Date: Wed, 25 Nov 2015 10:34:36 -0800
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: Rough Edges  Chapter 27

Thanks for coming back for another chapter. This chapter concentrates on
Marty and his maturing relationship with his old high school coaches. After
years of taking direction from them, he broaches a sensitive subject:
Marriage.

Please be safe always. And please be donate to the Nifty Archive to help
keep the stories flowing.

CHAPTER 27
MARTY

<Larry Sanders>

The baseball assembly went exactly the way sports awards assemblies are
supposed to go: the cheerleaders cheered, the student body yelled and
clapped, the players received their championship trophies and awards one
at a time, and the State A Baseball trophy was shown to the students. It
would be resting in our trophy case for the third time in four years.

I should mention that Nick and Jeffrey received championship trophies.
Raul and Zack would receive trophies as well; after all they were part of the
team for the entire year except for the last game.  The season had ended
with them being kicked off of the team. Those two had been told they could
pick up their trophies in Coach Fitzgerald's office on Monday. Apparently
neither one wanted to suffer the humiliation of sitting in the bleachers while
their teammates were honored on the temporary stage on the gym floor
and were not in school that day.

It was another night for Phil and me not to cook. He remained at his office
and I drove into Centralia where we enjoyed dinner at Parker's Steak
House, the best restaurant in the county. Peter, our favorite waiter, served
us. I had found out from more than one source that a few of Mayfield's gay
athletes had harbored crushes on Peter and that the feeling was mutual.
What nobody ever admitted was whether or not there was any behind
closed doors hanky-panky. I had to admit that the twenty-something was
sexy as hell on top of being a top-notch waiter.

On the drive home, I received a text. Of course, I couldn't read it right away
unless I stopped, so I decided to wait on it until I arrived home. The text
was from Marty and it read: "cummin over tomorrow morn unless u say no."
I had no reason to say no to one of my favorite former ballplayers and
students. I did have to smile when I read the first word of the message. I
texted back we were looking forward to seeing him.

Phil arrived home a little bit after me. He was pleased to learn Marty would
be visiting us in the morning.

"I guess this means I can't wander the house in the nude," he half-joked.

"I'm sure Marty wouldn't mind. You've got a nice body." Phil and I both
worked to keep our bodies in shape.

"But am I hung enough to suit the college boy?" he laughed.

I will say he was hung enough to suit me that night. He hammered my ass
with abandon, which he had done just about every time we'd made love
since our first time as inexperienced lovers. It took a bit of time for our
relationship to reach the point where we were ready for anal sex and a lot
happened before then.

After we finished our sex and cuddled and petted and settled in to sleep,
my mind went to that night in my bedroom when we sex wrestled and just
about did everything but fuck. Even so, it had been our wildest night
together.

The next morning we had our last Saturday basketball practice. From now
on practices would just be Tuesdays and Thursdays, unless we had a
game on one of those nights. Phil and I were both tired after our late night
roll in the hay (or, considering the state of my bed when we finished, would
that be our roll out of the hay?).

We had a good practice. Nate kept trying to goad Phil into losing his
temper, but by about the third drill Q and Jung took Nate aside and told him
to get with the program, even though their language was much stronger. I
noticed that Coach Zimmer was doing a great job of pretending not to know
what was going on. Nate wasn't much happier after the talk, but he did
keep his mouth shut and actually stepped his game up a notch.

But the big happening came after practice at Q's house where all of us
Wonkeys met for lunch. Q's mom put out a nice spread for us and we ate in
the rec room. The only Wonkey not there was Ben who, while he wasn't on
the basketball team, had been invited. He said he had a family thing and
couldn't make it.

While we were munching sandwiches, chips, and cupcakes, we were also
talking basketball, school, other kids, and for Q and Daniel especially, girls.
When the subject of Mr. Rodman came up, Phil, who had been quiet during
lunch, spoke up saying he had something to tell us.

"You have a girlfriend?" Q asked with a wide grin.

"Nothing like that," Phil answered. For a moment I was afraid he was going
to blurt that he had a boyfriend. Being Phil's boyfriend was something I
fantasized about as I became more and more certain my sexual interests
lay with boys and not girls. The thought of that becoming public was
frightening, however.

"I need to make amends," Phil said.

