayfield.

Coach Sanders told me years later that he had indeed been playing
the role of good team player, trying not to impugn his fellow coach.
Even though we'd played a season for him and even though we
impressed the hell out of him with our Go to State work, he felt it
necessary to maintain appearances. But even at that he gave us a
little bit of a warning that a meeting with Coach Collins wouldn't be
easy. He has long since admitted to us that he always thought Coach
Collins was an egotistical jerk and he wished he could have just come
right out and told us that.

Before school on Thursday I called the high school to see about
setting up an appointment to talk to Coach Collins. That ended up
being easier than I expected. I found out when his planning period
was, got a pass to make a call from the office and managed to get
hold of him. I told him about the Team and told him we wanted to
meet with him and talk to him about our plans and see how he could
help us. I also said we wanted to talk about the advertising space on
the fences at the high school field. He was really nice on the phone
and said he would be happy to meet with us.

We figured that Friday would be the best day to meet. He was an
assistant football coach and with Friday being game day there was no
practice after school. The middle school games were Thursday
afternoons and they had no Friday practice, so Connor, Vince, and
Danny would be able to come to the meeting. We agreed to meet
next Friday after school.

After I hung up I decided that my fears about Coach Collins had been
unfounded. I'd been really nervous when I called him, but he ended
up being helpful and very reassuring. I was looking forward to having
a positive meeting. Boy was I wrong about that.

<Seventh grade-Saturday, September 16, The Donkey Stall>

The Donkey and I decided that Saturday afternoon would be the best
time for us to meet. I had a soccer game at ten in the morning and his
weekend hockey game was on Sunday, so we would have plenty of
time to talk.

"Are you going to want to take care of our other issue?" he asked me
as we talked on the phone Thursday evening.

"You mean the middle school boy and the high school boy thing?"

"That is exactly what I mean." I could almost feel his friendly smile
coming to me through the phone.

"I'll have to think about it," I said somewhat noncommittally. He was
referring my wanting to take his ass and become the little middle
school boy topping the big stud high schooler.

"Think hard. The Donkey is ready to be dominated by the middle
school stud."

"I know for sure I'm not one of the studs," I said. While I was athletic
and coordinated, I was not one of the big kids in the seventh grade.
Stud was not a word I would come up with if I was describing me.
However, the word stud would describe the boy sitting on my bed
wearing nothing but a Seahawks t-shirt and sporting a bigger than
four inch boner. He had been fully dressed when I started the
conversation.

The Donkey and I ended our chat and I hung up my phone. "Did the
middle school boy and high school boy thing mean you were talking
about you maybe fucking him when you see him Saturday?" the
studly boy asked. The stud was Scott, of course.

"I said I'd think about it. I mean it has to be cool with you and
everything."

"How about if I just say you can fuck anybody you want anytime you
want. That should make things easier," Scott said.

"Are you serious?"

"Totally."

"And you want the same thing? You can fuck anybody, any time?"

"Only if you're cool with it." I didn't know then what I know now, but
Scott wasn't looking for the freedom to mess around with other guys,
he wanted the freedom to mess around with girls.

"Isn't that what they call an open relationship in those Nifty porn
stories?" I asked.

"I guess. You read more of those than I do."

I loved reading them. They were great jerk off material. I was so
happy my parents didn't have all of the parental controls on my
computer like they used to. The twins had told me about Nifty and I
loved it.

I didn't really like the idea of anything goes as far as sex. Sure jerking
off and blow jobs were okay. We thought they were more like
messing around than sex. But serious kissing and fucking, that was
more like real sex. I decided to go along with it, even though I had
this feeling of dread in my gut that Scott had some kind of ulterior
motive for proposing this idea, and I did not like the feeling at all. It
turned out that feeling was right on the mark, but not in the way I was
expecting.

"Now, how about sucking me off," Scott said. "Thinking about you
fucking the Donkey's got me wanting to get off."

