Recruiting Jeeter

"Shit. I've been avoiding him," Steve Taggert thought as he pulled a number from the machine at the barber's shop. If he'd seen Craig Littleton before he'd taken the number, he might have just turned around and left at the door. As it was, he'd gotten in ahead of a small crowd of men going to the machine after he'd gotten his number. A small victory in life was knowing the guy who walked into the barber shop right after you was going to have to wait twenty minutes longer than you to get his hair cut.

Littleton saw him and waved. Steve smiled back and, luckily, there wasn't a vacant waiting chair beside Littleton. Steve passed him by and went to the back of the shop. Unfortunately, there was a vacant chair next to the one he sat at.

"Shit again," Steve intoned under his breath. Littleton had left his seat and was coming to the back of the shop to sit next to Steve while they waited for a barber's chair to be vacant when their number came up. Steve hoped Littleton's number was next, although it didn't look like any of the barbers would be ready for a new head of hair in the next ten minutes.

Littleton had been friendly with Steve before recent events—before the local high school basketball phenom, Jeeter Malone, had been starting to look for a basketball college program. He had been all-state last year, in his junior year, and would undoubtedly make that team this year as well. North Carolina was a major university basketball state. All of the big teams were rushing him. Steve had gone to Hanson University in the Midwest, also a good basketball school, and Steve had been a star on that team eight years previously. It was natural that he'd want a high school phenom in his own Winston-Salem, North Carolina, town to go to his school rather than one of the Carolina colleges.

That's where Craig Littleton came in. He was a major donner and recruiter for the Hanson alumni. He'd put Jeeter Malone, Steve Taggert, Hanson University, and basketball together and had started leaning on Steve to help recruit Jeeter. Until now, he'd given Steve the cold shoulder, though. It wasn't because Steve had been a star basketball player at Hanson, because he had been; it wasn't because Steve wasn't rich, because he was. He was an Adidas promotional rep throughout the state. And it wasn't because Steve didn't contribute heavily to Hanson, because he did. It was because Steve was gay and was known to be.

But now Littleton really, really wanted to recruit Jeeter away from the Carolina schools, and he thought Steve could help with that.

"Have you thought about approaching Jeeter Malone about taking the Hanson offer, Steve?" Craig leaned into him and asked in a low tone.

"Hello, Craig. Good to see you too," Steve answered, but he gave a sigh and continued, "I have but I don't know what I could say that would influence him."

"You were a basketball star at Hanson."

"Eight years ago. We're in North Carolina, which is crawling with current university-level basketball stars."

"Yes, but you have a leg up on all those we know about."

"How so?" Steve asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. And it turned out that he didn't.

"Jeeter is gay. That's not well known, but we ferreted that out. And you're gay. And you're versatile, I'm told—by Cliff Neilson, if you are thinking of disputing me—so you can manage anything he wants."

"Whoa, Craig. I don't think that means—"

"I think it does mean something. We can put you close to him. He plays a lot ball on Saturday mornings at the Y. They have an opening for a volunteer basketball coach on Saturday mornings. You could get that job. Jeeter's nineteen. He was held back a year in elementary school. He's good to make his own decisions."

"That doesn't sound—"

"I've discussed you with Howard Stallings, the regional Adidas manager. He—"

"Hold on, Steve, I don't like—"

But Craig Littleton wasn't listening. "Stallings said that as long as they have to live with reaction to you being gay, they might as well get some mileage out of it. Speak of the devil. There's Jeeter now."

The young man was standing by the number machine, looking around at the filled chairs of men waiting for their haircuts. He had a panicked look on his face—enough so that the manager of the barbershop, who was cutting hair, spoke up. Of course he knew Jeeter by sight. This was a sports town.

"What's the matter, Jeeter? You look like you lost your best friend."

"I think I'm gonna lose something," the tall, slender, good-looking black youth answered. "You got a long waiting line. I just got out of class and Coach put me in a vice. Don't be late to practice, he said, and don't bother to come to practice without a haircut. Either one and you're benched three games, he said. If I'm bench for three games, I can't—"

"Here, you can have my number," Steve said, standing up from down the line of chairs. "I think I'm up after the next two. I'm not in a hurry. Give me your number." They exchanged number slips.

