Date: Tue, 02 May 2006 15:19:56 -0700
From: aberration@hush.com
Subject: Ballpark Fans - adult/youth

Ballpark Fans
By: Aberration

Disclaimer:

This story contains material of a sexual nature and describes sexual acts
between varied ages, which may include adult/youth. If you find this kind
of material offensive, if you are not of legal age to read such material or
if it is illegal in your country, please do not read any further. My
stories may contain some factual or autobiographical elements, but they are
works of fiction, figments of imagination and any apparent similarity of
characters to real people is coincidental.

Expression should never be considered intent and I do not condone nor
endorse any of the activities included in these representations.

Story Codes: (mb, voy, oral, anal, mast)

Comments are welcome at aberration@hush.com


Once Little League is done the traffic at the complex next to my home
dwindles to next to nothing, the infields are dirt, so they aren't used for
soccer, it's small, there aren't any tables or BBQ pits, it's a sad sight
really. When the boys are playing I often sit out on my patio to watch the
games, the left field fence is about ten yards in from my cyclone and I
have a perfect view, especially with the binoculars.

Yes, I watch with a purpose. I am a huge fan of boys, with all their warts
and shortcomings. I watch and I day dream, witness the camaraderie and
wonder if they experiment together. Does that short, wiry lad desire his
coach perhaps; he certainly hangs on every word and looks upon him with
that longing.

Some of the pairs are most obvious, to those in tune and if they hadn't at
least compared erections I would be mightily surprised, as their body
language and behavior suggests they may well be into the oral stage. How
many have gone so far as to try and get their immature little boners inside
each others rectums?

I'd spent many a ninety minutes observing and fantasizing, that's about how
long it takes them to play a game, never contemplating that anything even
close would ever drift gloriously into my reckoning, I failed however to
recollect the deviousness and in many cases, the awareness of boys who are
`on to the game', so to speak and the lengths they will go to in order to
complete a dare, or defend their heroic statures and just plain investigate
something that makes them curious.

Ben and Sam were dizygotic or fraternal twins and except for their very
close facial appearances were as different as night and day. Ben, the older
by forty-three minutes was more introverted, not shy, he just sort of paced
things out, slower to warm up to a situation, whether it was a new friend
or type of cereal.

Sam was all boy and leader for sniffing out trouble and wiggling his way
out of it, mostly pranks, but a couple broken windows too and good at
dragging his sibling with him. They played on different teams on purpose,
but together they actually got along real well, in comparison of normal
brothers who tend to include battle to the death in their relationships.

Pretty evenly talented, both were amongst the stars of their respective
teams, but it was Sam that caught my eye, his more rambunctious nature
having taken him to that stage I remember for boyhood, the urge, or need to
play `grab dick', except it looks like wrestling or just tousling around
and when you think it won't be observed, grab hold and give a good
squeeze. He had a couple of cute team mates he played this game with often
that summer and I smiled as I watched him get friendlier with the black
haired boy with blue eyes, who was much more aggressive in retaliation.

Ben had a close friend too, but much more like himself, they just sat
together on the bench, talked for a minute or two after the game, high
fived each other once in awhile. Only through the power of my binoculars
could one see the looks that passed between them though, they were bonded
in a way I believe.

It seems I caught Sam's eye as well, more like his curiosity when total
honesty is required. I possessed nothing that would attract his attention,
middle aged, gray hair, but not fat, nor ugly, just as plain as they
come. First it was a smile and casual wave as he'd take up his position,
left field of course. When I was there again and again, he would give me
looks, make faces and once turned and stuck his tongue out of the side of
his mouth and grinned stupidly after a fantastic catch, but telling me,
`Gee ma, look what I dun found'. Generally performing for me at times, or
so my lecherous mind wanted to devise.

As the season progressed and the games got more `serious', at least to the
coaches and parents, there would be lapses for pitching changes during
which he was suppose to throw the ball back and forth with the right
fielder, but worked his position closer and closer to the fence until he
urged me over and we would chat as he threw and stayed loose. He questioned
my status, learning I was a widower and then being explained what that
meant, and bless his heart, it embarrassed him a little and he truly was
sorry he'd brought it up and I don't know where it came from, but I worked
the conversation into a visit to `break up my loneliness' and to my utter
surprise he accepted.

