Date: Fri, 18 Sep 2015 17:09:48 -0700
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: Rough Edges  Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10
SEMIFINAL

<Eric Simmons>

One of the many things Noah and I agree on is that we love Coach
Sanders and Coach Miller. No, not that kind of love. What I mean is we
love them as mentors and people and, yes, even friends. I remember a
group of us rode our bikes to their house when we were in seventh grade
as we tried to find ourselves a coach for our summer league team. We
were hoping Coach Sanders would do it, but he couldn't because of rules
that applied to school coaches.

Instead of sending us home, the coaches invited us in and listened to what
we had to say. Eventually we ended up interviewing and hiring Coach
Miller. Yes, we kids hired our own coach. In middle school and high school,
we ran our own organization, with the help of trusted adults who
understood that in this case the kids were in charge.

In high school Noah and I would still ride our bikes out to their house. We'd
drink lemonade, eat some of Coach Miller's famous sandwiches, and
spend an afternoon talking baseball and listening to our coaches talk about
the difficulties as well as the joys of being gay and out in high school and
college. I could not have asked for better coaches and adult friends than
the two of them.

Coach Sanders took over a tough situation and coached the Mayfield
Mustangs to back-to-back state baseball championships. He likes to say he
merely followed up on the hard work we kids had been putting into the
baseball program since sixth grade. But as hard working and ambitious as
we were, we also needed the right adults to lead us. Those adults were
Coach Sanders, along with people like Seth McCall, Noah's father, and
George Bednarzyk.

Now Noah and I were sitting in the stands at the same ballpark where we
won our first state title. We'd flown up from the Bay Area at the same time
we were getting ready for finals. We'd lugged our books with us and had
been busy hitting them all morning and we'd be just as busy after the game
was over.

We were sitting with Scott, Connor, Kevin, Kraig, Lars, and Hunter. We'd all
been through a lot together since sixth grade, both personally and baseball-
wise. We loved each other as friends and brothers, or in most cases like
boyfriends. The exception was Scott and Connor, who had the kind of bond
males craved whether they were straight or gay. All of us, except Connor,
had two state championship trophies—Connor had been a senior when we
won our first title.

"It's Mayfield's first game in the state finals since your perfect game," Scott
mused.

"I keep trying to tell you guys that us winning the championship is what was
important, not me pitching a perfect game." As you no doubt gathered I
pitched a perfect game in our second championship game.

Noah grinned. "And we keep telling you that the perfect game was the most
awesome way ever conceived to win a state championship and for you to
take your false modesty and stuff it..."

He paused and waited for the rest of our old teammates to finish, "...up
your ass," came the chorus. We laughed until the PA announcer started in
with the introductions and starting lineups.

Michael the Donkey and Ryan the Dawg joined us just as the Mayfield
Mustangs were introduced. The Mustangs would be the home team. "You
know, for a little minor league ballpark this place serves kick ass hot dogs,"
the Donkey informed us. Nobody would know about the caliber of the hot
dogs better than the Donkey. The fact that he was carrying a cardboard
holder with two hot dogs and a large soda said all you needed to know
about the Donkey at a baseball game.

"I doubt that Raul Garcia will pitch a perfect game," Kevin observed. "Korey
tells me he can get so wild he makes Scott look like a control artist."

"That is so wrong," Scott protested.

"Wrong, but true," Kevin said. "Remember, catchers know best."

Since the Mustangs were the home team, the Shockers would bat first.
"Want to bet how many hitters Raul puts down before he allows his first
base runner?" Noah inquired.

"Since when did you become a gambler?" Kraig asked.

"It's the evil California environment." Noah got that twinkle in his eye that I
loved so much. He looked around to see if we were still sitting alone. "I
even have sex with a male," he whispered conspiratorially.

The Donkey swallowed his mouthful of hot dog and looked over at the
Dawg. "It is shocking, absolutely shocking, what the younger generation
does these days."

"Especially the ones who go to college in California," Ryan agreed.

"I say he gets through the first inning and allows the fifth batter to reach
base in the second," I said, getting us back on topic.

Everyone picked their batter and put a dollar in the pot. Michael and I each
picked the fifth batter and would split the pot if that happened. Nobody else
matched picks. The most interesting bet was by Kevin who said the leadoff
man would reach base.

Kevin ended up being right. Raul walked the leadoff man on four pitches.
"Always listen to the catcher, he knows his pitchers." Kevin reminded us.
"Raul looked terrible warming up on the sidelines and none of his eight
warm-ups from the mound were close."

"I looked terrible warming up sometimes and pitched pretty well," I told
Kevin.

"You looked terrible on purpose trying to show that you could outsmart me.
The two times I actually told you that you sucked in warmups, you sucked
to start the game, too. Remember, always listen to the catcher." Kevin
counted his winnings, which were all of seven dollars.

Raul proceeded to walk the second batter as well, although he did throw a
strike this time. "Korey texted me this morning that Raul was a mental
basket," Kevin admitted.

"I knew it," Hunter said. "You had inside information."

"No matter what...," Kevin began...

"...always listen to the catcher," Kraig finished with a hearty laugh.