Shaking off my feelings, I went down on Scott's leaking cock. As I
sucked his beautiful cut cock, I unzipped my pants and pulled my own
smaller member out and started jerking off. It wasn't crazy, wild,
naked sex, but it served its purpose as two horny twelve year old
boys got off before getting their homework started. Scott soon filled
my mouth with his load of watery cum. His still wasn't real thick, but
he did shoot a lot of it. I followed him within moments, shooting over
his cock and balls and on my bedspread. I had forgotten the first rule
of sex on the bed, shoot your cum on the sheets, not on the blankets
and bedspread. Now I had to quickly sop up my own light boy cum.

We finished our studying, but what we did wasn't like old times where
we'd be naked and cumming more than once. I had a hard time
sleeping that night as I kept wondering what had gone wrong
between Scott and me.

I was still thinking about what had happened with me and Scott as I
entered the Donkey's stall the next day. I was pretty sure I would fulfill
my desire to fuck the Donkey. If Scott wanted an open relationship,
then fine, I could be as open as the next guy, was what I was
thinking.

I wasn't surprised to see the Donkey naked, his long cock and
hanging balls swinging back and forth as he walked over to his desk
and sat in the chair. "The best way to sit in the Donkey stall is to be
naked," he said. "Especially when somebody as cute as you are
comes in."

I grinned and started undressing. "Where's the Dawg?" I asked as I
pulled off my pants.

"He's cooking up some soup and sandwiches in the kitchen. We
heard that soccer players can be very hungry after a game."

I was happy to hear food was being served. I had virtually jumped out
of my soccer uniform and into jeans and a t-shirt when I got home
from our game (A 2-1 home team win, if you want to know. Oh, yeah,
we were the home team.), and I was very hungry.

"Did you think about the middle school, high school thing?" the
Donkey asked. "Are you ready to have your way with a big Donkey?"

"Yeah, I thought about it, and I want to do it."

"Do you have enough energy to do it now, or do you want to wait until
after lunch?"

"Let's eat first."

The Donkey said I was making a good decision. I was stripped down
to my briefs, but the Donkey asked me to keep them on. "I like middle
school boys in tighty-whiteys," he said. "And I can tell you're ready for
fun seeing as how those briefs are bulged out."

My aching boner was pushing on my underpants so hard the
waistband was shoved out some at the front. There was no question
about the Donkey's condition, of course, since he was naked; his
bigger than six inch boner was sticking up in the air and was rock
hard. I wondered if I would be that big when I was sixteen.

The Dawg called us down to lunch where we had toasted cheese
sandwiches along with bean and bacon soup and sodas to drink. It
was very good and very filling. The Donkey remained naked and I
wore only my tighty-whiteys, since his parents were gone for the day.
The Dawg was dressed in boxers and a t-shirt. "Never cook in the
nude," was his watchword, "especially when cooking bacon is
involved."

As we ate we talked about Coach Collins. The Donkey didn't have a
lot of good things to say about him and neither did the Dawg.

"He's lazy, for one thing. He knows his baseball really good," the
Donkey said, "but he doesn't really make us work at it hard. I got
more done in middle school and summer ball than in high school."

"His practices are kind of disorganized," the Dawg said.

"He relies on talent more than on his working hard as a coach," the
Donkey told me.

"And that talent is drying up because nobody is working at doing stuff
in the summer with the recreation teams and all," the Dawg added.

"He's weird in some ways. He lets guys get away with stuff, like that
annual beer party out on the farm that guy Abner does every year.
But if you do something to get on his bad side he holds long grudges
and can make your life shit until he decides to forgive you, if he
decides it. Sometimes I think he'd rather just hold a grudge than get
things solved, so sometimes good players sit on the bench because
he's pissed off at them."

"I thought that party thing at the farm was supposed to end," I said.

"Don't bet on it. They'll just keep you middle school kids away to
make your coaches happy, but there will be a party again—you
watch."

The Dawg really showed how he felt by saying, "Of all the coaches in
Mayfield, I think I'd rather play for any of them, even the recreation
coaches, than I would for Coach Collins. As long as things go his
way, he's fine, but if they don't he can be an asshole."

