Date: Fri, 20 Jul 2012 08:19:17 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: Baseball Diamond Tails - 7C

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

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.

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Support Nifty!   Joe

____________________________

BASEBALL DIAMOND TAILS - 7C
(copyright 2012, Joe Hunter)

:::::::::::::::::::::
 Left Field:  Part C
:::::::::::::::::::::

On Sunday I did some shopping for myself and while I was in one of the
local malls I visited a Gap store and bought a fashionable looking pair of
boys' pants in Andy's size along with a couple of loose shirts he could use
for school.  I had these and a new supply of ointment and bandages with me
when I arrived at our practice field Monday afternoon.  As usual, Andy and
his schoolmate Benjy were the first to arrive.

"How's the bike?"  I asked as we got the equipment bags out and set up.

Andy flashed me a quick smile.  "It's awesome Coach.  Thanks a lot."

"Just sort of keep quiet about who got it for you."

The boy gave me a knowing look.  "Yeah."

"What did your mom say?"

"She didn't notice."

"If she asks, tell her I had a friend who happened to have an extra bike
and he gave it to you."

Andy nodded.

His new bike was the center of attention when the rest of the team arrived.
There were a lot of admiring comments and envious looks.  "Geez, a mongoose
and a mountain bike!  That is totally awesome," Chris, our 14-year-old
shortstop exclaimed.  I had to go break up the crowd to get practice
started.

With the regular season underway the time for heavy emphasis on
fundamentals had passed and I kept things fast and upbeat with lots of
situation drills and hitting.  Our biggest problems were pitching and
hitting, so I figured the more batting drills the better.  The kids liked
hitting, and they took plenty of swings while my pitchers got chances to
work on their skills.  We still had no one who could throw hard but at
least the boys were having fun.

After practice I told Andy to hang around and instead of putting the
equipment away I handed him a heavy bat. Then I went to my truck and came
back with a bucket of wiffle balls.

Andy looked at me curiously.  I had him strip off his shirt and take a
right-handed stance at home plate facing the sagging old backstop while I
knelt down on the opposite side of the plate with my bucket.

"I toss 'em in.  You wack 'em into the backstop," I told him.  "Try to hang
on to that bat so it doesn't kill me."

My bucket held about two-dozen wiffle balls.  One by one I tossed them over
the plate toward Andy and he swung the heavy bat, trying to hit the plastic
balls into the backstop.  When the bucket was empty we picked up the balls
and started again, this time with Andy swinging on his left side.  We went
this way for bucket after bucket, Andy's smooth hard upper body glistening
with sweat, until I could see that the boy was tiring.

"Take a break," I ordered and picked up the balls myself.  Then I knelt
down in front of him.

"How's that knee?  I notice you're not limping today."

"It's good," Andy assured me.  "I put more stuff on it this morning."

I examined closely, poking around with my fingers, and there was no
tenderness or swelling.  "Looks like you're healing.  Let's get the
equipment picked up."

We loaded all the helmets and bats into the big canvas duffel bags and I
lugged them to the truck.  Once the bags were stowed I told Andy to bring
his bike over.  "From now on, you and I are gonna' work late after every
practice.  I'll drive you home."

Andy wheeled his new bike to me and I laid it carefully in the truck bed on
top of the equipment bags.  Then we both got into the truck and while the
engine was warming up I asked, "You do your exercises?"

"Uh-huh.  Three times yesterday," Andy said, nodding, "An' this morning
before school."

"Good.  Those exercises strengthen the muscles in your shoulders and sides.
So does swingin' that heavy bat.  We're gonna' put more pop in your bat by
the end of the season."

I pointed to a bag on the seat.  "Take a look in there and tell me what you
think."

While I put the truck into gear and drove out onto the road, Andy explored
the contents of the bag.  When he pulled out the pants, unfolding them on
his lap, I saw him smooth them with his hand gently.

"They're the same size as the ones you showed me hanging on the back of
your door."

Andy gave me a quick look and then took out the shirts.

"I got those a little on the big side," I said, "Because that's kind of
like the fashion these days."

Andy stared at the shirts for a while and then folded them carefully.  The
shirts went into his book bag; he did the same with the pants and then
turned to me.

"Thanks, Coach."

"They're OK?  You'll wear 'em for school?  I hope they fit.  I was a little
worried about buying stuff without you there with me."

He slid over towards me, put the book bag down on the seat and leaned
against me as I put an arm around him.

"I like them a lot," he told me quietly.

"I want you to look good at school, Andy."

My palm stroked his firm silky tummy and the boy turned to give me a quick
hug.  Then he lifted the waist of his shorts and sucked in his belly while
my hand pushed under the elastic of his jock.  A hard thick little shaft
slid between my fingers, which I rubbed firmly.  Andy put his hand on my
thigh, stroking it, moving up into my groin and exploring the bulge under
my jeans.

We both continued to rub, fondling each other until I turned in at his
trailer park and then Andy straightened up in the seat, pulling on his
shirt and picking up the book bag.

"You let me know if those clothes fit right," I told him.

He nodded.

"Don't forget your exercises."

"I'm gonna' do 'em as soon as I go in, Coach."

