Date: Fri, 13 Apr 2012 05:36:50 -0700 (PDT) From: Joe Hunter Subject: Baseball Diamond Tails - 6C All the usual disclaimers apply: +This story is a work of fiction. If you think it is real, you have a very active imagination. +Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do so. +Scenes of sexual activity between an adult male and a young boy are represented. Do not read further if this offends you. +Please do not imitate the actions portrayed herein - the author cannot accept responsibility for any actions promoted by this story. If you would like to get in touch, please e-mail me at: hunterjoe45@yahoo.com I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Support Nifty! Joe ____________________________ BASEBALL DIAMOND TAILS - 6C (copyright 2012, Joe Hunter) :::::::::::::::::::: Shortstop: Part C :::::::::::::::::::: That week I made more changes in practice so Shane, Sean and the first baseman could work on their double play combinations, assigning one of my assistants to work with them full-time at the beginning of every session. Infield situation drill was altered to emphasize the double play as was base-running drill. It was obvious to me that if we had boys who were interested and talented enough to try for these plays we should encourage them. Double plays in our league were possible, but rare. The problem was short base paths. In order to accommodate the limited capability of 11 and 12-year-old throwing arms the playing field was basically of sandlot dimensions. Even though the players were not allowed to lead off, the distance from bag to bag was short enough to make a double play quite difficult. It took perfect execution and some luck to get one. But my three players were motivated, and they practiced; plus they were close friends and had the kind of teamwork needed to make difficult plays possible. Gradually they improved, and as the whole team got involved in the goal of collecting double plays the resulting camaraderie and team spirit helped everyone. Of course the biggest beneficiaries were the three boys themselves. Sean became an important member of the infield, and with two older boys as friends he grew far less timid. His play improved rapidly, his hitting was more aggressive and almost overnight he was one of our best 11-year-olds. Then there was my first baseman; always a bit of an underachiever, now he began to play closer to his true potential. But the biggest difference was in Shane. It showed, not in his play – that had always been good - but in his interactions with the team. From being a shy, quiet and reserved boy he was turning into a role model and a leader. It was as if his pleasant happy personality had been hidden by a heavy curtain, and now that curtain was being pulled back. My trio got their first double play in dramatic fashion, against a team everyone agreed was the power of the league; a team of all 12-year-olds. This was supposed to be illegal in our league. By rule, every team was required to have a certain minimum number of 11's and 12's. But, as has happened from time to time in every youth sports program, we had a coach who had the political connections to manipulate the system for his own purpose. He was determined to go undefeated, win the championship and thus be the head coach of the All-Star Team - a goal which he accomplished for all the good it did him. The squad that coach put together was a powerhouse, and not just because the boys were all twelve. They had some very good players, too. My boys came closest to beating them - I know we gave them quite a scare - and the double play was part of it. As a coach, this was the toughest game for me before the playoffs. First I had to convince my own team that they could win. "Geez, Coach," my best pitcher complained. "We might as well not even show up! Nobody can beat those guys!" "Yeah," one of the 11-year-olds whined, "They got a kid playin' for `em who looks like he's 14! Like in High School!" After practice I gathered all the boys and assistant coaches around me out on the field, away from the parents who were waiting to pick up their youngsters. "Look," I told them all. "I know you guys are worried about playing this next team. That's fine. Of course you're worried. They're good. No one says they're not. But haven't you guys forgotten something? You're good, too! You know you are!" I looked around at the boys, grinning. "Remember - these guys are trying to go undefeated. Guess who's their biggest threat? You are! Trust me, they're worried about you!" Turning serious, I crouched down to look up at their young faces, all staring at me. "Listen... Nobody ever said playin' baseball was easy. It takes heart and courage to step into the box against a hard throwing pitcher, get in front of a hot grounder, catch a high fly ball with the game on the line and everyone watching -- that's the challenge of this game. Great players respond to that challenge -- and I believe that each and every one of you is a great player..." I had them now. They were all hanging on my words. "Going up against this good team is another kind of challenge: a competitive challenge! It's the kind of thing you'll be facing your whole life; in school, in sports... in whatever work you end