"Everybody thinks he's so great because he won a state
championship and some league championships. But that was a few
years ago. Everybody still thinks he's great, but he's living off his
reputation," the Donkey said. "If you really want to go to the state
tournament, I don't think you'll do it with him as coach unless you get
really lucky."

We finished our lunch and cleaned up the kitchen. The Dawg stayed
in the house when the Donkey and I returned to the loft above the
garage. He told us he wanted us to have fun on our own and he
would watch some TV. We both told him he was welcome, but he
insisted this was a special moment for the two of us, so he'd let us
have the time alone.

When we got up to the loft the Donkey gave me a big grin. "Now it's
time to get you naked," he said. I started to pull down my briefs, but
he stopped me. "We're doing it my way."

He got down on his knees and grabbed my waistband where it stuck
out with his teeth. I'd gone soft during lunch, but it didn't take me but
a few seconds to bone up again. He pulled the front of my briefs
down across my dick and then under my balls. Then he worked on
the hips, and then down my ass. They were soon pulled down under
my balls and butt. It was a strange sensation to have him move
around me on his knees as his teeth and tongue, and even his nose,
touched my exposed skin,

"I know you're gonna fuck me," he said, "but I gotta do this." I found
what he meant instantly as his tongue worked into my crack and he
started licking and kissing me inside. I spread my legs as much as I
could as my briefs were now down to my knees. I finally decided, fuck
it, and used my feet to kick them down and step out of them.

Now I could spread my legs really wide and he brought his tongue to
my hole and licked and kissed me there. I couldn't help but moan
loudly. It was the first real rim job being performed on me and it felt
kick ass awesome. I could feel his tongue work its way inside me,
feeling around inside my asshole, tickling it and sending shivers of
pleasure through my entire body. I didn't want him to stop, but I knew
I would have to because I was on the verge of cumming.

"Stop, I'm gonna cum," I finally croaked out. The Donkey kept right on
going and I realized there was nothing I could do but tilt my head
back, let out a loud groan, and shoot my seed on the Donkey's floor
as I was overwhelmed by a no touch cum. It was an incredible,
incredible orgasm. "Oh, jeez, that was so good," I finally uttered.

Mike stood up and towered over me. "Your butt gave the Donkey
tongue a little workout, but it's used to licking and getting workouts.
It's a favorite Donkey pastime."

"I messed up your rug."

"Nah, you made it beautiful, but I suppose we should clean it up."

As he grabbed some tissues I said, "But I was supposed to be your
middle school master or something like that. Now I've shot my load."

"I thought you were twelve?" he asked.

"Well, I am."

"And twelve year olds can't cum back to back any more? Damn, the
world is truly going to hell. Back in the Donkey's day..."

"Okay, okay, I get it," I said giggling some. "I can go again."

"Good, and now you will last a little longer. Donkeys like long rides."

And a long ride is exactly what happened. We exchanged a few really
great kisses first and then did it doggy style on his bed. The Donkey
thought this position would allow me to generate more power. I don't
know if that was actually the case, but I do know my twelve year old
self felt like it was in complete charge of the high school boy
underneath me.

I plowed him as deeply as I could. I know it wasn't as deep as he got
from the Dawg or from his friends (he'd told me all about his friend
Cody's eight incher), but I do know it was as hard and passionate as
any of them could give. My hairless cock rammed into his ass and my
little balls slapped against it as I grunted and groaned and moaned
and squealed, drowning out the deeper noises coming from my older
friend. I popped out of his butt twice, but he didn't say a thing when it
happened. He just waited patiently on all fours as I reentered his butt
and started up again.

When I felt my climax coming close, I reached under him and
wrapped my hand around his big teen cock and started masturbating
him as I rabbit fucked him. I could see the sweat that beaded on my
face fall on his back and the top of his ass and I could feel the sweat
on my chest dripping down my chest to my belly, ending up on my
thighs and on his sheets. (The donkey knew to remove his blankets
before sex). When I thought I couldn't fuck him faster, I fucked him
faster, and when I thought I couldn't plow him deeper, I plowed him
deeper.