I parked in front of his trailer, we got out and as I lifted his bike out
of the pickup bed I said, "Game tomorrow, Champ.  I'll see you at the
field.  Get plenty of sleep tonight."

"I will."  Andy took hold of his bike.  "Coach?"

"What, Champ?"

"You'll bring me home tomorrow night, won't you?"

"Absolutely."  I patted his shoulder.  "There is no way I'm letting you
ride on these roads after dark."

Andy nodded.  "Nite' Coach."

I watched him put his bike away, and then waited until he had unlocked the
door and gone inside before driving off.  It was so nice, I was thinking,
that he was growing attached and wanted to be sure I was driving him home.

Dumb young coach...  I had no inkling that Andy was already way, way ahead
of me...

The game that following evening was rough.  We went up against one of the
good teams, got soundly beaten and the humiliation started with the very
first batter.

Fourteen-year-old Chris was up on the mound for us, starting at pitcher
instead of shortstop.  He walked the first hitter and when that boy tossed
his bat to one side and trotted up the baseline toward first, Chris made
the mistake of standing on the rubber while he studied the next batter.
The first boy touched first base and, when he saw no one paying attention,
immediately sprinted for second.

Startled by frantic cries from the infielders, Chris whirled around and
made a panicky throw to second.  Unfortunately, no one was covering the
bag.  The ball rolled away into center field.  The runner hit second,
heading for third and there was a mad scramble in the outfield for the
ball.  Everyone was out of position, including both Ronny, our shortstop,
and the third baseman, Zach.  RayBan, my lanky center fielder finally got
hold of the ball and threw it as hard as he could to third base.

"Damn!"  I swore, knowing Zach was nowhere near the bag.

But someone was!  To my astonishment a small figure stepped up to take the
throw!

Andy!

Out of all the players on the field, Andy had kept his head.  He was
exactly where he was supposed to be, backing up the play at third, and if
RayBan's throw had been online we would have had an out.  But it was way
off.  Andy had to make a diving leap for the ball, just barely getting it
in his glove and then tumbling to the ground while the runner kept right on
going, rounding third and heading for home.

Once again my well-drilled little ballplayer did exactly what he was
supposed to do.  He got up and ran directly at the runner, forcing him to
commit.  Once the runner was on his way to the plate, Andy fired a perfect
throw to Doug, the catcher, who had been excitedly screaming
well-intentioned advice as he watched the others mill about.  The boy got
his glove up and caught Andy's rocket, which made a resounding "Whaaap!"
when it hit.  The runner skidded to a stop and made a dash back to third.

It was a classic run down situation, something I had drilled my players on
in practice.  The rules were simple: force the runner to commit, make
accurate throws, back up the play.

Unfortunately, in the pressure of a game situation, everything I had
painstakingly drilled into my players evaporated.  Doug did everything
wrong.  As soon as he saw the runner stop he should have run directly at
him, forcing the boy to commit.  Instead Doug chucked a wild excited throw
back toward Andy at third base.  The ball sailed six feet over Andy's head
and there was no one backing up because, instead of reacting, the other
players were just watching.  Andy sprinted after the ball, but by the time
he got to it the runner had already scored.

There was complete pandemonium.  The other team, along with most of the
spectators, either jeered or else laughed uproariously.  There were taunts
and jibes hurled at both Chris and Doug.  My players, along with their
parents in the stands, were mortified.

Andy hurled his glove to the ground in disgust and for a moment I was
afraid he might walk right off the field.  I ran over to him as quickly as
I could, calling, "You've gotta' help me, Champ.  Come on.  Bring the ball
with you."

I turned and walked toward the pitcher's mound, not sure if the boy would
follow, but after hesitating Andy picked up his glove and came with me.
Chris, my poor young pitcher, was standing with his head down listening to
the taunts coming out of the first base dugout.  I gave him a rueful smile.

"Tough way to start.  You know what your mistake was, right?"

Chris nodded.

"Okay.  Well, they burned you.  Shit happens.  Shake it off and move on.  I
know you can do it.  Remember what we worked on in practice and do the best
you can.  I'm not giving up on you, so don't you give up on yourself."

This produced a grateful look and Chris nodded again.

"That's the way," I said.  "Andy's got the ball for you."

My little left fielder held up the baseball and as Chris took it Andy told
him, "You can do it!"

With a weak smile Chris nodded a third time.  "Thanks."

Heading back toward our dugout with Andy beside me, I was careful not to
touch him because I knew he disliked that when people were watching.

"You did everything right," I assured him.  "This wasn't your fault.  Don't
get down on these guys, Andy.  Please don't.  You've got to help me with
them.  Encourage them.  We have enough problems already.  We lose our
teamwork and we can forget about the season.  Talk it up out there."

He nodded and went back to his position.

I still have the scorebook with that game and the page does not make
pleasant reading.  There were no more terrible fiascoes, but the whole
thing was pretty one-sided.  Although it was obvious we were a weak team,
the other coach gave his substitute players little chance to play and used
an outstanding pitcher, supposedly one of the best in the region, letting
him throw inning after inning so he could try for a no-hit shutout.  He was
a big boy, more like seventeen than fourteen, and my kids were completely
intimidated.  If they did not strike out, they hit little dribblers to the
infield.

