Home Run

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This is a work of pure fiction intended for adult readers of legal adult age, at least 18 years-old and older. Anyone younger should leave now. My stories involve sex in various forms between consenting persons and should not be construed as a guideline for living anyone's everyday life.

HOME RUN

By

Greylock Writer

"No, no, no!" I looked over my shoulder to see Rick Quick shaking his head and smiling. He wasn't laughing at me exactly, but we both knew I'd never win the MVP award as he'd done the past two seasons.

"You're holding the bat too high," he said. "You don't have the wrist strength to get it down and around from that position. Let me show you."

I expected him to take the bat, push me away from the plate and stand in the batter's box for a few swings. Instead, he put his arms around me, covering my hands with his massive hands. Roughly he pulled my arms into place. His own arms were huge, bulging out from a broad, muscled chest. Everything about him suggested power. No wonder he had been the first player in years to whack fifty homers two straight seasons.

Rick kept flexing the bat; I melted into his body. He was the mold and I was willing to conform to any shape -- and any position -- that he wanted me in. We stood there for a few swings, seconds that seemed like days. Then he backed away.

"See?" I nodded and he smiled again. His teeth were big and white and perfect. His eyes were as blue as the Arizona sky and twinkled in the obvious delight he took in helping me. We seemed totally alone on the isolated diamond and I had to fight to keep from raising a big pucker in my polyester uniform. It was a sensation I'd never felt before. Did Rick give such warm instructions to every rookie coming to his first spring training?

Then, I remembered. I wasn't a rookie at all. Just Matt Parks, a lucky young reporter from Rick's hometown paper sent to spend a week of spring training with the biggest local hero ever. It was the late 80s and we still idolized our sports icons. But I didn't jump at the chance to do this series. My editor finally convinced me that we'd have a connection.

Although I'd been a good shortstop in high school, I'd been reluctant to go down to Arizona. Maybe the realization that I'd never be the big leaguer I wanted to be as a kid had something to do with it. Don't stir up lost, hopeless dreams, I told myself before leaving. The team's old pitching coach, Archie Grady, tossed me a few easy balls and I whistled most of them into the outfield. Maybe this could be fun, after all.

"You must have had a lousy coach," Rick told me when I stepped out of the batter's box. I looked directly into his cloudy blue eyes, intently listening as he explained. "You've got a lot more raw talent than many guys up in the high minors. An easy natural swing. You were badly mishandled somewhere along the line."

Not mishandled, I thought, manhandled. My old coach told me I was his "pretty boy," the one that filled the stands with girls. But he'd also wanted me to get too tight with him. His hands-on approach came without permission. But I was too afraid to tell him to keep his hands to himself and my shame cost me my concentration and my will to play ball for him.

"You can handle yourself with a glove, too," Rick added. "I watched you during infield practice. You moved well in either direction to get into position."

"I could always go both ways," I said and Rick laughed again, although not as freely as before. Soon, Rick was gone, leaving me alone on the field with Archie.

"You must have something," Archie told me. "Rick don't take much to new guys. Not that he doesn't want to help or anything. It's just that he's on the shy side. I don't think it ever really sinks in what a hero the man is to us more ordinary folks. The only special treatment he gets is a room to himself."

"He's the only one without a roomie," I repeated, sounding professional but with more than a journalist's interest.

"Can't sleep with no one else," Archie said. "Goes into slumps. He's got a special exemption from curfew, too, though he spends more time alone in his room than any guy when we're on the road. Muast read a lot."

With that, Archie stowed the last bats and balls in his big canvass bag and headed for the clubhouse. I followed, showered and headed back to my hotel. Rick was considered a bit quirky because he always waited to get back to his hotel room before showering. His small town virtue was as much a legend as his hitting prowess. The legend attributed his quick escapes from the locker room to some kind of great modesty.

Over the next few days I watched intently as the Grapefruit League games began. Rick was terrible in the opening games. His swings were missing by a mile and he even misplayed balls in the outfield. After each wrong move Rick looked over to me to smile, or shrug, or frown. I was like a lucky charm turned sour. At least, that's how I began to interpret the looks.

My time in Arizona was winding down and I hated the slant I'd have to give to the windup of my spring training series. I knew my editor would ask me to guess if Rick was already sliding down the long hill toward mediocrity. Of course, spring training wasn't a good indication for a lot of players. But Rick was known for being a fast starter. "Doesn't even need to come to camp," many had said. So, I was surprised when he called and asked me out to dinner.

We met in the lobby of his hotel. "Let's get out of here," he growled. The famous smile, the one peering out from half of America's milk cartons, was missing. He didn't wear that look of concern well.