Korey had called time and walked out to the mound to say something to
Raul. It was obviously not a friendly conversation. I remembered a few of
those kinds of chats with Kevin. Korey trudged back behind the plate and
went into his crouch. He and Chandler had accepted a baseball
scholarships at Washington State —not bad for kids playing A ball. It was
indicative of the kind of respect the Mayfield baseball program was
generating. Marty's successes at Washington State certainly helped to
enhance that reputation.

Raul walking the third batter to load the bases brought Coach Sanders out
of the dugout. I knew he would not be in a good mood; Coach hated walks
and even worse hated having to use one of his three precious timeouts in
the first inning. Even from the stands we knew what Coach was saying—
we'd all been there.

"You're better than this. Start growing a pair and pitch." We were certain
that what Kevin just said agreed almost word-for-word with what Coach
Sanders had just told Raul.

Raul started to get a clue about where home plate was located and got a 2-
2 count on the cleanup hitter, who finally lofted a long sacrifice fly scoring a
run and advancing the runner on second to third. A well-executed cutoff
play kept the runner on first from advancing.

The next batter was surprisingly impatient, going after a low fastball and
hitting a hard two-hopper to Toby at short, who fed his brother Stan at
second base. Stan, the second baseman, made a dandy pivot that was
very much appreciated by Noah and me. We had manned the keystone for
a lot of games during our middle and high school days. The result was an
inning-ending double play. Toby was a senior, and yet another gay
Mustang. Stan was a sophomore. There were a lot of young players on this
Mustang team.

The Mustangs had wriggled out of a potential disaster with minimal
damage. We didn't fail to note Korey swatting Raul's ass and talking things
up with him.

The Shockers' 1-0 lead held through the first four innings. Their pitcher was
dealing, with only two Mustang hitters reaching base. The first was a
double by Korey in the second and the other was on a fourth inning error by
the left fielder. Raul settled down some, but none of his innings were clean;
he had men on base every inning.

His control went south again in the top of the fifth. He walked the leadoff
man and then allowed a run-scoring double. He struck out the next two
batters before giving up another walk. Coach Sanders had seen enough
and came out to change pitchers. He brought in Kelly Johnson, a senior,
who I was told was the team's number three starter and best reliever.

"He does everything but close," Kevin said, "and I think he's even done that
a couple of times." Kevin obviously knew the team by keeping in close
contact with his brother Korey. Kelly gave up a single to the first batter he
faced, which scored the runner on second, giving the Shockers a 3-0 lead.

But things fell into place in the bottom of the inning. The Shockers' pitcher
ran out of gas or focus or something. The Mustangs hit him hard and
scored four runs to take a 4-3 lead. Kelly threw a one-two-three top of the
sixth and the Mustangs added an insurance run in the bottom of the inning.

Ethan Wood, the closer, came in to pitch the seventh. Ethan was a skinny
sophomore who threw hard and with confidence. It was rare to see a
sophomore given that kind of responsibility on a winning team—usually you
see it happen on a rebuilding team. But Ethan was one of those kids with
ice water in his veins. He loved tough situations—in fact he thrived on
them. He played quarterback on the JV football team in the fall, and had
even filled in for a game on the varsity when the starter sat out a one-game
suspension for ditching school for a day.

"Nicky's had his butt more than once," Noah informed me. Noah's little
brother had been a horn dog going back to his pre-puberty years. "First
time was when they were in seventh grade. That first time was in Ethan's
bed, second time was in the gym shower room."

"Do they still do it?" I asked.

"Nicky tells me they've done it a couple of times this year. Ethan's pretty
much straight now, but he can't resist Nicky's sexual power—at least
according to Nicky."

"In other words, Ethan Wood has had some wood up his butt," I laughed.
That netted me a quick middle finger from my lover. "Does Jeffrey know?" I
asked. Jeffrey was a freshman and has been Nicky's boyfriend going back
to their middle school years.

"Jeffrey fucks Sammy. I guess they agree that nobody else can be their
boyfriend, but otherwise they have a pretty open relationship." Marty was
fucking Jeffrey whenever he could, but I knew enough to keep that under
wraps. Sammy was Jeffrey's eleven-year-old brother, who had not only lost
his boy virginity to his brother Jeffrey, but had apparently fucked more than
one sixth grade girl, not to mention a couple of older ones. Marty was a
college junior and our friend and one-time teammate and captain. He'd
been diddling Jeffery since Jeffrey was seven, with serious sex coming as
Jeffrey started hitting puberty. The two were like brothers.

Anyway, enough of this sexual stuff. Ethan now had the center stage as the
Mustangs were three outs away from going to the state championship
game for the third time in four years. He didn't disappoint. He had a
sidearm delivery and whipped in strike after strike.

"The team calls him The Machine," Kevin told us after Ethan struck out the
first batter looking. "He throws the ball where he wants to and that sidearm
pitch is tough to hit."

The second batter grounded out to short, but the third batter slapped a
single up the middle. He was left at first when the next batter hit a popup to
center on the first pitch to him. The Mustang baseball team would be
heading to the state championship game for the third time in four years.