After the humiliation of that first play, Chris had a rough time getting
his confidence back.  He did the best he could, but simply did not have the
speed or accuracy to put away good hitters and the other team made plenty
of contact.  Fortunately our infielders, with back up help from Andy and
RayBan, were able to make a few plays, or the score would have gone into
double digits by the second inning.  I let Chris pitch into the third so he
would not feel he had been driven off the mound by the first mistake and
then had him exchange positions with Ronny at shortstop.

There was a "Ten Run Rule" in the younger leagues to protect teams from
humiliation if things started going badly, but this artificial safeguard
did not apply in the 13 and 14 division.  Games went for a full seven
innings regardless of the score.  By the top of the fifth, as we got ready
to take the field, we were down by 15 runs and I knew there was no hope.
But I was proud of my kids.  None of them had given up, and on defense at
least they were making some good plays.  I decided that if the game had to
go to the end I might as well use the chance to give my players experience.

I had been working with Andy on and off as a reserve pitcher.  I beckoned
him over and gave him the ball.  "See if you can give me one full inning,"
I told him.  "Use that split finger I showed you and try your changeup,
too.  These guys are pretty eager to hit.  What the hell.  See if you can
fool 'em."

The boy stared up in that determined way he had and nodded.  He trotted
over to the mound, looking like someone's kid brother who had gotten on the
field by mistake and I heard hooting and jeering come from the other
dugout.

That all stopped after the first batter struck out.  Andy was surprisingly
effective.  I blinked in amazement as boys from the other team took big
swings, and missed completely.  Then I realized what was happening.  The
batters were so accustomed to the fast hard throwing of their own pitchers
that Andy was a total surprise to them.  He was throwing at least 20 miles
an hour slower than their guys and it messed up their timing.

Andy was smart enough to see it too.  He would get a few strikes on a
batter and then, just when it looked as though the kid might be adjusting
to his slower speed, Andy would throw a changeup even slower!  Some of the
batters tied themselves into knots swinging at his stuff.

The best thing about Andy's pitching was his consistency.  He could not
throw too hard, but he was accurate and nobody walked. The other team got
one hit off him and put another runner on by an error, but Andy struck out
two batters and made a third ground out.  We made it through the top of the
fifth with no change in the score.

The highlight of the game for me came in the bottom of that inning.  Andy
was our second batter and he broke up the no-hitter.

Because he was small and not a powerful hitter Andy had every reason to be
as intimidated by that other team's pitcher as the rest of my boys.  But
Andy had more courage than all of them put together.  Each time he went to
bat, he stood there with confidence and made contact.  In the bottom of the
fifth he finally got his hit.

I saw it coming.  The big pitcher was worried about walking Andy because of
his small strike zone, so he was concentrating on getting the throws over
for strikes and not getting much action on the ball in consequence.  Andy
came around on one that was down the middle and connected right on the
sweet spot of that Louisville Slugger I had bought him.

"Tonk!"

Andy was no power hitter, but he got enough of the ball to send it bouncing
into the gap in left-center where it rolled to the fence.  I whooped and
pumped a fist; Andy scurried up the base path for an easy single and then
made the turn for second.  A bigger boy with longer legs might have
stretched it to a double, but Andy was not that fast.  He saw the
centerfielder readying for a throw and retreated back to first where he
stood on the bag and gave the pitcher a little grin.

So much for your no-hitter!

"Way to go, Andy!"  I yelled from my position in the third-base coaching
box.  "Way to hit, Champ!"

I was bubbling over with happiness for him.  Finally!  A bright spot in
this nightmare of a game!  First a nice job of pitching in the top of the
inning, and now a hit!  What the hell, I thought.  Roll the dice!  I
flashed Andy the steal sign and he took off for second on the next pitch.

Andy's steal took everyone on the other team by surprise.  The infield had
not been very busy n the previous four innings so they were all on the
backs of their heels taking it easy.  Their catcher had not made a throw to
second the entire evening and was totally zoned in on his pitcher.  It was
a few seconds before he even realized that Andy was going.  Then when he
did come up out of his crouch, he was off balance and still had his mask
on.  His throw sailed wide of second base into center field as Andy slid
into the bag.

Little Andy never hesitated.  Before I was even giving him the go signal he
had bounced to his feet and was sprinting for third.

I would have dearly loved it if that team had kept making errors and Andy
had gone home to score, but they were too good for that, and as it was we
got one hell of a break.  The umpires blew a call.  Unlike my team in a
similar situation, these kids had the play backed up.  The centerfielder
glommed onto the wayward ball and made a beautiful throw to third.  I gave
Andy the slide signal, yelling, "Get down!  Get down!"

Andy did a perfect slide into the bag, but the third baseman took the
excellent throw from center and did an equally fine job of applying a tag.
It was a very close play, but I was on top of it and I could see that Andy
was out.

However, it was not up to me to make the call.  That was the job of the
base umpire, and Andy's steal had caught him by surprise just like everyone
else.  He was in a terrible position over by second and had to make a call
from there.  He could not see the tag.

"Safe!"  He yelled.  Our dugout and the fans burst into wild cheering.

"All right, Andy!  Way to go!"  I yelled, hoping the umpire would not
change his mind.  I held up a hand.  "Time!"

