Date: Fri, 18 Nov 2011 15:47:20 -0800 (PST) From: Joe Hunter Subject: Baseball Diamond Tails - 4A 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 - 4A (copyright 2011, Joe Hunter) Baseball - the Great American Game, the national pastime... As much myth and legend as it is sport... All over the country, every summer afternoon, the kids come on their bikes, or get dropped off by a parent, for team practice - and there they receive traditions handed down from coach to player; the traditions and experiences that are the heart of baseball. Not all the drama and great plays are in the major leagues. Some OF the most exciting are done on ragged diamonds by young boys with only a handful of spectators to witness. Those exploits go unrecorded, yet I want to believe that the diamonds themselves remember. The small fields and sandlots... What stories they could tell if only we knew how to listen! They might speak of a little second baseman's courage, taking a hot grounder to the face and still making the play; or perhaps they would describe the fear a young boy must overcome to stand in against fast pitching when the game is on the line... The eternal challenge of performance and competition... I coach on the new field now; shiny aluminum stands, lights for night games, spacious dugouts, grass kept green by a modern sprinkler system - all the little extras. I'm not complaining. But on occasion, in the long summer twilight when fireflies are dancing, I wander down to the old baseball diamond and sit on a crumbling wooden bleacher staring out at the pitcher's mound and the overgrown infield... Listening for the memories... Waiting for the voices I once knew so well to come to me again out of the darkness... :::::::::::::::::::::: Second Base: Part A :::::::::::::::::::::: "Play doubles, mister?" The kid had been standing there, watching me play the arcade game for a while, and now he held up a quarter to show he had one. He was a small runty type, barely up to the bottom of my chest, with skinny arms and legs sticking out of a dirty T-shirt and faded shorts. Unruly brown hair topped a face with delicate features: an upturned nose, wide dark eyes and long lashes. He gave me a bright smile. "Yeah, sure," I said, smiling back. "What's your name?" "Danny." I didn't know him; hadn't seen him around the arcade before, but he was good at that videogame. Before I knew it I had lost a first round and was having trouble staying ahead in the second even though I was trying harder. The kid was a surprise and I wondered how I had overlooked him. I knew most of the boys who hung around the arcade, but I had never noticed Danny before. "You're good," I said and went a third round with him, barely taking it. Then he was out of quarters so I treated him to a fourth and, without making it obvious, let him win. "I know who you are," the boy told me. "You're the baseball Coach." I gave him what was meant to be an encouraging smile, because I could tell he was a little shy. "I coach some baseball. So do lots of other guys. I coach some wrestling and football, too." The boy looked up for a moment and then lowered his eyes. "You coach the baseball team all the kids want to play on." "I don't know about that," I said with a grin. "You like baseball?" Danny nodded. "I play with my friends." Then he added stoutly, "I'm good." After that I saw a lot of Danny at the arcade - never as I came in, but once I picked out a game and started to play he would appear by my side. He was good at them all, too. It was never easy beating him and there were just as many times when he beat me. Once he got over the initial shyness he seemed to enjoy chatting with me and I found that he liked to be touched. Often, as we played, he would lean against me so I could keep a hand on his back or shoulder. I was surprised to discover that I knew his mother; not well, but enough to have heard the gossip. She was a nurse, recently married to a guy she had been living with, and before that rumor spoke of abusive boy friends and difficult times. During a chance meeting in the supermarket one day she startled me by saying, "My son talks about you all the time." "I didn't know you had a son. You sure it's me he's talking about?" She smiled. "His name's Danny. He's eleven and all he talks about is the baseball coach who plays video games with him at the arcade." "That's your son! He's a nice kid. I didn't know he was yours. He's a terrific videogame player, by the way." She laughed and nodded. "I know. I wish he would do as well in school." After a moment's hesitation she gave me a hopeful look. "Listen, I need a favor. He wants to play baseball this summer. All his little friends are signing up. Can you fix it so he gets on your team? He has his heart set on it." "Not sure if I can," I told her doubtfully. "He'll have to go through the draft. All the eleven year olds do. Where he ends up is sort of a random thing." Her face fell. "I tried to tell him that. It's just that he's so set on being on your team. He's absolutely sure you'll pick him. I don't know how he'd do if... He's had such a hard time." Trying to be tactful I asked a question that I