Date: Mon, 29 Jun 2020 22:25:31 +0000
From: whipped@protonmail.com
Subject: Being a sports writer 1-3

The following is a work of fiction. It isn't based on any real life
events. You must be eighteen to read this and all characters are eighteen
or older.

If you enjoy this story, consider donating to Nifty.

Part One

Andrew was 52, 5-11, and 235 pounds with dyed light brown hair and blue
eyes. He had never been married and just figured it wasn't in the cards
for him.
His job also kept him very busy.
He had always loved sports, but had never been a great athlete. Starting
in high school, he started covering sports for the local paper. That
turned into an internship at a paper during college and then the rest of
his life was set.
He was currently the high school sports writer for a local newspaper and
even did correspondence work for some national papers sometimes. There
was a clip on his wall at work of some of his big sports discoveries. He
knew their hard work mattered, but he felt like his writing had made some
scouts take notice and made their careers a reality.
His job also had a side benefit.
Andrew was gay and not just a little or kind of or mostly.
Just the thought of pussy or tits made him want to throw up.
His job was basically staring at young athletes all day and then
following them into the locker room and watching as they undressed.
He talked to smooth bodied young wrestlers with their singlets hanging
down below their waist and their junk outlined so clearly he knew every
detail of what they were packing. He got to watch baseball teams shower
and young football players massaged.
He wasn't a total pervert. He wasn't into underage kids or anything, but
the smell and sight of half-naked or even totally naked boys was heaven
to him.
And some noticed.
The first time he got caught was by a young lacrosse player he was doing
a story on. His name was Aaron Daniels and he had a beautiful fucking
body. It was completely tight and compact and the kid knew he was
beautiful. He had chin length brown hair and green eyes and a total baby
face.
He had also really fucked up during the game. He had been getting checked
by another player constantly and finally lost his temper. They wound up
both getting thrown off the field.
Andrew was about to drive off when Aaron knocked on his passenger door.
The kid climbed in the second the door was unlocked.
He was still in his uniform and the whole car smelled of young sweat.
He looked at Andrew and said, "I need you to write a good story about me,
okay. I need a scholarship or I'm fucked."
Then he gulped, reached over, undid my pants, and sucked my dick.
I had a pretty big cock and I could tell it was his first time. He tried
taking all of it at once immediately and had to pull off gagging and
choking.
He didn't quit, though.
His young hands wrapped around the shaft of my dick and he started
jerking me off into his mouth with just his lips wrapped around my
mushroom head. I moaned and involuntarily started fucking his teenage
throat. My hands wrapped around his skull and I shoved my dick balls deep
into his mouth.
I throatfucked him for the next ten minutes.
He started making these sounds like he was suffocating and I could hear
him retching almost the whole time.
And then I came.
He tried pulling off, but I kept his head down until I was finished.
Then I let go.
His head popped up and I could see some of my nut juice on his teenage
face, hanging down off his lips. He didn't look half as pretty. His eyes
had been watering and were red. He had snot or something all over his
face too, mixing with my cum.
I wasn't really sure what to say at this point. What is appropriate for
an old man to say to a teenage boy he just spermed into?
He didn't say anything at first, either, just grabbed a fast food cup and
spit a bunch of my jizz into it.
Then he looked at me, wiped his mouth off, laughed, and said, "Are we
good because that was fucking gross, man. I'm not sure how girls do that
shit all the time."
I thought about saying I needed ten more blowjobs or something kinkier,
but instead I just nodded.
He hopped out then and I never saw him in real life again.
But when my story was done, he got a full ride to college.