I remembered when I played for them how I resented the powerhouse
teams—the teams that kept appearing at the state tournament and were
always favored to kick our asses. It would appear that my alma mater was
now one of those teams, and I was proud of that fact.

My former teammates and I watched the low-key celebration on the field.
This team was like we had been. They knew that the real celebration
wouldn't happen until after they won the title. They had watched how we
comported ourselves when they were younger and were following our
example. I know that us being close to players like Korey and Chandler,
players who were leaders and set the example, also helped.

As we climbed up the stairs to the breezeway and the exit, two of the
resident Mayfield rednecks stopped us. "I still don't understand how a
faggot coach replaces a good man like Coach Collins." The bunch of us
looked at him like the idiot he was. Coach Sanders was in his seventh year
as varsity baseball coach at Mayfield and was going after his third straight
state title, and there were still some diehards who thought Coach Collins,
who was a good-old-boy who drank and bullshitted with them at the taverns
got screwed out of his job.

"Must have been nice to go over to the coach's house and get your butts
fucked regularly," the asshole said.

Kevin, who stood 6'2 and weighed a solid 200 pounds and was the starting
varsity catcher at CWU as a sophomore, looked down at the man with his
slouching shoulders and bulging beer gut. "Coach Sanders is the finest
man I've ever met. Only my father has influenced my life more." We all
nodded in agreement. "The only reason I'm not kicking your sorry asses is I
don't want to mess up my clothes." Kevin was wearing jeans and a
Mayfield t-shirt, but we all knew what he meant.

"A whole team of faggots," the first guy mumbled. "Hard to believe you guys
ever won shit."

"Well, we won more than that," Connor told him. "We won self-respect, and
learned about living life right." Connor glared at them. "And I ain't no
faggot," he waved his arm, pointing to all of us, "and neither are they. You
assholes drove all the way out here to watch the team play, so think about
that."

"It's only because his nephew is playing," the second guy said almost
apologetically. I didn't know who his nephew was (I found out later it was
Justin), but I had this image of the fat man being the dirty uncle and fucking
his nephew before he even hit puberty. The thought disgusted me.

"Come on guys," Hunter said. "Let's not waste any more time with these
assholes."

We had taken too much of their bait already and gladly walked away. I'm
sure that if they hadn't been badly outnumbered by a group of young
athletes there might have been violence. Mayfield was a great town, but it
had its assholes just like any other place.

The irony of that confrontation was that the asshole's nephew was Toby's
boyfriend.

<Larry Sanders>

This was my third state tournament semi-final. The first two had been the
most stressful games of my career. Today's game joined the top three.
Once we got the championship game, it was high level baseball, but the
semis are what opened a coach to second guessing, both by others and
himself. Most of the second guessing had to do with the choice of starting
pitcher. Do I start my ace or do I start my number two?

For this game it went even deeper. Although the separation was close, I
went with Raul Garcia, a junior, over Kelly Johnson, a senior. Raul had
better stuff and had started more games than Kelly, but Kelly was more
poised and less likely to get rattled.

After Raul walked the first three batters, I couldn't help but second guess
myself. I went out to chew Raul out and get him to focus. I wasn't chewing
him out for loading the bases, I was chewing him out for showing no poise
out there. When I left the mound I nodded to Korey. Like his brother he was
a born catcher. He understood that it was now his job to shore his pitcher
up—kind of a good cop, bad cop scenario.

It worked in a manner of speaking. Raul hung on until the fifth when Kelly
came into the game showing his usual senior poise. Our bats got hot the
last couple of innings and we found ourselves with a 5-3 win and another
trip to the state finals.

After congratulating the team in the locker room and then laying out the
schedule for the rest of the day, I met with my alums. As much as I loved
this team, I doubt that any team could ever match the team of Eric
Simmons, Noah McCall, the Corcoran twins, and the rest of them. There
was a special spark to them that will be hard for any group of players to
replicate.

"You don't know how much I appreciate you guys being here," I told them.

"How could we miss it?" Noah replied. "We'd be a sad group of alumni if we
weren't here for Mayfield Mustang baseball."

"And Marty will be at tomorrow's game," Connor added. "Does it get any
better than that?"

"No, I guess it doesn't." Marty was one of my favorite people, right along
with the rest of the old Go to State Team alumni.

I joined the team on the bus for the ride back to the hotel. Phil took a head
count and when he was satisfied everyone was on board he sat next to me.
"Great game, coach. You're back where you belong."

"I'm back where these kids belong. They're the ones who got us here. You
know as well as I do that winning at this level is cyclical."

"That's true. It's just that some teams seem to be in winning cycles more
often than others. I think you might have a thing or two to do with that."

"It was the whole Go to State thing that started this cycle. And that was
initiated by a group of friggen middle school kids."

Phil grinned. We'd had this conversation before. "But they still needed the
right coach to follow through on it. Your predecessors fought those kids and
would not allow them to accomplish what they set out to do. You believed
in them and they came up with the back-to-back titles they'd dreamed of in
middle school—most of them as sixth graders."

"That was more than a dream," I reminded him. "They set a goal and then
worked to meet it. They were the most incredible group of boys I've ever
seen or ever will see." The way I saw it a goal was a dream with a finish
line.

