The Veteran Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)
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THE VETERAN
"This round's on me, Ackerman," Jim Bowers said, with a quick squeeze of my shoulder before he went to get us another round of beers. His blue eyes twinkled, and I could see the wrinkles and crows feet on his weathered, tanned face. Bowers held his liquor better than me, but he was definitely buzzed, too.
It had been a long week, but the summer MLB draft was now complete and a lot of the front office guys - and gals, too, but mostly guys - were out celebrating. Only now, some of the guys were heading off to dinner or going home. A few were in a corner trying to hit on some women at the bar. Which left me chatting with Bowers.
I don't know why Jim had decided to be buddy-buddy with me. Over the last month, the sarcastic putdown of calling me Moneyball had somehow turned into a friendly nickname, when he wasn't calling me by my last name. But I leaned into it. The man was a former professional player and a legend in Royals history. He'd coached for a good decade once the boredom of retirement finally sunk in, but then the wave of analytics pushed him out the door. So now he was a special advisor to the GM and the face of the business side of the organization. Not exactly a mascot, but Jim brought in more when his gravitas and old-school knowledge of the game mattered. Which wasn't all the time, and Jim knew that.
I tried not to have the hard-drinking ways that a lot of guys in baseball do, but it was a good occasion to let loose. I was feeling good, and I'd probably get drunk by nighttime. Thank god for Uber.
It was well-earned, but the problem was my sexual thoughts were coming to me with less filter than usual. Jim was making those sexual thoughts come hard and fast. I didn't even go for older guys, at least not that much older, not older like Bowers. The man was in his late 60s, old enough to be my granddad. But there was something powerfully sexy about the man. 6'2" and still had a decently muscled build from his daily gym routine, even if yeah, Bowers was getting his granddaddy on, more and more by the month.
And, damnit, that day, he was going commando in his shorts. I didn't try to scope him out, I swear, but Jim Bowers had a huge package. Thick, heavy genitals that looked obscene in his khaki shorts. Maybe the man was a show-er and not a grower, but the part he was showing looked pretty damn oversized. I'd forever think of him as Big Jim now.
I wasn't some green virgin. I was 28, with one long term relationship under my belt. I'd gotten my PhD in Applied Math at Minnesota and a plum job with the Royals right off the bat. It was why I'd studied what I'd studied. It was my dream job, doing analytics for a major league baseball team. From my little league days and collecting baseball cards, through playing baseball at my prep school to too many hours spent at college playing fantasy teams... it all led up to this.
My boyfriend Tom wasn't eager to switch jobs and move, and I wasn't eager to do the long-distance thing. We talked it out and, a week before I packed up my belongings, we broke up.
Breakups suck, but the consolation prize was rediscovering the world of hookups in a new city. I'd developed a fondness for Midwestern guys, and as a somewhat nerdy Jewish dude from New England I had fun having a different blond hunk every other weekend. I even hooked up with some older guys. I preferred guys my age but responded to a guy's personality and a shared sexual vibe over looks. And sometimes a daddy fit the bill.... Different looks, different body types and different sexual energy. It was all great.
But for me, Daddy meant like 40. Jim Bowers was rearranging my self-identified age range. Or maybe it was the beer.
"Here ya go," he said as he sauntered back with two beers in hand. Goddamn, the veteran looked FINE. I mean, no one would mistake his body for a 40 year old's or even a 50 year old's. It was mature muscle, but fit. Platelike pecs beneath the man's team-logo polo shirt, and pumped arms stretching the tanned, almost leathery skin that was covered in gray hair, matching the thicker silvery fur on his legs.
And, damn, that package: I could make out the contours of Jim Bowers' junk. There had been rumors of his heyday with the groupies. For all I knew he still had 'em, though maybe not like the current players.
We clinked glasses and the man looked me in the eye and said, "Now that the draft is done, you gonna stop being a workaholic, Moneyball?" he teased. "Maybe you can finally get a goddamn boyfriend."
Everyone in the front office knew I was gay and that was never an issue, but I also didn't make it an issue. No talk about my private life, no mention of the gay thing unless it was brought up. I was the epitome of professional, and when it came to happy hour drinks, well, I'd learned straight-dude male bonding as a way of blending in years ago.
"Come on, Jim," I said. And he knew exactly why.
"I know you got your work self and keep the rest private, buddy..." he said. "But, man, you're not as different as you think sometimes."
I don't know that I resented his words, but they rubbed me the wrong way. How was Bowers to know what I dealt with? Maybe if I hadn't been perving on the guy, I would have been more bothered.
"How so?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Take Campbell," he said, referring to Mitch Campbell, who was one of the scouts. "Good looking guy. Goes on dates all the time, but can't think of a goddamn thing to talk about to girls except baseball." Jim gave a smirk. "Girl doesn't call back, and Campbell's back to Square One."
