Full Count, Bases Loaded

"Nuh-uh!" Phil said, and too scraped away from Colt's incisors.

"We're gonna fuck your ass," Jason said.

Colt's white briefs of cotton finished propping up in front like a battalion tent. "You wanna stick your wiener up my butt?"

"You got that right, Colty boy," Jason said.

"Then, what's keeping you?"

"You little piece of—" Jason said, going for Colt's jugular. "Crap! Help me out of this."

Like the cleats of the rest of the team, Jason's black cleats had three vertical stripes of white on each side. Toward Phil, Jason extended his foot.

Phil pulled off Jason's black cleat.

Jason extended his other foot toward Phil.

Phil pulled off Jason's other cleat. Then, Phil stretched forth each of his lower legs toward Jason.

Touching Phil's soiled cleats and white socks brought an emotional intensity to Jason's chest. Jason peeled off Phil's white socks of nylon—and found himself enjoying the feel of Phil's feet. This shocked, scared, and amazed Jason.

Across the bright room, the other athletes knelt onto the bench and got into a curious chain. Kyle ended up sandwiched between Wesley in front and Felipe in the back.

Phil eyed the trio. "Way to go!" Swiftly, he stepped off his crumpled pants, cup strap, and white briefs.

Jason followed Phil's lead, astounded that six briefs of white could be such a turn-on. How Jason's chestnuts churned!

Jason shoved Colt to the floor, yanked up the second baseman's legs, and screwed off Colt's black cleats.

Phil fluttered his pale fingers over Colt's white socks of nylon. "Oooh!"

"Look!" Jason shouted. "Colt has a boner!"

"Yeah!" Phil said, his normally reserved voice loosened up. "Colt likes this kinky stuff." Phil lifted the sophomore's lower legs further up and brusquely kissed one of Colt's soles.

"Give me that!" Jason demanded. He grabbed Colt's foot and sniffed Colt's white sock.

The warmth of skin-under-nylon electrified Jason's nose and fingers.

"Let's pull off Colt's pants!" Jason said.

Phil tugged Colt's tight uniform along the left.

Jason tugged along the right. "We're gonna plow your ass, so you better get that lube sissies use."

Wesley whistled.

On the shale mega-tiles of the floor, Colt tilted his head back as though it were a football.

Wesley threw Colt something that looked like a white tube of toothpaste.

Colt caught it as if snipping a fly off the air with pincers.

The dangle of Jason's prong rose toward the ceiling's white tiles of melamine. "Let me help you with those whities."

"Yeah!" Colt said, his voice that of a frat boy freshman. "Get me naked."

At last, Phil shook off Colt's striped pants of white.

Jason thought that Phil had shaken a blanket. What, Jason wondered, was happening to his mind?

Colt held up his crisp legs with the raw power of his knees. Although lean as the lower branches of an oak tree, Colt's legs looked wider and more robust than on the diamond.

Such beefiness solidified Jason's hard-on.

Jason looped the white briefs around Colt's knee bend and shucked them off.

Colt let his legs fall. He rubbed that silver gel of Wesley's onto his puckered hole of pink. As if doing backstrokes, Colt pulled some green baseball shirts toward the underside of his raised back. Then, Colt lowered the back of his head onto the shale mega-tiles of the floor.

Jason knelt on the big tiles and brought Colt's calves toward his toned shoulders.

Phil seized Jason's arm. "I'm going first."

"No, you're not," Jason said. Not caring that Phil was tall as 6' 2" Kyle, Jason shook his arm away.

Phil grabbed Jason's tawny arm again and hauled it away from Colt.

Jason hauled his arm in the other direction … and nearly fell.

"Just flip something," Kyle said, a yard in front of them.

The sophomores stopped to the senior's words. So did Felipe his pumping forward into Kyle's butt—and Wesley his humping backward onto Kyle's dick. Quickly, Wesley reached into his green locker of metal and threw his credit card to Jason.

Jason snatched it off the air. "Heads!"

"Tails!" Phil countered.

On Jason's left palm, the card landed upside down.

"Woof!" Phil said and knelt into position.

Reluctantly, Jason got up and tossed the card to Wesley.

The fairy with beautiful irises of deep blue caught the item and chucked it right. Like the steel wheels of a gondola on a railway, Wesley's party resumed moving in rhythms of chug, chug, chug.

Jason was so turned on that he thought that Wesley, Kyle, and Felipe were actually rolling forward on the bench.

Phil's freckled face emitted a deep pink under the shadow of his cap visor. "You want more of my wiener?"

"Yeah, man!" Colt said. "Fuck me harder!"

Phil thrusted harder than a pestle pounding a mortar.

"Whoo-hoo!" Colt said. "Fuck the cum out of me!"

