The following fictional story deals with sex among males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or reside in a location where it is not allowed, please depart. Though not observed in this story, care enough about yourself and humankind to practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. EvanBradley33@Yahoo.com
Chapter 18 Fission and Fusion
Jack's Sports Bar & Grill
Quite unaware of any other dramas than the one involving Rich and him, Wes had returned after his week in the big leagues. It wasn't his former team before he was sent down to the Renegades, so he didn't really know anyone. Substituting with a big league team was exciting in one sense, but it was rare that anyone really connected with a stand-in player because the regulars knew the sub wouldn't be around long. Oh, they were all polite and friendly on the surface, but because he'd always been surrounded by fans and groupies, he'd felt lonely for the first time in his life. As a consequence, his mind kept turning back to Rich, feeling what it was like to be in his company, feeling that hot bod next to him, making love to that handsome face.
Wes wasn't used to missing a buddy. It left him feeling uncomfortable - as though Rich were more than a buddy, a possibility that he'd missed. He'd located a gay bar and gotten a couple of blowjobs, but all it did was make him relive sex with Rich, increasing his frustration. He couldn't dodge the unmistakable conclusion that Rich meant a lot more to him than he had imagined, leading him to worry about his leaving Rich sobbing on the carpet. After two days in his new location, Wes started beating up on himself for panicking at Jack's Bar and Grill and later for treating Rich badly. He resolved to try to patch things up with him as soon as he returned to the Renegades. He thought Rich would be more than ready to make-up too since he had been deprived of Wes's company.
Actually, Wes made it back to the Renegades immediately before a game, so he had no chance to contact Rich. He felt he needed to see him in person first rather than phoning him. He was hoping to see him at the game that evening. Something must have affected Wes when he played his week in the big leagues, for he was hot as a firecracker that night. He made an astounding eight exciting hits, including a home run with the bases loaded, and three great defensive plays.
Most of the crew had uncharacteristically gathered at Jack's AFTER rather than before a Renegades game. Only a few minutes with them alerted Wes to an underlying tension, something present but unacknowledged. Wes realized it focused on Hal and the new guy Brett. About a minute later he realized that Drew was absent. And this Brett was pawing Hal constantly - while members of the crew tried very hard not to be observing any of that byplay though every now and then surreptitious expressions of displeasure with Brett and Hal's behavior were observable. 'Hm-m-m-m-m,'he thought. He needed to find out from Rich what had happened while he'd been away.
Wes was literally the toast of the tavern, with one table or booth after another proposing that the entire bar raise glasses to their hero. However, the tenor of the evening for Wes changed quickly when Rich walked into Jack's in the company of Carl Ralston, a promising Renegades rookie just out of college - so handsome he immediately caused boners among men. Carl was cocky and full of promise. He and Wes had largely ignored each other through the first half of the season because they were fairly evenly matched in skills and were highly competitive, each thinking himself superior to the other. Carl had enjoyed a successful game himself that evening with three hits and six defensive plays.
As Rich and Carl walked by the table where the city's three sports journalists were relaxing, Fred Hutchins, an older reporter, caught the look in Rich's eye, remembering Wes's departure with a bimbo a couple of weeks before. He realized that Rich was deliberately turning the tables on Wes. 'Good!' he thought. 'Wes deserves it, grandstanding the way he did with no thought at all for his buddy.' Fred glanced at Jim Dockley, the hotshot reporter hungry to break a story about the Renegades. Fred wanted to gauge Jim's reaction, but Jim was busy schmoozing a cute college coed.
While Rich shot a smile at the crew, he and Carl repaired to the bar where they ordered a pitcher. Carl was a hunk! His tawny hair crowned an oval face that always sported a winning, friendly smile. Dark brown eyebrows arched over laughing brown eyes. His straight nose pointed at unusually red lips that so constantly widened into a smile that one later remembered lots of white teeth when he called forth Carl's image. Carl had a somewhat more muscular build than Wes, with big biceps, quite muscular forearms, flaring lats, and a waist that wasn't far from slim. Like his biceps and forearms, Carl's thighs bulged with muscle. His ass was so molded from hard muscle that it made some men and many women want to slide their hands over it. He was the archetypal Boy Scout. Carl and Rich made a handsome couple.
