Balls

BALLS - CHAPTER ONE By Stephen Nikolai

I'll begin with the usual warnings. If you're under 18, go away. If you're not into homosexuality, bondage, and light s/m, then why are you here? Go away. If you enjoy the story, let me know. If not, then don't read the follow-ups. This is a fictional story-no, I don't know any gay baseball players, I've never slept with any baseball players, and I sure as hell never played ball. The "I" in this story ain't me. But thanks for thinking it might be.

For David.

When I signed the contract to write my memoirs, I decided just to take the money and let the ghostwriter handle it. But Juan said I should start from the beginning and tell it my own way. After all, I was an English major in college, I should know how to tell about what happened. So here goes.

I started playing baseball when I was eight or nine, just playing with kids on the street in the suburb where I grew up. My parents both worked, I was an only child, and I had to amuse myself most afternoons. Turned out I was good at baseball. I figured out I was gay not long after that, when I noticed that the boys around me were turning into men and I liked watching them. In junior high, in gym class, I wandered around with my hard-on showing until the gym teacher took me aside and explained why that wasn't a good idea. (So that's why all those guys avoided me after gym class.)

I had my first experience with another man when I was fifteen years old. And it wasn't just two young boys jerking off-this was the big time, real man-to-man sex, with a few kinks thrown in. See, about the time I figured out I was gay, I figured out I was into bondage. I liked watching TV shows like "Dukes of Hazzard" and "Six Million Dollar Man," not for the plots or the acting, but for the million ways the guys got bound and gagged. Then I'd go to bed, think about those scenes, and jerk myself off.

But I knew, thanks to finding my mother's sex manuals, that wanting to be tied up was weird, even if you're gay, so I kept that to myself. Yet it never went away. When I got into high school (and stopped getting hard-ons in the locker room), I got on the baseball team, as a shortstop, no less. I wasn't much of a hitter, so the coach was always giving me extra batting practice. And let me tell you about Coach Mario. He was about 29, slender, muscular, maybe 5'10", with dark hair, thick sideburns, and a massive Fu Manchu mustache that grew down to his chin and made him look tough. (This was in '85, before everyone started growing goatees.) He became the star of all my jerkoff fantasies the day we met.

Anyway, one April morning I was having a terrible time batting, and the rest of the team was getting pissed at having to wait for me to finish when Coach Mario said, "You know what, Andrew? Your legs are too far apart. Stand up straight."

I tried, I really tried, but for some reason my instinct was to spread my legs wide at the plate. Probably some handsome baseball player on TV did the same thing and I was imitating him. I don't remember. Mario gave up on me and we went on to something else. But he took me aside after practice and asked me if I was busy after school. I said no, so he told me to meet him on the practice field at two-thirty, right after my last class.

The thought of time alone with Coach Mario really turned me on. Mario was a great guy, all the players loved him. He was affectionate with us, quick to put an arm around your shoulder, very Italian. And very sexy. I was in shape, not very tall yet, only just beginning to shave, and in awe of such a manly man as Coach Mario. And a little scared.

When I showed up on the practice field at 2:30, he gave me a hug. "Did you think I was pissed at you, Andrew?"

"Yeah," I said. "Or at least frustrated."

"I know how tough it is to learn stuff. Maybe we'll make you a pitcher-you've got one hell of an arm. But in the meantime, you have to learn to hit, and I have an idea. Take the bat and stand at the plate the way you usually do."

I followed his instructions, not sure what he was up to. Then I saw what he was taking out of his athletic bag: a piece of rope. Instantly my heart jumped and my cock stirred. What the hell was he doing? He walked toward me and must have seen the fear (and the lust) in my eyes. "Relax," he said. "Just stand there."

I stood in the batter's box, feeling stupid. I took a swing. He shook his head. "You'll get this. Watch."

He took the rope and tied one end of it around my left ankle. Then he grasped my right leg and told me to let him position me. He moved my right foot a few inches closer to my left foot, then tied the other end of the rope around my left ankle. By now I was hugely erect, but if he noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Okay," he said, seeming a little out of breath. "Take a few swings." I did, and immediately I understood. He threw me a few pitches, and I hit them solidly. My cock stayed hard, but I wasn't really aware of it. I was paying attention to the bat and the ball and memorizing the position. Whenever I tried to spread my legs, the rope pulled taut, and my cock jolted, but after a few minutes I wasn't testing it. I was solid in the stance. Coach Mario smiled at me, then came over and ruffled my blond hair. "See, I knew you could get it. Let's try a few without the rope."

He bent over to untie the rope. If he noticed my erection, he was too polite to say so. He went back out to the mound and threw me a few more pitches. I could feel the rope as if it were still around my ankles, and I stayed in my new stance, hitting the ball consistently all over the infield. Mario came over to me after about fifteen minutes and lifted me in another bear hug. "You got it, kiddo! Finally! Think you can remember that?"

