His pouty lips, which held a constant snarl caused by a small scar on the left side of the upper lip, transformed him from just another pretty face into a ruggedly good-looking man with an aura of sexual excitement. When I looked up and saw him in the bar's mirror as he stood there waiting for his vision to adjust to the dim lighting, he took my breath away. His eyes caught mine through the mirror and he noticed my wide-eyed stare. The snarl almost turned into a grin. He came over, stood next to me at the bar, ignoring me, and said nothing.

It was a small, straight bar in downtown Chicago, near my hotel. I had just gotten into town and wasn't looking for thrills, but I had wanted a beer before going to bed. Feeling his physical presence next to me, however, and sensing his strength and reacting to his good looks, I reconsidered. As the bartender came towards us, I held my breath and asked him, "Can I buy ya a beer?"

He looked directly into my eyes. My heart did a flip-flop. Up close he was even better looking: a clean-cut, muscular hunk a few years younger than myself. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "Yeah, sure. Thanks," in a husky voice, and then looked away as if disinterested in me. Somehow that apparent disinterest fueled my desire for him. The beer arrived promptly.

"Whacha doin' this evening?" I asked as he took a long pull on the beer right out of the bottle.

"Just got into town," he answered without looking at me.

"Me, too," I said, my heart pounding.

He gave me a slow once over, and took another long pull on the beer. "Got an exhibition game, tomorrow," he informed me, off-handedly, as though he were bored.

"Oh? What kind of game?" I asked.


"Hey, I played college ball," I told him excitedly.

"What position?" he asked.

"Second base."

"No shit? That's what I play." Sudden interest lit up his face.

The ice was broken. We'd been down the same road. We had a rapid exchange of school names, stats, and baseball experience, and I learned he was 23 years old, starting his second year in the minors and doing okay. I ordered another beer for us both, and he smiled, held out his hand and said, "Jeff."

I shook his hand, saying, "Jack." I liked him, besides wanting him.

We talked, standing there at the bar, mostly about baseball but also about things he didn't like, like the boredom of long bus rides, the tedium of the long season, and the phoniness of people he'd met along the way.

I commiserated with him, feeling I understood the problems, and sensing that he was opening up to me, that we understood one another, that we had a common bond. Finally I asked him, "Think you'll make it to the majors?"

He looked at me. He seemed to be thinking something over before speaking. Then, with a glint in his eye, he slid a hand down into his crotch, groped himself like he was either adjusting something or making a very lewd gesture, and said with a smirk, "Naw, I don't think so." His eyes traveled my body slowly, again, this time pausing at my crotch. The gesture and the look were so blatantly sexual that I was momentarily at a loss for words.

Staring at the hand in his crotch, I found my voice and asked, "Why not?"

"Cause I'd rather play with YOUR Louisville Slugger than with theirs," he answered with a grin.

I stared at him for a moment not certain I had heard correctly. Then, I felt my face flush. I sucked in my breath in surprise. I wanted to say, Hey, who's putting the moves on whom, here? But I forced myself to think, and asked, in a voice strained with emotion, "Batter up?"

He laughed, delighted with my reaction. He went right to the point and asked, "Where're ya stayin'?"

I told him. It turned out that's where he was staying, too.

"Let's get out of here," he said. "You can buy me a beer up in your room."

Just like that. We were going to my room. No phony build-up like, Do you want to make it with me? or What do you like to do in bed?, or any of that crap. Just, Let's get out of here. I loved it.

We left immediately. I said to myself, I think I'm about to hit a home run.

By the time we'd both stripped to our jockey shorts, I began thinking, Wait a minute, that's a very big bulge! I was kneeling at his feet, removing his shoes, socks and trousers. We'd played around a bit, enough to discover we were very hot for one another, but aside from a few quick gropes, the length of pipe hidden under his shorts was something of a surprise to me. Held in by the white fabric, it angled to the right extending all the way to his hip and pushed the cotton another inch or so beyond. By age 26, I'd seen more than my fair share of tools, of every dimension and hue, but this one, once uncovered, would surely take the Grand Prize, I was certain.

I slid my hand up his inner thigh to his cotton covered balls and lightly fondled them as he sucked in his breath with pleasure. His outlined weapon throbbed in response, enlarging the bulge. I slid my fingers along its length, following it all the way to the tip, beyond his hip. Solid flesh pulsated beneath my fingers. Whatever was under there, I realized, was awesome.

"That's MY Louisville Slugger," he informed me in a husky voice dripping with sexual innuendo. "Think you can bat with it?"