"I think it's you," Rick told me as our salads arrived. "You've got some kind of spell over me."

I started to protest, wondering what he really meant.

"I saw some of the things you were writing for the paper when you first got here," he explained. "Made me sound like some kind of freakin' baseball genius."

"You are," I said. "But you don't need to hear that from me. You've been all over radio, television, all the big papers...."

"Yeah, but somehow it isn't like it is this time." He pushed away the rest of his salad. "I grew up reading The Courier. Maybe it's having it all go in there like that."

"Maybe," I said softly. I knew he wanted me to cancel the rest of the series. But I didn't have that power.

"Anyway," he continued. "No one's ever taken this much interest in looking for the real me. I can tell there's something more to what you're looking for than just the usual jock of the week story. So, I asked the team and they said it will be okay if you move in and room with me for the next few days." I looked stunned and he could tell it. "If that's okay with you. The team will pick up the tab and everything."

He was quiet. "This has all come so fast. You know, I'm just three or four years older than you. My head's spinning. 'Cause I play ball, and move from city to city, and bring along a boombox and a VCR, and that's about all there is to my life. That's what was so unsettling about those articles I saw. I couldn't recognize a damn thing there that reminded me of me."

We went to a little dive at the edge of Phoenix. I drank beer and Rick swigged club sodas. It was still early when we went back to the room. Rick vigorously brushed his teeth, rinsed then turned in and was fast asleep in minutes. I lay awake listening to him breathe.

In the blackest part of the night, Rick's bed erupted with moans and growls. He sounded like he was one sick mother.

I swung my legs over the bed, watching him and preparing to see if there was something I could do. Just then, he bolted up straight. His eyes were open, but glassy. They shone like bright stars in the darkened room.

He swiveled out of bed and stood perfectly erect, like he was practicing posture for a charm school. He looked almost formal. Even his jockstrap had a crisp, pressed appearance.

I was facing him just a few feet away. He walked straight toward me. Just before he reached me, he slipped his hands into his jock and pulled out his cock. Even in the dark I could see that it was huge. Even soft, it was one of the biggest pieces of meat I'd ever seen. He was close enough so that I could smell his warm, exciting man musk. The soapy fragrance of his late afternoon shower was gone. Now there was the aroma of flesh and the hint of fluids.

He hefted his heavy dick, aimed right for my mouth and stuck it in. I was shocked and amazed. I was delighted. I was dumbfounded and open-mouthed. Thank God. He stuffed his luscious prick down my throat. I tried to start a back and forth motion. But before I could even move my tongue to lick his dick, a salty flood was pouring into my mouth and down my throat. He finished pissing, shook his cock and crawled back to bed. He never came close to waking up.

The next day Rick had a good game. He flashed his famous smile toward my seat on the dugout bench all game long. I felt like I contributed. He was talkative at dinner, more expansive. But we still went back to the room and turned in early.

I was sleeping myself when I heard him stir the second night. He rose and headed over to me. He pulled down his jock and pulled out his cock again. This time it was half erect. Even half hard it was massive, like his own miniature baseball bat he carried with him at all times. He rubbed it a couple times and in lengthened up to the point it was about to meet my lips. Then, as I stuck my tongue out to him, Rick moaned, "No, baby, not yet. It's just not right. We'll know, baby, we'll know." He headed back to bed.

The next day was agony. Even when Rick wasn't smiling my way I couldn't keep my pecker down. I was hard all day. He had four hits including two prodigious dingers to straightaway center that sailed over the wall and clear out of the stadium. But I felt uncomfortable when he told the other guys that I was helping him with special relaxation techniques. That was his explanation of why we were alone so much and retired so early. He was so earnest and so matter of fact that no one even asked him more questions.

Our dinner was the same, although his eyes were more piercing, more searching. His smile seemed more inner directed. And, when we turned in, Rick peeled off his jockstrap and got into bed in the buff. He was coming a long way fast. I had to hold myself back from going right in for a taste of that ass he flashed, full, round and inviting.

I expected him to approach me again that night and knew he wouldn't disappoint.

Just past midnight, Rick headed toward me. Even in the darkened room, I felt his heat and smelled his familiar man musk as he approached. I could almost taste him his presence was so strong.

He stopped in front of me. His cock pointed straight out at me. It was still swelling, still rising. It was more than nine inches of hard meat with its huge round head targeted right at me like a shiny, hungry weapon.

It was a weapon he intended to fire. He grabbed my head and his powerful hands held it in such a way my jaw dropped down and my mouth was forced wide open. He applied a lot of pressure, but it didn't hurt.