They were certainly more amazing than my friends and I were in sixth and
seventh grades. Sure we played sports, but we didn't set out at eleven and
twelve years old to turn around a moribund baseball program the way the
Go to State alums did. We were happy to just be playing, and even happier
when we managed to win. Organizing the entire shooting match was up to
the adults.

Hell, when I started middle school I was busy getting sucker punched in the
gut by a boy I wanted to be friends with. After Phil landed his blow in the
corridor outside of the cafeteria, I lay on my back on the floor trying to get
my breath back.

"Are you okay?" Ben asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"Umph," was all I could say.

"Do you want me to get a teacher or somebody?"

I shook my head no. I didn't want to have to deal with all the bullshit I knew
would be thrown at me if I ratted out Phil. And even though I was laid out
on the floor fighting for my breath because of his punch, I still wanted Phil
to be my friend. I just didn't know why. But I knew that if I ratted him out, we
would never become friends. Control of the relationship between us, such
as it was, would be in the hands of adults. Putting things into the hands of
adults is often not a good thing, something the Go to State kids understood
very well.

I didn't see Phil again until we boarded the bus after school. By then my gut
was a little sore, but I was okay otherwise. Ben had told Jung and Q about
the incident and they were both concerned about how I was doing.

"I can't believe you didn't tell a teacher or somebody," Q said. "The dude is
dangerous. Grade A, first class, and totally dangerous."

"Just like dynamite is dangerous," Jung agreed.

"I think something is bugging him and that's why he's acting like an
asshole," I told them. Mr. junior psychologist at work here.

"I don't see anything good about him at all," Q said. "An asshole is an
asshole is an asshole."

"You guys saw him play baseball this summer. The dude was good, like
maybe the best catcher in our league."

"So?" Jung questioned. "Lots of good players are assholes."

"But, Phil was like a real leader. He wasn't like he's been around school at
all."

"Maybe he loves baseball and hates school."

"Besides, lots of leaders are assholes, too," Q observed.

I was glad we were far enough to the back of the bus so Phil couldn't hear
us. He got off at the first stop, and now we wouldn't have to be quite as
careful about how loudly we talked. I ended up agreeing with Jung and Q
that my trying to befriend Phil was a gross waste of my time.

++++++++++++

<Larry Sanders>

I was awakened from my reverie by the bus arriving at our hotel. We got
the players and their individual equipment bags unloaded. I spent some
time schmoozing with happy parents and alums. Phil and I finally made it to
our room, showered together, and returned to the lobby in time to get the
team herded to the banquet room for dinner.

After dinner we had a quick team meeting, reminding the players once
again of the rules and the schedule for the evening and the following
morning. I got back on the bus with Phil, Coach Hart, most of the players
and alums, and rode back to the ballpark to watch the other Class A semi-
final game.

Coach Fitzgerald, the athletic director, stayed behind to supervise the
players who didn't want to go. Five players elected to do so. Among them
were Raul Garcia, Zack Bell, a senior reserve player, and Justin Walker,
who was Toby's boyfriend. Justin said he hadn't slept well the night before
(Phil and I had our theory as to why) while Raul and Zack didn't give a
reason for staying behind, but they didn't have to. Watching the evening
game was entirely optional.

The game paired the Suquamish High School Royals against the North
Lake Prep Orcas, whom we'd defeated for our second title when Eric
Simmons pitched his perfect game. The game was worthy of a state
tournament semi-final as the Orcas scored two runs in the top of the
seventh to take a 6-4 lead only to see the Royals rally to tie the game in the
bottom of the inning. The game went into extra innings. The Orcas used a
two-run homer in the top of the ninth to give them an 8-6 win. Tomorrow's
championship game would be a rematch of the title game of two years ago.

Chandler came over to sit with me in the top of the eighth. Phil moved over
a seat to give him room, knowing how important it was to let players talk to
the coach to help ease their fears and nerves. Only in Chandler's case he
wanted to talk about something other than baseball.

"Coach, Korey and I need a private place tonight." Chandler, whose father
taught at the middle school and was the head baseball coach there, was an
extremely confident and precocious young man.

"I don't even want to think about what the reason for this is," I replied.

"That's because you're a man with a strong body and a clean mind." I
couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Seriously, coach. We do it the night
before every game that Korey starts. It's been our tradition since seventh
grade—not that we don't do it...," he saw my teacher frown. "Too much
information, huh?"

I nodded.

"We probably could have used somebody else's room since Raul and Zack
stayed behind."

I'd purposefully roomed Raul and Zack with Chandler and Korey figuring
that with two ultra-straight boys as roomies they would be less likely to fuck
the night away. I didn't know about their little tradition, or I might have
roomed them with Toby and Justin, who I put with straight boys for the
same reason.

I don't know if my reason was one of keeping everybody rested or if it was
because I was becoming a prude. After their graduation, I found out from
my alums that both of our state tournament trips were rife with boy sex,
even between the straight boys. But, I figured that group of kids was unique
and that all of the members of this team weren't quite as likely to jump into
bed with another boy.

"So what are you proposing?" I asked as my cock started stirring under my
sweats and boxers. I may be totally chaste when it comes to sexual contact
with my players and alumni, but I was still human.

