baseball – Mansploitation

The Dad

Avery is after a studly baseball coach for a kids’s team, and he just might land his man! Once the game is done, Avery’s favorite dad-coach Gordon is in need of a little release and some affection, which Avery is eager to provide!

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Avery was at the baseball game at Dirkfield Park, but not to watch the baseball, or the kids, or even the parents in the bleachers. The strongest dad was always the team coach, Avery had learned that a long time ago.
The pattern held true today too. He was Gordon, mid-forties, rustic, bearded, thick-bodied and flat-bellied but not skinny, he bulged all over, like his body didn’t realize how muscular he was. He was good with kids. Judging from the callused fingers and the scuffed workboots in place of athletic shoes, he was some kind of blue-collar worker, but Avery didn’t know what he actually did for a living.
The impatience was clear on Gordon’s face. The third-graders were not capable of playing baseball to any significant degree. Not a single real hit had been had all night. Gordon shouted encouragement when they got close, and he futzed with the pitch-machine every few minutes, growing increasingly exasperated with it. He seemed to hold out hope that they would play some real baseball at some point, but that hope was eternally dashed.
“Okay, Jakey, run! Jakey, take your base! Jakey, we’re counting that as a hit! You have to run! Jakey! Jakey! Jakey!”
“Austin! You can’t sit down in the outfield, bud! Stand up!”
“Watch the game! Where is right-field, bud?”
“Throw it to second-base! J’waun! Second-base! That’s not second-base! J’waun! J’waun! You have to pay attention — J’waun, I’m sorry, I’m not yelling at you. Just… It’s hard to get your attention sometimes. Please watch the game… No, don’t throw the ball to me!” Gordon hung his head and took a deep breath. “Okay, J’waun. That was a good throw. But it also matters that you throw it to the right place.”
“No, I’ve told you a million times, no phones in the outfield! You’re supposed to be watching the game! Playing! You’re supposed to be playing the game! Watch for the ball! You might have to catch it!”
“Fox! Fox! Fox! Fox! The ball, Fox! Look at the ball! Fox! Don’t close your eyes! Fox!”
It didn’t help that it was a hot, humid night. It didn’t even cool down once the sun set. Even in the darkness, the humidity was like a swollen woolen blanket that filled the air and refused to let any heat dissipate. Avery handed Gordon a bottle of water from the vending machine between innings. Gordon took a long swig from it, some of the water slipping out onto his scruffy cheeks.
“Thanks, man,” Gordon said with a nod. His voice was croaky and crass, hoarse like he chain-smoked, or used to. There was a southern twinge to his voice, though Avery didn’t think he was from the south. He sighed.
“Good game, boys, you’re doin’ great.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “You’re doin’ real great.”
Avery thought Gordon was great, the way he milled about dumpily in his ill-fitting clothes (which occasionally bared a flash of his hairy belly or well-muscled back), his uncaring swagger and focus on the game, the work-built muscles — you could tell he didn’t go to a gym, at least not regularly enough to matter, but he must have worked his muscles all day every day. The one thing that annoyed him was that Gordon’s wife was there in the bleachers too. She was a shrill harridan with dark hair and thin lips. She looked drunk too, Avery could tell. She sipped from a thermos in a way that seemed more suggestive of wine than water.
Avery thought it was adorable how good he was with the kids. He was patient and supportive and he always remained positive even when the kids made error after error after error. He kept that wan, well-practiced smile on his face no matter what.
“Okay, Fox, that was… Remember throwing? We practiced throwing. You can’t run the ball back to first, you have to throw it. Remember your hands! Remember your hands! Remember your HANDS! Good hustle, J’waun!”
It wasn’t until the next inning switch that the wife went to Gordon with a look of fury on her face. She ignored her own son, and she murmured intensely with Gordon. Gordon looked hurt, his square jaw quivering. She wagged her finger at him.
Avery felt instinctively protective of Gordon. He wanted to help. But Gordon didn’t say anything at all, at least not that Avery could tell. This was a one-sided argument.
“Well, fuck you, Gordon! I don’t need you, and I don’t need this shit!” she shouted. The kids and parents all stopped talking. Everyone looked over there as Gordon blushed. His wife was drunkenly bold though, and seemed uncaring of being the center of attention. The parents looked away, but not the kids, who were halfway on the field and halfway off it.
Gordon said something softly.
“Oh go fuck yourself! I’ll make a scene! I’ll make a real big scene! I’m a drunk, everybody! I’m a drunken hag, and I’ve ruined Gordon’s life! He woulda been a contendah!” She cackled. “You’re shit! You know that? You’re a big pile of hairy redneck shit, and you can’t blame me for that.”
“At least he’s not a drunk moron shouting profanity at a little league game!” Avery said. He stood up and went to Gordon’s side. “Ma’am, I thought it was inappropriate when you tried to score coke off me earlier, but I didn’t want to make a scene. Since we’re past that point now-“
“Wha-?” She cocked her head to the side as though ransacking her memory. (That hadn’t happened, she hadn’t tried to score coke. Avery just wanted to change the terms of the debate. The other parents all clucked their tongue and looked at her with cross eyes.)
“If you want to go snort coke, go do that but don’t corrupt the rest of our children,” Avery said as the crowd of parents murmured their approval. “They don’t need to see you off your mind on Peruvian marching powder.” Avery had to suppress a giggle. Nobody here, he guessed, knew anything about cocaine or that ‘Peruvian marching powder’ was not real slang for it. They all nodded and furrowed their brows at her.
A few people hollered at her to leave. She blushed and looked around as though trying to remember if she had actually tried to buy cocaine off Avery. It seemed she couldn’t rule out the possibility that she had done so and then forgotten. Avery guessed she probably used coke — she looked like the type — and he was glad to have guessed correctly. Avery smiled, clutching Gordon’s side and feeling the coarse hairs on his belly through his shirt. “I really think you should go so the kids can enjoy the rest of their game without you bringing down the tone,” Avery said.
There was a long, awkward pause. Finally she belched. “Whatever.” She looked at Gordon and scoffed. Then she tottered away. She had only just gotten off the field when she turned around. “Martin, sweetie! Call Mommy when the game is over!” Their boy, Martin, blushed and looked away like he might be able to pretend she wasn’t his mom (he wasn’t even standing in the direction she waved; she was too drunk to actually find him in the crowd of children).
Gordon took a deep breath. “Thanks, uh…” He paused.
“No problem,” Avery said. “I’m Avery.” He addressed the silent bleachers. “Okay, play ball. And someone call the cops to report a drunk woman leaving the park.” He looked at Gordon. “What does she drive?”
“Blue hatchback with Delaware tags.”
“Oh a Delaware bitch? Never marry a Delaware bitch, Gordon. That’s Rule One,” Avery said softly. He laughed and clutched Gordon’s bicep. “She’s remarkably stable and nice for a Delaware bitch.”