"What's that?" Perry asked.

"It means saying you're sorry," Jung told him.

"Didn't someone say love means never having to say you're sorry?" Q
asked.

"Q, get serious for a minute," I barked.

"Oh, yeah, sorry Phil. Hmm, I guess that must be an amends."

Phil was getting to know Q well enough to understand that there were times
when one just had to ignore his goofiness. He went on with his own
apology. "I just wanted you guys to know I really appreciate that you had
my back with old Turdman when he gave me all of that shit. I guess I didn't
show it very good by being a butthead for the last few days."

Jung scooted over next to Phil and put his arm around his shoulder. "It's
cool, Phil, everybody gets in bad moods. We know you have a lot of things
going on." Jung diplomatically did not refer directly to Phil's family issues. I
doubt he knew much about the visit with Andy. "Thank you for making the
apology, no, the amends to us."

"Yeah, you're a really good friend, Phil," Q said, his demeanor a little more
serious than it had been.

"I forgot that you guys are good friends, too," Phil said. "I know we haven't
been friends for long, but you're becoming some of my best friends ever."
He looked over at me and added his finishing touch. "I already made my
amends to Larry who I treated really shitty."

Everybody told Phil he was really cool and the conversation quickly
changed. I was surprised by Phil's sudden act of humility. I didn't know it at
the time, but in that tough little eleven-year-old boy I saw a preview of the
man he would become.

<Phil Miller>

It was just after eleven on Saturday morning when Marty pulled into our
driveway. Neither Larry nor I could help admiring his muscular, athletic
body and the package bulging his jeans as he climbed out of his Honda. I
had the door open before he reached it and gave him a big hug.

"Hey, guy, you've added a muscle or two," I observed once we let go of
each other.

"It's all about good clean living and having an active sex life," he laughed.

We walked into the house where I watched as Marty and Larry exchanged
hugs. Marty didn't used to be the hugging type, but he's relaxed and
opened up a lot over the years. The early June day was unseasonably
warm, with the temperature already in the low seventies. We sat out on the
deck and chatted while admiring the panoramic view of Lake Mayfield.

I had made sandwiches for lunch. I've loved making sandwiches since I
was a young teen. The drink du jour was freshly squeezed lemonade. As
we chatted about Marty's baseball career, the upcoming Major League
draft, and his trip to play ball in Alaska for the summer, I thought about
Marty back when he was in high school.

Marty was a lot like my brother Keegan, a hopeless drunk by the time he
was in eighth grade. Unlike Keegan, however, he bottomed out. He was
going to lose his opportunity to play sports because of his drinking.
Coaches don't like having players coming to practice smelling of booze. He
was also in danger of losing his lone connection to sanity, George
Bednarzyk, the man who all but raised him.

Marty went to rehab in January of his eighth grade year after being
hospitalized for alcohol poisoning when he all but drank himself to death at
a New Year's party. He hasn't had a drink since, even though his life has
had many ups and downs.

Marty didn't drink when his father kicked him out of his house after he came
out. He didn't drink when he was kicked off the baseball team by Larry's
predecessor when he stood up for his teammates and what he thought was
right. He admitted to being close, but he didn't take the plunge thanks to
help from friends.  He didn't drink to celebrate earning a baseball
scholarship to Washington State University or to celebrate graduating from
high school with honors. And, he didn't drink in the booze-powered
environment of college living.

I could only wish my brother had found the same direction in life. Marty
would probably be drafted in a middle round of the Major League draft in a
few days, but he was set on finishing college and seeing how things played
out in next year's draft. He had just been named second-team All-Pac 12 at
third base. In other words, he was an elite ballplayer.
When Marty was a freshman in high school he enrolled in a cooking class.
It was somewhat of a lark at first but, as time went by, he found he truly
enjoyed cooking and serving meals to friends. And to this day, he's still a
fabulous cook. If you're invited to a dinner where Marty has done the
cooking, I guarantee you'll enjoy a delicious meal. Larry and I certainly
have.
As we were finishing lunch, the conversation took an interesting twist. "So,
when are you guys getting married?" Marty asked.

"My brother Troy asked us the same question just a couple of weeks ago," I
replied.

"Great, and what did you guys say to him?"