"Can we use your room? Just for an hour? I know you and Coach Miller will
only be using one bed, so it won't be a big deal if we mess up the other
one. Just tell us which one we can use."

"Chandler."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, coach. But it's really important to us. It establishes
our relationship for the next day. And this is the biggest game of our lives. I
mean since Korey, as the catcher, is kind of the top during a game, I get to
be the top the night..."

"Chandler."

"Shit...oops, sorry coach...I know I'm saying too much." In case you hadn't
noticed, Chandler loves to talk and often opens mouth before engaging
brain. Something like my old friend Q. The wild thing about the relationship
between Chandler and Korey is that Korey isn't much different.

They were a great pair of kids. Both of them were heading for the
University of Puget Sound in Tacoma, where they were sure to be a big
positive not only for the baseball program, but for the entire campus.

"Sorry I can't help you guys. It would be unprofessional of me to allow you
two to have sex in my room."

"I never said we were having sex, coach. I never once said the word sex."

I gave him a look that I hoped conveyed my belief that he was feeding me a
line of bullshit. "See if maybe you can make a trade so you can room with
Toby and Justin. I'll approve the move since it does not involve sex."

"Okay, thanks coach. You're the best." With that he left our section.

Phil moved back next to me. "Was that for real, or was he busy yanking our
chains."

"Chandler was completely serious. I am surprised he and Korey didn't
come over as a couple. Does any other high school coach in this state
have to deal with the teen problems of his gay players?"

"I doubt it, but you know you love it. And you know how much it's helped
the program and the kids that have played for you that they can trust you
implicitly."

I nudged his arm. "Aw, shucks, Phil, you say the nicest things."

When we got back to the hotel, we were greeted by another pair of alums
who had arrived in the Tri-Cities about an hour before. They were Marty
and Rich, who were now juniors at Washington State. After the hugs and
heartfelt greetings, we sat in the lobby along with some of the other alums.

Marty was a recovering alcoholic. He'd been a drinker since he was eight
or nine and a serious drinker since age ten. He was a bright student and a
talented athlete, but by the time he was thirteen he was living to get drunk.
He was the poster child of what a teenage alcoholic was like and how the
demon rum could start wiping out a promising life.

But in the eighth grade he also met George Bednarzyk, a recovering
alcoholic, in the town park on an evening Marty was so drunk he couldn't
stand up. He greeted George by puking over his running shoes.

The man had over twenty years' sobriety, was a lawyer and a dedicated
family man, and did what recovering alcoholics do—he became of service
to the boy. Marty had his last drink half-way through eighth grade when he
was fourteen. He was now twenty-one and had seven years of sobriety. He
was quite a success story, although he reminds us continually that he is
successful on a daily basis. Rich is his boyfriend and a wonderful, solid
young man, as is Marty.

"Where do you figure to be drafted?" Phil asked him. Phil and Marty had
become very close. Marty grew up with an alcoholic father, as had Phil, and
Phil was often able to help Marty over many rough spots. While Marty
ended up living with George, his father still cast his shadow.

"The agent who's advising me thinks somewhere after the tenth round.
That's what a couple of scouts told me, too. It's what my coach thinks as
well."

"Are you going to take the plunge?" I asked.

"Mr. B and dad both think I should finish college and see what the draft
looks like after my senior year. My coach thinks that my being openly gay
will probably drop me down two or more rounds no matter what I do." Mr. B
was George Bednarzyk, who all but raised Marty during his high school
years. Marty and his father had made up a lot of lost ground since his
father became sober about two years ago.

Eric and Noah were listening in. "That sucks," Eric observed. "Like your
being gay has anything to do with what kind of baseball player you are."

"Sports are a macho male enclave," I said. "There is little room for gays in
the locker room."

"Except at Mayfield High," Noah laughed.

"What do you think, coach?" Marty asked. "Throw my hat in the ring, or play
my senior year."

"There's a big difference in bonus money between, say, a twelfth round
pick and a fourth round pick. Plus, having that degree never hurt anybody. I
say play out the senior year."

"That makes the vote four to nothing, since my main man Rich says the
same thing. Unless somebody surprises me by taking me in an early round,
I plan on playing out my senior year."

Before anybody could say anything else there was a whirr of commotion,
like a storm had just blown through the hotel lobby. There was no question
as to the cause: it was Jeffrey Bednarzyk, the fourteen-year-old freshman
who's worshipped Marty since they first met seven years ago. He was
known as Hurricane Jeffrey, and for good reason. He was a boy who was
in constant motion.

"Marty!" he yelled as he leapt onto Marty's lap.

"Hey, careful you don't bust the furniture," I admonished him.

"Or my balls," Marty added with a chuckle. I was pretty sure Jeffrey and
Marty were sexually active, I suspect it started in some way back when
Marty first connected with the Bednarzyks.

"I heard you were here. I had to get down to see you before our room
curfew starts." Nicky had come down right behind him.

Marty and Jeffrey exchanged greetings and did all but deep kiss, and I
think they came close to doing that. "Are you staying here at the hotel?"
Jeffrey asked.