up doing. Learn to handle it now! Always, always, do your best! Whatever the odds!" I stared around, meeting each boy's eye. "If you back down, if you step away – that's a habit hard to break and you'll never know what you might have accomplished. Never, never be afraid to try!" Straightening up I paused for a moment to let the words sink in and then smiled. "A famous coach once said, 'In the big games, great players make great plays.' Well, this game tomorrow is a big game - for us and them. You're great players. Go out and do your very best. Make great plays! I'll see you at the field." My hand went into the center, all the boys put their hands on it and they broke with a cheer. I stopped Shane before he could run off. "I need your help in this. It's gonna' be a rough game. You gotta' keep these guys fired up for me." "I will coach." The boy stared up at me. "Coach? Are we really great players?" With my hand on his shoulder I answered what was in my heart. "I've never coached a boy who wasn't, Shane. Not one. I believe there's greatness in every one of you, just waiting for the right moment. And I know it's there in you, son, because I've already seen it! I just think the world of you!" I gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. Shane's eyes were wide and shining. I sent him off with a quick little pat on his butt and he ran to where his sister-in-law was waiting in the truck to take him home. She waved to me and I waved back. That game was a battle. The other coach had his players prepared, and not having any 11-year-olds gave them a big advantage. A single year at that age when boys are developing so quickly makes a huge difference. Even so, we had some advantages, too. My boys were well coached, had better team work, and our pitchers were the best in the league, including Shane who pitched two innings in that game. He and the rest of my 12-year-old veterans kept everyone's spirits up and our 11-year-olds played their best. The other team held a lead through most of the game, but we always stayed close and even got a run ahead in one of the early innings. It helped that we were the 'home' team and as the final inning started with the 12-year-old powerhouse up by only two runs, I was hoping we could hold them during their turn at bat and then rally to win at the bottom of the inning. One of our best veteran pitchers was on the mound and we started off well. The leadoff batter in the inning popped up. That ball seemed to go a mile in the air over the left side of the diamond, far enough back so that Shane had to wave off the left fielder. He positioned himself nicely and made the catch. "One gone!" He yelled, holding up a single finger. He fired the ball to Sean who relayed it to first and the first baseman trotted over to hand it to the pitcher. It was a good beginning, but after that things got rough. The other team had good hitters and they were not afraid to swing the bat. My pitcher did his best, no one got an extra-base hit because our defense was solid, but back-to-back singles put runners on first and third. Then the next hitter came up - the big kid who looked like he was 14. With a grim, determined expression my young pitcher settled his cap firmly on his head and stepped on the rubber. Shane yelled some encouragement and our ace really bore down on that big batter, working the count to two and two. Then he tried to put the batter away with his heater, but missed outside and it was three and two. All season my pitcher had been working on a changeup; I thought it was a good time to try it, so I flashed him a signal from where I was crouched down in front of the dugout. I saw him look and knew that he had got it. He threw a beautiful pitch, one that almost fooled the batter completely. The big kid twitched, started to swing, thought better of it and tried to hold up. From where I was crouched it looked like a swing. The ball went by on the corner, right on the edge of the zone. Come on! I thought, crossing my fingers. The umpire ruled it a check swing and an outside pitch. The batter walked. The bases were loaded with just one out. Oh boy, I thought. Here we go. They get a bunch of runs now, the game goes outta' reach. I almost made a trip to the mound for a talk with my pitcher, but I saw Shane trotting over to him and told myself to let the kids handle it. There are times when a coach should just stay out of the way. We got a break then - just about the only one in that game. The next batter for the other team was one of their weaker players. Even they had some 12-year-olds who were only so-so and this was one of them. A pop up, I was thinking. An infield fly rule out. Up in the stands the spectators were getting noisy, fans of the other team wanting insurance runs to protect that undefeated season, and our parents and friends wanting us out of the inning before we got killed. My pitcher wisely decided not to fool around with anything fancy and concentrated on throwing strikes. This was an average batter and if the kid was going to hit it, let that happen, but there was not going to be another walk. I was pretty sure that was what Shane had told him. I held my breath and prayed. The count went to one and two, and then the kid did