Part Two

The Chattanooga Colts were up for all state. I had been covering them for
a few weeks when I wound up giving David Lindon a ride home.
David was their star lineback. He had more sacks than any other kid in
our state and I had zero doubt he was going to the pros.
He was also kind of an asshole.
He had broad shoulders and looked like some of Norse god. He weighed in
at 220 pounds and was 6'3. He had blonde hair that hung down to his chin
and arms that could probably crush a skull.
This day, he was fighting with his girlfriend after practice. I have no
idea what it was about, but he grabbed me before I left and said he
needed a ride.
I figured he would take a shower, but all he did was slip on gym shorts
and climb into my truck still shirtless.
I tried not to stare, but it was hard.
He had this deep teenage voice that stirred something in me and it didn't
matter that he was talking about video games or cheerleader's.
Then he seemed to make a decision.
He looked at me and said, "Pull over, get out of the car, and follow me."
I didn't think I was going to get killed or anything, but I won't lie and
say I wasn't a little scared as I followed him into the woods.
We wound up in a clearing with a covered up water well. I guess it was a
hangout spot for kids because there was a lot of empty beer cans and
candy and food wrappers everywhere.
There were also used condoms.
David pushed me to the well and then pressed my head down until I was
bent over it.
He growled, "Stay fucking still and quiet."
I tried to turn my head, but he pushed it back down.
Then I heard what had to be his shorts coming down.
Then I felt his meaty young hands unbutton and unzip my pants.
Then they were on the ground.
I was still sort of confused and in shock.
And then I wasn't.
His dick ripped into my asshole all at once. At 52, I had never been
fucked before and never imagined it happening like this. His dick was
hard and huge and he just crammed it into me with no warning.
And then he started talking:
Fucking cunt thinks she can withhold sex and control me...I don't need
her cunt, do I faggot? I know you want it...seen you staring at my jock
like a thirsty bitch.. I don't need to be nice l, either do?"
I tried to answer, but he just said, "Shut the fuck up."
He didn't last long after that.
I know it would make for a better story if he fucked me up the ass for
two hours, but he was an eighteen year old boy.
The pain had barely started to go away when he began grunting and
thrusting harder. I was whimpering because his dick was like a crow bar
in my guts, but he didn't slow down or stop.
I swear I felt his nut shoot up inside me.
Then he was done.
He pulled his dick out of me and turned me around.
Then he pushed down on my shoulders and said, "Hurry the fuck up and
clean that shit off my junk so we can go."
I looked up at him from knees. His balls hanging low and dick covered in
slime. His perfect stomach and happy trail.
Then I obeyed.