"This place is a bit out of my price range," Marty answered. "We're at a
motel at the outskirts of town."

"I bet dad would have paid for it."

"Your dad does enough for me without my begging for extra money."

Jeffrey looked at me and flashed his winning grin. "Can I spend the night
with Marty, coach?"

"Sorry."

"Why not?"

"If I have to answer that question then you haven't been paying real close
attention to what's been going on this weekend."

"I know, but I had to ask or you would have all been disappointed."

"I'll be back in Mayfield real soon," Marty told him. "We'll have some fun
together then."

"Yippee."

"Then I head up to Alaska for the summer collegiate league."

"Boo." Jeffrey had a momentary disappointed look on his face and then his
face brightened again. "Time to talk dad into a trip to Alaska this summer."

After a few more minutes of chatter and laughter two more boys entered
the lobby—Chandler and Korey. They were dressed in Mayfield baseball t-
shirts, gym shorts, and flip-flops. They each sported a messy head of hair.

"Hey guys, it's ten minutes until curfew," I reminded them.

"Yeah, we know. But we have a problem and need to talk to you," Chandler
told me.

"Talk away."

"Privately."

I didn't like the sound of that. I led the two seniors to the banquet hall,
which was empty. "So, what's up? Do you still need to change roommates?
Because if you do, it's a bit late for that."

"No, everything's cool," Chandler said. "We took care of our business."

"With Raul and Zack in the room?" While I knew that a lot of the straight
boys liked to mess around with other guys, I would have been amazed if
those two did.

"No, they weren't there," Korey informed me. "We figured they were down
here, although they aren't the friendliest guys on the team—especially
when it comes to being around coaches."

"We locked the dead bolt," Chandler said. "We don't need to tell you what
happened. We know you've been there and done that."

"So what's the big emergency then?" I asked, although I was getting a
pretty good idea of what the problem was.

"Well, Raul and Zack aren't in our room. We called around to the other
guys' rooms to tell them the door was unbolted in case they'd tried to get in
earlier and we didn't hear them. But they aren't in anybody's room, and
when we came downstairs we saw they aren't here either."

"You have no idea where they went?"

Korey shook his head. "None. We haven't seen them since we all went to
the evening game. Nobody knows where they went."

"We're not trying to dime them out or anything," Chandler apprised. "But
this is the state tournament, Korey and I are the co-captains, and we both
think things should be done right."

"Okay, thanks for letting me know what's going on. I'll talk to Coach Fitz.
Maybe he knows where they went since he was supervising." I already
knew that Coach Fitzgerald didn't know where they were or he would have
told me as soon as I got back from the game.

I asked Coach Hart and Phil to join me and we went to Coach Fitzgerald's
room. He was watching TV with his twelve-year-old son David. I told him
what the situation was. He said he'd send David to bed and would head
down to the lobby to stand watch. He told me I needed to get as much rest
as I could for tomorrow's game.

"They have to come in through the lobby door, but they didn't have to leave
that way," he pointed out. As soon as he waylaid them, he'd call up to my
room and have me deal with them. I didn't want the confrontation to wait
until morning. I felt the issue of their breaking curfew would need to be
dealt with immediately.

When Phil and I retired to our room we chatted about what kind of
consequences should be meted out to the boys. We also speculated on
where they were. I was worried something had happened to them in a
strange town. In fact I was more worried than angry, even though their
actions were putting a crimp on a great weekend.

I decided I needed to call their parents. But before I could, I caught a break
when my room phone rang. It was Chandler telling me he had Zack's
cellphone number if I needed it. I wrote it down and promptly called it after
Chandler hung up. He was obviously thinking a few steps ahead of me—I
was going to get the number from their parents. While I knew where all of
the parents were and had their phone numbers, I did not have the phone
numbers of all of the players. That failing would be taken care of next
season.

Zack answered on the first ring. I was surprised he answered since I'm sure
caller ID told him who was calling.

"Hello, Zack," I said in an officious tone of voice.

"Oh, hi coach," he replied as if he had no idea who was calling. "Me and
Raul lost track of time. We'll be there in, like, ten minutes."

"I'll see you then," I said in my sternest teacher voice. The phone was not
the place for me to conduct the necessary business.

Phil and I got dressed and hustled down to the lobby. I thought about
calling Coach Hart, but figured that somebody had to be awake the next
day. We told Coach Fitz what was up.

Right on time a red car pulled up in front of the hotel. Raul and Zack got
out. I couldn't tell through the windows and the darkness who else was in
the car. The car drove away and the two players stumbled into the lobby.
They were both chewing furiously on wads of gum, but they were trying to
pull the wool over the eyes of some old hands. There was no doubt that
they'd been out drinking.

They were both contrite and apologetic, but denied drinking alcohol, even
though they knew that I knew that they were under the influence. I told
them I knew they were lying, I told them what I thought about what they had
done, and I told them what was going to happen to them. The end result
was my rousting their parents out of bed and telling them their sons were
suspended from the team as of that night and asked that they come to the
hotel and pick them up immediately. I was glad the parents had come to
attend the games; it would have made for a long night if they'd had to make
the drive from Mayfield to pick them up. I'm not sure what I would have
done in that case.