At another moment, Bowers talk would be too old-school I-told-you-so in its condescension. Now, I was amused as hell. "You got Mitch all figured out, huh?" I teased.
Jim's blue eyes lit up some. "Tell me I'm wrong, Moneyball."
I smiled. "You're probably right," I conceded. Then, feeling my guard let down, I added, "You know, with gay guys, they like the idea of a baseball dude, but it's more the fantasy than the reality, you know?" I blushed as I spoke, but something about the drunken happy hour moment was removing my filter. "Maybe if I were a player, they'd be into the jock thing."
Bowers laughed and gave a smirk. He'd been the recipient of jock worship, even if it was from women. "You're just like Campbell, Moneyball... deep down." He patted my back. "But you're a good looking dude, and a good kid... any man would be lucky to land ya, buddy."
I ate up the words but had to reply, "Not the pep talking I was expecting tonight, Jim."
He reflected a second. "Yeah, I guess I dish out the advice easier than I can take it." Bowers had married three times and was now divorced and, as far as I knew, single.
Our conversation shifted subjects, but we got caught up in talking. I ate up his stories from his pro days, and Jim asked me about the math stuff I did. Maybe the man was right, I wasn't good at talking about much other than baseball, but he was a lifer and his whole life was the game, too.
I emptied my pint glass and had to do a mental calculation if I was gonna have another. I was on the fence. I should go home, but if Jim was having another, I knew I would too.
Instead he gave me a questioning look. "Feel like coming back to my place, Ackerman?" he asked. "We can have another one there."
The last part felt like it was added on to save face. In case I wasn't on the same wavelength. Maybe I'd been dumb in not reading the signals. Maybe I was misreading them now. But that was my first inkling that Jim Bowers was making a pass at me.
I blushed as I replied. "Sounds good, Jim," I said. "But neither one of us is driving."
"Yeah," he admitted. He was buzzed all right. He patted my shoulder. Kind of paternal but with a definite look of sexual interest in his gaze. Damn, this was not what I'd been expecting. He broke that look as he pulled out his phone to get an uber.
The guys had all gone by then and when we stepped outside to wait for the car, it was getting dark out. We'd been in there a while.
"Damn, I'm starving," Jim said. "Maybe I can order us a pizza."
"Sure," I said. Hands in my pockets out of nervousness more than anything. This was probably a really bad idea, but I felt crazy attracted to Bowers, more than I'd let myself admit before tonight. This was playing out so different than a gay hookup, so I was feeling out the dynamic. But his touch between my shoulder blades as he guided me first toward the car... that touch alone was enough to make me chub.
Jim's place was big, too big for a bachelor. But it felt surprisingly homey.
"Let me get us some waters," he said. I wasn't overly drunk, but he was right: it was good to drink something besides beer.
I chugged down a few sips from the plastic bottle and looked at Jim. "Nice place," I said.
"Thanks," Bowers said. Then with a soft voice, he added, "Damn, you're really fucking cute, Dave." He set down his bottle and stepped up to me.
I hadn't expected Bowers to be into dudes, at all, and I definitely didn't expect him to kiss. But he had no hesitation pulling me into a soft, wet kiss. It was a little drunken, but it was the surprise sexual attraction that made my head light. Fit as he may be, Jim was a mature guy, and I knew I was kissing a 60-something man, a man nearing 70. It was a strange thrill.
"You're into this, right?" the man hissed as he pulled back, giving me an up close view of his handsome features: roman nose, round cheeks, and gray hair growing more silver by the year, cut in a medium-short style. His hairline receded just a little but remarkably he still had a full head of hair. "I'm not looking for any HR issues," he chuckled.
"Oh I'm into it," I answered. "I guess it's just between us, right?" I was asking for his assurance as much as I was giving him mine.
"Absolutely," he said. His eyes were on me but his arm was reaching down. In my peripheral vision I could tell he was unzipping. And pulling out his dick. His grin cocked. "I'm really horny, man," he said.
I looked down. There it was, that pro-veteran baller cock. Heavy was an understatement. Jim Bowers packed a very thick, powerful 8 inch tool that jutted out of his open crotch. It was big and spongy and rock hard all at once. I wondered if he took a pill for his erections. I didn't fucking care. Bowers had an amazing cock.
I gave him one last look, a playful, sexy look, then crouched in front of him. I reached out and touched that meat, holding it. It had a soft give to the erection, but also twitched in my hand. It was my first mature cock, and I decided I liked it. Jim was hot to the touch as I angled his erection down to my lips.
"Oh yeah, buddy..." he hissed. "Lick my cock... like that."
The more I ran my tongue up and down his shaft, the bigger and heavier it felt. He tasted salty but then as I bathed his dick the flavor was cleaner. I finally figured I'd given enough foreplay and pulled that dong between my open lips.
