Date: Sun, 16 Sep 2001 07:48:46 -0700 (PDT) From: vince junior <littlejockvincejrgot3_5@yahoo.com> Subject: Austin Croshere Takes John Rocker as His Boy Wife Part 1 DISCLAIMER: A FICTIONAL STORY INVOLVING INDIANA PACER AUSTIN CROSHERE AND CLEVELAND INDIAN JOHN ROCKER. THIS IS JUST A FANTASY SO CHILL. THE TRUE SEXUALITY OF CROSHERE & ROCKER IS NOT KNOW BY THIS AUTHOR. NOR DO I HAVE ANY KNOWLEDGE OF ANY OTHER SPORTS STARS MENTIONED IN THIS FANTASY. IT IS JUST A FANTASY. ENJOY. AUSTIN CROSHERE TAKES JOHN ROCKER AS HIS BOY WIFE Part 1 JOHN ROCKER strolled through downtown Santa Monica in a pair of tight white shorts and your basic white tee. His large muscular frame filled them to the max, to the point of ripping through. He liked that. Liked the looks he got. Respect and awe was on the faces of those he passed. Felt good. Ever since getting traded off the Atlanta Braves and dumped on Cleveland this year, he needed the ego boost. He was an important man, a big man, but thanks to some bad press in 1999, people seemed to forget that. John saw some ladies looking him over. His large left hand grabbed his even larger package and, cupping it, he winked at the ladies. They blushed which made him smile. Yeah, even on a nothing team like the Indians, he was still the man. The media hadn't broken Rocker, the controversy hadn't broken him, even being traded down hadn't changed the fact that he was one hot stud. Thinking about all the pussy he'd mounted in the last year, Rocker decided he was the biggest stud in baseball. No strike that, he decided, the biggest stud in professional sports. "The biggest fucking stud ever," he gloated under his breath. There it was, the gym he'd heard about. He'd asked around for where to work out now that he was stuck here in Santa Monica, California due to a scheduling mix up. This gym was supposed to be off the beaten path. It was supposed to be a serious gym where nobody would hassle him because everyone minded their own business. Honestly, he'd prefer something else. Somewhere that the ladies might fawn over his sweaty muscles as he worked out. He could wink and nod and pick off the hottest lay by the time his work out was over. Screw showering, he'd find some big titted bitch to swipe his body clean with her tongue! The thought made his Rocker jump a little so he massaged it as he entered the gym. That's what he wanted, to fuck some pussy, invade some slut and show her who's the boss. But a co-ed gym had risks because usually some fags hung around. Every time he tried to work out in a co-ed gym so uppity fag would come over and start getting in his face about stuff he'd said. He'd look at the queer bait's puny frame and want to beat the shit out of the little princess but he knew if he did, the media storm would start up all over again. Faggot would probably sue to and he'd be more broke than O.J. No way was some fag gonna break his bank. He'd worked too hard and he wasn't exactly rich from baseball nor could he count on any endorsement deals since suddenly free speech had become a crime in America. Picking up some free weights, he thought about how he'd been crucified for just speaking his mind, just speaking the truth. Doing a dumbell curl, John noticed a blonde dude checking him out. Little guy, John could crush him in two easily. But what the hell, guy probably knew his place and John was hot as hell so no harm no foul. "Just keep your distance," John thought to himself, "and enjoy the show fag boy. You'll probably end up shooting in your shorts over how studly a real man can be." Slowing pumping his guns, John looked around and noticed a familiar looking dude doing bench presses. Who was the guy? John thought a second and decided it was that fag Billy Bean. The pansy ass who'd left pro baseball for his lover. Checking out the dude, John thought about how A Rod had told him Billy's older lover fucked him so hard and so completely that Billy's hole was stretched out wider than any chic's pussy. Smirking, John thought the fucking queer probably loved being punked out. Billy had been married once, he'd heard, now he was no better than a woman, just some cunt jug for a man to unload in. John started working on his lats and surveyed the room. Hell, the place looked like it was packed with fudge packers. "Or sluts who get fudge packed," John corrected himself laughing. These dudes were sick, but