The dark-blue "salute" of Phil's baseball cap jerked toward Colt's forehead.

Colt's calves shook on Phil's shoulders like logs on a jouncing truck. The butterscotch curls on Colt's calves shook along.

Watching that scene from above everyone turned Jason's blood into all of the world's rapids.

As if releasing a bowling ball, Jason bent down and spanked Phil.

Phil jolted right. "Hey!"

Jason straightened up. Again, he stooped, and on Phil's buttock of light cream, Jason released the weight of his arm-heavy hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" Phil bellowed.

"Getting even." Jason erected himself triumphantly.

"If you can't hold yourself, go fuck Mr. Panty-Briefs over there."

"Coño, no!" Felipe said. He drove his swarthy hips into Kyle's behind for the last time. "Wesley is mine."

Swift as a stage crew at the end of a scene, Wesley, Kyle, and Felipe shifted the props of their moist bodies. Wesley and Kyle ended up lying across the bench—faceup—with their legs in the air. Felipe brought Wesley's calves to his strong shoulders, pressed his stick forward, and squeezed a loud heave from the first baseman. Felipe pulled back. Upon reentry, Felipe's cucumber drew a louder pant from Wesley.

* * * *

Felipe's bedroom eyes glazed into Wesley's angelic orbs.

Wesley gazed back into Felipe's irises of dark-brown. Wesley's large pupils, in turn, dilated even more.

"Caramba!" Felipe grunted in Spanish. His sweaty voice echoed as potently as he was shorter than Wesley.

Wesley moved his pink hips in quick, small circles. "I bet your girlfriend doesn't shake her booty like this."

"Heck, no!" Felipe said. "She's too modest for that."

"I almost feel guilty for stealing your cream from her," Wesley lipped.

"No, you don't."

Wesley continued to speak in that mellifluous voice of his. "Is fucking my ass better than fucking your girl's pussy?"

Felipe pressed down Wesley's hamstrings as if leveling the inclined back of a workout bench. "See if you can take this!" Felipe said, driving his dick to the hilt on this.

"Ouch!" Wesley wailed.

"Say another word about my girl, and you'll get twice of that."

"Oh, God," Wesley said, rolling his half-saucer eyes.

Steady as a washing machine on scrub cycle, the catcher kept pumping into the first baseman. The bench creaked with the thirst of an un-oiled door. Wesley's head, in turn, tapped the crown of Kyle's head with the rhythm of a bumping car.

Felipe's short waves of coffee bean brown kept swaying fore and aft. "Carajo!" he said. "Your dirty culo is delicious."

"You like your sausage up my culo?" Wesley said.

"Coño, sí!"

Wesley humped his tush up. "What about now?"

"Puñeta!" Felipe said. He thrusted back.

"Yeah," Wesley said, shaking his stuffed corkscrew. "Fuck my ass!"

Straight bangs of golden-yellow and aubergine streamed with gaps over Wesley's forehead.

Felipe clawed Wesley's lowlights. "Sí, maricón! Sí, maricón!" Felipe gasped, pistoning faster.

Wesley shook back and forth brusquely; he let go the pink foreskin of his wiener; and strings of pre-cum drooped from his dick like glue from a turned bottle.

Felipe's semi-round nose started to make guttural noises. "Take my straight cock up your hot culito."

Wesley's eyelids fluttered half-shut.

"Huh! Huh!" Felipe chuffed. His abdominal muscles flexed and relaxed with the rhythm of a locomotive. Felipe tightened his grip on Wesley's shins and calves, threw his squarish face back, and convulsed like a washer at the end of spin cycle.

Kyle clapped slow and loud. "Hooah!"

Jason became aware that Kyle was standing beside him.

Felipe collapsed onto the chiseled marble of Wesley's chest, slid off, and hit the floor.

Jason unfroze his exhale. To his astonishment, he discovered that he had held his breath for quite some time.

* * * *

Phil squeezed the base of his dick as though pissing on himself. Like this, he bopped toward Wesley, knelt on some white socks that were bestrewn on the floor, and fed his cock into Wesley's pooper.

Wesley let his heels descend onto Phil's square shoulders.

Phil withdrew and pressed his cannon in long strokes. "Man!" he heaved. "Your ass is swimmier than I expected."

Wesley's rosy cheeks bunched up in a grin. His white incisors of porcelain showed. And Wesley's sapphire irises of liquid smiled at Phil with the joy of a child.

"So hairy and tight," Phil went on.

"You like that, don't you?" Wesley said.

"Wouldn't you like that."

Like a couple of pythons, Wesley's calves wrapped around Phil's lower back.

Phil's walnuts began to slap Wesley—and sounded like squelches of soft mud. "You're a true fox," Phil said. "You know that?"