"Oh, fuck, Eric, you're a good little ass fucker. Fuck me hard boy,
show me that you own this Donkey," Mike muttered between moans. I
was too far gone to say much of anything, and when I finally felt my
dick swell, my balls tighten, and my whole body feel like it was going
to contract in one big, hard spasm, my cum finally fired itself into his
ass with a squeal that was even louder and longer than the orgasm I
had from his rimming me.

As I shot my cum into his butt my hand quit moving. The Donkey
removed it from his boner, putting his own hand around it just in time
to blow his wad of thick cum all over his sheets and pillow case. He
ended up making a grade A mess as he shot and shot and shot and
shot, with a deep grunt accompanying each ejaculation.

We both collapsed on the bed, my sweaty body on top of his. He
acted like my weight was nothing at all to him, and it probably wasn't.
Finally he turned his body and I slid off it onto the bed. Part of my
back landed in his sticky cum. He turned so we were facing each
other and he planted a deep, loving kiss on my lips. We exchanged
tongue and kisses and love as we slowly caught our breaths.

We heard the Dawg enter the room with a big grin on his face.
"Damn, I could hear you guys in the house. If any neighbors are
home they probably thought there was murder and mayhem going on
here."

"You're just jealous because some of the noise wasn't yours," Mike
said.

"Oh, a little bit was. I had a good jerk off thinking about you two." He
looked at me and said, "I gave you guys your private time. Next time
I'm all in, including my Dawg barks." I liked the sounds of the words
"next time."

The Donkey and I finally got off the bed and showered together. It
was non-sexual in that we didn't get each other off, but in a way it
was sexual in that we washed each other thoroughly.

"It's been awhile since I've washed a nice smooth body like this,"
Mike said. "I kinda like it."

"Well, I've never washed a big old body like yours. I guess I like it,
too."

"Hey, watch who you're calling old. Old doesn't happen until
eighteen." He gave me a hard slap on my ass and then turned off the
shower.

We each grabbed a towel and dried ourselves. As we dressed in the
big bedroom the Donkey asked me something that totally surprised
me, but his question was another one of those moments that would
have a huge effect on the Going to State Team.

"Would it be a problem if I sat in on your meeting?" the Donkey
asked.

See, I told you it was a surprise. I mean when you think about it, the
Donkey is a junior and will be off to college by the time we're
upperclassmen at the high school. But he also was a good friend to
some of us. He and the Dawg have not only taught a couple of us
about sex, but also a lot about baseball. And today he gave me a lot
of things to think about regarding Coach Collins.

Mike misread my pause as a no. "It's cool if you don't; it's your group
and I'll be long gone when you guys get to high school."

"Oh, it's not that, I was surprised by your asking is all."

"Hehehehe, Donkeys are full of surprises."

"You just want to sit in is all?"

"That's how I plan it. I know how to read Coach Collins better than
you and I think having one of his own players there that he knows will
help you guys out." He looked at Ryan. "Do you want in, too, Sir
Dawg?"

"Nah. You're better at that stuff than me."

"I don't have a problem with either of you sitting in," I said. "I don't
know, I guess it will help."

"I'll be sure to have the ears in bullshit detector position, but I will try
my best not to butt in and say anything. I'll wiggle the ears or
something if I think you're getting a pile of horse manure."

"You don't mean Donkey manure?" I asked.

"Donkey manure doesn't stink," he said with a long, loud laugh. What
could I say to that?

<Seventh grade-Friday, September 22, Mayfield High School>

Most of us middle school players did a lot of talking during the week
about the upcoming meeting with Coach Collins. Other players had
heard not so nice things about the varsity head coach. I mean I could
think back to a lot of what I'd heard some parents say about how his
teams were good enough for winning seasons, but never good
enough to go far in the postseason. But that wasn't what the meeting
was going to be about. What we really wanted was to get him to
agree to let us sell ads and put them on the fence on our game days
to help raise money for our yet to be named team.

On Thursday our football team had its first game. It was an away
game at Clark Pass, so none of us ended up going. The Mayfield
Titans won 33-0 to give themselves a good start to the season. And
just like that Friday, the day of the big meeting, arrived.