keep their distance and it was okay for them to eye ball him. "Yeah, groove on a real man for a change," he thought swiping off some sweat from his brow. He needed to work on his pecs but the bitch boy Billy Bean was hogging the machine and since this was such a crappy gym, it was the only one they had. "Cock sucker's forgotten his place," John thought getting pissed. Enough is enough, he decided. He swaggered over to the bench, thrusting his crotch out as he strutted. Why not give the girls a little show, he laughed. Looking down at the dude, he cleared his throat before he spoke, "Hey princess, time's up. Haul your snatch off to the locker room where you can finger yourself because I need the equipment." This dude just glared at him. Uppity fags. John hated them. He decided to stay calm. "Look honeyboy, it's close to five you should probably rush home to cook dinner for your hubby. Don't want to piss him off or he might have to get rough with you Billy boy." John smirked as the dude sat up. Yep, just remind bitch boy of his new duties now that he'd become some sort of slutty wife and he'd move out of the way so a real man could get a work out in. "Who the fuck is Billy?" the dude barked out. His tone kind of surprised John. Low voice, kind of manly. Not as manly as John's of course, but no man was as manly as John, right? "Dick wad, I asked you a question!" "Uh . . . I . . .," John stammered. "Who the fuck is Billy? Look shit for brains, I'm working out here so just take your sweet ass on over to the stepper so you can put on another show for the room," the dude laughed. Who the fuck did this dude think he was? Nobody laughed at John Rocker's manhood, nobody questioned it. John's face turned bright red with anger. "Billy Bean, that's your name, right honey?" The dude laughed at him, fucking laughed in his face. "No bitch, it's Austin." Shit. The guy had looked familiar. It was AUSTIN CROSHERE, professional basketball player for the Indiana Pacers. John had heard about him. He was supposed to be the queerest dude in the NBA. There were rumors he'd ridden Troy Aikman until the dude couldn't walk right, totally bitched him out, enforced Aikman's feminine side. A Rod told him former Dallas Cowboy Troy had turned cow punk. Aikman was shacked up with some dude now and doing house work. He'd heard that rising tennis stud Andy Roddick had also succumbed to the manly heat Croshere provided. In fact, Croshere had dumped him after he'd taken the dude's ass cherry and every time Roddick finished a game, he tore off his shirt which was some sort of coded message to Croshere that said something like, "Stud, here I am, come take me again!" Austin Croshere was supposed to be some sort of Super Fag. He got off on proving he was a man by dominating men and not chics. One time he winked at A Rod and A Rod just about pissed his pants as he ran away trying to save his own manhood. Croshere was the one fag the whole world feared. John Rocker thought he should beat a hasty retreat. "Sorry, Mr. Croshere," John began with a trembling voice, "didn't recognize you." Austin scratched his head as he took in the stud standing before him. John was wanting to hurry back to the dumb bells but the second Croshere raised his arm, he flashed his pits. A dark tangle of man hair. John couldn't look away. "Hey, I know you. You were Johnny Rocker!" Croshere laughed. Unable to tear his eyes away from Croshere's furry, manly pit, John still managed to attempt to correct him, "I still am John Rocker." Austin noticed Rocker staring at his pit and grinned. He brought his right hand over to finger the hairs in his left pit while Rocker's mouth fell open. "Yeah Johnny, I heard you got dumped on the Indians." All that scratching made John uncomfortable and it seemed to stir up the sweaty musk of Austin's pit. John's mouth went dry. "I'm still John Rocker," he gasped with a parched voice. "Sorry to bother you." John made an effort to walk away as he still eyed Austin's man fur but Croshere was quicker. He reached around and cupped John by the butt. "You ain't bothering me now and as far as I can tell by the wet spot at the front of your shorts, you're wanting to become Johnny Croshere." In horror, John looked down at his own crotch and saw not only was he hard but he was flooding precum. Shit what was happening. He wanted to run away crying but Austin's hands