Larry fielded the answer to that question. "We said that in essence we were
putting it off because of my teaching and coaching position in a small town.
We aren't sure how being married would affect that."

Marty put his sandwich down on his plate and gave Larry a questioning
look. "Wow. I've known you since I was eleven years old, which would be
over ten years in case the math teacher can't figure that out. I've played
middle school and high school baseball for you. I've known you as a friend
and mentor since then. I never, in all that time, thought of you as a pussy."

"Come again?"

"The two of you have lived together all the years you've lived in Mayfield.
Everybody in town knows you are lovers. But you're telling me you don't
have the balls to make it official?"

One thing about Marty is he never had a problem reading people's beads.
He was a leader and had been a huge factor in the success of our
program.

"If saying you're not getting married because you might offend the
sensibilities of some PTA matron or some redneck sitting in a bar, then you
have defined what being a pussy is all about."

"What about you?" Larry asked, trying to steer the conversation in a
different direction, "What are your plans with Rich?"

"Glad you asked. We will be announcing our wedding date before I leave
for Alaska. We plan to wed during winter break. Next spring I am going to
be the first married gay man to be in the Major League draft pool."

"Aren't you afraid you might hurt your draft standing?" I asked. "You may
get drafted in a lower round which could cost you money."

"Fuck, you two are amazing. All my life I've thought of you as being
courageous gay men. I saw you fight to make our baseball program the
success that it is. I saw you fight for acceptance in a small town. And, most
importantly, I saw you fight for the gay kids at Mayfield High School." Marty
was really on a roll now.

"After all of that, you're telling me the amount of fucking money I earn is
more important than me being the man I want to be. No offense, coaches,
but that is really a crock of shit."

"We just want to make sure you've thought through all of the parameters,"
Larry said.

"Jeez, coach, every scout I've talked to knows I'm gay and in love with the
most beautiful man in the word. My being married isn't going to change a
fucking thing, and I will be a happy man no matter where I end up in the
draft. Now, how about answering my question—when are you guys getting
married?"

"The way we see things right now, we're not getting married for a bit," Larry
said.

I wanted to say that Larry was the one doing the foot dragging, that I was
ready to march to the altar tomorrow. But, I understood Larry's reluctance
to shake up the status quo in the small town of Mayfield, so I said nothing. I
wasn't about to hang our dirty laundry out for Marty to see without Larry's
say-so. Marty was right, of course, we were being cowards. We were role
models for the gay boys at Mayfield High School, not to mention the gay
alumni.

Marty drank the last of his lemonade and gave us both a smile. "Well, I
won't rag on you anymore. But, I am disappointed in your decision or lack
of one. One thing I've learned in AA is that I can't let my life be governed by
fear. Every evening I take my inventory to check if the things I decided and
the way I treated people that day were governed by fear. Right now, it
seems you need to do the same.  I just hope you give as much thought to
what I've had to say as I have to what you've imparted to me over the years
regarding life's choices."

As I listened to Marty I couldn't help but admire his loquaciousness. He was
a boy who tortured the English language when he started high school. But
he looked into his future and decided he needed to speak with clarity and
precision. He actually took private speaking lessons from one of our
English teachers. He is now an accomplished speaker, not only privately,
but publicly as well. Marty is simply an amazingly mature young man,
something I'm sure he attributes to Alcoholics Anonymous and to his
sobriety. Of course, that doesn't stop him from throwing in a well-placed
expletive when needed.

"Thanks for being open and honest with us, Marty," I told him as he
prepared to go.

"Yes, thanks, Marty," Larry added. "I can promise you that Phil and I will
discuss and think about what you had to say."

"Hey, guy, will we be getting an invitation to the wedding?" I asked Marty.

"Sure, as long as you don't think attending a gay wedding will besmirch
your reputation."

"Marty..." I didn't get a chance to finish as he wrapped his strong arms
around me and gave me a bear hug.

"I love you guys," he said. "I wouldn't have my wedding without you." His
eyes twinkled as he gave us his winning smile. "Just don't forget to send
me YOUR invitation. And by the way, coach, you still brew up first class
lemonade."

Larry and I watched him drive off and returned to the deck.

"That is one amazing young man," Larry said.

"Are you going to think about what he said?" I asked.