Part Three

Part of my job is freelance work. My home paper lets me do it, probably
because it builds up my reputation and their own when they see my name on
a national magazine or newspaper. It is like free advertising for both of
us, but I also get paid. They also cover travel expenses.
And that is how I wound up in Texas for two weeks.
You might think in Texas I'd be covering high school football or even
baseball. You'd be wrong. I was in Texas for the Senior State Golf
Championship.
Yup, golf.
Texas has amazing funding for athletics and had become a quick pipeline
to success in the sport. Kids moved from other states just to get coached
and compete there and scouts and managers were all over the place. It was
also a new way for these kids to get free rides to some of the most
impressive colleges in the country.
It was, initially, the most boring job I'd ever had.
There was no locker room or shower talk or massages to watch. Kids showed
up, played, left.
Now, I don't want to say there wasn't eye candy. The tournament was for
seniors in high school and these young golfers came in all shapes and
sizes.
The hottest was a kid named Riley Davis. I spent almost every minute I
could watching him. He was a wrestler in the 96 kg weight class. Every
inch of him, that I could see, was pure young muscle. And even in the
terrible uniform khakis, I could see his junk was nothing to complain
about.
I guess I wasn't too subtle about it, either, because Dale Thomas
noticed.
Dale was actually pretty scary to me at first. I grew up on the east
coast and worked mostly in Nevada and on the west coast.
Dale Thomas could never be mistaken for anything, but a cowboy.
He was 6'5 and probably 260 pounds. His skin was almost red he was so tan
and he had a full beard and mustache. It wasn't much past his chin, but
it was thick around his cheeks and lips and sort of salt and pepper. He
was always in a white cowboy hat and chewing tobacco. Every day, he came
to the tournament in blue jeans, a leather belt with a buckle in the
shape of Texas, a gingham button up, and dusty cowboy boots. The one
formal dinner we had, he just added a sports coat to the outfit.
His son, Billy, was about what you'd expect. Not big like him and took
after his mother or something, but he looked like someone out of that
eighties show about homesteaders in the late 1800s. He was thin, but
clearly toned from farmwork. And he had wavy hair that looked like it had
grown out for months and was all in his eyes constantly. He was a lot
shorter than his dad too, but shared his green eyes and smile.
I would never have expected what happened.
When Dale came up to me, I half expected him to kick my ass.
Instead, he looked at me and said, "You're a faggot, ain't ya?"
I gulped and said, "I'm same sex oriented, yes."
I didn't expect him to laugh so hard.
Then he said, "Same sex oriented. So, that out there is like a field of
teenage pussy to you, ain't it?"
I didn't know what to say and just stood there for a second.
He spit out out a wad of tobacco and said, "Room 4. Elcan Motorway Inn. 8
tonight."
Then he just turned and left.
I spent the next few hours rock hard and confused. At first, I thought he
was going to kick my ass. Then, I thought maybe he was hitting on me.
None of it made sense. I told myself there was no way on earth I was
going to the Elcan Motorway tonight.
But I did.
The motel was the kind of place that might give a trucker pause. There
were about eight rooms, it looked like, and the sign out front was
missing all but the C light.
The only vehicle in their lot was a beat up little sedan and a rusted out
work truck that looked about fifty years old.
The truck was parked in front of room 4.
Dale answered the door without a shirt. It was the first time I could see
how hairy he was and man was he like a rug. I wasn't normally into big
bellied guys, but he was so masculine and had such big arms it was
working for me. He has one tattoo on his chest of a bull painted like the
Texas flag and another on his right arm that said rebel and had the
Confederate Flag on it.
Then I spotted Billy through the door. He was sitting on the bed in just
white briefs. Literal tighty whiteys like kids used to wear.
Dale gestured for me to come and sit at the little table by the door.
Then he closed the blinds, sat down across from me, and said:
Ain't no use talking bullshit or wasting your time. Billy needs a
scholarship. I figure you need some boy pussy or whatever. We had a talk
and he understands that you writing up this article and mentioning him
means he gets off the ranch and into a good school. I even had him shave
all over so he would be smooth for you.
Then Dale looked at his son and said, "Lift up your arms and show him
your pits, boy."
And Billy did. He lifted his arms up above his head and I realized the
kid was actually hairless as far as I could tell. No happy trail, not
even hair or fuzz on his arms.
Dale saw me looking and said, "Like that all over, even his little butt
and dick."
At this point, I realized this was a once in a lifetime moment. I could
wind up getting hospitalised or have a memory to jack off to into my
eighties or nineties.
I said, "If you want the story, he can start by sucking your dick."
That was the first time Billy talked.
He said, "Dad, I can't..."
But Dale interrupted and said, "You'll do as you're told."
And Billy just replied, "Yes, sir."
Then Dale turned back to me.
He placed his hands on the table and said:
The boy is a good offer. You can't tell me you don't want to get off. I
seen your eyes all over these kids. It's a good deal.
I had never been a good gambler, but I stared at Dale, got up, and walked
out of the hotel room.
He caught me as I was putting my keys in the car door.
He grabbed my hand and said, "We can make this work. Come back in."
The next few minutes were like a dream before the hottest encounter I
could have imagined. I told Dale I could fuck or get blown by any of the
boys competing if I wanted and that normally athletes were my bitch for a
week or two if they wanted the kind of coverage he wanted. I made up
crazy sexual fantasies and he bought it.
Eventually, he settled exactly where I hoped he would.
Dale wouldn't get fucked and he wouldn't suck dick or kiss. Everything
else was on the table.
Billy would do anything he was told and Dale would do anything I wanted
to him.
In fact, for the rest of the night, Billy would be our slave.
One of the hottest things, to me, was I got him to agree to refer to
himself as daddy, call his son a faggot, and treat the boy like a Tijuana
whore and slave.

Billy

I loved my dad. Life on the ranch was hard, but he always tried to take
me hunting and mudding and even the golf thing was his idea.
He wanted a better life for me than he had.
That's the only reason I listened instead of just freaking out when he
told me his plan to get me a scholarship.
I wasn't gay. I wasn't bi. Hell, I joined in on beating up Daniel Kelly
after he sucked us up behind the gym.
I liked pussy.
But I also hated being poor.
Part of me was thinking I was fucking crazy when I was in the shower
shaving my taint and everything.
But I trusted my dad.
And that's how I wound up on my knees in the hotel.

To be continued?