make contact - a hard chopping grounder right to Sean at second base. It was a tough chance and for a moment I thought Sean would miss it because the ball took a funny hop as it got to him. But we had coached Sean well and he had guts. He stopped the ball with his chest, it fell back into his glove and he plucked it out with his throwing hand for a flip toward second base. Shane had charged second as soon as he saw the batter make contact and Sean flipped him the ball just as he was just getting to the bag. It was beautifully timed, just as they had practiced it so often. The big kid from first base was coming, charging for second, determined to break up the play. The moment Shane caught Sean's toss and stepped on the bag that big runner was out, but nothing was going to slow him down. To reduce risk of injury, league rules required all base runners to slide on any close play. Our boys had been carefully drilled about this, but in his typical fashion the coach of the other team had taught his players to bend the rules. Shane jumped to avoid the slide he assumed the oncoming runner would make and threw a perfect strike to first. Then he was hurled backwards as the big runner, instead of sliding as he should have, slammed into him in what was not much of slide but one hell of a tackle. I got up from my crouch by the dugout. Over at first the umpire was signaling an out. The inning was over and the crowd was cheering the perfect double play, although some angry cries about the bad sportsmanship were mixed in. Back at second Sean was running toward a tangle of bodies near the bag and I was about to go out myself when I saw that Shane was moving. He got helped up by Sean and stood for a moment holding onto the younger boy's shoulder. Then, as the fans for our team applauded, he trotted off the field, smiling. I breathed a sigh of relief and gave the two boys a pat as they went into the dugout. "Great play, guys!" I waited for the first baseman so I could congratulate him as well and then greeted my outfielders who had all done a nice job backing up the play. "Good defense!" I told them. "Nice job! Now let's get some runs and beat these guys!" Ducking my head and stepping into the dugout to get my clipboard I was shocked to see Shane doubled over on the bench in obvious pain. Sean was sitting next to him with one arm thrown protectively over his shoulders. The small boy turned a scared little face to me and said, "Shane's hurt, Coach." I sat on the other side of Shane and bent over him. His right knee was bleeding and he was holding his side. "What's wrong, son?" I asked him. "Where are you hurting?" "It hurts when I breathe, Coach," Shane said huskily. I moved his arm out of the way and ran my fingers over the boy's lean chest and side, feeling muscle and the edge of his ribs. Nothing was loose or broken. Straightening the boy carefully I pulled up the uniform shirt so I could press gently on his belly under the ribs. The smooth skin was soft and warm to the touch. "Just relax, son," I told him. The hard sheath of Shane's tummy muscles softened as I pushed gently. There was no pain. "Looks like you bruised your ribs good," I told him. "Just take a rest here for a while. When you go to the on deck circle take a few swings and see how you feel. If you can't swing without a lot of pain I'll take you out, OK?" The boy nodded. "I'll be OK, Coach." "How bout you, Sean?" I asked. "Are you all right? That ground ball hit you pretty hard." Sean rubbed his chest. "I'm OK," he said, bravely. "That was a beautiful double play," I told the boys. "The other team's bad sportsmanship can't change how pretty it was. I'm so proud of you! Great players make great plays - and that was a great play! Now, let's get some runs!" The top of our order was up and the kids tried hard. The double-play had everyone all pumped up, but the breaks kept going to the other team. Our leadoff hitter made a beautiful drag bunt, something he had been working on in practice for weeks, and beat out the throw in a close play, I thought. The umpire did not agree and called him out. Our second batter hit a hard line drive right at the opposing third baseman whose hand came up in a reflex, saving his facial bones, and the ball landed right in the glove. A few inches to either side and it would've been a hit. Instead we were down to our last out. Finally our third batter, my left-handed first baseman, got a single to give us a base runner. Our boys in the dugout stamped their feet and started a cheer, "Ral-ee! Ral-ee! Ral-ee!" Shane was up next. "How is it, son?" I asked. "Can you swing?" He gave a determined nod. "I can do it, Coach. Lemme' try!" "You just do the best you can," I told him with a pat on his shoulder. "Whatever you do will be fine. I'm proud of you." Shane gave me a grateful look and went to the plate. I could tell by the way he was walking that he still had pain, but he got in the box and took his normal stance. When he took the first swing, I knew he was hurting. He missed on a fastball and I saw him grimace in pain. The big kid who had hurt him was catching and I thought I heard him say something, but whatever it was Shane ignored it. Good, I thought. The catcher's distracted. He's busy thinking