Date: Mon, 28 Feb 2011 18:22:54 EST From: Mark837042@aol.com Subject: Backdoor Slider - A Love Story - Ch 1. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This story is completely fictional. Any resemblance by name or description to anyone dead or alive is totally coincidental. This is a love story between two 16-year old boys. If this offends you, if you are not of legal age or if this content is not legal in your area, please do not read this. If you have comments, please email me at mark837042@aol.com. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Backdoor Slider - A Love Story. Chapter 1 There are two outs. It is top of the ninth inning. The sun is beating down. The count is 2 and 2. I am playing shortstop. My name is Garrett. The pitcher is my best friend, Luke. Luke is pitching a perfect game and only needs one more strike to finish it off; he has 26 outs in a row. I want it so badly for him. I probably want it more than he does. Well, maybe not. Luke is incredibly competitive and really cares about his stats. Matt McKenzie is at bat. Here comes the pitch. Foul ball. Matt is fat and has red hair and freckles. What a combo. He is one of the McKenzie twins that plays for our rival, Riverside. I always hate playing Riverside because I have to see those fat asshole brothers every time. They are way too cocky for being so fat. Where do they get off having that attitude? They need to do some cardio. I guess they often do hit home runs against our guys, but not today. Matt's brother Paul has already struck out three times today and Matt has struck out twice. Just one more time. Another pitch - fouled at the plate. I pray even though I don't believe in God. It seems like I have to do something. "Please, PLEASE let him get one more strike," I mutter out loud as I kick the dirt and wait for the next pitch. Ball three. Shit. It isn't looking good. But it is just a high school baseball game, I thought. It isn't even the playoffs. But please, one more strike. Luke looks totally wiped out. He is having a tough time keeping the sweat out of his eyes and he's totally filthy. His cap is completely drenched with sweat. I bet it smells amazing. He won't look at me, and I'm glad. We have all been avoiding him since the third inning. No one wants to jinx a pitcher who is throwing a no-hitter by talking to them, coming near them or even looking at him. Another foul. "Dammit, why is that fat fuck trying so hard?" I mutter out loud again, but not loud enough for anyone to hear. Their team is down 6-0 with only one more out left. They're going to lose anyway. It wont mean anything to this asshole if he gets on base, but it will devastate Luke after coming so close to a perfect game. Another foul ball. How could this keep going on? The truth is that I am totally in love with Luke. It drives me crazy because I didn't plan on falling for my best friend. We have been friends for years before I started to develop feelings for him. In fact, it is seven years as I did the math in my head. We met in little league in the third grade and have been best friends ever since. I watch him try to gather up some strength from some unknown place, and I hold my breath as he released another pitch. STRIKE THREE! -- Oh God, no! The umpire calls it a foul tip! Motherfucker! The team and the eleven spectators in the bleachers go from exploding celebration to a nervous groan. Luke has nothing left in the tank and is standing there in disbelief. I can't imagine how he could even get one more pitch to the plate. Timeout. The coach goes out to give him a pep talk. Oh God, don't prolong this. I just want to whisk Luke away. This can't end well. I want to go far, far away and make us both forget about this stupid 'almost' perfect game. I know he is going to take it so hard. He'll punch a wall or a locker and hurt himself. He won't consider that he pitched his team to a win, he'll only concentrate on that one fat fuck that he didn't get out. He'll sulk for weeks until I finally will make him laugh. That's all it will take, one laugh to snap him out of it. But it is easier said than done. This one will be my greatest challenge yet. And just when I have decided to back off and not spend so much time with him. He's just standing there. He wont throw the pitch. The fat ginger kid calls timeout and backs out of the batter's box. The other team is starting to heckle Luke. Those assholes. I am going to get him a girlfriend so I won't have to be around him so much. I can't stand being around him anymore. Everything he does, everything he wears, everything he says turns me on. It wasn't always like this. Sure, I've always thought he was cute ever since I realized I was gay. However, something happened soon after we turned 16. It's hard for me to explain. I guess it's just that he grew into his body, with the help of puberty and the gym. Suddenly, one day he wasn't lanky or awkward or a normal teenage boy. He was lean, but muscular in all the right places. He was just studly and perfect. Another timeout. It shakes me out of my daydream, and I start to walk around a little to loosen up. I can't look at him anymore or I will get distracted again. I can't concentrate on anything when I'm around him. I'd get transfixed by his lips or his eyebrows or that little mole behind his left ear. His smell is like a drug, especially when he is sweating. During a game is nice, but my favorite was smelling him at the gym. He'd catch me staring at him and I'd always have to make some lame excuse or that I was thinking about something important. He'd never seem suspicious or creeped out by it, thankfully. However, It is happening more often lately. He is probably wondering why I am being such a space cadet, or maybe he suspects I have a crush. I shake my head and arms vigorously. I feel like I am going to stand out at shortstop for the rest of my life. This game is never going to end. I feel myself let my guard down as he pitches what would no doubt be another foul ball. Yep, foul ball. Last weekend is when I had made up my mind about spending less time with Luke. It was the most recent time that he caught me staring at him. We were alone in my den playing video games. This time, it was a particularly long fantasy... one where I imagined doing things to him... one where I imagined what