already knew the answer to. "Has he played baseball before? Did he play in Coach-Pitch?" Coach-Pitch was the instructional league for nine and 10-year-olds. I scouted it every year for prospects and knew every player. Danny had never been one. Danny's mother shook her head. "We couldn't convince him to play last year. He's come a long way since then, and I think knowing you has made a difference. I have no idea if he can play or not." "Well, he can play video games," I told her. "He must have pretty good hand-eye coordination. You sign him up and make sure he gets to tryouts. I'll see what I can do." That ended it as far as I was concerned. Every year parents, or someone, always wanted special treatment for one kid or another - and after having several losers foisted on me I had learned to fend them off. Harsh experience had also convinced me to avoid the draft as much as possible. Spies and careful scouting gave me a line on the best incoming rookies and a little maneuvering at registration time often got them assigned directly to my roster. I was totally shameless in my tactics, employing such excuses as, "He's the [brother/cousin/whatever] of [fill in the blank] on my team," or "He's in the same car pool as [blank] on my team and it's the only way he can get to practice." Whatever I thought would work I tried. All is fair in love, war and little league. With luck my roster would be full before tryouts and I wouldn't need to draft anyone. I liked Danny, and if he wanted to play baseball, good luck to him; but he would have to take his chances in the draft with the rest of the new kids. It was a busy time. Wrestling was finishing up, I had some new projects going at work and what with one thing and another I had not visited the arcade for more than a week. I had just gotten home from work and was opening the refrigerator to grab a soda when a knock sounded at my apartment door. I opened up and there was Danny standing in the hallway with another boy I'd seen around. Danny's sudden appearance was so unexpected it took me a moment to remember who he was. He gave me cheerful smile. "Hi, Coach. Can we come in?" "Uh... Yeah, sure," I told him. I let the boys into the living room and Danny started to say, "You haven't been at the arcade for a while..." Then he caught sight of the videogame system hooked to the big TV. "Cool! Can we play this, Coach?" I set things up and got each boy a coke while they knelt in front of the TV arguing about what game to play. The one selected only allowed a single player and Danny went first, blasting his way through level after level while his friend watched in envy. I sat down in a comfortable lounge chair behind them. "Played this before, Danny?" I asked curiously. Without taking his eyes from the screen the boy shrugged. "Couple a' times." It was amazing how skilled he was. The game provided three character lives and his friend fidgeted impatiently for quite awhile before Danny's character finally got killed off and he gave up the controller. I beckoned Danny over. "Pretty good," I told him. My arm went around his waist and without any hesitation the boy slid onto my lap. "Your friend's pretty good, too." Danny nodded and settled back against me, legs sprawled to either side of mine. My right hand slipped beneath his baggy shirt, felling the rounded muscle of his slender thigh through the thin faded shorts. Danny moved an arm out of the way as my stroking made the soft cotton of his pants slid back and forth on the smooth skin underneath. My fingers moved to the inside of the boy's thigh pushing up toward his crotch and when I discovered the hard bulge under his fly Danny gave me a quick little smile over his shoulder. He pulled the edge of his shirt down over my exploring fingers and both of us watched his friend who remained engrossed in the game with his back to us. Danny was rigidly hard. I rubbed him through the cloth and then slid my hand up onto his slender waist stroking bare skin that was incredibly smooth and delicate. I pressed a fingertip into his tiny bellybutton and let my palm slide over the taut lean stomach. When my fingers drifted toward the top edge of the shorts Danny sucked in his waist so my hand would slide easily into his pants. I pushed beneath the elastic of his briefs, sliding fingers into a silky smooth groin where the boy's rigid boner was jutting up like a hard branch. Danny had a slender circumcised boy stick, unusually long for his age and size. My fingertips rubbed up and down on the slick hard shaft, feeling it swell when Danny squeezed his butt. I kept stroking for a while, the movements of my hand well concealed beneath the billowing folds of shirt. Then, after a final squeeze, I slid my hand down farther, exploring a tight little sac, caressing satiny warmth of inner thigh and pushing a fingertip into his butt crease. Danny spread his legs as if in invitation, but in front of us his friend was running out of lives. I pulled my hand out, Danny straightened up, and then it was his turn to play again. I don't think he tried very hard after that because he kept getting killed quickly and returning to my lap. His friend did