Rich and Carl stood at the bar chatting for half an hour. They were observed by everyone, even Jim Dockley. They leaned into each other, whispering, then throwing their heads back, laughing, slapping each other on the back, grabbing the other's upper arm and squeezing. With each interaction, Wes's face grew stonier. Finally, their pitcher of beer finished, Carl and Rich turned to leave. Rich grinned at the crew and waved at Wes, underlining the fact that Wes was receiving what he'd dished out to Rich. Not one member of the crew doubted where they were going or what they would do when they got there.
After the departure, Wes remained quiet, not joining in the conversations around the big table, which shifted to different topics as though there were no deep implications in what had just transpired in the bar. Of course, not a one of the crew missed the payback Rich had arranged. Wes started hammering the beers down. Then he switched to boilermakers until the senior bartender refused him anymore, announcing he'd find Wes a ride home.
At the next night's Renegades game, Rich sat down close to the field instead of joining the crew. In fact, he sat right where he did when he had earlier cheered for Wes, a position and implication not missed by Wes. However, Rich now cheered for Carl, which left Wes fuming. When Wes had a hit, Rich did nothing, and those hits occurred less often over the next three games. It appeared to all that Wes was moving into a slump. Carl, on the other hand, was hitting big time and making great defensive plays. The better Carl played, the worse Wes played. If Wes needed any evidence that his ploy of arrogantly leaving Rich defeated on the carpet of his living room was a mistake, he had it in magnitudes now. That more than anything else pierced his gut, leaving him feeling nauseated. What the hell was this? Wes Stanfield feeling nauseous over a guy? A former player who couldn't make it on the field?
In the locker room after a game, for reasons no one could discover, Wes punched Carl, and they duked it out until Randy Travers and the other coaches and players broke them apart. Randy called them into his office, where he reamed them out for forgetting the team and allowing personal differences to affect their game. "I'm playing great," Carl protested. "He's the one who's lost it. You should be criticizing him, not me."
"We're a team, you know," Randy ripped out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If you're contributing to his playing that way, then you share in the blame. I'm not having any more of this hostility from either one of you. We don't play again until next Thursday, so I'm going to give both of you a chance to turn this around - or be bounced off this team!"
That last remark sobered the two young players. Randy Travers was not one to bandy words. "I have a friend who has a fishing cabin out on the Vanamee River. You two are going straight there from here. I'll give you a map. You're staying there until Wednesday afternoon. It would be good if you returned from the cabin as each other's friend. That may be too much to expect. But I'll warn you: you'd better return as professional players committed to the team and each other. Do I make myself clear?" he asked. The two chastened players shook their heads without looking at each other or Randy.
"What do we eat?" Carl asked.
"It's a fishing cabin. You eat what you catch. Or any canned food you find there or groceries you take with you. I'm warning everyone on the team to stay away from you this weekend."
After Wes and Rich moped out of Randy's office, he pulled a little note pad from his desk and made a call. He'd checked with his old friend, Fred Hutchins, finding out that Rich Adams was the other corner of the triangle.
He hated these situations. He didn't have the best player material to start with. His job was to help them finally grow up, develop into big league material, or gently move them out. Everyone knew he was good at that. But these affairs of the heart or dick really tested him. Even though married, he'd had several player lovers over the years. Who could help it, being surrounded by these paragons of masculine pulchritude. It was an important part of his life. He had a player-lover now. But he was always careful never to allow these relationships to slop over into his professional or married life. It was probably one of the hardest lessons he had to teach the green, young guys entrusted to his tutelage. To so many of them, life drew down to a bat and a baseball and the bat between their legs and the balls dragging down behind and hits if not home runs in both playing fields. He expelled a weary sigh. His script was clear.
Rich's Office
On Monday morning, when the secretary showed Randy Travers into Rich's office, his face immediately registered his surprise. "Coach! I'm amazed! The coach of the Renegades paying me a call? I can't imagine why."
"Wes Standfield and Carl Ralston." Rich's smile fled his face. He gestured for Randy to sit in one of the chairs in front of Rich's desk while he came around and sat in the other chair. "They're in trouble, Mr. Adams, and I need your help. I think you know that you're the center of this situation."