Gordon snorted. “Where were you eight years ago?” He clapped his hands and looked back at the players. “Okay, play ball!” He said it in a much more masculine and authoritative way than Avery had, so the kids erupted in activity right away.
After that, Gordon’s team, the Lammerdale Lions, was at-bat, so Gordon had less to do. One of his assistant coaches hung out by the pitcher’s mound to remind the children how to hold the bat, while Gordon stayed in the dugout with the other kids. That gave Avery plenty of opportunity to sneak peeks at his ass.
“Are you okay?” Avery asked. It was blatant how the other parents kept sneaking judgmental glances at Gordon, as though it was his fault his soon-to-be ex-wife was a drunken bitch.
Gordon shrugged. “She always been a bitch, hoss. Don’t worry.” He paused and cleared his throat.
Avery smiled. “The game is almost over. If you send your kid home with someone else, you could stay and clean up with me.”
“Why can’t my kid be there for that?”
Avery shrugged. “You never know what else we might do. I could help you forget about your ex-wife. I have a couple tricks that are very effective at that…” He licked his lips, loudly and moistly smacking them.
Gordon turned to face him and his eyes opened wide. “I ain’t down with that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Avery was disappointed, but he hadn’t given up. A lot of guys said no right away. That didn’t mean the answer would be no forever. It just meant they needed to prove to themselves that they weren’t too eager. Plus, he thought, it was easy to say no when it was just a theoretical option. When Avery was actually on his knees ready to swallow, Gordon might reconsider. There was still five and a half innings left (though the game would be called two hours after it began no matter what, so it really only had about twenty minutes). That was enough time for Gordon to change his mind.
“Yeah, good hit, Jakey! You got deep on that one!” Gordon shouted when one of the players actually hit the ball. It wasn’t even a foul, it was the first real, actual hit of the night. Jakey waddled straight for the bleachers to tell his parents. “No, Jakey! Run to first! Jakey! Jakey! Stay on the field! We practiced this!” But Jakey ignored Gordon and tried to get his parents to congratulate him, even as the entirety of the crowd shouted for him to run for first. Everyone wanted to see an actual baseball play occur.
Jakey got tagged out before he made it to first-base, which was impressive because the first baseman failed to catch the ball and then spent two whole minutes struggling to pick it up with his mitt. So all in all, that play took more than five minutes from when Jakey picked up the bat to when he finally made it back into the dugout. Five minutes for nothing to happen, one-quarter of the remaining game-time.
Baseball, Avery thought, was interminably boring. If it didn’t exist and somebody invented it, everyone would say “that’s not a real sport, it’s statistically indistinguishable from doing nothing”. Avery really did not like baseball. But he had to watch a couple games as part of his idiotic P.E. class — he couldn’t graduate without it.
Not that he really wanted to graduate anyway.
He entertained himself by watching Gordon’s ass in his tight baseball pants. They were wrinkled and unironed, a light gray with a green stain on the left ass. Avery drooled at the sight of his plump ass, and was he aiming it towards Avery? As he leaned over the dugout wall, it kind of looked like he was.
Gordon loved baseball. Unlike Avery, he not only thought it was a good sport, he considered it exciting. He spent hours at the batting cages nearly every weekend; he watched every Orioles game and nearly every other major league game; he even watched the Japanese, Mexican and minor-league teams (he had favorite teams in every league). He owned all the gear and could recite all the stats for his favorite players. He knew every World Series victory, the points and the plays — he could give you the play by play of every World Series game, and he could name every player and their vital stats too.
So he did get very frustrated watching the children play, dropping the ball over and over, failing repeatedly to swing the bat and generally just making more errors than Gordon had ever thought possible. But on those rare occasions when a kid did do it well, when it all worked — when his boy had caught the ball and dived for second-base to successfully tag a runner out — it seemed like a magical sport. Gordon thought less of anyone who considered baseball boring. It was the most elegant sport in the world.
When it worked, it was like ballet, he thought, not that he’d ever say that out loud.
It was hard to remember its elegance when the children were literally tripping over each other in their haste to run away from the ball. Gordon also found it distracting right now because this sissy was visibly checking him out.
But he soon realized no one was looking at him — the parents mostly just watched their own kids. People generally assumed Avery was Gordon’s weird little brother. They didn’t notice Avery staring at Gordon’s deliciously unkempt ass, thigh muscles fairly bursting from those tight baseball pants.
Eventually the inning was over, and Gordon went back out to be first-base coach. Avery had to sit by himself and wait. He was bored and didn’t have a very good eyeline of Gordon’s ass anymore. He did have a bulge in his crotch too, Avery could see that, but it stopped being exciting after a minute or two (a minute or two of absolutely, totally nothing happening whatsoever — Avery didn’t see why sports needed to have times when nothing happened. That was so boring it made the technically exciting parts of the game more boring by contagion).
But before Avery found a place to sit where he could see the game — and Gordon’s ass — easily, it was called. The two-hour mark was reached. In the end, no one could remember if the score was 9-2 Lions or 7-4 Pirates. So the Lions told their kids they won, and the Pirates told their kids they won, and everyone was happy.
When the dust had settled and the kids were all gone, it was just Avery sitting there in the dugout, while Gordon collected the bats and balls scattered around the field. Gordon had sent his boy home with a friend.
Avery picked up some of the empty soda bottles left behind in the bleachers. He tossed them in the recycling bin. Then he came up behind Gordon and whistled at his bent-over ass. “Damn… If your ass was a Chinese restaurant, I’d have the pu-pu platter.”
Gordon stood and blushed. “I ain’t into that.”
“I know. But I bet you could use a nut,” Avery said. “Come on… I’ll pay for all your team’s pizza parties.”
“What?”
“You guys have a pizza party after every game, right? Why not let me pay for it?” Avery said.
Gordon’s eyes opened wide. “You serious?” He came into the dugout. “Man…” He hesitated, then came closer, to where Avery sat on a bench. He didn’t say anything, but he got close enough for Avery to touch his dick through his baseball pants. Gordon closed his eyes.
“You ever done this before?”
Gordon scoffed like that was ridiculous. His dick twitched in his pants. Avery pulled them down, revealing an overstuffed jockstrap with pubic hair bristling out of it. Gordon closed his eyes. “Not sober.”
“Hmmm… What’s that mean? You do it drunk?”
“Don’t talk so much, man,” Gordon said. “If you’re gonna do it, do it.”
“You get drunk and do it a lot, huh?” Avery grinned. He lowered Gordon’s jockstrap, revealing a thick, meaty dick. It was already beginning to get hard, making Avery think Gordon must be exceptionally horny.