most of the playing while Danny and I continued with our own games until it was time for the boys to go home. "Are you comin' to the arcade tomorrow, Coach?" Danny asked as they were leaving. His delicate little face was turned up to me anxiously. "Probably," I told him. "I'll look for you." But it was a busy time and somehow there was never enough for the arcade. The next time I saw Danny was at tryouts. That Saturday morning a minor emergency at work needed attention and I was late getting to the field. By then the parking lot was so crowded I had to leave my SUV out by the street. As I made my way toward the bleachers I saw Danny standing by his mother at the fence. The boy's polo shirt was too small for him and he had on the same faded shorts he had worn before. He looked runtier than ever, but his little face broke into a dazzling smile when he caught sight of me. "I told you he'd be here," I heard him say to his mother. "Hi, Coach," he said happily when I came up. "I'm tryin' out today so I can be on your team." He looked up at his mother. "This is the Coach I was tellin' you about." I smiled and ruffled his hair. "What's up, Little Ace? You didn't tell me you were coming to the tryouts.' 'Little Ace' was a pet name I had given him at the arcade and Danny beamed every time I used it. Now his smile got even bigger, his entire little body wiggling with delight. "It's a surprise! Don't forget to watch me. I'm good." I reached down and took the battered little glove the boy was carrying. It was worn and much too small for him. His mother looked embarrassed. "I know, its too small," she said when I looked a question at her. "We're getting him a new one." "Don't forget to watch me, Coach!" Danny urged again. "I'll watch. I promise." As they walked away I heard Danny tell his mother, "Don't worry. He'll draft me when he sees how good I am." The snow had only just come off the field and tryouts on the muddy surface were kind of a disaster for everyone. Judging ability in conditions like that was chancy at best, but I had already done my scouting and knew every boy. I pretended to take notes while watching the other coaches, wondering how much information they had gathered. None of the kids looked particularly good, but Danny was worse than most. He threw like a girl, and standing at the plate, trying to swing a bat too big for him, he missed every ball the pitching machine gave him. He was waiting for me at the end of the stands when the tryouts were over looking a little desperate. "I told you I was good," he said, holding my arm and looking up. "Don't forget to pick me." He was smiling, but his eyes were pleading. I smiled back and ruffled his hair again. "I'll do my best, Little Ace. All the other coaches are gonna' want you, too." "But I only want to be on your team!" "I'll try..." Monday night I went to the draft with Danny's name penciled in on my rankings list next to a question mark. I drafted in third position that year with only a few spots to fill on my roster and there were boys I intended to take before considering Danny. Then I thought 'the hell with it,' and drafted him as my third pick. I probably could have waited until the last round, but I didn't want to take a chance. The boy had found the courage to try out because he wanted to play baseball for me. I wanted to coach him. The minute the draft meeting was over I got into my SUV and started making the rounds. I disliked using the phone to notify the boys I had drafted. Instead, every year, I stopped at their homes in person, giving them a chance to meet and talk with me so they weren't nervous about coming to the first practice. I liked to make a little ceremony out of it, presenting each rookie with a team cap to wear at school the next day and a special practice shirt in team colors. The shirts were a little extra I got for the team every year in a deal I had with the local T-shirt shop. It gave the boys a uniform appearance at practice and helped build team spirit. Danny's was the second house I visited and as soon as his mother opened the door, saying, "Coach! How are you? Come in..." Danny popped out of the living room where he had been watching television. When he saw the baseball cap and shirt in my hands his little face lit up like 1000W light bulb. "You picked me! I'm on your team!" He turned to his mother, grabbing her arm excitedly. "I told you he would. I told you. I'm good. You didn't believe me. I said he would pick me." He stood in front of me, eyes shining with pride as I placed the cap on his head and then immediately ran to the hallway mirror to see what he looked like with it on. Then I showed him his practice shirt. "See," I told him, "It's got our team name on the front. And in back..." I turned it over. "See? It's blank. Take it down to the T-shirt shop an' they'll put your name here, across the shoulders, just like the big leaguers on TV. And they'll put a big number on it, too. Any number you want. If you take it in tomorrow you'll have it in time for our first practice." Danny took his shirt as if it were made of gold, nodding at every word I said, and then - of course - was wild to try the thing