While Andy grinned happily I dusted him off and the coach of the other team
came out to argue the call.  The argument grew rather heated and the coach
made something of a spectacle of himself, especially considering the
lopsided condition of the score.  Finally the home plate umpire, a big
burly guy looking even bigger wearing the chest protector, told him to get
into his dugout and the game resumed.

Forgetting all about not touching Andy in public, I gave his firm little
butt a pat and the boy treated me to one of his special smiles.  The feel
of smooth rounded hardness under those uniform pants sent a thrill racing
through me.

"Nice going, Champ," I told him.  "Any chance you get, take it home.  Don't
wait for me to tell you."

He nodded.

Andy's steal had shaken everybody up and I was high as the moon, still
ready to go for broke.  The count was 0-1 on Chris, our batter, and I knew
he could blunt.  I made sure both he and Andy were looking, and gave the
sign for a suicide squeeze.  Andy's eyes flashed.

The big kid on the mound reared back and fired one in.  Andy broke for
home.  Chris made a stab at the ball with his bat...  And all sorts of fun
things happened!

The bunt was not a good one.  It popped up into the air close enough to the
pitcher for him to make a lunge for it.  The ball bounced off the fingers
of his glove, so our luck was still in, and he had to stoop to pick it up.
If he had taken his time he might have made the play, but Andy's sprint for
home had stampeded everyone.  The pitcher had already lost his no-hitter.
He desperately wanted to keep his shutout.  Ignoring the easy out that a
throw to first would get, he tried to keep Andy from scoring.  For that he
had to rush, and in rushing the ball squirted out of his hand.  The big Ace
stumbled, Andy slid in safely at home and Chris was safe on first!

My dugout and the parents up in the stands when wild.  The score was still
15-1 but nobody cared.  We'd gotten a hit and scored a run on the team that
thought they were so good they could keep us from doing either one.  It was
as if we had won the game.

Andy came trotting back to the dugout surrounded by his teammates grinning
happily.  I slapped his palm, yelling, "Great job, Son!" as he came by and
then I gave a giant fist pump to Chris who was grinning just as widely over
at first base.

After the noise and the excitement died down the coach from the other team
came out and changed pitchers.  I guess he figured there was no sense
keeping his ace in if he could not go for a no-hitter or shutout.  While
the new kid was throwing his warm-ups I beckoned the third baseman over to
me.

I'm glad the umpire called Andy safe," I said to him quietly, "But I think
you probably got robbed.  You and the centerfielder made a great play."

The boy looked at me gratefully.  "Could you tell my coach that?  He's
gonna' yell at me for not getting the out."

"Sure," I promised.  And I did try.  Our next two batters struck out and
grounded out to end the inning and I trotted over to that other coach as he
emerged from his dugout to go to the coaching box.

"Just thought I'd let you know.  I think I got a lucky break on that call,"
I said to him.  "Your third baseman made beautiful tag."

The other man grunted, "It wasn't good enough to get the out," and went on
past me.  I watched him for a moment and then walked over to Chris at
shortstop.

"Nice job, kiddo," I told him with a smile.  "That was a little payback for
the thing they pulled in the first inning."  I gave him a pat.

Chris beamed happily.  "Thanks, Coach."

I left Andy in to pitch the sixth inning until the other team was getting
on to his slow speed and then put him back in left field, brought in Zach
to finish off the inning and used another fourteen-year-old, Taylor, to
complete the game in the seventh.  We lost 17-1, but who cared?  Andy's
hit, and the run he and Chris had scored, made the game a success for us.
After the team handshake I got my players together in the dugout.

"Crazy to say it with that score, but you guys were great tonight!" I told
them. "You were up against the ace pitcher in this region and you never
gave up.  You made some excellent defensive plays.  And these two guys..."
I indicated Andy and Chris, "These two kept you out of a no-hitter and the
shutout.  Nice going guys!"

There were cheers.  Everyone clapped Andy and Chris on the back.

"I'm proud of you all," I told them.  "And you should be proud of
yourselves!  Not all baseball's in the score.  Everyone of you had
victories out there tonight!"

I looked at each boy in the dugout.

"Now...  About that first play...  It was bad, it was embarrassing.  No
doubt about it.  But things happen in baseball, even to teams in the major
leagues!  You've all watched "Baseball Bloopers" on TV.  Don't let that one
play get you down.  You saw the other team look just as bad on Andy's
steal!

"Remember this!  If you get any flack about this game--or that play--in
school tomorrow, I better not hear that any of you were hanging your heads!
Okay, you made some mistakes.  So did the other team!  Okay, they beat us.
So what?  They've got some really good players.  But you did your best, you
never gave up--and you scored a run against them on a squeeze play!  The
toughest play in baseball!

"So keep your heads up!  Stick together!  And don't take any shit off
anybody!  Free hotdogs and Cokes at the snack bar.  I'll see you all
tomorrow at practice!"

The boys cheered and went out of the dugout.  Andy wanted to stay behind
and help with the equipment but I shoved him out.  "You go enjoy your hot
dog, Son," I told him, "You've earned it.  I'll take care of this stuff.
Get your bike over to my truck.  I'm parked behind the snack trailer."

This earned me one of his little smiles and he ran off to join the others.

I was carrying the equipment bags out to the parking area when I ran into
the other team's third baseman.