of smart remarks to give to Shane. Over at first my left handed runner, the third man of our double-play combo, was watching me. I gave him the steal sign. It worked beautifully. The boy on the mound threw in another hot one that missed inside, Shane had to dodge back to keep from being hit and while the burly catcher was blocking the ball and then giving Shane another jibe, my speedy first baseman stole second. This brought the folks in the bleachers to their feet, our kids in the dugout all jumped around, cheering, and I heard Sean yell something to Shane from his place on deck. Shane grinned at me when he checked for the next sign and I gave him his favorite: 'Swing away!' I suspect the injury to Shane's ribs may have helped us here because he was flinching a little on each swing and it made him late coming through the ball. The next pitch was a heater down the middle, Shane got around on it, gritting his teeth against the hurt in his side, and because he was a bit late the ball went soaring out into right field. The other team was playing him to pull left, the ball bounced to the fence and their fielder was slow getting to it. Shane's sore knee slowed him just enough so he had to retreat to first base instead of making it to second, but his friend the first baseman scored and now we were only one run down. The next batter was little Sean. Up in the bleachers our fans, smelling an upset, were cheering, yelling, stamping their feet and in the midst of all this Sean stood hesitant, not advancing to the plate, looking very small and obviously nervous. I ran over, put an arm around his sender shoulders and smiled down at him. "This is pretty exciting, huh?" He stared up at me, eyes round as saucers. "Coach! What if I mess up? We'll lose!" We were right there in the open with everyone looking so there was no doing what I wanted - pick the youngster up and hug him. Instead I gave his shoulders a squeeze and leaned down to whisper, "Just do your best, Seany. That's what I always tell Shane. Win or lose, me an' Shane will be proud of you as long as you tried your best! Get in there and swing that bat for me, tiger. Don't let `em see you're scared!" With a grim little nod Sean settled the batting helmet on his head and walked to the plate. In the last few weeks his hitting had greatly improved but he was only 11 and no slugger. "Just a single," I muttered to myself, crossing my fingers as I trotted back to the coaching box by third. "Just a single... Keep us alive!" How many times has it happened? A player makes a great, inning-saving defensive play and then comes to bat right after and gets a good hit? It's a baseball cliché, and so it proved to be for Shane and Sean. Sean made a beautiful swing on the very first pitch and lofted a fly ball deep into left. This caught every fielder on the other team by surprise. They had been playing in, expecting Sean to be a weak hitter and the ball sailed over their heads to ricochet off the left field fence into the corner. Shane, who was off at the crack of the bat, motored around second and headed straight for third. Watching the left fielder race back to retrieve the ball I decided to gamble on Shane's speed and heart. With two outs it was our best shot anyway. My arm went in big circles and I yelled, "Home! Take it home!" Shane never even hesitated. He saw my signal, rounded third and shifted into warp drive. The ball came in from left on a throw that pulled the big catcher a step in front of the plate. Shane slid wide of his desperate attempt to tag, tapped his hand on the plate as he skidded past in a cloud of dirt... There was a breathless pause... "Safe!" yelled the umpire, and the fans in the bleachers started going crazy. Sean, Shane and my first baseman had brought us even with the other team! Shane got up grinning, said something to the catcher and then limped back to the dugout where he was mobbed by the rest of the team. I gave him a little pat as he went by. "Nice going, son!" Sean had gone to third during the play and it would have been a storybook ending if we had scored him to win the game, but it was not to be. Our next batter sent a scorching grounder into the left side. Their third baseman made a beautiful play on the ball, threw for the out and we went to extra innings. There, despite our best defense we gave up a run, came up empty ourselves and the 12-year-old powerhouse was still undefeated. Naturally, our boys were disappointed, but I told them not to be too upset. "You guys threw one hell of a scare into that team. They might not be quite so cocky anymore. No one else has been that close to beating them! You have a lot to be proud of. Now go shake hands!" Afterwards, I took Shane aside. "You remember what I said yesterday? About great players and big games?" He nodded, looking up, eyes locked on mine. "Today was a big game. And today I saw a great player make great plays. I'm so proud of you, Shane. You showed courage, the will to win... a champion's heart... You're such a wonderful kid..." I had to stop for a second because my voice choked up. I blinked hard and then went on, "Don't ever stop believing in yourself, son. Remember - you're coach thinks you're just the best..." Shane's face was shining