The boys told me they had both been upset about the game. Raul was
upset because he was pulled in the fifth inning and because I'd yelled at
him in the first inning. Zack was upset because he was a senior and never
came off the bench in a state tournament game. He knew what his role was
and I'd gone over it with him on Friday one more time. They contacted a
couple of their buddies who had driven over for the tournament. Their
buddies knew some kids who lived in the Tri-Cities who took them to a
party after they sneaked out of one of the back doors of the hotel.

In essence, the two boys had put themselves ahead of their teammates.
Their actions had insured that they were no longer part of the team and
would not take part in the championship game, even as benchwarmers.
Since Raul was a junior, he would have to be treated differently than Zack,
but that would all be dealt with later.

Coach Fitzgerald took the boys to their room to get their gear while I waited
for the parents to arrive. They were picked up within a half hour, both sets
of parents obviously upset with the behavior of their sons. I'd had parents
that would have blamed me for meting out discipline that was too harsh. In
this case I was dealing with good parents, which in some ways made things
harder.

Phil and I finally made it to bed a little after midnight. I was glad we had the
one o'clock game rather than the morning game at ten. I was hoping to
sneak a nap in after breakfast, even as all of the voices in my head told me
that would never happen.

I put my head on the pillow and my right arm around Phil. In order to keep
my mind off of the transgressions I let my mind return to Phil and me back
in sixth grade in the weeks after he punched me in the corridor at school.

We no longer talked to each other or acknowledged each other. Our
homeroom teacher was frustrated by a few things happening in the class
and decided to create a new seating chart. I was happy that our desks
were no longer adjacent—or at least I thought I was happy about it.

I started to notice things about Phil, however. I was certain he'd come to
school high a couple of times, although it was hard to tell without being
close to him. I wasn't sure what kind of behavior a kid who was high was
supposed to exhibit, but I did a little research and was sure I was seeing
that kind of behavior in Phil.

I noticed the more he hung with Carlos, Skyler, and Tim, the more sullen he
became. He was becoming one of them. His attendance suffered,
especially in math, the one regular class we had together. Sometimes he
showed up for homeroom, but didn't show up for math. I'd heard rumors
about the gang of four stealing and being bullies. I was happy that I never
made friends with Phil for he was proving not to be worthy of my friendship.
I could no longer figure out what it was I had seen in him.

But one interesting thing regarding Phil did happen a couple of weeks after
the punch incident. It was something that had me wondering yet again
about my attraction to him. I found out about it from Jung on a Saturday.

We played our soccer game at noon. By we I mean me, Jung, Q, Perry,
David, and Ben—my whole group of friends. We won 3-1 and were treated
to lunch by our sponsor after the game. We had hamburgers, fries, and
milk shakes, the youth soccer player's delight. Those of us who could were
going to spend the night at my house. That ended up being me, Jung, Q,
and Perry.

The whole group spent the gray, but dry, afternoon kicking a soccer ball
around the playfield at our old elementary school and shot baskets,
depending on our mood. We also played chase and grabbed ass, dicks and
balls, getting ourselves plenty dirty on the grass field. We quit close to the
time Ben and David had to be home. Ben was on a minor restriction and
David's family was going out somewhere.

Mom took a good look at the four of us remaining boys and told us dinner
would be in an hour and we'd better be showered and into clean clothes by
then. She was used to us coming home a dirty mess, as were all of our
moms. It was one reason they made sure we took plenty of clean clothes
with us whenever we had overnights. In the case of Q and me, we had a
regular stash of clothes at each other's houses.

Since my shower was a tub shower and quarters were tight, we showered
two at a time. We had showered in groups of three or four in a tub
shower—all of those slippery bodies touching was a big turn on, after all;
but with my mom and dad both at home we decided that showering in pairs
would attract less attention. There wasn't a camera in the bathroom
watching our every move, but eleven-year-old logic often had its quirks.

I ended up showering with Perry. The redhead had a freckled body just like
you'd expect after seeing his red hair and freckled face. His skin was pale
and smooth. He was the first to get naked and his circumcised cocklet was
erect, its almost three inches standing proudly at attention.

"Damn, Perry, you are always hard," Q pointed out.

"I haven't been hard in the PE showers yet," Perry reminded him, "In fact
none of us has been."

I had just pulled off my sweaty briefs when Jung chimed in. "Um, I meant to
tell you guys..."

"You?" the three of us asked in unison.

"Yesterday." Jung blushed shyly as he pulled off the last of his clothes.

"How come you didn't tell us on the bus?" Q asked. "I mean you do have to
show off your boner on the bus you know."

"There were too many people I didn't know sitting around us. We need to
change what the loser does...it isn't going to work on the bus."

"So what do you think we should do?" I asked.

"Lunchroom," Jung said matter-of-factly. "The table will hide us. We take
our penis out of our pants during lunch."

"Fair enough," Q told him. "Thinking of doing it on the bus was kinda scary."

"But two of us have to see your dick when you do it," Perry said.

"We can tell Ben and David Monday morning." I thought about it for a
moment and then added: "Or text them."

"Don't do that, David's parents check his texts," Jung reminded us.