“No!” Gordon rolled his eyes. He flopped his cock over Avery’s face. When he had first hooked up with the woman he later married — that bitch who made a big drunken mess of herself in front of everyone — she used to suck his dick all the time. Gordon loved it. He acted it out now out of habit — he gripped Avery’s head and drilled his dick in until Avery gagged. Gordon blushed. He didn’t know why he loved it so much when she used to gag on his dick. That sound just made him so horny.
So when it was clear that Avery wasn’t going to complain about that, Gordon smirked and slipped his cock in deeper and deeper. Sure enough, Avery’s moist sputtering and choking was clearly enthusiastic in a way his wife had never been. She did it because she wanted to land a man, and she thought that was what Gordon required.
But Avery wanted to do it. He did it because he loved the feel of a man’s cock sliding down his throat, despite Avery’s instinctual urge to choke on it. Avery actually loved the feeling of his throat constricting around a man’s cock, and he loved the wave of pleasure he could see run up Gordon’s barrel-shaped chest.
Slobbering all over it, Avery murmured and cooed. He made a big mess with all the sticky precum coming out of the tip of Gordon’s cock. “Hmmm… You taste so good… Your wife is a dumbass for leaving you…”
“Yeah she is.” Gordon’s scruffy beard hairs quivered.
“Is the divorce final yet?”
“Nah. She’s just livin’ with her sister,” Gordon said. “Quit talkin’ so much, man. Or if you gotta talk, sound like a girl.”
Avery used his high-pitched feminine voice, acting as flamboyant as possible. “Hmmm… How’s this? I wish I had titties so you could lick ’em clean… or whatever boys do with boobs, I don’t know. Can I suck on a finger, Ralphie-poo? I wanna taste every part of you.”
Gordon grunted and groaned. No one had talked to him like that in a long time. His wife used to some, but even more than her, an old girlfriend did it; she used to talk dirty, beg him to let her suck his cock, request that he not shower so she could taste his unadulterated flavor. It felt like no one would ever talk to Gordon like that anymore.
Somehow being a blue-collar redneck had gone from stud to ugly tubby lardass even though his appearance hadn’t changed that much — women just interpreted it differently now that he was older and still had a blue-collar career and his thick body didn’t have that almost-six-pack he’d always had. He’d gained about fifteen pounds on his high school body, but it seemed like so much more.
He let Avery suck on his middle-finger, which was dusty and warm, while his dick jabbed Avery in the face. Every time it touched his skin, Gordon gasped and turned a little redder. He couldn’t believe how horny he was.
And Avery just teased him. Avery chased his dick with his tongue, giggling when he got a good taste and it twitched, and just that tiny moment of tongue-to-cock contact made Gordon’s whole hefty body shake.
“Hmmm… Will you let me lick your balls? Please….” Avery asked as though that was a debate — no one ever said no. He smiled as Gordon plopped his hairy sac onto Avery’s tongue.
“Goddamn…” Gordon moaned. He was already on the verge of orgasm, so it was nice to get his balls licked for a moment. That felt good but it also delayed his cock, so he wouldn’t cum too quickly. He figured if he looked like he enjoyed this too much, Avery would keep following him around and begging for more.
“Lemme hit that ass,” Gordon said. He blushed. He hadn’t meant to request that, he just thought it and his mind was too horny to censor himself. His cock throbbed though, and all he could think about was pounding it into some tight hole. He wished he had let Avery beg — he might have been able to get some more money out of it. Gordon grunted. He leaned forward and slapped Avery’s smooth ass.
“Hmmm… Will your dick hurt? Will you be gentle with me?”
“No.” Gordon grunted, his country-boy accent getting more intense as he lost his inhibitions. He was actually from Boston, but the longer he worked as a small-town plumber, the more of a country accent he acquired. He touched Avery’s ass again. It was so plump and round, like a woman’s but not like his wife’s, like a different, better woman, not even like his wife had been when she was younger.
Gordon slammed his dick in. He hadn’t intended to take his shirt off. But once he felt that tight ass clenching around his cock, Gordon saw that his shirt was just going to get in the way. Gordon didn’t want to do anything that made this less intense.
“Ah, shit, man…”
So he dropped his shirt on the dusty ground and plowed in deeper. His wife had given up the ass a couple times before they got married, but never once afterwards.
His belly jiggled and he sighed. For the last couple years — for most of their marriage — she had never fucked him without complaining. She complained when he didn’t initiate it. She complained when he did. She complained when he hadn’t showered. She made him shower and brush his teeth and shave before fucking (shave both his chin, his chest and his crotch). She made him lick her pussy, which she never once shaved after their marriage. She made him do extra chores. He used to do them and then initiate sex, but she’d just add additional chores at the last minute, no matter what, so he stopped doing any work until she put it on a list before sex. He didn’t put forth a lick of effort unless he got some sex out of it.
But jacking off was so easy now; it didn’t take any effort. He didn’t need to do anything but focus on ramming his dick all the way into Avery’s ass. He didn’t make Gordon stop to brush his teeth again; he didn’t answer emails on his phone, he didn’t complain to his sister that Gordon’s balls were “too wrinkly”. He just bent over and took it.
Gordon sighed grandly. “Damn, man, you feel good, shit…” He bit his lip as an orgasm exploded within him, not even noticing that Avery was already shooting his own wad onto the ground. “Sorry, almost done,” Gordon said, his voice breaking and strained as he came. He didn’t even get why Avery squirmed, orgasming beneath him. He was shocked because his wife had never responded like that. Avery felt so good he screamed into the night air.
Hot cum flowed into Avery’s ass. The feeling was melty and warm, and it was sticky, coating his flesh with creamy goodness. Avery let out a long, low howl that echoed in the stone dugout.
It had been a long time since Gordon blew a nut. He jacked off often enough, but that didn’t keep his balls from exploding now with years of pent-up cum. Even when he and his wife had had awkward, tense sex before she moved out, it had been so difficult it never really felt right, like he got blueballs even though he did fuck her.
But now, this time, it made Gordon’s whole body tense and shake. Sweat trickled down his broad back and into the crack of his hairy ass.
“Shit…” Gordon let his cock slowly flop out. He sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall of the dugout. “That was awesome.”
Avery smiled. “I know. You do that real good.” He stood up, hands still exploring Gordon’s bare chest. “Lemme know when you’re ready for me to pay for a pizza party.”
“Okay. You ain’t gonna give me the money now?”
Avery giggled as he put his clothes back on. “If I gave you the money now, how would I incentivize you to come see me again?” He walked away. “Just gimme a call. I’ll come over and make you forget about her any time you want.” He paused. “Anytime I don’t have class.” He paused again. “No, anytime. I don’t care about class.”
Gordon looked down at his dick, gleaming with remnants of Avery’s ass. “Cool,” he said. “I’ll definitely call you.” He paused. “Wait, I mean… We got an afternoon game next Sunday. I’ll, uh…” He realized he probably sounded desperate and nasty, but he didn’t care. He needed to do this again. Avery’s ass was mesmerizing until he got his pants up and Gordon could finally look away. “I’ll call you then.”