We quickly arrived that since school was out and I didn't work he would
come by to visit me tomorrow morning at ten am and he ran back as they got
ready to resume the game. The change did no good and his team lost, but as
he started to jog off to join his dejected team mates, he turned with an
ear to ear grin, waved and said, "See you tomorrow!"

What a fitful nights rest, even after the guilty session in which I
relieved my tension and allowed my thoughts to intermingle, coalesce and
form into what would be Sam in all his glory. Sleek, veined skin bearing
the boyhood tan of summer, only a tiny bit of peach fuzz on his calves, the
sweet hairless genitals, his tube of pink boy flesh no longer then two
inches in a restful state, perhaps four when enticed into it's quivering
stage of preadolescent stiffness that sometimes seems so strong you could
just snap it right off like a twig. Matched set of velveteen encased kid's
balls, about the size of peach pits, just beginning their descent and
gaining a slight bit of definition and my nut busted upon picturing the
tight little `O', wrinkled and winking, spasms tuned to the rapture
encasing his twelve year old body as he reaches his orgasmic peaks.

I gave up sleep at four am and also gave up my resistance, spending an hour
retrieving the small collection of very well hidden books and magazines,
along with my boyhood collections of baseball cards, comic books and old
records. I knew one of my three old collections would capture his
curiosity, legitimize his visits, which I hoped to make frequent and use
the first bunch to put ideas in his devious little mind.

I hadn't used them in many a long year and had to carefully clean them, a
varied assortment, straight, bisexual and some very precious copies of old
`Boy' and `Beach Boys' magazines and one priceless copy of `Billy at Uncle
Nick's', the supposed evening of a young adolescent and his thirties, even
early forties `Uncle'.

We learn by doing goes the saying, and I was doing as I had learned, the
magazines and small amounts of liquor and pot lowering my inhibitions until
I was seduced and learned the lessons of man/boy love beginning at eleven,
lasting until I began puberty and we both lost interest. They were sporadic
encounters, never more then three or four a month, but they were hours long
when arranged and totally encompassed the possibilities.

I went on to discover girls and their excitement held my interest, with a
few mutual jerk off's with closer friends throughout early teens and high
school, got laid twice and found it most satisfactory, though not
everything it was cracked up to be, to be honest. In fact I met my wife at
college. We were very good together and after several months dating, got
engaged. Things were flying high; we already had decent, not high living,
but well off jobs awaiting us upon graduation and then her youngest brother
returned home from his boarding school and I cheated before I was even
married.

There was no way I could help myself, he was the loveliest creature I'd
ever seen with his long, blonde hair and sea blue eyes, his almost too
pretty to be a girl features, but no mistaking he was all boy, or young man
really and it may be a tired reference but he truly was a `Tadzio', the
manners, alluring gazes and tight, mid-pubic body that just screams to be
given satisfaction beyond measure.

The tales of school were true as well, he literally threw himself at me,
whispering I was his prefect, should he report to me before bed time?

It was a wonderful night of pure boy sex, his not quite fourteen year old
body smooth and sleek, perfectly haired with two small wings of curly
anointments framing his nicely proportioned almost five inches of young
teen cock and just a tale of whispies hidden in the heavenly vale of his
underarms. He served as well as received both orally and anally and he
managed four to my two, his sweet nectar deliciously thick and copiously
issued through his large, kiwi sized testicles. He was well trained and
assured me he had no lack of practice, that he didn't suffer mistreatment
as he was pledged to one of the best prefects in the school, being `his
boy'.

A true night in heaven, truly held dear and near in my heart, for he
informed me in the morning that a repeat was impossible, but that he knew
from the moment he looked in my eyes I would never give up until I tasted
him at least once, so this was his wedding present to me.

That was my final dalliance into such affairs, many long years ago now,
I've seen my dear wife and companion taken, but I'm still thankful we were
childless for our eighteen years, for now I'm no longer capable of
working. My bodies giving up on me as well and before it goes completely I
feel like I deserve one more `Taste of Honey' when, hopefully this morning
my honeycomb arrives as promised.

The doorbell startled me, the television playing the beginning to the
`Price is Right'. I'd dozed off in my recliner. Scrambling up I was
thrilled as he stood at my door, all grin and boy. T-shirt and those damn
baggy pants, but worn low so the band of his blue boxers showed beneath the
white shirt and I wondered quickly if they could be boxer briefs, then
thinking that might cause a cardiac arrest, asked him to please come in.