"I told your coach about your good play," I said to him.

The boy smiled and shrugged.  "Thanks, Coach.  He yelled at me anyway."

I shook my head.  "Sorry to hear that.  You played a good game.  You didn't
deserve to be yelled at."

The boy shrugged again.  "It's okay.  I don't care.  I'm sort'a glad in a
way that Andy got to score.  He's a good kid."

"Are you and Andy friends?"

"Uh-huh.  He's like a grade behind me in school.  He was on my team when I
was a 12-year-old."  The third baseman looked up at me.  "He likes you a
lot, Coach.  He talks about you all the time at school."

I grinned at the boy.  "Well, I like him a lot, too.  He's my best
ballplayer.  I was incredibly lucky to get him.  He's just a great kid."
Then I asked, "What's your name?"

"Jay-Jay."  The third baseman kept his eyes on mine.  "I think Andy's
lucky.  I wish I was on your team."

"Hey, come on.  Yours is one of the best teams in the league!"  I told him.
"You're on an excellent team, Jay-Jay."

The boy shook his head.  "I'd rather be on yours."  He gave me a little
wave and went off to where his parents were waiting for him.

While I was putting the equipment bags in the truck, Andy came up, wheeling
his bike.  I put it carefully away in the pickup bed and then made the
rounds of the dugouts with Andy tagging along, checking for any equipment
that might have been overlooked.

Cars streamed out of the parking lot and before long the field was
deserted.  I made sure the snack trailer was locked and then turned off the
field lights.  It was a clear spring night and despite light pollution from
the airport all the brighter stars were visible in the dark sky.

I went to the nearby bleachers, sat down and Andy settled next to me.

"Quite a game, Champ," I told him quietly.  "That other team had some good
players.  You're as good as any of them, though.  By the way, that was a
nice hit you made.  Their pitcher was really good."

"He has high school coaches trying to recruit him," Andy said.

"I don't doubt it."  I put an arm around Andy and gave him a little hug.
"It took guts to stand in against that guy, son.  I'm proud of you."

Andy gave me a hug back, snuggling close, and his small palm stroked my
side.  I settled back on the bleacher seats and looked up.

"Man, look at those stars.  You can see 'em pretty good, even with all that
light from the airport."

"That one's Sirius," Andy said pointing.  Then he told me the names of some
of the others.

I stared at him in the darkness.  "How did you learn all those?"

"I like stars," Andy said.  "I learned the names from a book."

"You're an amazing kid, Champ," I told him softly.  I hugged him again and
Andy slid his hand up into my crotch, fingertips rubbing over the bulge in
my pants.

"Time to get you home," I said.

We stood up, went to my truck and I opened up the passenger door so he
could hop in.  As soon as I had the engine started Andy slid over so he
could lean against me.  He reached down, put his thumbs in the waist of his
uniform pants and then arched up to push both pants and jock below his
knees.  When he settled back on the seat I put an arm around him and Andy
pulled up his shirt, baring his stomach.  Taking my hand, he rubbed it on
his smooth hard tummy before placing my fingers on his straining boy stick.
As I rubbed the hard little thickness he leaned back, tilted his face up
toward me and I bent to kiss him on the lips.  Andy's mouth opened under
mine and when my tongue slid in he moaned very softly, moving his hand into
my crotch.

Once our lips parted I put the truck in gear and we drove through the
evening traffic to his trailer park with Andy sprawled half naked on the
seat beside me, our hands stroking and rubbing each other.  The boy arched
and stretched as my fingers moved up and down on his rigid hardness and
when I felt it throb rapidly Andy's head pulled back, his mouth opened and
he gave a soft cry of passion.

There were no lights on in his trailer when we reached it.  I got out to
unload Andy's bike while he pulled up his pants and then we wheeled the
bike into his storage lean-to.

"Come," Andy begged, pulling on my arm.

The boy unlocked the front door with his key.  Inside, the trailer was dark
and airless.  He put on a dim light in the kitchen.

"Where's your mom?"  I asked.

"Working tonight.  She won't be back till late."

He put his glove and cap down on a chair, stepped over to me and stood
looking up with his dark eyes shining.  I caressed his straight black hair
and then bent to pick him up, holding him in my arms as I kissed him.  The
boy wrapped arms and legs around me, hugging tight.  His lips parted, my
tongue thrust deep into his mouth and I slipped my hands over his back and
butt, feeling the hard compact little body beneath the uniform.  Under it
Andy wore nothing but his supporter.

With a soft moan Andy writhed, hips twisting against me and when our lips
parted I gently kissed his closed eyes and tiny nose.  The boy trembled in
my arms.

"Strip me," he whispered.

Putting him down on his feet I pulled up his baseball shirt and Andy raised
his arms letting it slide off over his head.  His young lean upper body
gleamed in the dim light, the skin so smooth and taut over his developing
muscle it might have been polished marble.  I knelt and unlaced his
baseball shoes so we could get them off, and then pushed down his uniform
pants, sliding them carefully below his knees, past leggings and socks, and
Andy stepped out of them.  My hands caressed the boy's firm rounded thighs
and slid back around to cup his silken butt.  Leaning forward, I kissed the
hard muscled sheath of his tummy, pressed tongue into his belly button and
Andy moaned again, holding my head and thrusting his hips forward.