The College Boy

When a college baseball jock’s party loses its chance to buy a keg, Forrest has only one option… to see if Avery will buy it for him in exchange for a swing on his massive meat. Can Forrest perform and Avery provide?

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Massaging the Baseball Player

When Byron the baseball player needs some good luck, he heads to the massage parlor to see if Avery will rub, lick and worship the luck into Byron’s throbbing alpha male meat!

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Read the whole thing here!

“Is you into voodoo?”
At first Avery assumed he had misheard that. Why would he be into voodoo? Avery was a white man from right here in New Hampshire. He only recently found out voodoo was a real thing, not just a movie trope.
“Uh… Not really.”
“Oh.” Byron was a quiet young man with a juttingly handsome face accentuated by his ever-present blush. He was a redneck with a Louisiana drawl so thick you could make gumbo out of it. He was short for a baseball player, with broad shoulders that were sunburnt red, the color extending up his neck. He had a military buzz-cut, though he was not in the military, he went to GHU, where he was on the baseball team.
Unfortunately, Avery doubted he would get to touch Byron’s meat, not even here in a massage parlor. He was the kind of shy boy that would never allow that. He was probably a devout Christian (though Avery was surprised to see that he neither wore a crucifix or had any religious tattoos, which Avery would have bet money he had).
His fingers kneaded the tense flesh of Byron’s shoulders, making him groan and squirm as he relaxed. His muscles kept tensing up, then relaxing again.
“So you don’t know nothin’ ‘bout voodoo?”
“No. Sorry. I’m just a masseur.”
“Yeah. I’m from Louisiana.”
“Then it sounds like you should know about voodoo,” Avery said.
Byron chuckled. “Yeah. Guess so.” He rolled over then at Avery’s command, laying on his back. There was a towel over his bare crotch, but Avery could see the bulge of his half-hard cock. Byron had been too shy to get naked in front of Avery. It wasn’t a big towel though. Avery couldn’t tear his eyes away from that bulge.
“Are you… worried about voodoo?”
“No. Well, yes. Sorta,” he said. “I gots a game this weekend. A real ‘portant one, reckon. It’s a tournament game, and there’s gunna be MLB scouts. The Orioles, man. Orioles.”
“Oh yeah, cool. Good luck.”
“Yeah, thanks. I need luck, I do.”
It sounded like he was going to add something. Avery was quiet for a moment to give him a chance, but then Byron fell silent. Avery worked on his taut pecs, which rippled beneath his touch. Byron must have been working up to something, Avery thought, because he was holding his breath. Avery waited until it was clear Byron wasn’t gonna come out with whatever he wanted to say. Then Avery said, “I don’t have any luck to give you-“
“I know, I know. Look, I’s just — I went home last week, to Looeesyana. Just fo’ couple days. My sister got this court date cuzza her husband, he own a alligatuh farm — nevermind, it’s complicated, I went home,” he said. “And there’s… I ain’t a supuhstitius type, ya see? My family is.”
“Uh-huh.”
“My family do that, they… They got alotta supuhstitiuns and junk. I don’t believe ‘em. I don’t. But they do seem to work, ya feel me? They get it done. They work like a meatpacker on a Monday, man.”
“Okay…” Avery cocked his head to the side as his hands moved down Byron’s smooth chest to his six-packed abs, which were perfectly outlined even now, when he wasn’t flexing. Every minute or two though, Byron’s anxiety grew great enough that his muscles did flex, and his six-pack was gloriously visible.
“I don’t believe in ‘em, I swan. I been tellin’ my mama and papa that for years. So, uh, I ain’t tell ‘em, y’know…. Nothin’. I just… I wanted to get some luck, and I ain’t hanker for them to know. I went to these, y’know…” He whispered, “African Americans.”
“I see.”
“And they was, y’know, they got all kinda supuhstitiuns. I thought they was messin’ wit’ me at first, but I looked ‘em in the eye. They said it with a straight face, and they don’t mess wit’ that. You don’t even know, the blacks in Looeesyana are all about the juju — I mean African Americans. They don’t play games. They made me eat a crow.”
“They made you eat crow?”
“No, they made me eat a crow. It just tasted like chicken. But it was gross. They laughed but me, I ate it, and they said it would gimme luck.”
“Are you sure they weren’t messing with you? I don’t think crow tastes like chicken, they probably gave you chicken-“
“That’s what I thought, but they don’t do that, man, I swan. They take that ser-iuss. It sounded right. They wasn’t laughin’ at me,” Byron said.
Avery was very dubious about that. That sounded a lot more like a prank than a real superstition, but he didn’t see any reason to argue about it any further. It was clear Byron believed in it wholeheartedly.
“And, uh, there was anodduh, uh… supuhstitiun.” Byron’s face turned bright red. “It was — you know there’s like, spirits? Not demons! I’s Christian. I a Bible-believin’ boy. I don’t truck wit’ demons, nosir. But, uh, spirits is okay, they di’rent. And uh, some of ‘em is, like, Baron Samedi, you know about him, right? He famous. But a lot of ‘em are, y’know, more obscure. So if I can’t find a Wikipedia article ’bout one of them, that don’t mean he ain’t real. Spirits is real. They ain’t on Wikipedia.” He bit his lip. His dick was definitely rock-hard now, throbbing beneath the towel covering his crotch. Avery’s hands were down to his cabled-muscle thighs now, working the tension out of his tight muscles. “So, anyway, those-” he whispered again “-African Americans, they said there was a spirit who, uh… said I gotsta nut off without a woman this weekend, and I’ll pitch a no-hitter.”
“What?”
“If I do it, the spirit will make me pitch a no-hitter this weekend.”
“What? Those black guys told you that?”
“Yeah. I know you don’t believe me, you think ya yankee smarts makes you better than me-“
“No, Byron, not at all. I would never dream of talking you out of this,” Avery said, suppressing a smile.
“You think they’re messing with me.”
“Uh… Well… That doesn’t sound like voodoo, Byron. And even if it were, voodoo doesn’t work.” Avery paused. “But it’s none of my business. So come on, you didn’t need to take ten minutes to explain that. You didn’t really need to explain it at all. You definitely don’t need to convince me.”
“Oh.” He looked like he really wished Avery had said no. “Okay. Well… I’ll do anything to get in the major leagues, man. What if I can’t get hard?”
“You’re already hard, and I haven’t even touched it yet,” Avery said. He pulled the towel off. Byron gasped and covered his crotch. He blushed. Avery giggled. “Relax, relax, I won’t bite. You want me to turn the lights off?”
“No! No, no way,” Byron said. “I don’t want, y’know… I wanna see what’s happenin’.” He leaned back and covered his face with one arm. “Go ahead and do it. Go on. Oh, man, don’t make alotta sounds, okay?”
Avery smiled. He touched Byron’s dick, just a brief touch, then let go. Byron was still wriggling like the massage was going on, and he didn’t even seem to notice Avery had touched his dick. Byron lifted his head up, supporting his upper body on his elbows, which accentuated the size and power of his pecs. They bounced when Avery touched his nipples, and Byron’s eyes opened wide. He still gave little indication he noticed Avery touching him.
“I don’t no’mally take mah dick in front of strangers,” Byron said. “Just my teammates.”