"Good point. We'll tell them in the morning." By now I was boned up along
with Perry. I asked the question we all wanted to know the answer to. "How
did you get boned up in PE, Jung?"

"Like any of us can help it sometimes," he pointed out. "But, it was because
your friend Phil had a boner, and it looked really hard."

"Wow, cool," I cooed. No matter what I now thought of Phil, I still thought he
was cute and, yeah, sexy. Then I changed my tone saying, "He's no friend
of mine. I gave up on that after he punched me in the stomach."

"He was jerking it in the shower and it got me and a couple of other guys
hard who saw it. He was at the last shower and had his back to almost
everybody, but we were on the same set of showers and could see it." The
locker room had seven shower stems with four shower heads each.

"Did he cum?" Q asked.

"I don't think so. He didn't rub it for long. He quit when he saw us watching
him. I wanted to slug him, though."

"Why?"

"Because he said, `What are you looking at, chink?'"

We all grumbled about that and agreed that Phil was a purebred asshole.

Jung and Q were hard now as well. Perry and I went into the bathroom. We
got the water to a temperature that we both were okay with and stepped
into the shower.

"Did you know about Jung's boner?" I asked Perry. "Is that why you had a
one?"

"No, I was just thinking about last weekend."

"What happened last weekend?"

"I got fucked by my brother and two of his friends."

"You mean up the ass?"

Perry turned around and spread the cheeks of his cute, freckled bubble
butt. "Does it look like I've got a pussy?"

As long as he was facing away from me I decided this was a good time to
wash his back. "Did they fuck you all at once?"

"No offense, Larry, but you can be really dumb sometimes. Put your fingers
in my crack." I did what he asked. "How many holes do you feel?"

"One. Sheesh, Perry, all I meant was did they all do it on the same night?"

"Back-to-back-to-back. I mean it's not like it was my first time, just my first
time like that...doing it more than once."

"How did it feel?" I asked as I removed my hand from his crack.

"I had three orgasms so what do you think?" Perry asked. "They hit my
button and shit it felt so good. You can stick your finger up my butt and feel
it if you want."

While Q and I rubbed each other's butts and cracks and even our puckers,
we never stuck anything up each other's asses. But I did have my finger up
Perry's butt once before, in fact we've all fingered somebody's butt, so we
knew what the button was that Perry was talking about.

"I want to," I said, "but we gotta hurry so Jung and Q can shower."

"Wuss."

"Fine." I took my index finger and ran it up Perry's ass, tickling the button,
which made him jerk and moan, and then finger fucked him some, which I
had never done before. "Satisfied?"

"I want to cum."

The bathroom door opened and Q stepped in. He opened the shower door
and saw me with my finger up Perry's ass.

"Hey, Jung, check this out," Q called.

Jung came in and looked around Q. "Cool," he said when he saw what I
was doing to Perry, "I need to do that."

I was a little embarrassed at being caught, but not so much that I wouldn't
do it again. I pulled my finger out and told Q and Jung to get in and we'd
get out.

"I want to cum," Perry said again.

"Later tonight."

"I am fucking horny," he whined.

Jung and Q stepped into the shower and we rubbed our naked bodies as
Perry and I stepped out.

After we dried off and went back into my bedroom, I asked Perry how a guy
fucks another guy in the butt.

"If you have a stick and a hole, you put the stick in the hole. Same
difference with fucking. Only with guys you have to lube it up some, and
you don't want to take a stick that's too big. That's why I don't let my
brother's friend Ray do me. The dude is humungous."

I shrugged. While the idea of fucking kind of intrigued me, it wasn't a big
turn on—not like sucking or being sucked or dry humping was. Kissing
sounded better. Maybe fingering a butt would be okay, since I've done that
and had mine fingered, but sticking my cock into another boy's ass just
didn't seem sexy, at least not when I was an eleven-year-old sixth grader.

Perry and I were dressed by the time Q and Jung finished their shower. We
asked them if they'd gotten off and they said they hadn't, that they were
saving it for later tonight.

When that time came, I paired up with Perry and Q and Jung paired up. It
was kind of hot watching Q messing around with somebody else, and me
messing around with somebody other than Q was really hot for me. We
sucked and humped, traded partners for a bit. I finished off with Perry dry
humping me and Jung doing it to Q. Jung shot some of his clear stuff, and
the rest of us had satisfying dry cums.

While we had room to pair off and be sexual, my bed was too tight for four
guys to sleep in. I slept with Perry while Q and Jung shared Q's sleeping
bag. Perry sucked me off in the morning before we got up. It was a great
night for four horny friends.

Jung followed through and pulled his cock out of his pants at lunch on
Monday. He was boned up and he kept it well hidden from view, but not so
hidden that, Perry, Q, David, Ben, and I couldn't get a glimpse of it.

Another couple of weeks went by. Halloween was approaching, which
meant a Halloween dance at school, and a big party at the community
center by our house. And it also meant trick-or-treating, which the six of us
were going to do together.

Life for this group of eleven-year-olds was good. At least, we thought so.
But an incident two days before Halloween ended up changing two lives as
Phil made things happen again.


Next: Touching Bottom