Wesley whiffled a cracked ah, and the golden-yellow hairlets on his lower legs caressed Phil's back.

Phil straightened his spine and revealed his drum-tight chest of canvas. He pumped harder into Wesley's waste hole. "You like being the darling of the team, huh?"

"God, yes!" Wesley said.

"But you lost the game for us," Phil said. "I gotta make you pay for that."

"Stop!" Wesley whined.

"You need real punishment."

Wesley shut tight his half-saucer eyes. "I need a time-out!"

"I thought you were a pouf," Phil said, spitting droplets on pouf.

"I am!"

"And don't poufs like getting stuffed like wild turkeys?" Phil said.

"Yes, but—"

"Then, take my straight cock!" To and fro, the center fielder kept jolting the first baseman's svelte physique.

Wesley rubbed the turbofan engines that huddled against each side of the fuselage of his willy.

"You've been a naughty boy," Phil said. "Somebody's gotta teach you a lesson."

"I learned! I learned!" Wesley panted.

"Fuckin' pansy! I can't believe I'm about to—" Phil squalled the cry of a tackled quarterback; he threw his mildly beaked nose toward the white indented light above him; and he pinched shut his hooded eyes of gray, white, and black.

Wesley fondled his testes faster; he thrashed his head; and he banged it on the aqua cushion. "I'm gonna rip!" Wesley screamed.

Wesley's birdie squirted the arcs of a rainbow. Except for the color, the ropes of raw egg white reproduced that curve of nature—beginning past Wesley's prepuce and ending on Wesley's neck, pecs, and abs. Wesley then melted like an ice cube on a hot tarmac.

Amazingly, Phil continued to grind his hips. The tower of his body, however, collapsed, slipped off the bench, and plopped by Felipe.

* * * *

Never had Jason imagined that the missionary position would be a cinch between men. The fact that Wesley could arouse other guys as much as any chick boosted Jason's excitement more than the biggest home run ever could.

"Your turn, bro," Kyle said, cuffing Jason's sand-colored butt.

Jason turned his face right with the briskness of lightning.

Kyle stepped toward Wesley and scooped up some raw egg white from the first baseman. Despite his stooping, Kyle's nates held firm as the stringed seeds of peeled coconuts.

Jason marveled at the contrast between the paleness, sturdiness, and baby softness of Kyle's rumps.

Up his crack, Kyle inserted the rake of his gluey fingers.

Hard as Jason found to admit it, Kyle's duff cheeks were more scrumptious than Jason could have ever imagined. Moreover, the thought of a cock in there seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Kyle walked toward his end of the bench. His veiny dick pointed shakily at the white ceiling. Kyle sat on the aqua cushion of the bench, lowered his back of deep peach, and raised his tanned legs.

Something about a handsome man's opening himself like that fired up the panther in Jason. He knelt on some white briefs that were scattered on the floor, squeaked apart the pincers of Kyle's tanned legs, and fed his wheat-colored cock into Kyle's split-open fig.

Kyle pushed as if on the throes of bodily evacuation.

Part of Jason wanted to pull out in disgust. Part of him reveled in the vulgarity of it all.

Jason squeezed the ripe papayas of Kyle's calves and slowly pumped into the pitcher.

The amber pubes of Kyle's anus pressed raunchily around Jason's dick. The bushiness of those curls brought further friction to the tautness of Kyle's butt.

Jason found this pubic seasoning mind-blowing. Pussies, by contrast, lacked hair inside. Disconcerted as part of him felt, Jason could not deny that guys' asses resisted with a tightness and a coarseness that made fucking them seem more invasive—and thus, more wickedly thrilling—than shagging girls' cunts. How, Jason wondered, could nature have made the backdoor more appealing to the animal in men?

With the coldness of ice, the shale mega-tiles of the floor ironed part of Jason's knees.

Jason tried to focus on the warmth of Kyle's innards.

The feel of Wesley's milk fueled Jason's excitement. Something about mixing his semen with a teammate's—inside the ass of another player—felt exquisitely dirty in a way that Jason had never thought himself capable of enjoying.

Jason's short hair of honey-brown flowed back like a fountain.

Kyle zagged his strong fingers through the silk of Jason's hair. "Ram me harder!" Kyle said.

"You want true punishment?" Jason answered.

"I thrive on it!"

"I bet you do," Jason said. "After all, you allowed our rival team to score 10 runs."

As if engaged in a staring contest, Kyle's baby blues hooked into Jason's hazel globes.

Jason forced his eyes to stay locked on Kyle's. Jason found this easier than expected, for Kyle's baby blues were warm as tepid soup.

Jason slunk his rager deeper into Kyle's bowels. Deep enough? Jason said through his eyes.

Kyle grunted.