on. Taking off his cap and putting it down carefully, he wiggled out of his old T-shirt, donned the colorful practice shirt and adjusted his cap back on his head. He stared at himself in the mirror. "I looked great!" He said happily and ran into the living room to show his stepfather. I remember that visit because it was the only time I ever met Danny's stepfather. He seemed like a nice enough person, but I never saw him again at a game or practice. I gave Danny's mother the times for our practices and directions to the field we would be using. "Help him get that shirt fixed up so he'll look like the other boys," I told her. "And make sure he gets to all the practices. We're gonna' have to work with him a bit before he'll be able to play." "Coach," she said, looking at me gratefully. "I don't know how you worked it, but thank you. It means so much to him." "Yeah, well..." I shrugged. "When a boy wants to be on the team that badly, I sort of make a special effort." Two days later we held our first full team practice on the old softball field I liked at the edge of town. It was a good spot, out of the way, with two backstops, plenty of room and a nice view of the mountains. Plenty of sunshine was drying the ground and I crossed my fingers that the good spring weather would hold. When Danny was dropped off I saw his shirt had been lettered and as he scampered off to warm up with the rest of the team I gave his mother a thumbs up. "I had trouble getting it off him so the shop could have it," she said, laughing. "He wears that shirt and cap everywhere. He takes them to bed with him. He tells everyone he's on your team." "Good," I told her. "Excellent advertising. I bet he'll get more money than anyone when we have the league fund drive." We had a fine practice that day, and right from the first drill I was confident we would have a winning season. I had a great bunch of boys that year, with a good range of talent and plenty of spirit. Danny was a little nervous, but I thought he did pretty well considering his inexperience. He was my worst player, but we had a few other boys who needed lots of work on the fundamentals, and Danny's cheerful enthusiasm helped him fit in. One of my 12-year-old veterans made friends with him during warm-ups and helped him with his throwing. I had two excellent assistant coaches that year and in our huddle after that first session we picked second base as Danny's best position. At our level of play second base, right field and catcher usually went to weaker players; catcher because there was no leading off, which made base stealing rare; second base or right field because most of the batters were right-handed and hit to the left side of the diamond. Danny's small size and little legs did not give him enough speed to cover the outfield, so second base was an obvious choice. We made up a list of priorities for Danny and at the top was teaching him to protect himself when fielding. We didn't want him killed by a hot line drive or zinging grounder. Second was getting him to hit, or at least swing properly, and third was the thing his new friend the 12-year-old veteran already had him started on - learning to throw like a boy not a girl. Work on this list began in the very next day's practice and we were all pleased with the results. Above all else, Danny was coachable. He took instruction well and tried hard to please, particularly if I told him to do something. Both assistants did well with him, too, but he made it clear in a number of little ways that the coach he liked best was me - and he was always looking to me for attention and praise. Danny loved praise. He would try anything to get it, sometimes almost literally, knocking himself out. Any sort of sternness or criticism devastated him. Harsh words made him wilt like a little flower, and we had to be careful. The one and only time an assistant coach yelled at him for not paying attention Danny cringed like a puppy that had been whipped. It scared all of us. Until I learned better, I thought he was uncoordinated, but after working with him for a bit I realized the problem was lack of strength and confidence. Danny's skinny arms and legs, the sheer lack of physical size, just did not allow him to do some of the things he was trying to do. And when he got nervous or rushed at the plate batting, or out on the field trying to make a play, he would get flustered and tangle himself up. But a little patience and praise gave him confidence and then it was surprising how well he would do. Danny was very protective of his practice shirt. Like the rest of the boys as the weather grew warmer he took it off once practice got started, but then he folded it neatly and placed it by the equipment bags so would not get dirty or torn. He liked best to practice in just shorts and his cap. He craved physical contact. He liked it when any of the coaches gave him an affectionate pat or hug, but he particularly sought contact with me. At every possible opportunity he would stand close by and when I put my hand on his back or slipped an arm around his shoulders he would lean against me, his own little arm hugging my waist. He wanted