with pride. There was no one close to us, no one to overhear. He stared up at me and told me softly, "I think you're the greatest coach in the whole world. I don't never want anyone else to coach me." I smiled at him, put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug. "Thank you, Shane. I won't ever forget that. But there are no great coaches, son. Only great players. And you are a great player, Shane." With another hug and fond pat of his shoulder I turned him toward the dugout. "I think I see your fan club waiting. And send Sean to me. I want to tell him what a great job he did, too." Over at the fence four young girls started waving the moment they saw Shane look their way. The boy's face turned red. "Uh-oh..." "Here." I dug into my wallet and gave him some money. "Take `em all to the snack bar. That'll make `em happy." "Thanks, Coach," my young Romeo said with a grin. He started to walk off, still limping a little, but turned suddenly with such a serious expression on his face I had to suppress a smile because he looked so solemn. "I still say you're the greatest coach!" Then he headed for the fence and the girls squealed as he came over to them. Shane's bruised ribs were still hurting a little that Saturday at practice. The weather wasn't very good, so when he came over on his bike afterwards I spread a big quilt on the living room floor, put him on it and we devoured turkey and Swiss cheese subs with Shane's favorite team, The Rockies, on TV. Once the food was gone, I had the boy lie on his stomach watching the game while I gently massaged his ribs. He had arrived shirtless and his Nikes had been left by the door when he came in, so he lay stretched comfortably on the soft quilt in just the yellow satin gym shorts, his firm tight butt jutting up beneath the shiny fabric. Through the sliding glass doors of my narrow balcony soft light from the cloudy day outside diffused over the boy's tanned, defined young body. I lay beside him, reaching across his tapered back to rub a palm on the bruised side, feeling ribs and muscle beneath the silky skin. As my hand moved, my forearm and elbow pressed against the satin covered butt cheeks. A commercial came on the TV. I used the remote to mute the volume and Shane turned his head, resting it on his arms while I kept stroking him. "It feels a lot better, Coach." "Good. By next week it'll be OK. That kid gave you a shot." "It really hurt when I had to swing." Shane squirmed a bit on the quilt and I felt his butt tighten under my forearm. When I rolled the boy up on his side to reach parts of his smooth chest and tummy he stretched his arms up over his head and sprawled back against me, eyes closed, completely relaxed. My palm circled over the rounded swell of developing muscle and slid down velvety smooth flanks, caressing and rubbing. In the front of the satin shorts a bulge tented up the shiny cloth. I eased the boy back onto his stomach, patted his firm butt and put the volume back up on the TV. We watched more of the game and then when another commercial came on and I muted the sound again Shane stirred on the quilt. "Coach, went you were a kid, did you ever... You know... Like mess around any?" "Well," I said, puzzled. "All kids mess around with their friends. You know - hang out, do stuff together. What kind a' stuff do you mean?" "I don't know..." Shane squirmed a little. "Like wrestlin' an' like touchin' each other an'... You know... Stuff like that." There was another tiny squirm, and then he added, "My brothers are always talkin' about it." "Yeah, okay..." I stroked the boy's sturdy shoulders. "All kids do that. It's kind of how you experiment and learn things." Shane was quiet for a while and then he said, "I've never done that." I looked at him and smiled. "Come on stud," I teased. "With all those girl friends you've got. You've fooled around with them some, haven't you?" He turned red. "Yeah... I guess a little..." "So -- Then you know what it's like." He shook his head. "Not really." "You've never done it for real? I thought you had." Shane looked down at the quilt. "My sister-in-law's got like this friend... She wanted me t' do somethin'. It was kinna' scary. I didn't like it." "How about with the others? All those girls your own age." He shrugged. "It was OK. But my brothers keep talkin' `bout all this stuff... An' out on the ranch I didn't have any real friends. It was just me." "And you want to know about things... about what it's like." Shane nodded. He lay still for a moment and then said, "Coach, you can like touch me if you want... to like show me stuff. I'll let you. You can like check me again to see if I'm growing." "Sure," I told him, stroking his smooth tapered back. My palm rubbed over a rounded shoulder, caressed the boy's neck under his shaggy blonde hair and then stroked down into to hollow of his back, feeling hard muscle under warm skin. I let my hand drift over the satin gym shorts, cupped each firm rounded butt cheeks and stroked Shane's silky thighs. "Friends do... lots of things," I said with a grin. "Sometimes this..." I began to tickle him, gently at first and then harder until he was doubled up, shaking with laughter and begging me to stop. But I was merciless. Carful