"Of course I am. I don't think I've ever been called a pussy by a ballplayer
of mine. That certainly gives me something to think about."

"I'll give it some serious thought as well." Larry knew what my stand on the
topic of marriage was, just as I knew what his was. For us it was just a
matter of bridging the gap and not letting our decisions be based on fear.

"I'm going for a swim," Larry said. We'd just had our pool cleaned and it
was ready for a summer of swimming.

"I'll join you in a bit."

Larry went into the house and I sat on the deck thinking about my
relationship with Marty. While I was never a member of AA, its philosophy
hung with me because of the teachings of my big brother, Troy. The evil
that hung with addiction was also a part of my life as my father and my
other brother remained victims of the disease.

I remembered the long talks Marty and I used to have after practices, or
over cokes at the Mayfield Café or at the Bear's Pizza Parlor. Marty would
pour his heart out about being gay in high school, something his AA
sponsors couldn't identify with. I think I was able to help him because I had
walked the same road as a high school student, just like those in AA could
help him because they walked the same road of alcohol abuse. And while I
never drank alcoholically, I teetered on the edge. I knew enough of AA's
philosophy that I could put our conversation in those terms.

Larry and I love all of our former players, especially those whose hard work
and dedication revived the Mayfield baseball program. But while any coach
or teacher will tell you that he doesn't have favorites, we all do. Marty was
my favorite. I know that while Larry identifies more with Eric and Noah,
Marty rates high up in his pantheon of favorites.

My thoughts went farther back into the past as I reminisced about the day
at Q's house when I apologized to my friends in the Wonkeys—all but Ben
that is. I'd have to catch him later. Troy told me my amends had to be
complete. What I didn't understand at the time was that Troy was taking me
on a tour of the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, the tenets by
which he lives his life, just as Marty does. In many ways it is also how I live
my life, even though I've never been a member of AA.

I was pleased with the response to my apology. I was even more pleased I
didn't get teary-eyed and was able to maintain my macho persona even
after humbling myself to apologize for that very same persona. Well,
nobody said a pubescent boy had to be consistent. The only boys to really
see me cry, other than tears of anger, were the three boys I had placed my
trust in: Troy, Andy, and Larry.

The subject quickly moved from my apology to a favorite topic of boys
entering puberty—sex. "You know what we need?" Jung asked.

"More food?" was Daniel's response.

"No, something even better than food."

"That can only be sex," Q said.

"Bingo. Even better, though, what we need is an orgy."

"What do you know about orgies?" I asked as my cock began to stir.

"Well, it's not like we haven't had some orgies," Q pointed out.

"Maybe Jung has something even better."

"I do," Jung said. "What we did is circle jerks and maybe some cock
sucking. Orgies are free-for-all sex with everybody doing it at once."

"And you know this how?" Daniel asked.

"My brother told us about them," Perry said. "And he showed us lots of stuff
on his computer." This was when computers and the Internet were
becoming big. Larry's parents had a computer, but he was only allowed to
use it for schoolwork, at least at that time. The Internet was a pretty wild
place, and many kids with computers had easy access to them. "Plus, him
and his friends have orgies a lot. Sometimes they even have girls at them."

"Great," I said, "but where would we go to have an orgy?"

"Don't look at me," Perry grumbled.

"Here is our assignment," Q said. "Let's all figure out how we can have an
orgy during Christmas break."

"This is kind of dumb," I said. Everybody shot me a look as they wondered
if I was about to turn goody-goody. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with an
orgy. But like Q said, we've jerked off together and stuff. So it's not like we
don't all know how to get naked and mess around."

"But we haven't done real sex," Jung said.

"Yes, we have," I offered. "I know me and Larry have."

"You guys have fucked?" Q asked.

"Um...no, and we aren't going to. But we've done about everything else."

"Have you rimmed each other?" Perry asked.

"What is that?" Larry answered.

"Yeah, what is rimming?" Q inquired.

"See what I mean," Jung said. "We need an orgy. So let's do what Q said
and figure something out."

"I'll tell Ben," Daniel offered. "I'm spending the night at his house tonight."

"Have you and him fucked?" Perry asked.

"No, but I wouldn't mind trying it." Daniel looked at Larry and me. "Unlike
some guys. It can't be all that gross since three of us have done it." Those
three were Ben, Jung, and Perry.