He had enough girth to challenge me. I liked sucking dick, but I wasn't an expert at it. I guess lately I'd gotten more into anal and more into topping in my hookups. Even if I still went down on a guy, as foreplay or the main event, Bowers was bigger than I'd encountered.
But it was like riding a bike, I suppose. My initial difficulties gave way to a steady bobbing on his fat rod, feeling a good four or five inches push the confines of my throat with each motion of my mouth. It was a surprisingly pleasant feeling.
Nothing compared to the pleasure Jim was feeling. "Oh God... hell yes... work my fucking cock, man.... like that, yeah.... "
As I bobbed up and down I could see the silvery hair in his crotch, just a few darker hairs among them. And my hands felt up his mature legs, still strong, and now very furry. I was sucking a 68, maybe 69 year old and I realized I fuckin' loved this.
I always figured old guys took a long time to cum. Jim wasn't a quick cummer, but after about three minutes of giving him head I sensed the telltale signs. The urgency in his voice, the quiver in his quad muscle.
"FUCK! Here comes my fucking load, bud," he announced.
That heavy fat mature dong jerked in my throat as Bowers fed me his seed. I did my best to keep working him through that ejaculation, accentuating his orgasm with my mouth and suction.
He finally pushed my off with a friendly laugh. "Easy there, man... I think you got it all."
I looked up, knowing I felt proud. More than I'd been with my hookups. If I was honest, happier in sex than I'd been with my ex Tom. "Fuck, that was hot," I hissed.
Jim nodded. Face flushed red, his gray hair looked whiter. He somehow looked younger and older at the same time.
"Give me a second and I'll take care of you," he announced.
Not what I was expecting but I wasn't going to turn down the offer. I stood up, feeling drunk and light headed from the BJ. I started undoing my shorts and pulling them and my briefs off.
Jim grinned and reached down to grip my boner. "You 27 year olds are always rock hard," he teased, pulling my dick down to let it thwap up at the release.
"28," I corrected. "And how many have there been?" I laughed.
"Enough," he grinned. He gave my meat another look then said, "All right." And like that, the former baseball star, a man whose card I'd collected as a kid, was now getting down to suck me off.
If it hadn't been for the alcohol, I would have blasted in 20 seconds. Instead, now, I enjoyed getting head from Bowers. The slow suckling, the gentle bobs, the vision of his mature muscled bod in front of me. I ran my hands through his silvery hair.
Grandaddy was gonna work for my load, all right, and that idea was enough to get me to cum.
"Jim!" I gasped, surprised at how quickly orgasm snuck up on me and wanting to warn him.
He was a trooper, readying himself or my cum and then steadily sucking it down as I shot good and heavy into his mouth.
"Like I say," he teased when he finally pulled off. "You fucking need a boyfriend, Moneyball." He gave my leg a gentle pat then stood up. Reaching over he picked up his water bottle. To rehydrate or to wash down the flavor of cum, I wasn't sure.
Sheepishly, I pulled my underwear and shorts back on. Crossing some boundaries with Bowers had been naughty fun and all, but this part felt awkward. I started imagining what life was going to be like in the clubhouse from now on.
But Bowers stood in front of me, unabashed being naked from the waist down. His pJim hung fat and heavy, past his low-hanger balls covered in silver hair. He was definitely a show-er, even if his hard on had measured big.
"The offer for pizza still stands, Ackerman," he said, his blue eyes now normal friendly rather than lusty in their gaze. "If you wanna stay."
"You sure?" I asked.
Jim shrugged. "I'm not gonna be offended if you dash off," he said. "I've done it plenty, you know."
"It's not that," I started to say. Then, "Well, maybe it is.... but if you're OK, I could definitely eat."
That made Jim chuckle. "All right. You a peperoni man?"
The drunkenness was wearing off as we scarfed down the pizza. As I worked on the last slice, Jim came in with a freshly opened beer can for me, and one for him.
"I promised you a drink," he said.
"I figured that was just a pick up line," I replied. Something about sex made me feel I could be familiar with the man.
"Oh, it absolutely was," he said. "I'm not the most original guy in my lines."
I looked at his body. Relaxed on the couch. I calculated how his current body compared to a couple decades ago. I liked what Bowers had going on now, the contrast of hard and soft, muscled and aging. "You don't need killer lines when you have a killer bod," I said, flirting some.
Jim laughed but seemed into what I was saying. "You think I have a killer bod, Moneyball?"
I nodded. "Definitely." I looked at him openly. I wasn't gonna bone for round two, but I was still feeling sexual. "That bug you?"
"Not at all," he said. He took a sip of beer and seemed to be looking me over, too. "You into older guys?"
"Not really," I answered. "At least not before you." I blushed as I admitted that. "Let's just say you're expanding my horizons, Jim."