“Hmmm… You guys always change together in the locker room?”
“Uh-huh.” Byron’s eyes moved down to his dick, just as Avery wrapped one hand around it. He gave it a stroke. It had been fully hard before, when he was covered by a towel, but he was more self-conscious now, and his fat cock had softened some. It was still part-hard, flopping left and right in Avery’s hand like a melted periscope.
It throbbed in his grip. Avery didn’t stroke it just yet, he simply held on like a handle. As long as he had one hand on Byron’s cock, it seemed Byron paid no attention to Avery’s other hand or his mouth. Avery kissed Byron on the pecs, just a chaste and dry kiss at first, then Avery sucked up the nervous sweat clinging to his skin, then Avery moved to his nipples. Even as Byron’s pecs bounced like a stripper’s over and over again, Byron stared at his cock resting in Avery’s hand.
Avery gave it a squeeze, and Byron jumped.
“Shit! Sorry, suh, suh, sorry fo’ the cussin’, I ain’t — I’s a Christian boy,” Byron said again.
“Okay. Christians are allowed to masturbate, right?”
Byron nodded a little too eagerly. He nodded with his whole body. “Oh yeah, yeah. Fo’ sh’ore. Kinda. Not sposedta do it all the time. Sposedta have a godly, you know, in the marital way, a bed, in the marital bed… wit’cha wife,” he said. “I ain’t married. It’s okay to, you know, you know, you know… mastuhbate.” It kinda sounded like he had never said ‘masturbate’ out loud before. He sucked in his breath.
Avery finally stroked his dick, just one time, rubbing his hand from the root to the tip, then back to the root, which he held onto with a firm hand. When he did, Byron jerked and twitched like he was being electrocuted. He gasped and grunted, and even those sounds had a Southern drawl and a Cajun lilt that made Avery smile.
Since Byron still had eyes only for his dick in Avery’s hand, Avery let his kisses move over Byron’s upper body. He kissed him on the neck even, almost hard enough to leave a hickey. He suspected Byron would be upset if he did though, so Avery stopped before leaving any marks on his neck. The thought of anxious-ass Byron trying to explain where the hickey came from made Avery chuckle to himself.
“No kissin’ on the lips,” Byron said, softly but firmly.
Avery nodded. He’d assumed that was a rule anyway, but it was nice to know Byron was okay with — and aware of — Avery’s lips all over his upper body. He even flexed his biceps now, giving Avery a pair of hard muscles to slather spit upon. He had a bicep bulge that was almost cartoon-like, Avery thought, wondering if that was genetic or what. Not since Popeye had anyone had such a bicep bulge.
Finally, Avery put both hands on Byron’s dick, and he slowly stroked with one. His other hand stayed tight on Byron’s cockroot, squeezing it enough to send little tremors of pleasure through Byron’s muscular frame. Avery’s left hand worked up and down the shaft.
His cock finally rocketed back to attention, despite Byron’s anxiety over getting hard, and Byron once again sucked in his breath. He lifted his ass off the massage table, then he forced himself to react again.
Byron looked horrified at his own dick as if he wished he had struggled to get hard. His veiny dickshaft pulsated in Avery’s grip, and his breathing kept speeding up until it sounded like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. His eyes bulged out. His muscles were all flexed rock-hard now, and they stayed that way.
As he stroked with one hand and held on with the other, Avery continued lapping at Byron’s now firm-tense torso and arms. He had never stopped flexing his biceps — he seemed to have not noticed Avery wasn’t sucking the sweat off his arms anymore — which gave Avery a chance to get into his armpits. The sweat there was especially musky and vibrant, wildly salty, and it gave Avery a heady rush. He sucked on both armpits. Byron must have noticed that finally, cuz he stopped flexing his biceps, then realized Avery wanted to suck on his armpits, so he raised his arms above his head, moving with clinical efficiency, like Avery was a doctor who told him to do so.
He had a boner, so it must have felt good, but Byron hadn’t yet given any obvious sign of that. He looked terrified of admitting it felt good. Then all of a sudden, Byron’s whole body bucked, and he again lifted his ass off the massage table.
“Ah, goddamn, boy, you got fingers like…” Byron’s voice broke and he blushed. “I dunno, I can’t think of anything with soft fingers. A baby, I guess, but that’d be creepy.” His cheeks were almost as red as his sunburnt neck.
Avery let go of his cock. Byron’s whole body twitched, and Avery smiled. Byron sucked in his breath. He was supporting his upper body on his elbows, but when he twitched, he lifted up and nearly fell off the table.
“Hmmm… I’m gonna use my mouth now, is that-?”
“Yes!” Byron nodded. “I mean, yeah. Fo’ sh’ore. Those African Americans said it would get me into the Major Leagues.”
“It won’t.”
“So I gotta, I gotta, damn, I got such a hardon. Sorry I just cussed. Sorry. I don’t — aaaah…”
“You didn’t cuss. ‘Damn’ doesn’t count. You did cuss earlier.”
“Those black guys said it, those black guys, those black guys, not all of them were guys, sorry, I was wrong, there was some girls. Women. Ladies. Females,” Byron said. He thrummed and licked his lips in anticipation, and his cock throbbed visibly, though Avery wasn’t touching it yet.
But now that it was clear Byron wanted it, Avery smiled and lowered his head. He bent over to make sure Byron watched as he planted his lips on the tip. It was just the tip at first, sucking on the piss-slit and slathering spit all over it.
It was hard as iron now, he was in no danger of losing his erection. Avery could tell Byron was concerned about that though. Young men usually were. You’d think they’d only be concerned about when they got old enough it might happen, but that wasn’t the case. Young men were always terrified of getting or not getting hardons.
Byron shook and trembled, his hands flailing above Avery’s head. Every time he accidentally touched Avery’s hair, he remembered he was with a man and moved his hand away. He closed his eyes every few seconds, then got overwhelmed and opened them again.
His cock was moving of its own accord now. Byron watched but didn’t reckon his hips pumping, gently, just barely moving, but moving enough to hump his cocktip on Avery’s tongue. It was soft and warm and moist, and Byron couldn’t believe the sparks of sensation erupting all over his body.
Those black guys were right, he thought but didn’t say, a man does do it better than any woman. Not that Byron had gotten that many blowjobs, he wasn’t like that. These black guys told him once to get a man to do it — not the Creoles who told him to do this as a voodoo thing, this was a different group of black guys he ran into when his team went to California for a game. They were yankee black guys, and they talked like black guys from a movie, and they said if your dick works, “you can always find a man to pay you money for a nut”.
Byron would never ask for money for it. But asking for favors from the spirits, that was allowed. In a Christian way, of course.
“Is you gonna sit on it?” Byron asked. He knew guys did that, put a dick up their ass, but it seemed weird, like an urban legend that would turn out to be untrue. Plausible but not real.
Avery nodded. “If you want.”
“Yeah! It’s prolly — the black guys said…” Byron sucked in his breath. Precum exploded in Avery’s mouth, and he sucked down every drop. “It’s prolly the way, the voodoo — those black guys said… the Major League…”