He steadied himself with one hand on my shoulder as I peeled off socks and
leggings, exposing the boy's graceful lower legs and delicate feet.  Then I
reached for his jock.  When I pulled the elastic waistband out and down
over his straining erection, Andy squeezed to harden his thick boy stub
even more and arched to display himself as I drew the supporter below his
knees, holding it while he stepped out.  The boy stood naked in front of
me, the rounded swellings of his hard little muscles etched by light and
shadow in the dim glow from the kitchen.  The white bandage on his right
knee stood out starkly against the tan on his body.

Andy gestured at the bandage, whispering, "Take it off.  I wanna' be all
bare."

Gently I unwound the gauze and removed it, kissing the healing cuts on his
delicately formed knee.

"Now you," he begged.

"Are you sure your mother won't be home?"

He nodded.  "For sure."

I kicked away my Nikes and undressed quickly with Andy helping to drag off
my shirt and then holding my pants while I stepped out of them.  When I
dropped my briefs Andy reached for my stiff man rod, taking it in his warm
fingers to rub slowly.  I bent down, kissed him, and as my tongue thrust
deep into his mouth the boy pressed his firm naked body against my flesh
and writhed slowly.  I stroked the jutting mounds of his butt and he hugged
tight.

We kissed for a long time, sliding against each other, naked bodies
squirming until our lips parted.  Then I kissed Andy's closed eyes, his
nose, his chin, the delicate hollows of his neck...  The boy was trembling
in my arms.

"Do me," he pleaded.  "Fuck me, Coach."

A surge of passion rushed through me.  "For real?"

He nodded.  Then, after sliding his palms up and down my back, he wiggled
out of my arms and scurried to the refrigerator, bringing back a plate of
butter.  Handing it to me, Andy turned, leaned against a chair and pushed
his butt out towards me.

"Hurry," he pleaded.

I smeared my fingers with butter and when I pushed them into the crease of
Andy's butt the boy sighed, squirming to spread his legs.  He reached down
to stroke his rigid boy tool.

My greasy fingers found the boy's small opening and I smeared the soft
butter over and around it, pushing a tip into the tight ring.  The muscle
squeezed against my thrust and then slowly gave way as my slippery digit
penetrated.  Andy gasped, rubbing himself in quick jerks, and I twisted the
finger inside him, pressing on the tiny nub at the base of his quivering
steel hard branch.  The boy moaned in pleasure.

Andy was very tight.  His ring contracted painfully on my finger for a
moment as he changed position, spreading his legs even further and then
while I kept wiggling my fingertip in him, it slowly relaxed.  I forced a
second finger through the opening and with a groan the boy arched, his head
pulling back.  I twisted both fingers up to press on his nub and Andy
shuddered as throbbing pulsations rippled around my up thrust fingertips.

When I let my fingers slide out Andy moaned again and adjusted his
position, wiggling his butt.  I was so hard it was painful, and as I
smeared butter on my throbbing member sudden pressure in my loins forced me
to stop and squeeze tight, holding back a flood.  My hips jerked and the
sight of the naked boy bent over in front of me, moaning in eagerness,
nearly sent me off there and then.  I was aching to be in him.  Wiping my
greasy fingers on my chest I straddled him and when Andy felt the heat of
my body he pushed his silky glistening butt toward me.

"Fuck me," he panted, as my jutting member slid into his crease. "Do me...
Do me...  Do me..."

I put both arms around Andy's lean waist, thrust my hips and pulled the boy
onto my impaling rod.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh..."

Andy caught his breath and gave a soft cry as the head of my thick shaft
entered him.  His ring tightened in spasm and I held him firmly, waiting
until he accustomed himself to my fullness.

He quivered, breaths coming in little gasps, "Uh...  Uh...  Uh...  Uh..."
Then with a flutter the ring surrendered and I felt Andy push back a little
towards me.  I thrust my hips again and my rigid hardness slid in,
sheathing itself in the boy's moist slippery heat, impaling him fully.
Andy heaved against my encircling arms.

"Ah...  Uhh...  Uhhhhhhhhhh..."

I held him tight, overcome by the incredible sensation of having my
throbbing rod locked in the sweet depths of Andy's young body.  Slipping
one arm completely around the boy's taut little waist to keep hold of him,
I reached into his groin with my other hand.  Andy had gone limp with my
entry, warm droplets of urine were on his tip, but as I began to rub his
thick little rod it stiffened under my fingers.  The boy writhed against
me, twisting on my impaling shaft, and I kissed the back of his neck while
my thumb and forefinger pumped him.  There was more than enough grease on
my fingers to let them slide easily over the slick stubby hardness and up
onto the sensitive tip.  Within seconds Andy was rigid and quivering,
pulsations rippling through his loins as he squirmed, trying to push me in
deeper.

"More..." he gasped.  "Fucking me..."

Very slowly I began to slide my rigid shaft in and out, going just an inch
or so each time and continuing to rub Andy's jutting stiffness.  The boy's
head pulled back as strained his muscular little body against my encircling
arm.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh," he groaned.  Under my arm his tummy muscles went rigid,
and then his boy stick throbbed beneath my fingers.  He thrust his hips
desperately and writhed.