"So this is how you bis have risen to 24% of the population," Jason said. He thrusted harder into Kyle's tunnel. "By getting more of us straights horny enough to come around to your brand of sexuality."

Kyle roared like summer thunder in North Carolina.

Jason gasped. "And in your recruitment plan, you draw no distinctions between your kind . . . and mine."

"This is good practice, bro," Kyle said breathily. "That way, you can fuck your girlfriend with more gusto—and get her pregnant a whole lot faster."

"You better pray I do because if not, you'll get double the pounding I'm giving you now."

"Oh, man," Kyle said.

Jason's balls slapped Kyle noisily.

The bench creaked faster than a railroad car jigging at 90 miles an hour. Kyle's lower legs hung off Jason's upper arms "frog style," and Kyle's tanned legs danced as if in such a train.

Jason slowed down, grabbed one of Kyle's feet, and sniffed its sole.

The smell of dried sweat and of leftover laundry detergent tickled Jason's nostrils like a feather.

Jason's hot dog throbbed with lust. This was too much! Yet, he couldn't stop nuzzling Kyle's pinkish sole. Never had Jason found a girl willing to permit anything radical in bed. Now, Jason's heart warmed like a baking cookie.

Kyle crackled with the airiness of a growling stomach.

Jason planted a kiss on Kyle's callused sole.

"Fuckin' A!" Kyle said.

Jason sucked Kyle's big toe like a baby boar starving for milk. With a scowl, Jason shut his eyes halfway and moaned. Abruptly, Jason backed away from Kyle's toe and descended onto one of Kyle's hard teats.

"Alright," Kyle encouraged.

Jason licked Kyle's nipple. Remarkably, the mesa was pronounced as a woman's teat. This filled Jason with wonder at the similarities between men and women. The flatness of Kyle's mounds, however, reminded Jason that he was connecting with the wrong sex. The profoundness of Jason's rebellion rocked him with the suddenness of a storm draft. Nevertheless, Jason hankered to explore more of his masculinity this way in the future.

Jason kneaded Kyle's opposite pec three times harder than he dared to caress any girl's breast.

"Looks like Jason is going bi," Kyle said.

Jason hoisted his lips from Kyle's erect nipple. "And you're gonna pay for it," Jason said. His tense lips almost touched Kyle's lax ones.

The pitcher puffed on the right fielder, slow as a passing cloud and light as a wedding veil.

Jason intensified his ins and outs. "I wonder what your girlfriend says about this."

"She doesn't mind," Kyle breathed on Jason. "We have agreed to have an open relationship."

"You have?" Jason said. "Then, maybe you'll let me have her one of these days."

"I'll see what she says," Kyle said glibly.

Jason pulled his sand-colored trunk up from Kyle's one of tanned peach.

The skin of Kyle's legs emitted the smell of a pancake skillet—one charcoal-hot, sprayed with nonstick butter, and steaming upon contact with cold water.

Jason allowed his oval nostrils to inhale Kyle's flesh. The irony was that this most unromantic of smells electrified Jason's hormones the way a magical sprinkle ignited a morning mist in a recent holovision movie. Jason snuffed the camel curls of Kyle's shin.

The room's air conditioner switched on in reply, and the breathing of its ducts sounded as if a blizzard were raging outside of the locker room.

Jason kissed the beef-under-grass of Kyle's lower legs.

Kyle licked a forefinger, circled it on his drying areola, and dreamily shut his eyelids.

Jason frowned in confusion, for he had never witnessed this style of self-pleasuring. After all, dudes were supposed to feel girls' bodies, stimulate chicks' nipples, and give them pleasure. 65% of men played by this rule. Yet, Kyle was breaking one of the fundamental definitions of manhood. Or rather, he was redefining the mainstream's definition, twisting a gender double standard that only allowed girls to pleasure themselves that way. In so doing, Kyle was showing the team a new model of male freedom—the freedom of men to enjoy their own bodies beyond simple meat beating.

In rapid succession, Kyle squeezed and released his crab apples.

What a queer method of masturbation, Jason thought.

Like a ship looming out of a fog, Colt approached Jason from the left.

"What the hell?" Jason said.

Colt stroked his monster dick downward. "Why are you rubbing your nuts?"

Kyle answered, "Because I know that, more than likely, I'll have to take another cock up my butt. Thus, I can't allow myself to cum, yet."

"Then, you can prepare my dick for the main course by sucking it," Colt said. With that, he reclined his razed knee on the aqua cushion of the bench, leaned down, and sank his wad into Kyle's mouth.

Kyle sucked Colt's glans as though it were a pom-pom.

"Fuckin' bi wanker!" Colt said. He contorted his supple face in pain.

The penis-mouth interaction made the sounds of a puppy lapping water from a bowl. Kyle, in turn, gazed at Colt with a desire large enough to swallow the Caribbean.