"Sure, Coach."

"All right. I know you missed your bus. Your parents need a phone call?"

"Nah, they're at work. They don't get home till about six."

Mario offered me a lift home. Once we were in his car, though, he said, "Listen, would you like to come to my house till dinnertime? We could work some more on that stance, if you want, or just talk about stuff. I don't have anything else going on."

To be invited to Coach's house was beyond thrilling. I nodded yes and went to his car. On the way we talked about the team. I told him of my desire to play major league baseball someday, and he looked at me carefully. "If you learn to hit, Andrew, you could do it."

"Maybe I should be a pitcher," I joked.

"Maybe you should. You've got a hell of an arm. Let's think about that. Here we are," he said, pulling into the driveway of a small house. We got out of the car and went inside. He offered me a soft drink, but I was too nervous. "So what would you like to do?" he asked.

"Maybe we could practice some more," I said softly. "If I need to learn to hit, I could work on that stance."

I wasn't sure Coach understood what I was trying to say until he took me out to his garage, handed me a bat, and then took out a piece of rope. "You need this still?"

"Yeah." I was half hard already, and my voice was raspy. I was scared, I didn't know what I was doing, but I wanted to feel that way again.

Coach positioned me, then tied the rope around my ankles as he had at school. I tested the rope, then took a few practice swings. He put his arms around me from behind, those huge hairy arms that dwarfed mine, and helped me swing. I could feel his mustache brushing the back of my neck and the warmth of his body against mine.

After a while, he asked, "You getting it?"

"I think so."

"Or do you need some help with the grip? Maybe you need some help holding your hands together?" He faced me and looked carefully in my eyes. Oh, yes, he knew exactly what I wanted, and he wanted it too.

"Yes, Coach."

"Come on inside, then. It's getting a little cool out here." It wasn't a bit cool, in fact it was blisteringly hot, but I followed his instructions. He led me into the living room and took the bat out of my hands. Then he took out another piece of rope.

I held my hands out in front of me as if holding the bat. "Is this the right grip?" I asked.

"Just right," he said. He was breathless too, and I could see a little sweat trickling down his forehead. He knelt before me, gave me another careful look in the eyes, then smiled and tied my hands together in front of me, tightly, securely, but not in a way that hurt. In fact, I had never felt more comfortable in my life. "Let me fix this one too," he said, and untied my ankles, this time tying them together as tightly as he could. When he finished, my cock was raging hard against my pants, and I could see that he was excited too. I had no idea what to do next.

Coach sat next to me on the couch and kissed my forehead. "Let me tell you something before we continue this lesson," he said calmly. "If anyone finds out what's going on here, we would both get in a lot of trouble. I could get fired, not to mention going to jail. You would probably be in deep shit with your parents and the school. You'd be made fun of, maybe beaten up. And you'd never get to the major leagues, that's for damn sure. So this is our secret, okay?"

"Okay."

"Have you ever done this before?"

"No. Nothing. With anyone."

He reached out and stroked my cheek tenderly. "You're gonna love it," he said. He kissed me on the lips this time, gently, his thick mustache brushing against my face. I was totally falling in love with him. "Now come here," he growled, getting to his feet. I tried to stand but couldn't. He laughed, then picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, carrying me into the bedroom.

I trusted him. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I did. He laid me down on his big bed with its dark blue sheets, pulled my sneakers off, and told me to make myself comfortable. "As comfortable as you can, anyway," he said, putting a pillow under my head.

Then he took off his coach's whistle and black polo shirt, revealing a truly amazing body with a flat stomach, bulging biceps and pecs, all of it covered in thick, curly black hair. He wore a large gold cross around his neck, nestled in all that hair, and I wished I were the Christ on that cross for a moment. He even had a dusting of fur on his shoulders, which turned me on. My cock was still hard, leaking precum into my briefs, and I tried to breathe properly.

Mario sat on the bed next to me and took out a couple more pieces of rope. He pulled my bound hands up over my head and tied them to the headboard, then tied the rope around my ankles to the footboard. I was stretched out full, even straining a little on his king-size bed. I assumed he was going to gag me, but he didn't. Instead he kissed me again, a full, romantic kiss that made me tingle. "I didn't know men could kiss each other," I said.

"What a stupid idea!" he said. "Tell me if I do something you don't like. I want you to enjoy yourself."

"I am."