of his sore ribs I hugged the boy, digging my fingers into his tummy, making him breathless with delighted laughter before stopping. "Coach..." the boy sighed happily, sprawling back against me. All the squirming and struggling had worked the shorts half off, exposing a bulging little jock and half a pale butt. Shane made no move to pull his shorts up. "Friends sometimes do this," I whispered. Pushing my hand under the wide elastic waistband of the jock I wrapped fingers around his hard boy stick and Shane sucked in his stomach to make it easy for me to rub up and down. The boy's eyes closed and his lips parted. My fingertips explored the blunt circumcised tip, brushing back and forth across a tiny slit and then as they slipped back down the rigid little shaft I felt a quick throbbing pulse. Carefully, I eased Shane's tight jock up over his jutting erection and slid it down off his hips. The boy gave me an anxious glance. "No one can see us here, can they Coach?" "No," I assured him. Jock and satin shorts slid down below his knees and Shane pulled his legs free one by one. He stretched out, leaning back against me. I circled a palm on his lean taut stomach, filling my eyes with the glorious sight of his lovely naked body. The boy was beautifully formed; legs a bit more developed and long in proportion to the rest of him, smooth thighs rounded with muscle, smooth hairless groin with a thickened four inch boy boner jutting straight out, waist small and delicate, a taut defined sheath of tummy muscle and an upper body well-built but still immature. The aroused boy's tiny nipples were up and hard as I brushed fingertips over them and his shoulders when I caressed had the glossy texture of polished sculpture. Shane drew his head back, arching as if on display as I explored him. The boy's skin was all warmth and slickness - velvet and silk. I slid my palm over his flanks, the hollow of waist, curve of glossy hip, caressing the smoothness and reveling in its perfection. He made a tiny soft sound, I felt him tighten his butt and in his groin his boy dick strained upward, quivering with every one of his heartbeats. Gently, a feathery brush of fingertips first, I slipped my fingers around the thickened little shaft and began rubbing it. Shane's lips parted. He stared sightlessly, stretching and twisting his body very slightly and then caught his breath in a soft moan. The stiff rod swelled against my grip. "OK?" I whispered. He nodded and I took one of his hands, placing it on the bulge in the cutoffs I was wearing. Shane explored me through the soft cotton cloth and then tried to rub me awkwardly. I felt his butt tighten again. "Take my shirt off," I told him softly. He shifted position to turn toward me and I released my grip on his stiffy to help him fumble with my T-shirt, the two of us pushing it up and off over my head. The boy put his little hand on my hard chest and I flexed for him. Then we went to work on my cutoffs. Shane got them unbuttoned, pulled down the fly and while I squirmed out of both pants and briefs Shane stared at my erection. I took the boy by his slender shoulders and pulled him down onto the quilt to lie against me. Putting an arm around him I let his smooth naked warmth press to my own and caressed his perfect young body, sliding a palm up and down his silky flank. Shane hugged tight and gave another soft moan as my hand slid to his firm back, circled down over skin like satin onto the hard rounded curve of his butt. The boy writhed, rubbing his stiffy on my stomach and I took one of his arms, pushing his hand down toward my own throbbing member. Shane completed the movement for me, a cool touch of small fingers closing around my shaft. I reached over, taking hold of his slender stiffness and the boy was so hard the mere brush of my fingers brought a pulsing contraction that jerked his hips. "Uhh!" Clutching me with one arm, Shane quivered to the wonderful new sensations, bucked once more and then squirmed in passion, wiggling his fingers on my hardness. "Like this," I whispered softly. Hugging him close I slid fingers up and down his stiffy, demonstrating, and Shane moved his fist on me in awkward little pumps. "Yeah... That's perfect." He made a tiny sound, hugging tight and pressing his head against my chest as he continued rub. "Squeeze your butt," I told him and felt his rigid boy stick swell when the muscles tightened. I rubbed faster. "OK, now relax..." I slowed my rhythm on his quivering shaft. "Squeeze..." Shane flexed his butt cheeks again and once more my fingers pumped hard and fast. "Relax..." Over and over I repeated the cycle, rubbing and stroking, using tension and relaxation to build the boy to a peak of arousal. Shane kept moving his fist on me, imitating my own movements and as his excitement grew he squeezed without waiting for me to whisper, holding the contraction longer and longer. There was a tremor, his rigid shaft pulsed under my fingers and I brushed them over his slit, using the slippery drops I found there as lubrication to rub harder. Shane's arm tightened on me, his shaft throbbed again and his fist stopped moving on my erection. "Coach, I gotta' pee!" "It's OK. Let it come." I rolled him half onto his back with