For some reason I wasn't as nervous for this meeting as I had been
for some of our other meetings. While getting the space on the fence
would really help us, it wasn't like it was something we had to have to
get our summer team put together. Noah, Danny, and I had met with
Mr. McCall after Danny got back from the game and had dinner.

Mr. McCall gave us some ideas about what to talk about and gave us
some dollar figures to present. I felt really prepared. What I didn't
know then was that the Donkey had also done some homework to
give him some things to think about during the meeting. The Donkey
loves to talk about how dangerous thinking can be, and oh was he
ever so right.

After the meeting with Mr. McCall, the three of us seventh graders
went to Noah's room. When we got there it was like all three of us
knew what was going to happen even without us talking about it. We
talked of course, but not about baseball. We talked about sexual stuff.
Danny found out that Noah and I had gone all the way, he talked
about the things he was doing with Carl, and also about how Mary
Alice asked if he wanted to go out with her. And of course our shirts
and pants came off, we ended up on Noah's bed, and we had a nice
jerk off session.

The differences in our dicks said a lot about our different rates of
maturing. Danny had a lot of hair on the base of his five inch cock,
and even had some tiny hairs coming on his balls. When he shot, he
blew out a few wads of cum that was thick, although not yet like the
Donkey. There was a lot of white in it.

I still had no hair, a cock over an inch shorter, and shot out a little bit
of clear stuff.

Noah was only eleven, so he had a good reason for being less
mature. His dick was the smallest, his balls the smallest, and he was
dry, But he put as much of himself into his masturbating as anybody,
and then some. Danny was in the middle as we lay on Noah's bed,
and Noah had no problem wrapping his fist around Danny's dick after
we got going. Danny had no problem letting him, and the result was a
spectacular cum as he shot right up to his neck.

When we finished Danny and I got dressed. Noah just put on a pair of
lounge pants so he could see us to the door.

"That was fun," Danny said. "I haven't done something with you guys
for awhile. I'm glad we got to do this. Best friends should jerk off
together as much as they can."

We all emphatically agreed. Mr. McCall gave Danny and me rides
home. I finished what little homework I had left, said goodnight to my
parents, brushed my fangs, and crashed.

It was now Friday morning. The day crawled by slowly, but it did crawl
by. As soon as the final bell rang the five of us going to the high
school were picked up by Noah's dad, who drove us to the high
school. It wasn't that far to walk, but Coach Collins had told us what
time he wanted us at the school, and walking there would have made
us late.

Coach Collins said we would meet in the gym office, which made him
easy to find. The Donkey was waiting for us in the locker room and
went with us to the office. Coach Collins was at one of the desks,
waiting for us. We could see there were chairs for all of us. For all the
bad things we'd heard about Coach Collins he'd been really good to
us from the moment I talked to him on the phone. That was all about
to change.

I introduced myself to Coach Collins and shook is hand. "Thank you
for taking the time to talk to us Coach Collins." I tried to get the
meeting off to a polite start. My high pitched voice didn't seem right. I
was sure that since Coach Collins was used to dealing with high
school kids I probably sounded like a little kid to him. Come to think of
it, I was a little kid and looked like one as well. I was feeling self-
conscious, which didn't happen when I was having meetings with
other adults. My confidence seemed to be leaving me for some
reason. But I did manage to get the rest of my teammates introduced.

"I am happy to help kids who are interested in the great game of
baseball," Coach Collins said. He looked at the Donkey. "And what
brings you to this meeting, Michael."

"I know Eric and a couple of the others. They were a bit nervous
about meeting with you. I said I'd sit in with them just to prove you
weren't any kind of an ogre."

"Nice of you to think so highly of me and for you to look out for the
interests of the younger boys," Coach Collins said. "Now boys, just
exactly what is it I can do for you?"

I explained to him what it was the Go to State Team was doing and
what it wanted to do. My nervousness went away as I gave details of
what we had done and what our dream was.