constant assurance that he was doing well. Four or five times a practice he would come up to me asking, "I'm good, aren't I Coach?" Or "That was good, wasn't it?" Then, after I had reassured him by saying, "You're doin' just great, Little Ace," he would beam delightedly. Progress was rapid in his throwing, but I knew hitting was going to take extra work and I got a chance to arrange something at the beginning of the second week. Danny's mother had been picking him up after practice, but that day she had not yet arrived so he helped me pack the equipment and load the bags into the back of my SUV. "Your mom's, probably stuck at work," I told him. "We'll give her a few minutes. If she's not here by then, I'll drive you home." We got in the front seat of the SUV to wait. Danny's shirt was still off and he was wearing just his cap and shorts. He leaned back, smooth skin glowing in the late afternoon sunlight, and gave me an anxious glance. "I did good today, didn't I?" "Yeah you did, Ace," I assured him. "I think you're getting a little stronger every day, too." Reaching over, I squeezed his thigh and then stroked through the cotton shorts. Danny made a tiny sound and spread his legs so my hand could push up into his crotch. As I stroked slowly, slipping the fabric of the shorts over smooth skin, the front of his pants bulged upward. My hand went to Danny's taut waist where the silky skin felt warm and soft under my fingers. He sucked in his belly letting me push down beneath the elastic of his briefs to a hard, up thrust boy stick that I stroked gently with thumb and forefinger. Danny glanced around and whispered, "No one can see us here, can they Coach?" I shook my head. Reaching down he unhooked the waist of the shorts, pulled down the fly and then hooked his fingers under the elastic waist of the briefs to pull them up and off his boner, holding them down out of the way. Freed from the tight briefs, his long slim boy rod strained up, hard and quivering. When I took the jutting branch in my fist and began to pump Danny leaned back, closing his eyes. Lips parted slightly and breaths coming in little moans he held the briefs down as far as he could, squeezing his butt to swell the long slim hardness that quivered beneath my fingers. I pumped harder and gradually Danny slid down in the seat, spreading his legs even farther apart. A powerful throb pulsed in the rigid shaft and the boy gave another moan of pleasure, arching back, his mouth opening wider. I kept my eyes on the far end of the field. When I saw a car pull in and start up the access road I took my hand away and said, "Here comes your mom." Danny pulled his briefs back up and began to rezip his pants. To give him time to arrange his clothes I got out of the car to talk to his mother as she pulled up. "Did you get stuck at work?" "I'm sorry, Coach," she said, looking distressed. "Have you been waiting long?" "No problem. Look, I've been thinking. Danny needs to build up strength in his legs. He's got a bike, hasn't he?" She nodded. "We got him a new one just this year." "Let him ride it to practice every day," I told her. "I'll make sure he gets home safe." His mother looked uncertain. "Are you sure it's no trouble?" "I'm sure. And I know it'll help him." "Well... I guess it would be better that way." With a little nod she made up her mind. "All right. He could learn to be a little more independent." "He's gonna' need a lot more work on his hitting, too," I said, pressing my advantage. "You and your husband both work Saturdays, don't you?" She nodded again. "Yes. We usually leave him by himself on Saturdays." "Here's what we'll do," I said. "We practice Saturday mornings. Let me have him the rest of the day. I'll make sure he gets lunch and then take him over to the batting cages - really work him out." "Are you sure that's not too much trouble, Coach?" She was going for it, I could tell, and with a bit more coaxing I got her agreement. Danny had been listening to all this with rapt attention, and I could tell he approved as well. "This Saturday, Little Ace," I told him, patting his butt as he got into his mother's car. "We'll start making a hitter out of you." He gave me a huge grin and waved as they drove off. [ To Be Continued In Parts B,C,D and E ] *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Hope you enjoyed it! This baseball series has a 'long' short story for every position. Look for a new chapter or two each month. Thanks for taking the time to read my story and if you'd like to comment, my e-mail address is: hunterjoe45@yahoo.com I will try to answer all serious mailings. My on-line access is very limited. Rants and ravings will not get consideration. To all you readers who enjoy these stories, please support Nifty with contributions and keep the Archive online. Check the Nifty home page for ways to make contributions. Without this Archive those of us who write for you will lose a wonderful resource to get our stories out. You can find links to all my other stories on Nifty under my name, Joe Hunter, listed under the J's (for Joe) in the prolific authors list. 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