the boy clinging desperately. "Don't stop, Coach!" Harder and faster, my fingers a blur on his straining boner... He was arching, squeezing... Staring, head thrown back, left leg pulling up... "Uhhh... Uhhhhhhhhhh..." And then he was jerking, hips bucking in thrust after thrust, the rigid boy stick throbbing as powerful contractions sent droplets flying from the tip and a dribble of milky fluid running down over my pumping fingers. "Ohh... Oh, Coach..." Shane gasped. I rubbed him again and his hard branch pulsed quickly once more. Then his hips sank back onto the quilt. I released his quivering erection, smeared the small droplets that had splattered onto his belly across his silky skin and took the boy into my arms. Shane hugged with both arms, smooth naked body pressed so close to mine I felt his heart pounding in his chest. Petting and stroking I gave him time to catch his breath. "Feel good?" Shane nodded, hugging even tighter. "You never did it before?" "I think once... like a little bit. I didn't know what it was." I rolled him gently onto his back and caressed his tummy. Shane was still rigidly hard and when I gently milked his shaft a drop of sparkling clear fluid glistened at the tip. Shane put a finger on it. "Is that like sperm?" "No," I told him. "You're not old enough yet to make that. This is just watery stuff the sperm travels in." "You can make it, can't you, Coach?" I nodded. "How come yours don't do nothin when I rub?" "You have to learn the trick of it." I reassured him with a caress. "I'll teach you." Getting up, I went to the kitchen for a hand towel, brought it back to the quilt and stretched out with the towel spread on myself. "OK," I told the boy. "You try it now." Shane curled his nude body into a comfortable position leaning over me and took hold of my hard member with his warm little fist. "Keep a good steady rhythm," I told him, reaching to stroke his shoulders. "Start slow, then go faster. Try not to yank too hard. Be gentle." The boy went to work, frowning in concentration while I gave instruction to him. Leaning over me, the smooth silkiness of his young hard body sliding on mine, it was not long before sensation overwhelmed me. As Shane pumped faster I stopped stroking his back, gripped his shoulder, my voice grew husky... faltered... I thrust my hips against his sliding fist. "Uhhh... Yeah... Good, Shane. Uhhh... Don't stop!" There was a huge pressure in my loins, and I was squeezing with all my might because it felt so good... So good... Holding the boy... His smooth silky perfection pressed close... His little fist on me... Forever... Make it last forever... Don't stop... Don't stop! Slippery wetness gushed from my tip, dribbling over his fingers. "Don't stop," I pleaded. "Don't stop!" And then it was bursting through... Nothing could stop it... My rigid shaft throbbed, my hips thrust and I was jerking in his fist, shot after shot of thick cream arcing out to splatter on chest and belly... All over me, all over Shane... A throbbing, pulsing fountain... "Ahhhh... Ahhhh..." I panted, gasping in the throes of release. Shane kept rubbing frantically as my pulsations eased and I put out my hand to stop him. "OK, OK Shane... Ah... Uhhh... That's good." Shane looked at me anxiously. "Did I do it right?" "Yeah, son," I told him. "That was perfect." Looking down he wiped milky gobs off his slender chest and inspected them. "Is that the sperm? It's white." "That's it. It's OK. It's very clean. It won't hurt you." I took some off the towel onto my finger and held it out. "See? Taste it. It's good for you." Shane bent down hesitantly and allowed some to be put on his lips. "It's like salty." "Take all of it," I encouraged, "It makes you strong." Grabbing my hand Shane licked all the cum off my finger. "Until you can make your own, I'll give you mine," I told him. "It'll get you bigger. This isn't the best way to do it. We can try a better way later." "It's sticky." Streaks of my cum were on his chest and Shane rubbed them into his skin. "It dries real fast." I cleaned myself off with the towel, got up and took out a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil from a cabinet and brought it over to the quilt. "Here's another thing friends do," I told him. Stretching out I pulled the boy up on top of me, his firm butt on my stomach and head drawn back over my shoulder. Shane wiggled to get comfortable letting his legs sprawl to either side of mine. "Like this," I told him draping the boy's arms behind us and he stretched his smooth muscular body, displaying his slender jutting boy-rod still quivering to his excited heartbeats. Squirting tanning oil onto my palm I spread it on his slick shaft and Shane made a tiny sound, spread his legs and arched up in passion. "Nice?" I whispered. He nodded his head. Putting the bottle aside I stroked the rigid boyhood, my oiled fingers gliding over shaft and sensitive tip. Shane twisted, squeezing to swell his glistening spike against my touch and then quivered, pulling his head back to arch even more as my other hand brushed his groin crease and circled down onto the satin of his rounded thigh. With a soft moan the boy shuddered in tension, straining every muscle in his young body into sharp