"Well, that sounds really great, but I wouldn't bank my life savings on
going to a state tournament. You boys are what, in seventh grade?"

"Yes, sir. But we understand we might not get there and that the
important thing is the journey and not the destination." I was quoting
Coach Sanders here. Looking back I can reflect on how this was a
piece of advice I should have remembered before the first game at
State my junior year.

"Well, I would say you're a bit young for thinking of state tournaments.
You'll find there's more to playing winning baseball than a JV
championship won when you were in sixth grade. I think you boys are
a bit ambitious. And from what you're telling me, you all are doing
things that should be left to adults who know what it is they're doing."

This was not going well, and looking at my teammates I could see
they were thinking the same thing. "We are going to let the adults do
those kinds of things (whatever those things happen to be, I thought).
We have a business manager, a coach, and sponsors."

"I heard about that coach you got. It seems he doesn't have much
coaching experience. There's a lot of long-time coaches here in town
you might have talked to. I hear you ignored them and asked this
Coach Whatever to be your coach."

"Coach Miller," Noah said.

"Coach Whatever works for me. Sounds to me like you guys didn't
want a coach who knew what he was doing. Not a good way to
convince anybody about how serious you are. A couple of those
coaches you ignored are friends of mine and they aren't too happy
about you kids barging in and trying to put together your own team."
Coach Collins looked directly at me with a look that would melt ice in
the Arctic. "Especially you, young man. They don't like somebody
who is new here coming in and trying to run the show. The fact that
you're a kid really raised a few hackles."

"We didn't intend to make anybody mad," Noah said. "We just wanted
to do something positive."

"What you did was all negative. What you did was tell the youth
coaches of this town that what they've been doing isn't good enough.
What you did is tell me I'm not running a program you want to be a
part of. Baseball in Mayfield is in good shape and it doesn't need a
bunch of kids telling us that it's not."

"There is no select middle school team made up of just Mayfield
kids," I said. "We wanted to have one."

"Maybe one isn't needed. You ever think of that? And if one is
needed maybe I was the one to come talk to, not the buddy of your
middle school coach." He gazed at all of us. "You might want to
consider this. Your Coach Whatever is more than just a buddy of your
middle school coach, if you get my drift. Not much I can do about a
school coach, the laws being what they are, but I can sure as hell
make trouble for his...harrumph...buddy."

"That drift you refer to doesn't bother us," Noah said. "We thought he
was the best coach of us."

From the look on the face of Coach Collins, it was quite obvious he
didn't appreciate Noah standing up to him. "Well, son, it should bother
you. It certainly bothers me."

"We do need your help," I said, trying to get the subject back on topic
and away from where Coach Collins was taking it. "That's why we
came."

"And just how do you need my help when you think you can do
everything for yourselves?"

I was trying hard not to lose my cool. "We're looking for ways to pay
for extra things for our team, like tournaments and trips and
scholarship for players who can't afford stuff." I was back to being
nervous again. Coach Collins wasn't making this easy. "We want to
know if we can put up signs from our own sponsors for our home
games on the high school field."

"That won't happen. No banners can be hung on the fences; they are
loose and dangerous."

"We weren't thinking of banners. We were thinking of putting our own
signs up screwing the signs into the fence."

Coach Collins glared at us. "You're thinking of putting holes in my
fence."

This time Connor spoke up. I was waiting for him to throw a tantrum,
but fortunately that didn't happen. "Me and Vince looked at the fence.
All the signs are screwed in. We take one down and put ours up."

"Sorry boys, that isn't going to happen. I think I've heard enough. You
boys are getting involved in things you have no business being
involved in."

"Why can't we put our own signs up?" Connor asked, with a tinge of
anger in his voice.

"You know what I think. I think you boys should drop this silly idea of
yours now. Running around stirring up trouble is not how to make the
team when you get to high school. I'm not going anywhere, which
makes me the guy you need to make happy in order to play baseball
at Mayfield high. Right now none of you are making me happy. In
other words, you want to play ball then you play ball with me."