The sticky buns, knowing that even if he had eaten breakfast, no boy in his
right mind would refuse a sticky bun and a glass of milk, only took a few
minutes to warm up nicely. Soon he was seated at my kitchen table,
wonderfully making a mess of his cute face, jabbering away about nothing
and everything. He thanked me and asked to be excused to wash up after his
second, obviously trying either to impress or suck up, but I like think it
was the former.

Cleaning off the crumbs and depositing the dishes in the sink, I heard a
giggle from down the hall and assumed he'd discovered the `Farmer Boy'
statuette, his overalls unbuttoned, and a stream issuing from his torso as
he looks back over his shoulder in a sheepish grin. Also on the walls were
reproductions of `Swimmin' Hole' and "Doctor Visit' covers from the old New
Yorker Magazines, both bearing the nether regions of the boy(s) on them.

When I unveiled my collections he went ape, thrilled at seeing issues he'd
only heard about, seems he was a `closet' collector, his father
disapproving of such trash. Baseball cards were acceptable, but of course
he had few that matched mine going back some fifty years and one very
prized, signed card of Roger Maris, sadly the year after he broke Ruth's
single season record, but the signature still made it quite valuable, for
nostalgia if not any real monetary stamp.

We spent a very wonderful morning talking, but sadly he had to return home
around lunch time and he wasn't gone five minutes before I was missing his
delightfully bright face and smile. He was genuinely realistic and quite
beyond his twelve years when not forced to assume the masks he'd created
for the outside world and I questioned my ethics for the rest of the day,
feeling guilty but counting the hours until his return, again promised as
ten am on the morrow.

What a wonderful surprise when not only Sam, but Ben as well appeared on my
doorstep, their baseball card collections draped in their arms. I guess
intuitions pay off, because even though I knew two of us could never finish
them, I had gone to the store and purchased more sticky buns and milk. This
morning I had the delightful treat of watching near, but enough difference
to recognize between them, mirror images attack and conquer two rolls and
glasses of milk. Sam escorted his brother to the bathroom to clean the
cinnamon and glaze off their pretty faces while I cleaned up.

The whispering and giggles were no doubt about my choice of art work and
then I heard, "Art, could you come here, please?" from Sam.

When I turned at the bathroom door I was stopped short by two beautiful
pink butts poised up in the air, each boy that owned them stifling laughter
as the pair mooned me for about ten seconds, then Ben slammed the door and
they let their laughter peel out in a wonderful chorus that cheered my
tired and lonely heart.

"Okay BUTTHEADS" I laughed, anytime you can present yourselves in a decent
matter, let's see if we can trade some cards!"

They emerged from the bathroom still snickering and nudging each other and
we headed into the living room and spread our collection out in the middle
of the carpeted floor. We laughed and traded, argued and dickered, for
about two hours and I know I had a great time and the boys seemed to as
well. After several minutes they declared it too warm and stripped their
shirts off, leaving just those baggy shorts and the bands of their
underwear showing. Several times they caught me just staring, or gazing at
their inherent beauty, a few looks directly aimed at the only clothed area
of their tight, firm little bodies and wondering what their treasures would
look like.

"Can I ask you a question, Art?" Sam finally said after he'd busted me for
about the third time staring at his crotch.

"I think you just did." I smiled and moved some of my cards around.

That earned me a head toss and eye roll, but a cute grin as well, "No,
really," he said, "I only asked, because it's sorta, well personal."

"Go ahead, Sam," I replied in seriousness, sensing he needed that.

"Are you gay?" he asked in all innocence.

How to respond, would they run screaming `Rape!' if I told them the truth
and if I lied and then they discovered the lie, what would they think of
me. I pondered and stalled, not wanting to make mistake that might cost me
my only chance at recapturing some of lost youth.

"Well," I was still stalling, as they both fidgeted and watched me, "Yes, I
suppose in a way, but I don't fancy men." I just left it hanging there for
a second and was about to admit the truth.

"You like boys." Ben said quietly.

I stared at the quiet, somber face and realized they weren't going run off
screaming anything. They just wanted to know the facts, get a straight
answer.

"Yes," I shook my head, "I like boys."

"Do you like us?" Sam asked, and there was almost a plea in his stare.

"Why yes, Sam," I said a little taken aback that he might think I didn't,
"I like you very much, you too Ben."