sculpted relief. I pumped harder with my oiled fingers, slid my hand up his thigh onto his tight little sac and a pulse throbbed in the boy's rigid boner. Wetness glittered at the tip. Shane moaned again, pulled his knees up, straining his thighs apart and I drew a fingertip along his butt crease, finding his tight opening and pressing gently on the ring. "Ahh... Uhhhhhhhhhh..." Faster and harder... My fingers were a blur on his slippery shaft. The boy's head arched back, mouth open wide in a soundless groan of ecstasy – and then he was jerking, hard boner pulsing under my fingers, dribbles and droplets running from the tip over my fingers. I kept rubbing until the quick contractions ended and then took my hand away to stroked the satiny warmth on the inside of thighs while my other palm caressed the boy's smooth chest and tummy. Shane lay sprawled on top of me, gasping, eyes closed and knees sagging apart. "Feel good?" I murmured. He nodded and as his breathing slowed I slid him off to the side so I could take him into my arms. Shane gave a tiny sigh and hugged as I circled a palm down his silky back, stroking all the way to the hard mound of his perfect butt. "You really like me, don't you coach?" It was such a desperate pleading whisper that I had to fight a lump in my throat before answering. "More than anything in the world, son." Shane buried his head on my shoulder while I kept stroking him and kissing his shoulder, his tangled blonde hair and his delicately formed ear. When I put the tip of my tongue on his ear and licked the boy stirred and giggled. "That tickles, Coach." Then I tickled him gently on his sides and he giggled again, pulling his head back to look up at me in delight. "I like that." "Yeah..." I smiled down fondly. "Here's another thing friends sometimes do." Bending down I kissed the tip of his upturned nose, and then the point of his chin. Shane giggled softly again, leaning closer and drawing his head back so I could kiss the delicate hollows of his neck. Then he closed his eyes and my lips went to his, kissing his soft mouth. The boy kissed back sweetly, his lithe tanned body pressed full length against mine, and as we remained locked together, breathing each other's breaths I felt his butt tighten and his hard slender boy stick pushed into my stomach. At last our lips parted. I tickled Shane gently while he squirmed against me, laughing. Then I rolled him onto his back so I could massage his bruised side. The boy stretched out contentedly, naked body glistening in the light. "Now you know what some kids do when they fool around," I told him. Shane reached down to rub his hard boner. "Is that all they do, Coach? My brothers are always talkin' `bout this other stuff." "Yeah, there's other stuff," I said, thinking I had I had better head him off or it might take a week to recover. "Maybe I can show you next time. Right now there something important I gotta' teach you." "What Coach?" Instantly Shane was all ears. "Exercises. We need you on `em every day now you're developing so fast. It's important that we work on your strength. Check this out..." I taught him a basic set of drills that he could do alone, without equipment; sit-ups, push-ups, leg lifts, back arches, dips and the like. "Every day," I ordered him. "Every day I want you doin' these. You got someplace at the ranch you can do pull-ups and chin-ups?" Shane nodded. "There's like this old bar on the porch my brothers had." "Wish I'd known that sooner! It's really important you get started on this stuff. I want at least five sets of pull-ups and five sets of chin-ups every day." "I will Coach," Shane promised. "How come it's so important?" I caressed his shoulder. "You're gonna' grow pretty fast now. Especially if I give you the... you know... the stuff." "You're gonna', aren't you, Coach?" Shane stared up anxiously. "You're gonna' keep showin' me?" "Yeah. As much as you want." "I do, Coach!" "OK. Do those exercises every day." "I promise. I won't forget." "I know you won't, son..." Gathering him in my arms I settled back down on the quilt, pulling his smooth lean body against mine as the boy snuggled close. "I like this, Coach." "So do I," I whispered to him. [ To Be Continued In Parts D thru K ] *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- Hope you enjoyed it! This baseball series has a 'long' short story for every position. Look for a new chapter or two each month. Thanks for taking the time to read my story and if you'd like to comment, my e-mail address is: hunterjoe45@yahoo.com I will try to answer all serious mailings. My on-line access is very limited. Rants and ravings will not get consideration. To all you readers who enjoy these stories, please support Nifty with contributions and keep the Archive online. Check the Nifty home page for ways to make contributions. Without this Archive those of us who write for you will lose a wonderful resource to get our stories out. You can find links to all my other stories on Nifty under my name, Joe Hunter, listed under the J's (for Joe) in the prolific authors list. To get that list click the Authors tab at the top of the Nifty home page and then select 'Prolific Authors'. I hope you will read and enjoy! All the Best. Joe