"Please, call me 'Rich.'" Rich didn't know how to reply to Randy's last remark without perhaps outing Wes and Carl. "How can I help?"
"Did you know that Carl and Wes were fighting in the locker room?"
"No," Rich answered in a subdued manner.
"I think their fight grew out of feelings both have toward you. They're both randy, young bulls. You should be proud. You have them fighting over you."
Rich gulped. "I'm not proud that they are about to lose their places on the team."
"Then help them," Randy said.
"How?"
"I have banished them to a friend's fishing cabin out on the Vanamee."
"Together?" Rich yelped in surprise.
"Together. If they can't learn to work together, no matter what their differences, they'll never be any good in the big leagues or in the minor leagues. I think you can step in at the fishing cabin and help them work out their differences since they seem to originate exclusively with you. You don't want to be responsible for two promising careers ending up on the trash heap, do you?"
"Of course not."
"Then go to the cabin after you close your office today. Help them talk this out. I know they'll listen to you."
"I promise I'll go. Even a little early maybe."
"Here's a map that will help you find the cabin. Oh, by the way, they've been living on what they catch in the river or in a can. You might move the proceedings to a warmer level if you were to take three pizzas with you." They both laughed.
The Fishing Cabin
When Rich arrived at the cabin, he found the two players sulking, not talking to each other at all, the TV turned on to ESPN. But as soon as he walked in the door, their attitudes changed.
"Hey, Lover," Carl burst out, hopping up and scooting over to embrace Rich. He tried to lay a hot kiss on Rich, who held him off but gave him a warm smile.
"What are you doing here?" Wes asked. "We're supposed to be here by ourselves. I'm not going to sit around here while you two neck," he said crabbily.
"Glad to see you too," Rich said coolly. "Randy Travers sent me out here. Wait a minute." He walked to the car, grabbed the three pizza boxes, and walked back into the cabin. "Brought you some survival food."
"All-l-l-l-l right!" Carl enthused. "Pizza!" he exclaimed, making Rich smile that Carl's youthful, college jock demeanor still lurked just beneath the surface of his new professional identity. It was one of the many refreshingly attractive features of the guy.
"Why'd Travers want you out here?" Wes asked grumpily.
"He wants to save your careers." Silence followed the implicit warning. Carl and Wes glanced at each other and then away. "If you guys can't get it together, can't put the team first, can't become a team yourselves, you're through. You'll be washed up like me," Rich warned. "I guess you know that Randy Travers is not a man who bluffs." Carl frowned, wondering why Rich was putting himself down like that. "He's figured out that I'm involved in your problem with each other," Rich continued. "Asked me to come out here so that the three of us could work through this. You guys open to that?"
"He knows we're bi?" Wes squeaked, shocked.
"I don't know what he knows," Rich replied evenly. "We didn't discuss sexual orientation. As Randy put it, he knows that I'm apparently at the center of the differences between you two. He asked me to come out here so that all of us could talk. I'm supposed to send back to him two professionals committed to themselves and the rest of the team. If you have questions about what he's thinking about our relationship, you'll have to ask him."
"Okay . . . I'm open to saving my career," Carl stated with conviction.
Wes just stared. "I won't go further, Wes, until you agree," Rich said, passing a pizza box to Wes and then another to Carl.
"Yeah, . . . okay, I agree," Wes snapped back.
"Wes, why are you pissed off at Carl?"
"You know why. So does he. I have to say it?"
"Yes, you have to say it if we are going to work through this."
"I'm jealous of you two. Carl, you were just waiting for a chance to move in on Rich, take him away from me. But I'm glad I know now what a whore and slut you are, Rich."
"Don't call him that!" Carl broke in. "What a hypocrite you are! You're the one who was catting around on Rich with bar bimbos, letting reporters' suspicions run your two-faced life. I suppose you thought you were fooling everyone with that dumb-ass trick. We'd all seen you and Rich. We knew the score. Besides, your past isn't entirely unknown to some of the players." Wes colored, whether in anger or embarrassment, Rich didn't know.
"Ground rules, guys - no name-calling," Rich stated gently. "No heat. No matter what you feel, just state it simply without anger. Imagine that you are telling Randy Travers. . . . You finished, Wes?" The latter, his mouth set, shook his head in the affirmative.