"No, I know we're friends," Sam said exasperated at my attempt. "Do you
like us LIKE THAT!" he emphasized the ending.

"You mean do I desire you, that I want to throw you to the floor and ravage
you, make love to you night and day?" I said with mock seriousness.

"Yeah," he couldn't help giggling, adjusting his crotch.

"YES!" I growled and pinned him, beginning a fierce attack to the ribs and
belly, sending him into gales of laughter as I tickled and poked at his
firm, tight young body.

Ben joined in, jumping on my back and we rolled around laughing and
tousling for a few moments of pure heaven. Feeling younger then I had in
years I managed to defeat them, all though I knew they gave in somewhat,
had felt both boys excitement through the physical contact and more then
once a small hand had made a pass over my groin. Fortunately for once age
helped me there, though I had actually gone semi as I rolled off and
started to get up.

"Aren't you going the finish?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Finish?" I asked, wanting so desperately to do just that, but I wanted
him, or both actually to lead, or allow, this to go as far as they wanted.

"Yeah," he grinned and cast a glance over at his brother who was just
nodding. "When a warrior defeats his enemies he gets to rape and pillage!"

I watched in growing astonishment as he laid on his back and tore his baggy
legged shorts and boxer shorts down his thighs, his not so little almost
four inches of extremely stiff boy cock pointing at the ceiling. There
wasn't a hair to be seen, but his sack was loose, the smallish balls
hanging low as he slipped his clothes over his feet and then just displayed
his total nakedness to me with an almost sheepish grin and look of hope.

"You're all boy that's for sure!" I finally whistled, wiping my brow.

"Do you like it?" he smirked, but not with malice, almost intent I thought.

"Yes I do," I smiled politely. "Is it for me?" I asked.

"If you want," he said, and then glanced over at Ben, who just giggled and
fondled the outside of his shorts. "Ben's never seen this kind of stuff,
but he wants to learn, right brother?"

"Uh huh," Ben blushed furiously, then giggled and nodded.

"But you have?" I pretended a stern request.

"Of course," he smugly replied, "I been pulling my peter for over a year
now, he does too, `cept he's really shy about it."

"Is that all!" I pretended boredom and indignant that they should even
bother me.

Worked like a charm.

"Wadda mean," Ben suddenly chirped, "What else is there?"

"Told ya he didn't know much!" Sam giggled and toyed with himself so he
wouldn't go soft. "He doesn't know about sucking and stuff."

"Shut up!" Ben cried, anger now flushing his face instead of embarrassment.

"All right," I went back to older authority figure again, "It's nothing to
fight over, would you like to learn what else there is, Ben?"

"Yes," he said averting his eyes from his brother to me.

"Sam," I commanded, "Prance your cute little butt to the hall closet and
get four bath towels, put them on my bed and for Pete's sake stop playing
with yourself for two seconds!"

That earned a giggle from both, music to my ears, so light and upper
pitched and Sam got up, bent over and using his hands, talked with his
absolutely gorgeous little ass as his mouth spouted, "Yes Sir, right away
sir, hope you kiss my ass SIR!" and scampered off down the hallway laughing
his silly head off.

"So," I helped Ben to his feet, "I take it you two have talked about this?"

"He has," Ben quietly pointed his head after his brother, "I've just been
thinking about it."

"And you came to the conclusion that Sam knew something you didn't?"

"Yeah," he replied, toeing the carpet with his right foot.

"Ben," I said, wrapping an arm around his thin shoulders, "You're sure,
right?"

"Oh yeah!" he brightened and looked up at me. "I like you, Mr. Mitchell,
from the first second!" he beamed, touching my heartstrings.

"Art," I said softly.

"Huh?" he scrunched up his nose.

"Call me Art," I smiled and ran my fingers across his cheek.

"Okay," he grinned and took my hand and started us off after his brother.

Ruth, Mantle, Mays, and many more, were prodigious purveyors of the
ultimate blast, but they would have had to take their hats off to me, that
sunny, early July morning. Each time I stepped up to the plate, four as the
visitors and thrice as the home team, I swatted my pine and ash at
curveballs, sliders and initially of course, the heaters and successfully
sailed the leather and cork over right, left, you name it, over the fence.

I was truly ready when I'd sung, "Put me in coach, I'm ready to play,
today, look at me, I can be, centerfield!"