I was not prepared for that kind of a petty threat. I knew I had to say
something before Connor blew a fuse, but I couldn't think of what to
say because I was getting pretty angry myself. The person who
spoke, however, was the Donkey.

"Actually, Coach, they did ask a good question. Why can't they put up
their own signs?'

"I don't need to answer that, but I will. Those ads are paid for by the
town's businesses and that money goes to paying," he looked right at
me, "our extra expenses. Those signs are up for every summer
league game and we get all the revenue."

"That's not entirely true, Coach," Mike said. "The contract the
businesses sign says that after the high school season a percentage
of that money goes to the teams who play on the field."

I looked at the Donkey with a mixture of admiration and dread.
Admiration for doing some research and standing up to his coach by
voicing his opinion, dread because of what I felt his coach was going
to do to him.

"You know Michael, what I said to those boys applies to you, too. If
you want to play ball for me the last thing you want to be is
insubordinate, and you are real close to crossing the line. You might
be a pretty good pitcher, but the team I coach will win with or without
you."

Mike did not appear to be phased by the coach's threat and kept
going. "In fact, according the contract, a summer team can sell its
own ads and replace the school ads, but they have to pay a
percentage to the school fund."

"All of the money from those ads has been going to Mayfield baseball
since I was hired as varsity coach. And that was sixteen years ago." I
could see that Coach Collins was now getting a bit irate as well. The
only one totally cool right then was the Donkey.

"Do the businesses who pay for the ads know that? Or do they think
that most of the money is going to the summer teams like the contract
says."

"Two things. First, that money is an essential part of the high school
budget. Second, this meeting is over. I can excuse you little kids for
being out of line, but you might want to start growing up now. You'll
be in high school in a couple of years." I just knew he was going to
eventually put us into the category of "little kids".

"Second is this:  Michael, if you want to continue in the Mayfield High
School baseball program you may want to stay out of affairs that
don't concern you. I want to see you in my room before school on
Monday."

"I just wanted to see my friends get a fair shake," Mike said.

"They are getting a fair shake. They still get to play middle school
baseball. That means they're getting more than you might be getting
this spring. Good-bye, gentlemen, and don't waste my time with
nonsense again."

We all took the hint and left his office. My knees were shaking after
what happened in that meeting.

"That went well," Noah said. "I've never been made to feel so stupid
and...well, little."

"Where did you find out about those contracts?" I asked Mike.

"My dad is a good friend of the owner of Larry's hardware. He and I
talked to him a couple of days ago. I kind of wanted to know about
those signs and where the money went. I found out a lot more than I
thought. Coach Collins all but admitted the summer teams weren't
getting their share of the money and that he's ripping them off."

Mike being in the meeting had given us more than I ever expected.
But it also might have gotten him into big trouble with Coach.

"He's an asshole," Connor said. "Ain't no way I play for his ass."

"He can be a hard ass sometimes," Mike said, "but I've never seen
him like that. I think we might have hit a tender nerve with him."

"I think you might be in big trouble with him," I said.

"I think Coach Collins got his Donkey hoofing," Mike said with his
usual big smile. "I don't think there's much he can do about keeping
me off the team, because I know what the contract says and I bet I
can find somebody who can do some research to find out who gets
paid that advertising money. My friend Bryce is Junior Class
president. I think I can get him to do some research. It will be hard for
Coach to keep me off the team when I know where the body is
buried. He can put me on the bench for the year, but it'll be hard for
him to explain why one of his best pitchers never plays."

I hoped he was right about that. I didn't want to see him get hurt for
helping us. But we still had our own problems. I wasn't worried what
would happen to us a couple of years from now in high school. Coach
Collins would have some angry parents to deal with if he cut a bunch
of the best players turning out. Our problem was, where do we go
now and how can we make the Donkey's discovery work for us? I
asked Mike what he thought about that.

"Let me talk to Bryce. We need proof that Coach Collins is not
following the contract. Then I would say your next move is to talk to
Mr. Wilson."

Mr. Wilson was the principal of Mayfield High School. I couldn't help
but wonder what I had just gotten myself into.

Next: Just What am I?