"Harder, harder...  Make it hurt."

I slid faster, extending the length of my thrusts, and felt his hole gape
open.  Andy thrashed, warm droplets rolling off the tip of his hard shaft,
dribbling over my fingers.  He moaned, arching his head back.

"More...  Harder..."

I began to thrust deeply, pounding him, withdrawing nearly my full-length
and then pausing a moment before driving back in, grinding to stretch up as
far as I could.  Every thrust bulged the boy's taut belly, a swelling I
could feel against the arm I kept around his waist.  Andy went rigid, body
arched like a bow, mouth open in a soundless cry of passion.  He bucked as
I stroked his pulsing boyhood faster and then his passion, his movements,
the tight grip of his hot chute on my sliding member all combined to force
me past the edge.

Suddenly a huge pressure was radiating from my loins.  I groaned and thrust
into the boy harder and faster, squeezing... holding back...  A gush of
warmth shot from my tip.

Pulling Andy against me as hard as I could I locked my groin to him,
straining up...  Squeezing...  Head arched back like the boy's...  Every
muscle straining...

In an ecstasy of release, I exploded into Andy, flooding his hot cavity
with semen...  Jerking...  hips thrusting in heave after heave...
Shuddering pulsations emptying me, with Andy going with me, the throbbing
inside his body sending him into jerking spasms of his own.  His thick
little shaft contracted powerfully again and again, slippery fluid running
over my fingers as I pumped him frantically, every throb bringing a gasp
from the boy, "Uh...  Uh... Uh...  Uh...."

As my own contractions stopped Andy went limp in my arms, knees buckling so
that I had to support his weight.  I stroked and caressed him, whispering
over and over, "Andy...  Andy...  Andy..."

I stayed up in him until my shaft softened and got pushed out.  Semen
trickled down the inside of the boy's legs.  Holding Andy by the waist I
cleaned him off with my shirt and then picked him up like a baby.  Andy put
his arms around my neck and laid his head on my shoulder.  I grabbed my
shirt and carried him to his room, laying him on his bed tenderly and using
my shirt as a pad under his butt so nothing would stain his quilt.  Then I
stroked his shoulder, kissed him and whispered, "I'll get your stuff."

He nodded and lifted his face so I could kiss him again.

I cleaned up the living room and brought all our clothes into Andy's
bedroom.  In the bathroom I found the tube of antiseptic ointment that I
had given him for his knee and brought it to the bedroom along with some
tissue.  Andy lay sprawled with his arms over his head, the hard thick
shaft of his boy stick up and quivering, still jutting from his body.  I
pulled his knees up and spread his thighs.

"Again," Andy whispered without opening his eyes.  "Fuck me again..."

"Not right away, Champ.  My battery don't recharge as fast as yours.  Hold
still while I do this."

Using tissue and plenty of ointment I cleaned the boy's swollen, stretched
rim and inserted a gob of antiseptic into his hole with my finger.  The boy
writhed slowly and moaned while my finger moved inside him.

I cleaned everything up and then straightened Andy on his narrow bed,
stretching out beside him to take the boy into my arms.  I held his firm
smooth body, pressing his full-length to mine, feeling the warmth of young
flesh.  Andy wound his arms around my neck and hugged sweetly.

"Feel good?"  I whispered.

He nodded.  "Do me again."

"Later," I promised.  "Rest first."

We kissed and I stroked his firm tapering back.  Then my hands slid down
over his silky butt feeling the hard swell of muscle.  Andy writhed slowly.

I held him for a long time, stroking and whispering until at last he
relaxed and his eyes started to close.  There was barely room for the two
of us on the bed.  I got up very carefully and then maneuvered the tired
boy under his covers.  He came awake as I did this but was still very
sleepy.  He watched me dress with his eyes half closed.

"Read to me, Coach," he begged.

I sat on the bed and read to him from his sports adventure book until he
was sleeping again.  Then I turned off his light, checked the trailer
carefully to be sure everything was cleaned up, and left.

The following morning I woke with a host of second thoughts, wondering if
Andy had really wanted what we had done and if I hadn't gone too far.  At
lunch I went to a bookstore and bought three books I hoped he would like
and then after work drove to the practice field early, waiting anxiously to
see if Andy would come.  When two tiny figures on bikes turned off the
airport road and started across the vast tract of empty land toward me I
heaved a sigh of relief and began unpacking the equipment bags.

"I've got something for you after practice," I told Andy quietly when he
and Benjy rode up.  He gave me his little look, nodded and then grabbed a
baseball so he and Benjy could warm up.  I watched him as he moved around
playing catch.  He seemed to be okay.

We had a good practice that day.  I had the kids work on a base stealing
drill so they could get that first inning fiasco of the previous night out
of their systems.  Then we did a fly ball contest, infielders against
outfielders, which the infielders won to RayBan's embarrassment.  But my
tall center fielder felt much better when he won the Home Run Derby that we
finished off with, getting the candy bar prize.  I tried to keep the
session as upbeat and interesting as I could because, no matter how much
sugarcoating I used, they had been badly beaten the night before and losing
was not much fun.

After the last round of Home Run Derby I gathered the boys around me,
awarded the candy bar to my happy center fielder, who could hit a long ball
when the pitching was not too fast.  Then, I looked around the group.