He seemed to take that in. "You know, I haven't seen all your goods, Ackerman... feel like showing off a little for me?"
"You wanna see my body?" I confirmed.
"Yeah, I wanna see your fucking body," he said, leaning back into the couch cushion and spreading his legs.
I set down my beer and stood up. I peeled off my T-shirt, then undid my shorts. I spent a lot of time in the gym and had a pretty good body. By most standards it would be considered a great body, but being around professional players, I seemed more ordinary in comparison.
"Nice," Jim said. Genuinely into what I had going on. "Not just a pretty face, huh?"
I blushed. "I try, Jim."
"You do more than try... turn around," he instructed. He took in the view of my backside and my ass, before I turned back to face hi.
"Sorry, I'm getting a little chubbed." My dick was rising up and fast.
"That's hot," he said. With a concerted look he peeled off his polo shirt. I practically gasped when I saw that white-furred muscle. It was magnificent and everything I imagined Jim Bowers would be bare chested. Still had a lot of that ball-player power to him.
"Wow," I gasped. My dick was standing full up at the sight. "OK... I definitely have a thing for older men," I said. Then, "I hope you don't mind my saying that, Jim."
He gave a soft smile. "I don't mind, Dave." He leaned back and showed off his upper body some, inviting my gaze before he reached down to undo his shorts once more. They slipped off easily. I noticed that his legs were strong and sinewed but he had more muscle loss there than his upper bod.
His prick was fully and semi-firm but not throwing hard. "Think I can feel up some of that 28-year-old muscle?" he asked. Scooting down, he lay on the couch, face up and bared in his magnificent nakedness.
I took the invitation and went back to the couch to lie on top of this former star. I still had to pinch myself this was happening. The sex, but the whole evening. We both groaned as I made body contact, my hands on his chest and his on mine, while our cocks touched.
"So, Jim..." I started. "I don't wanna kill the vibe, but what's your deal?"
His hand traveled along my upper chest and over my arms. "I guess I reached a certain age and decided to stop having hang ups. Sex with guys is just easier these days."
"Yeah?" I asked.
He nodded. "A young guy... you can fool around with and he doesn't expect anything, you know?" I could feel his dick move against mine and instinctively I knew our heartbeats were synching up. "I'm not gonna lead you on, Ackerman.... not looking to date or anything, you know?"
"No offense, Jim," I said. "But I probably should stick to guys closer my own age to date."
"Probably, yeah," he laughed. His hands were now openly feeling up my back muscle as I lay on top of him. He was taller than me by two inches and had some more weight to him. It felt comforting and relaxed being naked in this position. Sexual but not we-gotta-fuck-now sexual. "If you ever feel like having fun with an old man, though..." he started.
"I definitely do," I answered. "I didn't think I'd be into this, actually," I blushed.
"Be into what?" he asked.
"The age gap," I said.
He got an impish look on his face. "You into the Granddaddies, huh?"
Fuck, I hissed. It was such a naughty thing, but it made my dick jerk, which made Jim laugh.
He patted my bare ass. "Listen, bud. I'm 69. I'm not gonna be able to get it on twice in one night. But if you feel like staying over..."
"Yeah, I'd like that," I said.
He kissed, softly. And soon we were making out. Feeling each other up. I could have gone for a round two for sure, but I didn't need to. And that made this all the better, just connecting nude body to nude body with Jim's mature veteran-baller build.
By the time we got up off the couch, I was dripping precum heavily on that swirl of silvery hair on Jim's stomach. I was rock hard as I helped him up and helped him tidy up everything and take plates and cans back to the kitchen. Eventually my erection flagged but Jim didn't make a move to put clothes back on, so I didn't either.
I was starting to second guess myself. This was a man I'd see around work. Maybe this was gonna get complicated, real fast, even if we weren't looking for anything serious.
He had a spare toothbrush for me and set out some towels if I wanted to use them. I looked in myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. I often went back and forth in my self esteem, feeling cocky about my looks, then feeling all sorts of self doubt about my body and how I compared to whatever perfect guy I imagined or lusted after. But I saw myself in Jim's eyes. Maybe he went for me because I was an out gay guy, maybe an easy target. Maybe he liked that I had that nerdy but fit thing going on. Whatever it was, I was glad I'd spent the last couple of years hitting the weights and eating well.
He was already under the covers when I joined him in the king sized bed.
"Thanks for a fun evening, Ackerman," he said, his voice now sleepy. It was later than I realized.
"God, Jim, it's been wild."
"I don't normally have guys sleep over," he said. Maybe wanting me not to get any ideas.
"I don't always sleep over when they ask," I said.
He smirked. "All right, bud... ready for some sleep?"
"Yeah," I said.
And I watched his thick muscle bunch as he leaned over to turn off the light.