it would be like to have him inside me... one that had resulted in a raging boner. I didn't think he had noticed me staring because he was concentrating on the game, but he did eventually. He must've had eyes in the back of his head, or the side anyway. He tackled me and started to tussle with me. We used to wrestle a lot, but not since I had become infatuated with him. I avoided it at all cost. His touch was too much to handle. I couldn't be that close to him and keep my composure. Luckily, I landed on top of one of the video game controllers and I pretended that it had hurt my back and that he had to get up. This time, I had really done it. He had to have noticed my hard dick. Didn't he? Oh God, he must have. Out of the corner of my eye, I happened to see him start his wind-up for his next pitch. Whew, I had almost completely zoned out again. This time he groans as he releases the ball. He throws it as hard as he could right down the middle of the plate. Fat Matt takes a mighty swing. CRACK. I catch a glimpse of the ball screaming towards me, but it appears to be running away to my right. All I have time to do is dive as hard as I can to my right and turn my glove towards home plate. Oh shit, I think. He didn't get his perfect game. The ball is just hit too hard. He was so close. If stupid Matt had just missed that one foul tip by a little bigger fraction of a second -- SMACK! goes the ball into my glove. I hit the ground, landing on the right side of my face. Oh my God, did I catch it? I squeeze my glove, and yes, there is a ball in there! I immediately raise my glove into the air so the ump can see that I have control. OUT! It is over! Holy shit, he did it! It is then that I realize my hand was stinging intensely. Pulses of pain run up my arm. Oh god, my face. Did I leave half of my cheek somewhere in the dirt around me? Quickly, I realize that I don't care about my hand or my face. I roll over to look at Luke. It is a look I'm sure I'll never forget. His face is dirty, sweaty and red, and his eyes are wide open, staring right at me. He has tears streaming down his face, but he has a huge open-mouthed, incredulous grin. My eyes start to well up with tears, but I quickly compose myself. I've never heard the sound that he was making. He is somewhere between laughing and crying, probably alternating between them. It is kind of like honking. He starts walking towards me, but the rest of the team tackles him before he could get to me. I get up and run over to him. He sees me coming and stretches out his arms to embrace me. I do the same, but at the last minute I dodge his arms and start slapping him repeatedly on the top of the head, like most of our other teammates. He collapses with exhaustion and relief. After the celebration began to subside and I had received my own head slaps, I get up from off the ground. "Nice game, drama queen," I say as I offer him my hand to help him up. His honking had developed into mostly laughter at this point, but he is still too exhausted to form words. He just stares at me with that huge open-mouthed grin. I want to kiss him so bad. He takes my hand and I help him up. He is like a dead weight, and it takes all I have to get him up off the ground. I am much smaller than he. He has four inches (of height!) and about 50 pounds on me, but we are both rock solid. We took baseball and workouts very seriously, and we have spent lots of time conditioning our 16-year-old bodies. He puts his right arm over my shoulders. Oh good, I would get to help walk him to the locker room and smell his musk the whole way. I am too small to be a serious baseball contender, that is, to play past high school. I have a solid frame, but I'm not big or fast enough to hope for a baseball scholarship. I am the scrappy kid with lots of hustle, and I really helped my high school team, even as a sophomore. However, I knew that high school would be the end of my baseball career. Luke, however, was easily in the running. When his body filled out, coach told him that if he did everything right, he might have a career as a professional. He was the star of our team, even when he was a freshman. That's when we seriously started working out. He spent so much time in the gym as he devoted his life to baseball, so that's where I was too, of course. I told everyone that I was supporting him, but I just wanted to be around him... his muscles, his smell, his hair. His hair! Luke had sexy movie star hair. It was a medium brown and ear-length, but had a lot of natural highlights. It always looked so sexy, even if he let it grow too long. He'd get out of the shower, comb it, and it would always just fall perfectly into place. I have short, dark brown hair that I cut once a week. I can't let it get too long because it doesn't behave. I'll get a cowlick or a wave that I can't control. I just use the number four attachment for my barber-style clippers. I love that length: really short, but just long enough that you still have hair that someone can run their fingers through... if that would ever happen. With all of the workouts we'd been doing, I had turned into a little sexpot, myself. I am 5'8'' and weigh 140 on a good day. I have to really work hard on my arms and chest. My legs like to hog all of the muscle growth from my workout. Therefore, I have to do so much more upper-body work or be the short dude with a tiny chest and tree trunks for legs. The added bonus to this condition was that I got to bench press often, which means Luke was spotting me often. In that position, his crotch is just a few inches from my face. I can really smell it sometimes, especially after we had really been sweating it up. Sometimes it smells kind of like buttered popcorn. I love that smell. "Hey, Spacey Lacy." I had gone into lala-land again. I am sitting at my locker, still in my uniform. Everyone has already showered and are starting to file out. I didn't shower at the same time as everyone else. I had to fake making a call on my cell phone, then went to the bathroom and waited. Helping Luke to the locker room and smelling him had worked me up into a frenzy, and I couldn't get in the shower with Luke and the other guys. "Can you come over? I can maybe do something about that face of yours, and I have to think of a way to repay you for saving my perfect game."