"That's nice of you, but it's OK," the barber shop manager said. "If none of the gentlemen waiting cares if we help this basketball star not miss games, we'll take him next." No one in the shop objected.

Jeeter went from almost crying to acting like he'd gone to heaven. He walked over to Steve with a big smile on his face and said, "Thanks, man, you saved my ass."

"No problem," Steve said. The two exchanged numbers back, Steve having already given his up. In doing to, they spent a bit more time than was necessary with their hands together before the exchange and a look going between them that registered more than basic gratefulness. Jeeter was unguarded in his interest in the man holding his hand.

The look wasn't lost on Craig Littleton.

Jeeter found a seat further up the line and Littleton leaned into Steve and whispered, "That was the god of Hanson speaking. The boy wants you. You've got this."

"Screw you," Steve said. But his voice wasn't too steady. This was the first time he'd seen the strapping black youth up close. He knew the import of the look that had gone between him and Jeeter as well—no, better—than Craig Littleton did. They'd exchanged looks before. A gay bar was another place a nineteen-year-old athlete shouldn't be, but they'd both been in one one night and had given each other a raw and open look before passing on.

"Yes, that's what I'm talking about," Littleton murmured, and he laughed. "But I understand it would be you screwing him."

The basketball star soon was in a barber's chair. As his hair was being cut, he was looking at Steve with something more than gratitude in his gaze. Steve looked back. Littleton kept poking Steve in his ribs with an elbow and popping his tongue in his cheek.

Steve wanted to scream, but he didn't.

Then Jeeter was out the chair with his buzz cut and without his dreadlocks. He turned at the register and gave Steve another look before leaving the barber shop. After Craig had gotten his haircut, he came back to where Steve was sitting before he went to the register to pay.

"Think about it, Steve," Littleton said. "Hanson could win the conference for this kid's last two years if you help get him there."

"I'll think about it," Steve answered. His first thought was to say that just to get Craig Littleton off his back for today at least, but, when he thought about it longer, he knew he'd probably give in—and not for any reason Littleton would assume he had.

"I'll get you the portfolio of what we can offer the kid."

"Make it the best deal you have to offer. I'll look it over. But tell the program to make its best offer. If I decide to talk to him, I don't want to get into any negotiations. It will either be a yes or no."

"You understand that I'm suggesting that you do more than just talk to the kid."

"Yes, I understand." Don't push me, Steve thought, with irritation. "I haven't decided yet whether I'll do this."

* * * *

Jeeter's eyes went real big when he realized that Mr. Taggert was standing to where he could see them in the bushes near the Y outdoor basketball courts and that he was just standing there, watching Ron suck his cock without looking shocked or mad or anything. He didn't realize that this gave Steve Taggert just the opening he needed to start working on getting the star basketball player recruited for the Hanson University team.

The surprise had started with Jeeter and his also nineteen friend and high school senior basketball teammate, Ron Halpern, showed up on Saturday morning at the Y as they often did to get in some pick-up basketballing with whoever showed up. Often older guys did who had played college ball and it helped the high schoolers train with someone who was heftier than they were and who had more experience. When the guys showed up this morning, they found that there was a new volunteer supervising the basketball courts on Saturday mornings and that it was someone Jeeter had seen recently—at the barber shop, where he'd been in a bind on getting a required haircut before practice and a really sexy-looking man had offered to give up his place in line for Jeeter.

At the time Jeeter thought he and the guy had made a connection in a man-and-man sort of way and he knew he'd seen the man in a gay bar recently. He wasn't real sure they were attracted to each other in a hookup way, because he was only beginning to get into this signaling of another guy thing, although he and Ron had been doing it for a couple of months when they could manage to get alone. Ron really wanted it, and, although he'd fought it for a while, Jeeter wanted to give it now too.

As Jeeter and Ron walked in from the parking lot and he first saw Mr. Taggert standing there on the court, shirtless, looking like a million dollars, with a basketball under his arm and setting up a pickup game, Jeeter was even more sure the man was interested. He gave Jeeter a smile and almost a wink and he dropped his hand to where it hovered over his basket. When friends in the know told Jeeter about signaling wants, they included these things in gaydar hits. The man didn't even look at Ron. All of his attention was going to Jeeter. Jeeter felt himself going hard. He hadn't thought about doing it with a white guy before, and one several years older than he was. But this guy was a real hunk.