Rich turned to Carl. "Carl, I think you should let me tell my side next. Then yours. Okay?" Carl shook his head in agreement.
Rich turned back to Wes. "I was so excited the first time I watched you play. Don't know what it was, but when I watched you on the field, my dick started getting hard. My eyes never left you the entire inning. If the ball wasn't near you, I didn't know where it was. As the song says, 'I only had eyes for you.' And when you slugged the ball into the outfield, it was as though lightning shot through me. I hadn't felt charged like that at a game since I'd washed out of the minors. It was exciting again, beautiful, but it wouldn't have been if you weren't there. You see, Wes, by the second game I knew it was you too." Wes was hanging on every word Rich spoke. "It wasn't just some vicarious thrill from the game; it was you. I'd connected with you in some profound way I'd never experienced before. Oh, I'd been with men and women in college, especially other jock stars. But never anyone like you." As Rich uttered his last sentence, his voice grew soft, with just a hint of longing. Wes caught it.
Rich arose and walked to the bar, pouring himself a Coke. He returned to his chair in the living room in front of the massive stone fireplace. "When we made love, I soared through magic vistas. I'd never had sex like I had with you." Now Wes was wide-eyed. Carl was frowning. Twice he started to break in to say something, but he realized it would have been inappropriate at that point.
"Then you pulled that stunt with the bimbo, leaving me sitting there in the bar with our friends, humiliated, ashamed, hurt. At that moment, I knew I counted for nothing with you - no better than a toss in the hay and certainly not as desirable at that moment as the bimbo."
"I explained to you why I did that."
Rich held up his hand. "I know what you told me. You're a real dumbass, Wes!" Rich tossed his head: "Sorry about the name-calling. . . . You see, what you never figured out was that your self-centered explanation couldn't possibly counter the message that I received that night - whatever I was feeling being with you was deceiving me because you felt NOTHING like that. Nowhere close to that! Otherwise, you'd never have treated me that way." Rich arose and walked over to the windows looking out on a back lawn sloping to the river. "I was partly to blame. I'd assumed that you were feeling exactly what I was feeling. . . After a few days, I realized that if you'd opened up to me about how much Dockley's suspicions were bothering you, we could have thrown him off the track. We both could have shown up at Jack's after a ballgame with dates. Could have enticed Dockley over to the bar to meet our dates - stuff like that. But you really weren't interested in maintaining what we had. You'd throw it over in a heartbeat to protect your precious reputation. You taught me a lifetime about deceit and betrayal in those moments." Inwardly, Wes blanched at Rich's reproach, realizing that it was sound.
As he had done during Wes's last visit to his home, Rich walked around the living room in a big circle. "Then you came to my house, insulted me with sophomoric crap that you seemed to think I'd swallow." Wes colored, glancing quickly at Carl to catch his reaction. "I knew you thought you could walk away. Maybe return when it felt convenient, but maybe never return to me. So I decided to show you what it felt like. The Golden Rule thing, in case you're wondering."
"You hooked up with Carl just to make me jealous?" Wes asked.
"Yes," Rich answered, turning immediately to Carl. "I'm also ashamed to admit it, Carl," he said, walking over to him. He pulled Carl up off the sofa and into his arms. "I used you, Carl, which is shameful. I never meant to hurt you, and I apologize if I have. You see, I'm no better than Wes." Here he turned his head around to look at Wes. 'That's how I understand all too well. I only cared about me, about getting even, which blinded me to what I was doing to you." With his last word, he turned back to Carl, planting a quick, chaste kiss on Carl's lips. "I'm sorry. But I have to tell you, that the same things I had experienced watching Wes on the field were what I felt watching you when I finally opened my eyes - exactly the same. I couldn't believe it. Two guys lighted me up like Fourth of July fireworks. I felt the same for you that I felt for Wes. It shocked me. I thought that could happen with only one guy."
Rich pulled Carl around so that they were both looking at Wes. "Carl, it's your turn."
Carl looked at the two men, taking a moment to collect his thoughts after the startling disclosures. "Well, I'd noticed Wes and you together a lot. I knew that you two were sex buddies. Guys like us can read the signs. I thought you were hot looking, Rich. Seemed to be a really nice guy. I had quietly asked around about you. Nobody had anything negative to say about you. When I heard about your college baseball background, I knew I wanted to be with you."