“Oh, yeah, the Major League will love it if you ram me up the ass,” Avery said with a giggle, as he slapped Byron’s hardon on his outstretched tongue.
Avery loved precum. He let it fill his mouth, and he savored the bright, salty flavor. He stopped deep-throating Byron’s dick now, lest he accidentally trigger an orgasm before getting it up the ass. Young men could accidentally bust a nut in a moment, it would be easy to do. Avery had done it before.
But he couldn’t bring himself to stop tasting the intensely masculine flavor of Byron’s precum. There wa something intensely Southern about it, like you could taste the pawpaw and magnolia trees in it. Avery wondered idly what alligator meat tasted like. Byron’s brother-in-law owned an alligator farm, so he must have eaten it a lot.
But he didn’t want to distract Byron by asking. Avery pulled his mouth off Byron’s cock at last with a smack of his lips. Byron sucked in his breath.
“I’m gonna do it. Sit my ass on it, I mean. You’re sure you’re okay with that? I can just finish you off with my mouth,” Avery said.
“Yes!” Byron said. His cheeks were red as cranberries now, and he nodded his head overly enthusiastically. “Yeah!”
“You ever fuck a woman in the ass?”
“No way! I ain’t a pervert!” Byron said. “My priest — Father Alcide — he said that’s a sin. He said only a pervert does it.”
“Hmm…” Avery shrugged. “I don’t agree, but whatever, you have to make your own decisions, Byron.” He kept one hand on the root of Byron’s cock as he rubbed lube onto the shaft. “You let those black guys tell you what to do, you let some liberals tell you to call them African-Americans, you let your coaches, those scouts for the Orioles, your priest, you let everyone tell you what to do. You’re a grown man,” Avery said. “Take responsibility for your choices.”
“Uh-huh.” Byron didn’t seem capable of taking in life lessons right now. He was thinking with his erection, which was pulsating like it might expode any second.
The massage table was wide enough for Avery to climb up there without Byron moving to make room for him. That necessitated Avery to let go of his dick, which got Byron jibbering like a hillbilly again.
“Aaaaah, shiii… ship! Ship!” He closed his eyes. “I wanna nut so bad, shiiiiiiiiip!” His plaintive voice turned into a howl of desire, as Avery mounted him.
Riding a man’s cock in the reverse-cowgirl position was difficult, but Avery knew that was what big alpha males liked best. If they literally couldn’t see anything but Avery’s smooth, girlish back, it wasn’t as obvious they were with a man.
That didn’t stop Byron from laughing nervously as Avery got ready though. His baseball-toned muscles were tense, all of the looseness that Avery’s massage gave him having melted away because he was focused on ramrodding a man and fulfilling his superstition. Avery smeared lube on his ass to match the lube he put on Byron’s shaft, which was so thick Avery was sure he’d need a lot of lube.
Amid the sounds of the New Age music that still played, both men fell silent. Avery held onto Byron’s shaft with both hands, keeping it in place as he lowered his ass onto it. Byron kept his hands behind his head, his eyes opened wide and staring. He grimaced when his cock slid in, then moaned as a wave of pleasure hit him.
“Ship, man, that feels like a girl’s ass…” Byron said. “Ssssh…” He blushed at the realization he was shushing himself. He twitched and licked his lips. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”
All at once, as his cock eased inch by inch into Avery’s ass, Byron realized that this superstition was silly. That was what he had thought even when those African Americans told him about it. But somehow as the game got closer, Byron’s faith in rationality — and his faith in Catholicism — diminished. He was willing to do everything to improve his pitching just a tiny bit. He made minor adjustments to training, diet, stretching, his daily schedule, everything was subordinate to baseball.
So it made sense, he thought, to do what he could superstitionally too. It’s not like it was even a big deal, he told himself, ramrodding a man was fine. Father Alcide said it was only a sin if it was uncontrollable, or even if you eschewed women for it, or if you were violent or mean or motivated by lust.
And Byron wasn’t motivated by lust. He was feeling lust, but he was motivated by a desire to play for the Orioles. Or whoever, the Astros, ideally, but they weren’t looking for a pitcher.
The pleasure flowing from his cock through his body felt just like it did when he made love to a girl, a fact that wasn’t as mollifying as Byron thought it should be. It just reminded him that “doing the premaritals” was sinful.
He oughta just get jacked off by men til he was married. It seemed so simple now.
“How does that feel?” Avery asked as he slid down lower on Byron’s cock. Intense pressure erupted in his ass, but he used enough lube that it slowly dissipated over time. It was followed by a low, melting surge of pleasure that grew and grew with every motion of Avery’s body up and down on Byron’s cockshaft.
“So good…” His voice broke, and he chuckled at himself. He stopped wiggling as his dick slid the rest of the way in, and Avery felt Byron’s kinky pubic hairs rubbing against his asscheeks. Byron’s hands flailed, then covered his face. “Ah shit, man…”
He must have been really horny — or embarrassment and anxiety turned him on — because Avery could feel his orgasm coming on almost right away. Luckily Avery himself was right behind, his prostate sending a wave of pleasure up his spine as Byron’s cock stimulated it.
Avery orgasmed quickly. He didn’t mean to, but he controlled everything about Byron’s body right now, and he could feel every inch of his jockish muscles flexing beneath Avery’s body. That made Avery moan and groan, stroking himself off until he shot a massive load that covered the linoleum floor beneath Byron’s feet.
It was Avery’s asshole clenching on Byron’s dick that sent him over the edge as well. Byron’s loud grunting and heaving grew frenzied, impassioned, and his hands gripped Avery’s back tightly. He held on as he lifted his hips up and really plowed Avery’s ass for the first time, letting Avery just stay there and enjoy it.
“Oh heck, yeah, this better work…” Byron moaned as he came. He hugged Avery from behind and held on tight.
Hot cum flew into Avery’s body, its creamy heat seeping through his flesh. He bit his lip and cried out, the sound dwarfed by Avery’s deeper rumbling grunts. They both sighed together as the sticky juices in Avery’s ass trickled throughout his body, coating him in Byron’s masculine scent inside and out.
Avery giggled. “You got a nice cock,” he said. “Are all Louisiana boys that good at this?”
His face was already red even before he came, and his orgasm made it even redder. So Byron didn’t show any reaction to Avery’s question even though it embarrassed him. “I dunno,” he said breathlessly, watching his cock plop out of Avery’s ass. “I never got cornholed by any Louisiana boys. Ship…”
“Well,” Avery said. He stepped off the massage table. “Lucky me.” He wiped off Byron’s sensitive cock and his own ass. He smiled at Byron. “Good luck at your game. If you win and want me to congratulate you, come back and see me. If you lose and want me to console you, come back and see me. Either way-” Avery touched his dick, which was so sensitive it made his whole body jerk, “-come back and see me.”
“I will.”