The guy—Steve, he'd introduced himself as—was also showing he knew how to put balanced teams together and that he knew the game. He'd quickly established that he'd played in college. He set up teams that were shirts versus skins, assigning both himself and Jeeter to the skins team. He put Ron on the shirts team. They'd played for nearly an hour before enough other guys had shown up that Steve said the first two teams should take a break to give the later arrivals a chance to play.

They'd played an aggressive game, though. The early arrivals were serious, talented players, and they played hard. There was a lot of body checking, although the Steve guy was good about keeping the physical stuff in check. That didn't mean that he wasn't all hands on himself, though, and Jeeter got the definite impression that the guy was touching him and putting his hands on him more than absolutely necessary to guide him into position. Once when Steve was behind him, close, and put his hand on Jeeter's belly while palming the ball in front of Jeeter with the other, Jeeter realized that they were in a fuck position, the man covering him, and he almost lost it. That was OK with Jeeter, though—although it didn't help him not to be hard. He wondered if the guys could see that he was. He was sure that Steve knew he was, as Steve's hand brushed across his basket more than once.

Steve didn't play in the second set. Ron went off to the Y building to take a piss and Jeeter sat on a bench to wait for him to return. After getting the other game going, Steve came and sat with him on the bench. Jeeter could feel the sexual heat coming off the older man. He was a Nordic blond, muscular but trim, the veins standing out on his chest and arms because there was no fat for them to hide in. He had a great face too—rugged and handsome. And open, sunny facial expression. Jeeter would have known the man had been a good athlete even if he hadn't said he played college ball for a school Jeeter knew had a good basketball program and that he was considering going to.

Jeeter felt himself trembling and thinking thoughts about this guy. He thought of the two of them being alone and Steve being behind him close, like he'd been on the court, and with his hand on Jeeter's belly. Jeeter had once thought of himself as an exclusive top, but there had been times when he became curious, and he had found that submitting was just as arousing. He wanted it both ways. He thought of the other man working his hand behind them, taking his cock out, which of course would be thick and long—and in erection—and then . . . But then Jeeter couldn't think what happened next without blowing.

That probably was why when Ron came back, he wanted to go off in the bushes and get some relief. Ron was always ready for that. Before Ron returned, though, there were a few minutes where he and Steve could get better acquainted.

"You're really good," Steve said. "You thought of continuing with basketball when you get out of high school? You're Jeeter Malone, aren't you? I've seen your team play and I know your coach thinks you're a real good college prospect. You were All-State this year, weren't you?"

"And last year too," Jeeter said, with pride. He was impressed that the man knew who he was and had seen him play. "You're really good too. Did you play in college?"

"Yes, for Hanson University, in Indiana," Steve answered. "Playing well got me through the university—and it got me my job too."

"You work with sports? I thought these Y jobs were volunteer."

"I did well enough that Adidas picked me up to do regional sales. Indiana is a great state for basketball. A lot of competition, and when you do well, sports companies pick you up. Companies like Adidas give out good athletic scholarships too. You can get a good education at a school like Hanson and turn that into a job too if you're good at the sport. You are really good at basketball."

"Thanks," Jeeter said, clearly pleased.

"Uh, I can see your friend coming back from the Y, and I've got to sort some things out with these guys playing now. Good talking with you, though. If you'd like to talk with someone about colleges and basketball programs, just let me know." Steve stood up from the bench as Ron approached. He smiled and nodded at Ron and went out onto the court, yelling at a couple of guys who were close to getting into a fight.

It wasn't long until Jeeter had conveyed his need to get off and he and Ron found a stand of bushes where they assumed they wouldn't be seen. It wasn't long either before Ron was on his knees in front of Jeeter, whose athletic shorts were pulled to below his low-hanging balls and Ron had taken Jeeter's cock in his mouth. Jeeter was hung. The two had been getting it on for some three months. Ron preferred sucking cock. Jeeter preferred giving anal penetration. They had moved into a phase where they both could be satisfied. Jeeter wanted more, though. He was aching to have a man on top of him.