Carl looked down at the floor. "It sounds stupid, but I wanted you too, Wes." Here Carl looked under his eyelids at Wes for signs of contempt. He saw none, just Wes's head reared back in surprise. "Somehow, you both walked into my heart and libido and took up residence. Next thing I knew, I was hearing whispers about your dumping Rich for some bimbo. I started plotting how to get Rich when, one night after a game, I found him in the parking lot leaning up against my car. I couldn't miss the deduction that he'd cared enough to find out what car I drove and deliberately stationed himself by it so that we'd have to talk. He asked if he could buy me a beer. He had me follow him to his home." Carl grinned. "Damn! It was hot. I guess you know how wonderful this guy is in bed," Carl said to Wes.
"Yeah, I know." Wes paused, standing up, shoving his hands in his pockets, starting to pace as Rich had earlier. "I was an ass. I lost everything with that desperate move at Joe's when I picked up the barfly. I hate myself that I didn't realize it even then. Way too late did I understand how much I'd lost," he said, looking deeply into Rich's eyes. "And you're right: I thought you'd cave in the face of losing me forever." Wes walked over to Rich, sliding his arms around Rich's waist, ignoring Carl. "Rich, I apologize for treating you so shallowly as though you had no feelings. A lot I told you that night at your house is true. I was terrified of Dockley. That's no excuse though for what it did to you. I'm so sorry."
"I accept your apology," Rich said, smiling gently, sliding the palm of his left hand over Wes's cheek. Wes felt tremors moving deeply within him.
The stubble scraping erotically against Rich's palm made his cock jump. Wes ground his cheek into the loving hand caressing him.
"So who wins?" Carl asked apprehensively.
"All three of us," Rich said. Carl and Wes looked at him as though he'd spoken in a strange dialect. "I know now how none of us has to be hurt again." They looked at him in doubt.
Rich moved gently out of their arms and walked over to the carpet in front of the fireplace, where he started disrobing. Rich and Wes's expressions registered surprise, then interest, then excitement. 'What the hell is he doing?' Wes thought to himself. 'Does he think I'm going to watch him and Carl make love?' Rich dropped his briefs, his cock stretching forth in a steely salute. He stood before them in his lean, muscular glory, a light smattering of brown hair covering his pecs in whorls, his dark nipples stiffly peaked. His brown cock was elevated at a 90-degree angle, the deep cleft in the bottom side of his glans excitingly visible. The younger men both had loved running their tongue up and down that groove before gently pulling their teeth across the flared ridge of the cap of his stalk. The same short brown hair coated his sculpted, muscular thighs. Those clear, dark eyes pulled Wes and Carl into their depths. Rich was one hot Daddy!
Rich gave them only one command: "Strip."
Carl immediately grinned. Ever since he'd seen Wes in the showers, he'd wanted to see him in a state of arousal. He wanted to see that rod hard! He'd seen those thighs so smooth that he wanted to run his fingers up and down the taut skin. He'd grooved on the small sack fat with balls. Wes's brow wrinkled in doubt.
Noting their confusion, Rich explained: "I either belong to both of you, or I belong to neither of you." Wes and Carl looked at each other, trying to assess the reaction of the other to Rich's proposal. Could they share this hunk? Were they interested enough in each other to try what Rich was proposing.
"You mean a threesome?" Wes asked? "I've heard they never work. They always fall apart because of jealousy."
"I want you both. You both are sexy hunks. Give me time and I'll convince each of you that I love you equally. Maybe not for the same qualities, but not one of you any less than the other. I don't care what people think about a threesome. If we decide it can work for us, it can. I told you how you are special to me, how you make me feel alive in ways I haven't felt in a few years. I can keep both of you happy. I bet you even discover that you can make each other happy without my contribution," Rich observed.
"What if I don't want to share with him?" Carl asked Rich.
"All or nothing" was Rich's reply.
Both players continued to stare at Rich, wanting to be certain they were understanding him. "Damn! Raise the ticket prices and these civilians get downright mean, don't they, Wes?" Carl asked, grinning impishly.