felt so good on his ass. No one had ever grabbed his ass like that before. What the hell was going on? Austin grinned at John. Damn Croshere's sexy. "What the fuck am I thinking?" John wondered. "You got one hell of a hot ass, Johnny," Austin said in a low growl. Just hearing that voice while his butt was being rubbed made John moan. "You a slutty little boy, Johnny? You bend over for any cock that waves in your face?" "Dude, no guy's been up there before or back there or whatever the fuck is the right word!" Austin pulled John closer and broke out into a wide grin, "So you saved yourself for me? Wanted to be a good virgin and wait for your husband?" Austin couldn't get over how John melted in his hands. This was one hot jock! And responsive. Better than Andy Roddick. Way better. He'd had to break Andy in and no sooner did he do that than Roddick started talking about how he wanted to choke on Pete Sampras's hairy dick. Roddick was a real slut for dick. Final straw was when he'd walked in on Roddick getting plowed by Timberwolf Wally Szcerbiak. Croshere knew then it was over between him and Roddick. Nothing wrong with wanting sex or even being a slut about it but damn it, he wasn't just out of college anymore. He'd fuck anything that would move back in college and by the time he got drafted by the Pacers, as a first round pick he remembered, he knew ass pussy was better than girl pussy. It wasn't what he chose, it was what he craved. And thanks to the injuries that sidelined him on the bench the first year of pro ball, he got plenty of time to grab him some. He'd been like any other tom cat on the prowl, sniffing around for some hot bitch but hell it was time to think about marriage and a home. Looking at John before him, he could smell the lust on the dude. His Johnny wanted it bad. Suddenly, he flashed on all that shit Rocker said in his infamous interview. Then on how Rocker's later defense was that he wasn't a racist, he was a redneck. No, that wasn't it. This boy had shot off his big mouth hoping someone would cut him down to size. That was what? 1999. And still no one had really called John on it, not the way he needed to be called on it. Even better, John was a cherry. A total virgin to man sex. Austin had hoped Roddick was marriage material but he'd made the mistake of bedding Andy first. Dude had loved it but without a commitment of any kind, Andy had felt no qualms about passing his sweet ass around. Austin wasn't going to make that mistake again. No, Johnny was going to be his but all his and only his. "Johnny, I'm going to marry you," Austin said slowly so it could sink in. "Fuck that!" John sputtered. "Dudes don't marry each other! It's fucking wrong!" Austin worked his hand into the back of John's tight shorts and ran his fingers up and down John's crack. "I'm going to marry you." It wasn't even a question! And who the hell was this Croshere, Super Fag or not, to think John Rocker would pussy out and take it from a man? The thought of being in bed with some hairy ape like Austin Croshere grossed John out. "You want me to marry you, don't you?" John was about to tell him to go to hell when Croshere's finger began circling outside his hole. Suddenly, John's dick erupted as he had the most intense orgasm he'd ever known. He groaned so loud and his hips bucked as Austin grinned at him and wiggled his eye brows. "God, yes I do!" John moaned loud enough for the whole gym to hear. What the fuck was happening? He noticed all the other men staring at him and the smile on Austin's face. Suddenly, Croshere was standing. Damn, this dude was tall. John knew he was no midget since he measured 6 foot 4 inches but Austin Croshere was fucking 6 feet and nine inches! He had to look up to see the dude's face. And standing in front of him, his nose could smell the manly sweat of Austin's. John's butt hole began to itch and twitch. What the hell was happening to him? He felt like crying. Austin leaned down, cupped John's face and kissed him. It was wrong, John knew that, but why did Austin's lips feel so good and how come all John wanted to do was put out for the big stud! John felt dizzy. "You need to get cleaned up," Austin declared. John nodded and Austin put a hand on John's lower back as he led him to the locker room. -------------------- email me at littlejockvincejrgot3_5@yahoo.com if you want to talk about the story.