"Do we want girls?" Q asked.

"No, but we can talk about them," Daniel replied. "Then maybe the next
time we can have girls."

While the idea of seeing some girls naked piqued my curiosity, I was
surprised by how little it excited me.

"Who is boned up?" Jung asked. Everybody raised his hand including me.

"Who wants to jerk off?" Q asked.

"We can't do it down here," Larry said.

"No, that's what bedrooms are for. Last one to orgasm licks up everybody's
cum." Q dashed off to his bedroom and we all followed him.

The six of us were soon on the floor or on Q's bed, our pants and
underpants pulled down to our ankles, our little boy cocks in our hands.
Larry, Q, and Perry were on Q's bed while Daniel, Jung, and I were on the
floor.

Daniel and Jung were the only ones with pubic hair. Daniel displayed a
sparse growth along the side of his cock and a few very scattered hairs at
the base. Jung had a few long black hairs scattered around his pubic area.
Daniel pulled off his shirt, saying he didn't want to shoot cum on it. I thought
he must shoot a long way, just like Troy did. I looked at his skinny torso,
thinking it looked sexy and wishing I could touch it. All of the gay thoughts
running through my head were disconcerting but didn't stop me from being
turned on. Jung and I followed Daniel's lead and peeled off our t-shirts.

Every Wonkey but Larry, Ben, and Q could shoot something out. Daniel
and Jung shot the most as they had thicker white semen mixed in their
seminal fluids. As we jerked off, Q told us about getting a feel of Cindy
Murphy's breasts.

"I mean I was inside of her bra and touching them with my fingers," he
bragged. "She doesn't have big ones yet, but they were so soft to touch."

"Did she touch your dick?" Perry asked. "I've had a girl touch my dick and
balls."

"She opened my zipper and rubbed me through my briefs. It felt really
good, though Jung and Larry do it better."

"That's because boys know better than girls how to make other boys feel
good," Larry said.

"Amen to that," Jung said.

"Where did you feel her up?" I asked.

"Like, I said, on her breasts," he smirked.

"No, doofus, I mean where were you?"

"On her couch after school a couple of weeks ago," Q retorted as he flipped
me off. "I wanted to take her shirt and bra off, but she was scared her
mother would come home and catch us.  Let me tell you, I had the world's
best jerk off when I got home."

"It's called blue balls," I said. "My brother Troy gets them a lot when he
sees his girlfriend."

"Shit," Jung said, "he needs to get a girlfriend who puts out."

The talk died down as the six of us concentrated on our rock hard boy
cocks. Q was the first to climax, quaking with his dry orgasm. A few
seconds later, Daniel came, shooting his tween cum. The first drop landed
between his nipples, the second just below his rib cage, the third below his
belly button, and a fourth dropped into his sparse pubes.

"Damn, you shoot a lot," Q said with admiration.

Jung was next. He didn't shoot as much, but his first shot made it to his
neck. Seeing Daniel and Jung shoot was too much for me, and I was
seconds behind Jung, shooting three clear drops, the first one hitting my
left nipple. It was the farthest I'd ever shot.

Larry came next, dry as usual. Perry was the last to cum, white fluid
dribbling down onto his bare pubic area. He scooped it up and licked it off
of his fingers. Then he licked my cum off of my belly, took care of Jung's
emission, and followed by slurping up Daniel's thick pubescent cum.

"Oh, yummy," Perry smiled after he finished.

"P likes that stuff," Q observed. We all waited for the "Don't call me P" line,
but it didn't happen.

"You should taste my brother and his friends," Perry told us. "It's so thick. I
love it." I wasn't the only one to suspect that Perry came last on purpose
just so he could have himself a treat.

"Hey," Larry said. He was still playing lightly with his softening cock. "I still
don't know what rimming is."

"Okay, if you insist," Jung said. "Rimming is licking a guy's butt hole."

"Oh, gross," all of us but Perry chorused at once.

"Even if I ever fuck a butt," Q said, "I would never do that. That is gross
beyond totally gross."

Perry and Jung told us it wasn't that bad. We told them they were nuts.
Yep, I knew for sure I would never get involved in butt fucking or in
rimming. But, I was just eleven, so what did I know?