"Demanding, cruel, evil," was Wes's reply, a grin directed at Carl, slowly spreading out across his boyish, handsome face.
Suddenly, Rich wrapped one hand around his beautiful cock and started pumping - seriously. "Well, I guess I'll just have to get myself off. Too bad - I was ready to suck, rim, and bottom," Rich said. Wes and Carl looked at each other, alarm on their faces. They both leapt on Rich, forcing him to the rug, holding his arms and legs down, setting him off into peals of laughter, but being careful to let him know their genuine esteem for him, sexual moment or not. They took turns giving him slow, passionate kisses.
"You forgot what I told you," Rich said a little breathlessly. "Strip!" Wes and Carl looked at each other, grinning. "You stay right there," Wes issued a command of his own to Rich. "I've got some catching up to do."
Carl was dropping cargoes, tee shirt, and briefs at the speed of light. Wes had drawn Carl's eyes to him as he slowly stripped. Carl wasn't disappointed in his first glimpse of Wes's cock, which was a couple of inches longer and slightly thicker than his own. He noted that their pubic trims were small bushes. But he felt gratified that his ball sack was fatter and his foreskin, when retracted, left a collar of skin around his glans.
Rich arose. "Hey, you weren't supposed to move," Wes protested.
"We have to do something first," Rich said, walking over to lay a hot, passionate kiss on Wes, interrupting his removal of his clothing. Carl's face sobered. Rich broke off the kiss, turning to Carl and gesturing him over, where he laid exactly the same passionate kiss on Carl. He turned back to Wes, brushing lips across Wes's, sliding his tongue along and just inside. Then he turned to Carl, repeating the same kiss. Placing his hands on the back of their heads, Rich gently but firmly pushed their faces together. They initially resisted. "Come on, Lovers," he whispered. "We have to get to know each other. We have to create a relationship for all three of us. I want it. So do you if you'll just be honest. Trust me. Look how far I've brought us already."
Only a few seconds passed before Carl moved forward toward Wes's lips. Following Rich's lead, he brushed his lips across Wes's. Then he backed off, watching Wes's reaction. Wes's tongue involuntarily brushed across the surface where Carl's lips had been. He smiled ever so briefly and leaned toward Carl. As Wes brushed his lips across Carl's, Rich reached down and clasped each hard cock in a hand. "Again," he whispered, "with tongue," knowing that it was the quickest way to introduce the two to complete intimacy. They complied.
Rich pulled his hands back, placing one on each of their asses, surprised that a tremor passed through him as he touched those magnificently muscled specimens. Then he shoved Wes and Carl together. "Now really claim each other," he ordered softly. They did, igniting, throwing their arms around each other, kissing hotly for so long that Rich could hear them pulling air in loudly through their noses. He grinned. They broke the kiss, breathing hard, looking into each other's eyes. Then they closed again. Rich reached down between them, clasping their cocks, and with excruciating slowness began stroking. Carl whimpered. Wes redoubled the passion of his kiss. Rich felt precum beginning to ooze from the steel rods he was holding, so he smoothed the warm liquid over the soft, fleshy caps, setting the nerve bundles there afire. Rich started to step back, but Wes grabbed his arm, breaking off his kiss with Carl and moving his mouth to Rich's. After a long kiss, Wes moved his head back to let Carl in, who immediately shot his tongue into Rich's mouth.
Moaning at Carl's loving assault, Rich slowly sank to the rug, pulling the other two down with him. "Don't know about you guys, but I can't wait much longer. I'm ready to fire. Let's do a chain. With that, he pushed Wes's legs apart and started licking his inner thighs and balls. Carl flopped between Rich's legs, while Wes moved in between Carl's legs. A chorus of gentle moans and sighs followed along with licking and sucking sounds. The noises arose so commonly among all of them that it was as though one was experiencing the other two at the same time - a veritable Greek Chorus. Soon hands were caressing either the one being serviced or the one doing the servicing. After the roller coaster of emotions they had experienced, all three were so cocked and drawn that they couldn't hold off. Wes was the first to fire, followed by Carl and then Rich. The chemistry they had created among themselves left them so committed to each other that they had yet to discover the depths.
(To be continued.)