They were well into Ron giving Jeeter a blow job when Jeeter looked up and saw Steve, leaning against a tree beyond the bushes but with an excellent view of what the young men were doing. He was just standing there, though, leaning into the tree, just in athletic shorts; looking really, really sexy; watching, with a smile on his face; and rubbing his crotch through the material of the shorts. He wasn't showing shock or disgust or even disapproval.

Jeeter knew he should stop Ron and they'd should leave, but he was too worked up and Ron was doing too good of a job on him. He put his hands on Ron's head, holding it to his crotch, and let Ron suck him off, as he moved his hips in a rocking motion and locked his eyes on Steve, who was just standing there, watching him get a blow job. Ron had the waistband of his shorts pushed down and he was stroking himself off while he sucked Jeeter to an ejaculation.

When Ron had taken Jeeter's cream on his face, he stood, and seeing that Jeeter was looking off in the distance, turned his face in that direction.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed. "Was he watching us?"

"Yes. I think it's OK," Jeeter said. "I don't think he'll call us out." He and Steve were still locking eyes. Jeeter guided Ron out of the way and stood, full frontal, handing his massive cock so that Steve got a good view of him. Smiling, Steve pushed the waistband of his athletic shorts below his balls and handed his cock as well, showing that he was in erection. They only held for a moment, but it was long enough for an understanding to be established. Not a complete understanding, though. Jeeter pinned that down by turning away from Steve, bending over, and pulling is ass cheeks apart while he turned his face toward the man. Steve set his spread legs in a partial crouch, grasped his cock, and stroked it in Jeeter's direction.

Now they'd reached a complete understanding.

The two youths pulled their shorts up and came out of the bushes. Steve held his ground, his erection protruding from his crotch.

"If you two would like to use the staff men's locker room to shower and dress, I can take you there. There aren't any other male instructors on duty for another hour or so."

He folded himself back into his shorts, having made his point, and turned and started walking toward the Y building. Jeeter motioned to Ron and the two followed Steve.

The shower room in the staff locker room had three shower head in it. The three men stripped and moved into the shower, each turning on his own stream of water, each ogling the other, all three of them in full erection. They soaped up and rinsed off, turning this way and that, posing for each other, two young, tall, trim, well-muscled black youths, one of whom was horse hung and an older, well-preserved, movie-star-handsome white guy, with a cock to be proud of as well.

Steve motioned to Ron, who went down on his knees in front of the older man, palmed his buttocks, and took his cock in his mouth. As Ron sucked Steve off, Steve leaned his shoulder blades back into the slick tile of the shower wall, jutted his hips forward, and cupped Ron's head in his hands. He and Jeeter maintained eye contact while Steve moved his pelvis. He nodded with his head and Jeeter saddled up behind Ron, penetrated him, and, grasping his hips between his hands, fucked him. Ron took them both to ejaculation.

Afterward, as they were at the benches in front of the lockers and dressing, Steve said, "You know you boys don't have to do it in the bushes. I live alone and in this neighborhood. You can come to my house anytime you want to fuck. I'll give you my business card so you can call or e-mail me. It's got my home address on it."

"Uh, I don't know if we should," Ron said. Steve and Jeeter were in an eye lock, though. Both of them knew the basketballers would.

"I have a half basketball court and a pool table," Steve said. He was speaking directly to Jeeter. "We could talk about college basketball programs. I know you both are getting scholarship offers. I could help you sort those out."

"Yeah, I guess that would be good," Ron said.

"And we could mess around," Steve said.

"Sounds good," Jeeter responded. "You should know, though, that I don't usually take cock."

"I do," Steve said.

"But sometimes I do," Jeeter added.

Steve laughed. "Then you are in luck. I do it all."

* * * *

"Sorry, Ron couldn't make it today."

"That's OK with me. I think we can manage without him." Steve, greeting the young man in just a silk robe, put a hand on Jeeter's butt and drew him into the entrance hall of his house and shut and locked the door. The living area was essentially one large space with the kitchen off in an L. The back of the house was floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out onto a stone terrace, with a swimming pool. The backyard was fenced in with privacy fencing.