The Volleyball Player

Rob isn’t interested in volleyball, until he overhears that one hunky player is in need of a few dollars. That’s something Rob can provide, in exchange for a swing on his alpha male meat!

Can Rob satisfy this volleyball jock’s carnal desires?!

Read it now as an ebook!

Or read the whole thing here!

Rob happily munched on a taco, sitting on a bench near the beach. He watched the sorority girls splash each other. The sun shone brightly, and it lay a blanket of heat upon the beach. He hoped it wouldn’t dissuade the men from coming out, and indeed, the women soon proved an irresistible siren. This splendorous slice of California beach always attracted more women than men. That’s because there were three university campuses nearby, and all three were mostly women.
By eleven o’clock, sun-tanned young men were gathering in dribs and drags, and they made eyes at the girls, who made eyes back at them, and then mostly nothing happened, but it was cute to watch. Rob was a little old for this stuff. They probably saw him as “the old guy over there”. Luckily, there were a few older guys — like really old — so Rob didn’t come across that old.
One of them shot Rob a look like he was a creep. He was a bit young and slim for Rob’s taste, with a face like an overgrown infant, but Rob might have made an offer to him anyway. But Rob soon became entranced by a developing drama. That babyfaced fratboy seemed to have a crush on one girl who wanted nothing to do with him, while a different, somewhat thicker girl was all over him.
There was also a handsome dark-skinned man with long messy hair. Was he Brazilian? Rob overheard an accent, but he couldn’t quite place it. The man had a perfect six-pack, which Rob adored. He was a great admirer of the male form.
But the Brazilian man — if that was indeed what he was — did not look like a good prospect. He flashed a wad of cash when talking to a girl. A handsome man with cash and a girl already swooning over him was not likely to be willing to let Rob swing on his meat for a few dollars. That’s what he was hoping to find today on San Guapo Beach.
Rob was patient. He didn’t mind waiting. He loved beaches. He would gladly spend all day, or even multiple days, hanging out and waiting for a desperate man who might let him take a swing on their meat.
As the day wore on, San Guapo filled with college kids on spring break, including plenty of hefty, tanned and muscled young men who needed beer money and a ride home. Girls were too drunk to fuck most of the time, so the boys were frustrated and horny. It was prime hunting grounds for Rob.
He decided to go back to his hotel a little before noon. This part of the beach was filling up with family-types — women in one-piece bathing suits, carrying babies, and balding gray-haired men with paunchy bellies — so Rob left. Once the evening came he figured he’d be able to go back out, the beach would be crawling with young studs once again.
For now though, he was at a loss for what to do.
There was a crowd of people near the hotel’s part of the beach. Rob was interested and went closer — he didn’t normally hang out at the hotel’s bit of beach because his experience suggested those were the most scrubbed-clean, unexciting and banal beaches of all. It was impossible to do anything fun with corporate security goons on the lookout everywhere.
The Top Inn Hotel staff was here, Rob could see them scattered about, looking terrified of the crowd they had created. But the onlookers weren’t focused on anything but the match:
Volleyball.
It was a volleyball game. It was important enough for ESPN2 to be there filming. Now that Rob saw that, he recalled having seen a sign in the hotel to that effect. Was this a pro volleyball match? Was pro volleyball even a thing? He had no idea. Maybe Olympics qualifying or something.
Rob pushed into the crowd to watch. There were two teams of six playing. One was clearly the “away-team” — they were either Australian or New Zealander, judging from the flags on their shorts. The other were presumably locals, or at least American.
With some graceful shoving and sliding through the crowd, Rob got to the front, close enough that he could see the action and hear the grunts of the players when they struck the ball.
But he got to the front of the crowd only moments before the match was over. He had little interest in volleyball itself, so he didn’t much care about missing the game.
What he was sorry he missed was the guys — especially one guy in particular.
He was on the US team. He was tall and broad-shouldered, built like a jolly truck, with a hefty frame and a perfect six-pack. He was long-legged and long-armed, and he wore only short black shorts that extended just a few inches onto his thighs. Rob could tell his shorts were so short he had shaved the top of his pubic hair or it would have poked out above the elastic.
That volleyball player had a physique that Rob ached to admire. He wanted to taste his sweat-dappled shoulders so bad it hurt. He needed him. He wanted to suck the scruff off him. The blonde volleyballer ran his fingers through his confused blond mop of hair and said something frustrated, his words lost in the thrum and clamor of the dissipating crowd — his team had lost, and it seemed he and his teammates were upset with each other. They good-naturedly smiled for the ESPN2 cameras and shook their opponents’s hands, but they didn’t like it. Rob could sense it in them.
Rob milled about. He wanted that volleyball player. The man was obviously handsome enough to get a girl if he wanted it, but he seemed depressed. The women flocked to the winning team from down under — not only had they won, they had adorable accents. And Rob had to admit, they also had physiques he could get down with.
But they were not for Rob, he had eyes only for his beloved blond buck. He just needed to find a way to get him. Rob bought a bottle of water and drank it as though it was an important activity he couldn’t leave and do, so nobody noticed he was milling around for no reason. He waited for the herd to thin, and the cameras went into a van parked at the hotel. The excitement, such as it was, disappeared.
The argument between the blond and his teammates erupted out in the parking lot. Rob had casually walked out that way when they did. He didn’t catch the beginning of the argument, but he saw it end.
“I told you that wouldn’t work! Why won’t you listen to me?!”
“Now we’re out ten grand-“
“Oh please, he was twenty minutes late, we nearly forfeited-“
“Maybe you ought to show up to practice once in a while!”
“Hey fuck you, none of this was my fault!”
“I’m the team captain, and I said we should-“
“Then it’s your fault!”
As they argued, they climbed into a jeep. At first Rob thought they were all going to squeeze into one soft-top jeep (with the soft-top removed, so there was plenty of room, more or less). It looked that way. But then just four of them slipped into that jeep, leaving two behind to continue arguing as though they didn’t notice the foursome in the keep was leaving without them.
“I told you that I had the better strategy-“
“But you never showed up to practice to tell us about it!”
“Oh come on, I skipped like two practices!”
“Yeah, but they were last week. You were out of practice today. You cost us that match, Hark!”
“Don’t you make accusations, you little pisshole, you served the ball like a goddamn cripple that one time-!”
“I made one error the whole game!” That blond — Hark was his name, it seemed — threw his hands in the air. He was the handsome blond with a bashful tangle of hair and a perfect body. Rob was entranced by the beads of sweat clinging to the pit in the small of his back — there were presumably fine little hairs there collecting the sweat — Rob knew most men had that, but he couldn’t see them because Hark was blond and his skin there was light — and he wanted to suck up every salty droplet. Hark’s shorts had slipped a bit as he walked to the parking lot, so the top of his asscrack was visible. He had big plump cheeks that Rob wanted to put his face between and blow. His asscheeks were pale as porcelain, but his shoulders and his face were browned by the sun.
“Well it cost us ten grand!” the other guy said. He threw his hands in the air. “I’m walking back!” he snapped, as though he had any other choice. The jeep had gone.
Hark stood there watching him go. He put his hands on his hips and ran his fingers through his hair. He scowled, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He forced an awkward smile on his face. Then he turned around and nearly ran into a complete stranger: Rob.
“Ah! Hey. Hi,” Hark said with a grunt. He was normally charming and outgoing, but it was hard to restart himself after that fight with his friends. It took him a moment to switch gears. He had a naturally jolly face when it wasn’t tense with frustration.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m cool,” Hark said. He shrugged. “I just… Things didn’t turn out how they were supposed to.” He added, “Obviously”, because he assumed Rob was a fan and was as disappointed as he was that his team lost.
“You poor baby… you wanna tell me about it?”
Hark looked at him suspiciously. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Rob Winthrop,” he said. “Why don’t you come back to my hotel? I’ve got some weed. I’m not very good at rolling joints, but if you can roll one up for me-“
“Okay,” he said flatly. Then he blushed. “I mean… yeah, cool. I can roll joints. And I haven’t smoked in awhile cuz I was preparing for this match. Some good that did me.”
“I saw your match. You were really good,” Rob said. He didn’t mention that he watched about thirty seconds of it. “What was that fight all about?”
Rob of course didn’t really care. He was just making conversation. Hark explained to him all about the team’s conflicts as they walked back to the hotel, and Rob listened the best he could manage given the dullness of the subject. He had literally nothing to offer to a conversation on volleyball strategy and training regiments. Once Hark — Keith Harkness was his name, Hark to his friends — once Hark got into talking about it, his natural charm took over, and he forgot that this was a kind of weird experience — running into a random man and going back to his hotel room to smoke weed.
The smoking weed part was pretty normal for Hark. The rest of it was odd.
This wasn’t the first time Hark had met some fans he didn’t know and gone somewhere with them. It was weird that Rob was just one person and that he brought Hark back to his hotel room. Hark thought that was odd. But not bad, after all, and he really did want to smoke a joint. That would relax him after that disappointing match and the fight with his teammates. Later, after it was all over, he was stoned enough to get paranoid and wonder what would have happened if Rob was an axe murderer. But that did not occur to him until long after it didn’t happen.