He unbuttoned my shirt and ran his hands across my chest and stomach. I was in pretty good shape, worked out, played ball, but nothing like him. I had a few scattered hairs on my chest and was hoping for more, but he didn't care. He stretched himself out on top of me and nuzzled my neck, kissed my chest, and licked and sucked my nipples. I was going crazy, mostly because I couldn't respond in kind. I felt his hard, hairy body against mine, and it felt great, but I couldn't do anything.

Then he unzipped my pants and pulled them down to my ankles. He rubbed my legs, from my ankles up to my ass, then back again. I was warming to his touch, and I wiggled and squirmed in the ropes. He didn't touch my cock, even to pull down my briefs. Instead, he got up off the bed and undressed, removing his shoes, socks, and jeans. He wore no underwear, not even a jockstrap, and I swore off briefs then and there. His cock seemed huge, thick and swollen as it reached out of his intensely hairy groin. I wanted to touch it, to jerk him off, but I knew he didn't want me to. He looked at me tenderly, then said again, "Are you okay? Comfortable? I want you to be."

"I'm great," I croaked.

He came back to the bed and knelt over me, one leg on either side of my bound young body. His cock was above my face, too far away for me to touch, but close enough so I could feel it and smell it. It was sweaty and manly and I wanted it so much. Mario rubbed it with his hand, then touched it gently to my lips. I kissed it. He rubbed his cock against my lips again, and I tried to take it in my mouth, but he didn't want that. He teased me again, rubbing his cock back and forth over my open mouth, then pulling it away.

Then he pulled back, scooting away on his knees, till he was straddling my chest. He rubbed his cock against my stomach muscles, and they tensed to the warmth. I moaned. I wanted to yell out, but I knew that wasn't going to help. Instead I struggled against my ropes, and Mario knew I was going crazy. So he turned away, turning his furry, tight ass to me as he finally slid my briefs down to my ankles. He stroked my legs again, then finally turned his attention to my cock. "Wow," he said, licking the head gently.

I felt like I was about to explode, but Mario told me to relax and think about other things. He sucked me tenderly, his cock brushing my lips. I sucked him too, but he pulled out of my mouth. I felt his hairy body on top of me as he took me deeper into his mouth. Finally I shot my load in his mouth, the biggest load I could ever remember. When I finally finished, he turned around and smiled at me. "Taste this," he said, and kissed me, feeding my own cum back to me in the kiss. It was wonderful.

"You want me now?" he asked. And we did the same thing. He gave me his cock now, fucked my face hard, and shot his load quickly. I'd never had a cock in my mouth before. He tasted sweaty, and I nearly choked on his big dick, but when he came it was sweet and warm. I saved it for him, and he kissed me again, his tongue against mine as he took his cum back.

"I could let you go now," he whispered as he lay on top of me, his mustache brushing my ear, "or do you want to get fucked?"

"Fuck me," I said. "Please don't untie me."

He bit my earlobe, then got up off the bed. He untied my ankles from the foot of the bed, but left them tied together. He bent my legs up till I was nearly double, then started finger-fucking me. First one, then two, then three. I was moaning and growling nonstop now. Mario reached over, took some bandanas from the nightstand drawer, and showed them to me. "I gotta concentrate."

"Do it," I said breathlessly.

He stuffed two of the bandanas into my mouth and tied a third one around my face to gag me. I moaned into the gag to test it, but all that came out was a muffled "mmmmmph!" I looked at Mario happily, and he smiled back. His cock was hard and standing far out from his body. He took out a condom and put it on, then knelt on the bed. "This is gonna hurt, Andrew, but you're gonna love it."

He pushed my legs up again, putting a pillow under my ass, then stuck his head between my tied legs. He lubed my asshole quickly, then entered me with the head of his cock. It hurt like hell, but he was right: I loved it. I struggled, but I didn't want him to stop. He entered me further, fucking me harder and harder. Once he had the whole cock inside me, he let it rest so I could get used to having him there. He stroked my chest and stomach and rubbed my legs. I was hard as hell. Finally he gently began fucking me, then harder and harder. I moaned into my gag as loudly as I could. And when he came inside me, I came too, shooting all over the both of us.

By then it was almost five-thirty. I'd been tied up for over two hours! Mario untied and ungagged me, kissed me again, and helped me get myself together. "Can we do this again?" I asked.

"You bet," Mario said. "Every day, if you want."

And for the rest of my high school days, Mario was my best friend, coach, and lover. He made one hell of a ballplayer out of me, and one hell of a bottom boy, too. When I graduated, I wanted to keep in touch with him, but he said, "Andrew, you're gonna meet other men who are a hell of a lot better than me. And you're gonna play in the majors. So I hope you remember me forever, 'cause I'm gonna remember you. But it's time to move on." That last time before I left for college, he tied me to a tree in his backyard late at night and fucked my brains out, not caring who might see us.

I've never forgotten you, Mario. But there have been a few other men since.