<Marty Carlson>

On my drive home, I thought about my visit with the coaches.  I thought we
had a great visit. I owe so much to both of those guys. If it weren't for men
like them, Mr. B, and Milton, a.k.a. the Schnoz, I would be in some gutter
somewhere or maybe even dead. I feel for Coach Miller's brother, Keegan.
I know what he is going through and am thankful I had people like Coach
Sanders who called me on my shit long before I considered getting sober. I
mean I drank every day, but what fourteen-year-old didn't, or so I thought.
Yet even with my alcoholic arrogance, he not only planted a seed in me, he
stuck by me through some pretty shitty times.

Yeah, I was pretty hard on them, but the fuckers have their heads buried
deep in their asses. They are the ones who showed guys like me and Rich
how to live our lives as gay teens, and as gay adults, and now they want to
say that their getting married is too risky? Give me a fucking break. Pardon
my expletives, but sometimes you just have to use them.

I love those two men, but they need to get their heads on straight and do
the right thing. They need to do it for me and Rich, Eric and Noah, Mike
and Ryan, and any of the other Mayfield boys who are thinking of a gay
marriage. Think about it: my getting married to Rich could cost me a chunk
of bonus money a year down the road, but I'm doing it anyway. I can't let
my life be governed by fear, and they need to figure out in a hurry that the
same has to be true for them.

Okay, I just realized how selfish I am sounding. Those two don't need to
get married for the rest of us, they need to get married for themselves. I
think it would make them even happier, which would make the rest of us
happier.

The Hurricane was out by the pool when I arrived home. The "mother-in-
law" apartment across the patio behind the Bednarzyk house is where I
have lived since I was a sophomore in high school. The Hurricane is Jeffery
Bednarzyk. He earned his nickname by being in perpetual motion as a little
kid and things haven't really changed now that he is a fourteen-year-old
freshman.

"Nice to see you decided to get out of bed today," I chided him as I entered
the pool area.

"Hey, I gotta sleep in until the crack of noon. I think there's a law
somewhere that requires all teenagers to do that on their days off." He
gave me a sly smile and continued. "It also is necessary when they keep
old men like you up half the night."

"First of all, I am only twenty-two. Second of all, who was keeping whom
up?"

"Well damn, dude, we hadn't had sex in like forever."

"It's not like you have to go without for long."

"Whatever. Sammy's got a little kid's needle dick, Nicky is up over six
inches, but still has a skinny rod, and Ethan Wood's wood needs some
more rings added to it. You, dude, have a man's cock that reaches all of my
insides and I missed it."

"You are quite the cock hound," I told him. I grabbed my crotch and said,
"It's been a long time since I've fucked somebody three straight times in
one night."

Jeffrey chuckled saying, "Well, I'm the one who had four fucking orgasms. I
really did need to sleep in until noon after that." He gave me one of his
adolescent smirks and then plunged his biggest verbal dagger. "I was
surprised the old man could hang on and do it that many times. You were
dragging there in the end. Rich needs to give you some more exercise,
dude."

He pulled himself out of the water. I wasn't surprised that he was naked.
His usual swimsuit was his birthday suit. The young teen had a nice
slender body, devoid of any hair except some wisps under his arms and a
dusting along his pubic area.

"Come on, get your clothes off and get in. Or does getting naked
embarrass you?"

In less than a minute, I was naked, in the water, and dunking my "brother"
amidst squeals and giggles. Jeffrey's voice had dropped some, but he
could still squeak like a little girl if he got worked up the right way. We
wrestled and grabbed each other's asses and crotches. I let him have his
way with me at times, so he could dunk me and ride me; it was a lot more
fun that way. Besides, I liked feeling his junk rubbing against me, especially
after it hardened.

"I can't believe you're boned up after last night," I laughed.

"Yeah, well, I can believe you're not, old man." That comment called for
another dunking and many more laughs and giggles.

We finally tired out (okay, make that I finally tired out), climbed out of the
pool, and sat on a pair of the lounge chairs in the pool enclosure. I heard
Mrs. B call out, asking if we wanted some soda. We told her we did and
she brought it out to us. Mrs. B was a great lady and has been my second
mother. She brought two glasses of ice and a large bottle of cola with her.
She wasn't the least bit phased by our nudity, having long ago gotten used
to young nude males running around the house, yard, and pool area.