"Batter up!" Rick swung his big cock at my mouth. He hit me once. "Single," he growled. He swung his dick and hit me again. "Double." He twirled his fat man meat in front of my face, then whacked me once more. "Triple." Finally he waved his rigid prick back and forth, gripping it hard with both hands. "Going for the cycle," he said with pleasure. "Grand slam! Baby, grand slam!" He eased back, took aim and plunged that big dick down my throat. "I'm sliding in and I'm coming home!"

Rick pushed his cock down my throat, then pulled it back out. He jammed it right back in. In and out, over and over. His hands still held my jaw and kept it from closing like he was afraid I'd bite his prick off. "Take it all, whore," he said. "Goddamn take it, you want it so bad. Slurp on that bad boy, baby. Eat me 'till you choke, fucker. Swallow my man cock."

I put my own hands to work. With one, I grabbed his big, hairy balls and massaged and kneaded them. They were warm and fluid and felt like some of the best toys I ever had. With the other hand, I slapped his ass, played with his crack and then began worming my index finger into his overheated shithole.

I wet my middle finger along side his driving cock. Then I pushed the tip of my finger in his ass and past the sphincter ring. It tightened and he made an audible gasp for air. A smile crossed his lips. It was the smile of a man still dead asleep, still enjoying a wonderful dream. I was enjoying the dream, too, so I slipped in another finger and worked them both around.

He eased the pressure on my jaw; my mouth relaxed. Finally, he let me take over the blowjob until it was no work and all pleasure. I let my mouth close over his bulging shaft. My tongue teased along the sensitive underside of his dick. I could feel the hard ridges of his veins and the pounding of his pulse in the rock-hard throbbing cock. I flicked my tongue to the tip of his hard- on, moving up to nibble the edges of the round corona before using my tongue to wash out his piss slit. I spit into the slit and siphoned it back out.

I licked the opening again and sucked out the first long dribbles of pre-cum. He shuddered and sighed. His body began twitching, not like somebody about to shoot his load, but more like someone waking near the end of a dream.

At the height of my own erotic dreams I wake just before my dick explodes. I figured Rick was going to wake, too, and probably beat the shit out of me when he found us like this. So, I tried to push his cock out of my mouth and slide back into bed like I was asleep. But, this time he grabbed my head and applied more pressure than I could resist.

"Oh, no fucker, you finish the job." His voice was different, tender yet commanding. Rick was fully awake. "Suck that big dick. You know you want to suck it for me. I'm not waking up frustrated again. You started the job, you finish it. Now, eat my dick."

He pushed in harder and harder. His cock juice was oozing fast. My mouth was lubricated and his nine-incher got harder and longer like it was brand new and never used before. He straddled my head and used his powerful legs to thrust deep into my throat, pull out and thrust back in again.

I was still working his balls and fingering his asshole. I tried to lift off his cock for a taste of his balls. But he stopped me. "Later," he said. "Just get ready for my load, now."

His balls were drawing up. He was getting close. He was making a whining sound whose pitch rose higher and higher like a baby siren or a quiet scream. I worked my fingers of my right hand in and out of his ass as fast as I could. And I took the thumb of that hand and scratched the ridge between his lovehole and his balls until he started to thrash around. His sphincter began to twitch, opening even wider and closing until it made a loud smacking sound. The wild popping tried to suck my fist right up inside him.

Then, with one big push of his hard cock, the first shot of cum blasted into my mouth and down my throat. There was another spurt. And another. And another. The spasms were hard, and long, and produced a flood of sweet spunk that filled me, yet made me crave more. His hot man juice flooded my mouth and throat in waves. I swallowed all his thick cum save a few drops that dribbled from the corners of my mouth.

My own dick exploded without my even touching it. It jerked and shot my love juice at his thighs and chest. Hot blobs of cum were splattered all over him.

Rick was still rock hard when he eased his dick out. I licked it up and down, cleaning it good as new. He lifted me up, pressed our bodies together and covered my lips with his. My mouth still had the honeyed flavor of his jism and as he kissed me, I knew he could taste himself on my lips and tongue and throughout the whole inside of my mouth.

He moved his lips to my ear. "Thank you," he said. "For making my dream come true." He kissed and nibbled my ear, then held on tight. His words were soft, whispered but intense. "I've had that dream hundreds of times. But I always woke up. I was afraid to let it happen."

"It was just a dream," I said.

"No," he corrected. "It was really a quest. As I denied the dream, my playing got sloppy. I thought that letting the dream happen would bring something terrible."

"But it didn't."

"No. It brought something good. Very, very good," he admitted.

We were quiet and sat holding hands.