"Any problems at school today?"

They all glanced at each other and Chris said, "It was okay, Coach.  A
couple of kids tried to say something, but we took care of it like you told
us to."

I turned to Andy, "How 'bout seventh grade.  Any trouble?"

Andy shook his head.  "It was all right."

"Okay, good."  I looked at them all again, seeing their young serious
faces.  They were such nice kids, and they were trying hard.  It was not
their fault things were the way they were.

"I was thinking about that game again last night," I told them, "I wanted
to tell you one more time how proud I was of all of you.  It took a lot of
courage for you guys to get in there against that pitching.  But you all
did it and you all made contact.  I was just damn proud of you."

The boys all drew closer, looking happy.  How hungry they were for praise!
I wondered how much of it a few of them had ever gotten.  Going around the
circle I found some little thing each had done that I could compliment, and
when I got to Andy I smiled and said, "You had a lot of good moments last
night, Champ.  But I love the way you backed up plays all through the game.
When we had that confusion in the first inning, you were right there on the
bag at third to help out."

I gave his shoulder a little tap and he smiled up at me.

"Practice tomorrow and Friday, guys" I told the team.  "On Saturday morning
we have another game.  I've looked at that team.  They can be beaten.  Your
defense is just as good as theirs.  Our goal should be to keep making
contact when you're at bat.  We'll try for a few more hits this time.  If
you can do that..."  I grinned at them and held my fist out.  "What happens
when you hit the ball between the white lines?"

"Good things!" the boys all cheered, tapping my fist with their own.

I had chosen my words carefully.  I no longer had any illusions about my
team's chances against most of the other clubs in the league.  But the boys
were happy and they left practice feeling good, which was what I was trying
to accomplish.

Andy wheeled his bike over to my truck and then puttered around with it
until everyone else had gone.

"Feeling OK?"  I asked him quietly.

"Uh-huh.

"Not sore or anything?"

He shrugged.  "A little."  He turned his head to look up at me and took my
hand.  "It's okay, Coach."

I patted his shoulder.  "Let's do your batting exercises."

We worked for almost an hour, and then packed up the equipment bags and put
them in the truck.  I loaded Andy's bicycle in on top of them.

"Did those clothes I got for you fit okay?"

Andy nodded.  He opened his book bag and showed me the pants and one of the
shirts I had bought for him inside, neatly folded.

"I've been wearing them every day."

I looked at him fondly.  "I want you to look good, Champ."

"Uh-huh.  I know, Coach."  Andy reached out and touched my hand again.

I opened the passenger side door of the truck.  "There's a package in there
for you."

Andy scrambled in quickly and by the time I was in on the other side with
the engine started he was already looking over the three books I had bought
him.

"That one on top is by the same guy that wrote 'Trouble At Second Base'," I
told him.  "The astronomy book has a lot of interesting stuff about the
stars, and this last one..." I reached over and pointed to a third book.
"That one's a real classic.  It's about a boy and a horse.  I thought you
might like it."

Andy opened it.  The book was 'The Black Stallion'.

"I saw the movie," he said.  "It was real good."

I nodded.  "So's the book."

The boy examined his books a few minutes more, and then carefully put them
away in his backpack.  He slid over on the seat to get next to me, leaned
against my side when I put an arm around him and turned his head to look
up.

"Thanks, Coach."

I stared into his wide dark eyes and then bent my head down quickly to kiss
him on the lips.  The boy reached up to hold my shoulder and opened his
mouth to let my tongue slid deep.

"You do your exercises today?"  I asked huskily when our lips parted.

Andy nodded.  "This morning.  An' I did another set during gym.  I'll do
one more when I get home."

"Good."  I got the truck in gear and pulled out onto the back road that
went by our part of the field.  "Listen," I told Andy, "After the game this
Saturday, how 'bout spending the day with me.  Can you do that?"

"Uh-huh."  Andy lifted his hips and pushed shorts and jock down to his
knees.  Then he took my hand and put it on his rigid boy rod.  I began to
stroke him.

"We'll take your bike to the shop and have them tighten everything," I told
him.  "Plus, there's other stuff I want us to do."  I moved my thumb and
forefinger up onto the sensitive head of his thick little shaft and rubbed
across the slit.  The boy tightened his butt, swelling the engorged flesh
against my fingertips.  His warm hand slid up my thigh and pushed into my
crotch, fingers pushing against the bulge he found there.

I drove slowly, prolonging the time we could have together and we continued
to rub each other until we got near his house.  As we turned into the
trailer park road Andy straightened and pulled up his shorts.  When I
parked in front of his trailer and got out to unload his bike I saw the old
Nissan parked in his driveway.

"Your mom home?"

He nodded.

"Okay...  Well, do your exercises.  If you have any trouble with your
homework you can call me.  You have the number, right?"

Andy nodded again and I gave his shoulder a little pat.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

With one of his smiles and a look of affection Andy waved and wheeled his
bike toward the trailer.  As I drove away I could still smell his scent, a
mixture of infield dirt and boy sweat, in the truck.  He called me later
that night to check on his homework answers, but I could tell he did not
really need any help.  He just wanted to hear my voice.

[ To Be Continued In Parts D through J ]

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

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