She couldn't help but make a comment, however. "My goodness, Marty,
you have quite the manly body on you." She knew I was gay and her
observation was strictly an observation, not some kind of flirtation.

I gave her a full body blush, but kept my cool. "The Pac-12 doesn't let boys
play college baseball, you have to be a man--so what can I do?"

"Well, I can't tell you enough times how proud George and I are of what
you've accomplished. From All-Star honors to the Dean's List, you've
become quite an accomplished young man."

"Thanks, Mr. B. You and Mr. B had a lot to do with that."

"Hey, don't forget me," Jeffrey called out. "You wouldn't have made it near
as far without a little brother loving you."

"Don't worry, Jeffrey, I know I needed Hurricane force winds to drive me in
the right direction."

Jeffrey grinned with pride and our ma headed back to the house.

"Where's Sammy?" I asked as I sipped my soda.

"Karen Foster called and told him she was gonna be home alone for the
afternoon. He's probably naked in bed with her. And you call me a horn
dog."

"I called you a cock hound, not a horn dog."

"Yeah, well he's a pussy hound, not that he turns down a cock when it's
offered, especially mine. He knows I know how to take care of his ass, and
that nobody sucks cock like I do." He sipped his soda. "Damn, I wish this
was a beer."

"Jeffrey!"

"I was just joking. Sheesh, you know I don't drink that shit, except that one
time, and dad was so pissed I had to hide from him for a week. Stuff tasted
like piss anyway, and as you know, I've drunk piss a few times." The
Hurricane wasn't exaggerating about drinking piss, and we don't need to go
into what happened to him just after eighth grade graduation. It was his one
and, I hope, only time drunk. I just happened to be home to help pick up the
pieces. There's no doubt in my mind or in Mr. B's that Jeffrey had the
alcoholic gene.

"Did our bro take some condoms?"

"Yep, the junior-sized ones dad ordered from Sweden. He might be a pussy
hound, but that doesn't mean he's totally stupid." He took another swallow.
"And last month, Ethan Wood talked a sophomore girl to let Sammy fuck
her. I don't think she got much out of his little pecker, but Sammy sure did.
He couldn't stop telling me about it for days."

"What did Ethan get out of it?"

"Sammy's tight little ass, what do you think?"

"I should have guessed."

"Sammy still wants you to fuck him."

"Are you sure Sammy is straight?"

"Sure, but it he still likes getting fucked."

"I can't fuck him, Jeffrey, I'd rip him in half."

"Hey, Nicky and Ethan aren't little boys, and he's taken them. And mine
isn't tiny any more either, although four-and-half isn't all that great for
fourteen." Without pausing for breath he said, "Can I fuck you tonight?"

I was pretty much a top. It was really rare that Rich topped me, but it
happened. I let Jeffrey do it sometimes, because he liked to be the one
controlling me on occasion. The only other person I have sex with is
Sammy. It was usually mutual masturbation, with a couple of blow jobs
thrown in.

"Yes, you can fuck me tonight, Jeffrey."

"Yippee."

I have to say that the little fart did a good job that night. Because he's so
promiscuous we wear condoms when we fuck, but that doesn't detract from
our pleasure. Jeffrey is a really good top and he's a great bottom. He is a
master cocksucker, and knows how to pleasure a cock with his hands. I
guess when you've started being sexual at age eight, you end up learning a
lot.

That was my second-to-last night sleeping with Jeffrey before leaving for
Alaska. Since Rich wasn't going to join me there until July, we wanted
some time together.

I ended up being drafted in the twelfth round by the Phillies. I had no desire
to sign with them (the only team that could have tempted me was my
hometown Mariners). When their farm director called I informed him I
planned on returning to school. He told me he respected the decision and if
I should change my mind before the deadline to sign I should give him a
call.

Jeffrey got to sleep with me the last night before I left. It was a wonderful
and satisfying night complete with our usual parting tears. I really did love
that boy in so many ways.

On my flight to Alaska on Alaska Airlines, I couldn't help but wonder if
Coach Miller and Coach Sanders might have something to announce
before I returned home.

Next: Marty

Emails are always appreciated. Douglas,  thehakaanen@hotmail.com