"I can get another room, if you want," I told him. I thought he might be embarrassed. I tried to reassure him. "But, what happened will never go beyond this room."

"No, don't leave," he said. "That's the last thing I'd want."

"So, it seems," I said, fondling his still rigid cock.

"There's sometimes another variation on that dream," he said sheepishly.

"I think I can handle it," I said, ready for anything.

He gently laid me out on the bed and straddled me. He kissed me again, then brought his lips to my nipples. He kissed his was way down to my cock. Tenderly, but without hesitation, he took me in his mouth. My cock was hard again and tingled in knowing his tongue and lips had never worked on any man's meat like this before. He was gentle, but grew more forceful. He moved down and took one ball and then another ball in his mouth slowly working them around, savoring their taste like they were a fine wine. He let them slip out and slid his tongue down. He pushed my legs in the air and ran his tongue down further until it probed at my opening. He licked at my musky hole a few times, then thrust his tongue in like a hot probe homing in on a target. "Oh, suck that asshole!" I commanded. He obeyed, eating greedily. "Slide that tongue in there. Fuck me with that tongue!" Again, he did as told. He pushed in as far as his tongue would reach. I was ready.

"Stick that prick up in me," I told him. But, he disobeyed.

Instead, he swallowed my cock again. As I lay under him, he kissed me again. And, suddenly, he eased back on his haunches and sat down on my dick. I couldn't believe this was happening. His virgin ass offered a moment's resistance. Then, he took a breath and pushed himself down on me. I popped right through his pucker.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "So, this is what it's like. Come on, baby, pump it into me. Shove that hard cock all the way into my ass. Give me what you've got. I want to feel what it's like to have a man own me."

He was riding my dick like he'd never get the chance again. His ass was so tight I thought he'd pull my prick right off. I thought he had to be in pain. How could he stand it so rough this first time? Or, was this what he needed?

"Give me that hot load," he said. "Shoot right into my guts. Make me hot inside. Tell me when it's coming, 'cause I'm going to shoot all over you at the same time."

I was getting close. He tweaked my nipples and I began moaning. He wet a finger, then reached under me to my opening. "You stick that finger in and I'm gonna pop," I warned him.

"Okay, then, wait," he told me. He wet another finger. "What'll happen if I give you both of them?"

With that, he probed my ass and pushed both fingers far inside my quivering hole. He tickled my prostate and I tried to hold off.

"Long fly to center," he said. "It's deep, very deep. It's way back. It may be, it could be, it looks like....it is! Home run!"

He forced my cock way up into him and my balls erupted. He felt it, too, because as soon as I started to cum, he was spraying shots all over. He hit targets all over my face and body, like he was using up a season's worth of hits. He must have been storing jism forever. He bathed me as I filled him. We jumped and spasmed and moaned in unison so that it was impossible to tell where one of us ended and the other began. We spent our passion in a rolling surge of flesh and emotion.

Finally, we collapsed into sleep in each other's arms.

I never woke until morning, and then woke alone. It was my last day in Arizona. I could have left without saying goodbye, but I wanted to reassure Rick that what happened last night was safe with me. On the other hand, maybe he wouldn't want to see me.

As I passed the desk, the clerk called me over and handed me a telegram.

"Sorry you're not returning. Glad you'll file final story anyway. Good luck in your new life!" It was signed by Gene, my editor.

What the fuck did that mean? I'd take care of it as soon as I'd had my talk with Rick. I found him alone in the clubhouse. He just left the manager's office.

"Listen," I said. "We've got to talk."

"Really?"

"Really. I'm sorry about last night...."

"I'm not," he said.

"Look, I just wanted to talk about it before I go."

"Go?" he smiled. "Go where? You quit your job."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Well, you didn't," he said. "I did it for you."

"I'm thoroughly confused."

"I called your editor. I told him you'd have the story ready for Sunday."

"Sure, but...."

"And I told him you're not coming back."

"You what!"

"I told him you were staying on with the team. As our new backup shortstop."

"You must be crazy!"

"And that you're my new roomie on the road." He waved a contract at me. "It's all true. If you want it."

"Sure, I want it. I think I do." I was thoroughly confused. "But how did you swing this?"

"Management wants to keep me happy. I explained that you're teaching me secret relaxation techniques. That's true isn't it?" I nodded and smiled. "And," he said, "I think I can teach you enough baseball savy to get you ready for this season."

"And after that?"

"After that," he said. "We'll work on whatever. Now, we're going to get you a proper uniform."

We headed off. "Whatever," my mind thought, almost exploding.

"Did I ever tell you I thought you were mishandled as a youth?"

"You told me," I said. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again!"

Greylock Writer 2021