“Man, volleyball used to be fun,” Hark said as they got to the room and Rob unlocked the door. Hark sighed. “I started playing volleyball when baseball got too serious in high school. People would get in fights about it and shit, Coach Shithead yelling at me. I just wanted to lay back and toss the ball around with my buddies, broh.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said. He shut the door once Hark was inside.
“But now volleyball is all about making it to practice every day no matter what, and my girlfriend dumped me because I went to this match instead of her niece’s christening… it was complicated, but she’s got like, eight sisters, y’know, I can’t go to all their stupid shit. That’s like… all the time, y’know? They have so many kids — christenings like every week! I don’t have time for that! I went to her cousin’s friend’s baby shower! I didn’t get any credit for it because she got in a fight with her friend.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said, rolling his eyes. “The weed’s in this box.”
“Hell yeah.” Hark’s emotions dwindled once he saw the weed and had a task to complete. He didn’t even just roll one joint. He was stuck on auto-pilot, so once he started, he rolled the entire eighth of an ounce into small joints. He was an expert joint-roller, despite his big sausage-like fingers.
Rob could actually roll great joints. He had only asked Hark to do it to get him in the hotel room. In fact, two joints Rob had rolled last night were sitting in the box. Hark didn’t notice them or realize it suggested Rob was lying about being unable to roll joints.
As Hark worked on the joints, Rob cleared his throat. “So… were you counting on the money from that match?”
Hark nodded. “I kinda need it. I bought this jet-ski last month, and uh… the salesman misled me about the monthly bill.” He blushed. “I mean… It was complicated. There’s fees and like… percents.”
“Oh, you poor baby,” Rob said. He patted Hark on the bare meat of his shoulder. It was firm and warm from the sunlight and moist from his sweat. “I could help.”
“What?”
“If you ram me in the ass and you make me feel good like I know you can,” Rob said, “I’ll give you two grand. I know that’s not as much as you were gonna make-“
“That’s more than I was gonna get it from it. We had six guys and ten grand, I was getting less than two grand out of it,” Hark blurted out. He bit his lip and shifted his weight uncomfortably, like he wished he hadn’t said that so eagerly. “Plus there’s taxes, I mean… you’ll be giving me cash, right?”
“Right. No taxes at all. So this is a lot more than you’d be getting if you had won.”
Hark laughed again, a nervous quaver in his voice. “That’s weird, broh.”
“I know,” Rob said. “I’ll jerk you off so good. I bet I do it better than any woman you’ve been with. I have a nice tight ass too.”
“Really?” Hark laughed. “I mean…” He blushed. “I guess… Yeah… That’s cool.”
Rob didn’t want to dawdle. He immediately pulled Hark’s shorts down — Hark had to lift his ass to give Rob easy access to his crotch — and bared his dick. He didn’t wear any underwear under those shorts. Rob had guessed as much seeing his cock and balls flop around when he had jumped and run across the volleyball court.
But it was nice to see it in person. He had a big meaty dick just like his body, all thick and girthy and strong, pale like his skin. His pubic hair was deep black though.
Hark sucked in his breath and held it in. His cheeks blushed a deep ruddy tone that made Rob laugh quietly. Hark held an unlit joint in his hand as he sat on the edge of the hotel bed, shorts down, looking like he expected to get smacked in the balls any moment now. He was ready to wince.
“Relax, Hark…” Rob said. He made his voice as feminine as possible to put Hark at ease. Then he lowered his head and kissed the tip of his dick.
It tasted like the beach, like flesh after sitting in the sun for hours. It radiated warmth, and the flavor of salty sand hit Rob’s tongue, as did the years of muscle-memory and strategy from Hark’s volleyball career. His hands roamed up Hark’s broad chest, while his mouth opened to swallow the tip of his manhood.
“Ah, oh…” Hark grunted like he had thought this would be painful and was surprised it wasn’t. He opened his eyes just in time to see Rob deep-throat him to the root.
A gasp escaped from Hark’s lips. He lifted his ass up off the bedspread, supporting himself on the palms of his hands. He was exhilarated suddenly, his anxiety vanishing in the face of the intense pleasure that rocketed through him.
He had been hornier than he thought. He was so upset about the match and nervous about being on TV, angry at his teammates and anxious at the situation with Rob that he hadn’t really given much thought to how this would feel. He had thought it was something he would just get over because he needed the money. It would be like mopping a floor — not pleasant by any means, but not the worst way to make a few dollars, and once you got started, you could just put on some Jimmy Buffett and think about something else.
That was what he did now. He put Jimmy Buffett on his cell phone, the tinny speakers filling the air and overpowering the sound of the dome. Hark had trouble concentrating after a few seconds because it felt so good. His hands shook with his cell phone hovering above his body before he could gain enough focus to get the music started.
The lit joint fell loose on the bed, both Hark and Rob having forgotten about it.
His dick rocketed to full erection in Rob’s mouth as Rob slammed his own head down deeply. His nose nuzzled the silky pubic hair of Hark’s crotch, while his hands reached up to tweak both nipples at once. Hark had big hefty pecs — Rob had been mesmerized watching them bounce when he jumped during the game, and now they bounced because they flexed under his fingertips.
“Goddamn!” Hark threw his head back and breathed through his gritted teeth. He laughed. “I never had dome like this.” He peered down at Rob, who greedily, moistly suckled on his dick as though trying to remove it. He slurped on it so hard it almost hurt, and Hark laughed harder to cover up his nervousness.
The sour and salty taste of precum hit Rob’s tongue. He guzzled it all down, making eye contact with Hark’s surprised face. The moist sounds of Rob gurgling on precum were loud enough to overpower the sound of Jimmy Buffett singing about the last mango in Paris.
“Are you ready to stick it in me? I wanna feel you inside me,” Rob said. He grinned and stood. Precum flowed freely down the shaft of Hark’s dick even though Rob wasn’t touching it now.
Hark clapped his hands, eyes giddy and heart beating. He’d never actually had anal sex — his dick was too big for any of his girlfriends to do that. He’d always wanted to try it though.
Rob rubbed lube into his own ass and bent over. He was going to sit on Hark’s lap, but Hark stood — he thought it seemed more manly to bend Rob over the bed so Hark could be on top.
“Ah, man…” Hark laughed again, as he always did when he was nervous. His cock throbbed. Precum dripped down his shaft. He ran his fingers through his tangled blond mop again, then watched Rob spread his cheeks. His tight dark hole winked, beckoning. Hark gulped. Was he really going to do this? Would he tell people about it? If not, he’d have to pretend he was still in need of money to pay for the jet ski.
Hark took a deep breath and slipped his dick in, just the tip at first. He felt resistance and stopped. He bit his lip. A bit more slid into Rob’s ass, which was well-lubed enough it felt like a trap, like quicksand and once Hark’s dick touched it, it was slowly sucked in more and more.
It was awkward, weird, his asscheeks strangely cold. It didn’t feel good at all at first — it wasn’t painful, it just didn’t feel like anything. Hark wondered if he was going to have to stop this.
And then a wave of pleasure hit him. He had been so nervous it didn’t happen right away. Once it did, however, it felt better than he thought possible. It was way better than being with a woman, he realized, because there was less pressure — he was so sure that Rob wanted him badly that it didn’t matter if Hark didn’t do it that good, or did it for too long or too short a time, or if his dick was too big, small, skinny or thick. He could just go with all his might without worrying about any of that.
He gripped Rob’s asscheeks and forced his dick in until his balls slapped against Rob’s flesh. A surge of sensations hit Hark, whose smile turned to an intense grimace. He let out a long low howl that was audible outside the hotel room.
Rob used one hand to jack himself off, while his other tightened into a claw that dug into the bedspread beneath himself. He panted, the potent feelings that coursed through his veins growing with each thrust of Hark’s dick into him.
“Oh god, shit, yeah, broh,” Hark cried out. He realized he was being loud — he had a deep voice so it carried well, it was difficult for him to say anything very quietly — but he couldn’t help it. It felt so good it was like losing his virginity all over again.
He sprayed a massive wad into Rob’s ass, great creamy wads of it coating Rob’s insides and seeping into him. Hark’s heavy balls crawled up in his sac, and still more sticky cum flowed into Rob.
Rob shot his own wad too, into his palm and on the mattress beneath him. But he stayed there, letting his ass get it hard over and over. Hark didn’t stop even when he was done. He kept moved his dick around as it limpened, turning all the creamy cum in Rob’s ass into a big wad of foamy juices that soaked onto the sheets.
“Damn…” Rob howled as loud as he could — which wasn’t very loud. When Hark’s dick finally plopped out, Rob sighed and shuddered. His exquisitely sensitive ass was so potent it hurt and he couldn’t breathe; it was all he could do to experience the climax rocketing around inside him.
Then, Rob collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed. He looked up at Hark’s ruddy body. “You wanna lay with me for awhile? The cash is in my pants pocket.”
Hark didn’t respond for a long time. He was too engrossed in his own thoughts, trying to decide what to do — should he leave or stay to cuddle? Should he do it again? If so, should he demand more money? He found the cash in Rob’s pocket, but still wasn’t sure.
Then he saw that tender ass, plump and bare and ready for him to go again. “Aw, hell,” Hark said. He climbed into bed and lay next to him. “I guess I could give you your money’s worth.” He placed his arms behind his head, accentuating his chest muscles and baring his armpits. He looked surprised to see Rob smile and suck on his nipples. Rob licked his chest and his neck. Hark sighed. “Thanks, man.” He found the joint he had dropped earlier, which singed the pillow, and he puffed on it.
“No, thank you,” Rob said. For now, he thought, he was right where he wanted to be. He had found the kind of man he was hoping to find when he came to California.