I held my breath in anticipation, grasped the waistband of his shorts with both hands, and pulled the garment towards me, slowly exposing the angled meat. My eyes popped open in amazement. What a sight! It wasn't just long, it was long, thick, and heavily veined, yet streamlined, well proportioned, beautifully colored, and incredibly, incredibly stunning. As I watched, it lifted and launched itself up out of the confines of the jockeys, not into an upright position but pointed at my face. I tugged the shorts downward, exposing his balls. With a cock that big, I was expecting to see elephant balls, but was pleased to discover a perfect set of Grade-A egg-sized testicles in a tightly crinkled, swollen scrotal sac of perfect dimensions. Like all ball players I have ever known, his personal hygiene was meticulous and he smelled clean, fresh and delicious, lightly scented with masculine odors caused by flows of anticipatory lubrication.

"Wow!" was all I said. He understood. I wasn't the first man down on his knees worshiping in front of this young god. As he watched my impressed reaction to his physical beauty, his cock grew stiffer and slowly raised its head upward to stand rigidly and pulse proudly before me. It stood and throbbed, angled outward but reaching the height of his belly button. His was one of the largest erections I have ever seen, and the most handsome. I once read a book wherein the author took seven pages to describe a cock. Jeff's was a cock for which comparable excess would not be misplaced, deserving of even more than seven pages. But, while huge, proportions like the size of the head vs. the diameter of the shaft, or the length of the head vs. the length of the scrotum, were in perfect symmetry and therefore the impression of bigness did not cause alarm, just lust.

"Some bat, eh!" he whispered. Then he grabbed it at the base and swung it. It slapped against my cheek and temple. He slid his hips, pulling the cock across my face and then swung it again, hitting my other cheek and temple. Again and again and again he slapped both sides of my face with the heavy organ, which grew stiffer and harder, redder and larger, with each thwack. I loved it. The heat of the slaps set my face aglow. He wasn't trying to injure me at all, he was just playing with me like the overgrown kid that he was, and he knew he was playing with an equally overgrown kid, me.

To divert his attention, and to keep from getting battered unconscious, I put out my flattened tongue like I wanted to lick a lollipop. He grinned and, still swinging his hips, slid the tip of the cockhead back and forth against my tongue. It felt great to feel that big thing on my tongue. It tasted delicious. And the touch of my hot, wet tongue must have felt good to him, too, because his swings became slower and narrower until finally he was simply pressing that big cock against my licking tongue, which wrapped itself around the fat head with tremendous pleasure.

"Oooh," he sighed, "you DO know how to handle a bat." He applied pressure and I sucked in the entire, huge glans. Somehow, it didn't seem as big as I thought it would. I found that I could handle it with comfort, so I gave the task of sucking his cock my very best effort. He quickly sensed he was in the hands of an expert, and seemed to relax, letting me do all the work. Before long, I had to rise from the kneeling position so I could stay at the proper angle to allow the insistent cock entry into my throat. Bending over, I was able to force down more and more of his marvelous meat.

Jeff began whimpering and humping little jabs into me, helping to get as much of himself into me as possible. I was in no position to look up, but I glanced to the side and saw in a wall mirror that he was watching me intently, both directly and through the mirror. Our eyes caught and held. My own throbbing erection was poking out over the elastic waistband.

It was his turn to say, "Wow!" "Ummmmm!" I agreed, vibrating his entire cock. The scene looked fantastic. Three-quarters of his cock were down my throat and we both could clearly see the sexy connection in the mirror. I bobbed several times and then, breathing on the up-draw and forcing myself downward on the downslide, I worked as hard as I've ever worked sucking cock to get that splendid monster down to the base, into me completely. We both watched, in equal amazement, as my head relentlessly descended on the stiff meat. At last, it was in all the way. I stretched my mouth as wide open as possible and wiggled my tongue out against his balls. He could go in no deeper, but it seemed twice as deep as anyone had ever gone before.

"Look at that! What a bat-boy!" he said excitedly. "No one has ever taken me down to the balls, man! Christ, look at that!" He humped experimentally. It felt good to both of us. He humped again and I sucked with all my strength. Then, I swallowed. For a cock lodged deep in a throat, a swallow is like a fist slowly, tightly, sliding down the length of the organ. It is an extremely erotic feeling for both partners. He groaned with excitement. I swallowed again. His mouth fell open, his eyes glazed over, his hips jabbed into me frantically, balls crushing into my chin, abdominal muscles pressing tightly against my forehead, and he blasted off into orgasmic wonderment. I bobbed, higher and higher, feeling spurt after spurt of cum filling me, swallowing to increase our pleasures, and finally rising to capture his cockhead in my mouth. I lapped up the oozing remnants of his hardy ejaculation, loving the taste of his jism. When he seemed dry, I deep-throated back to the base and held him there until he pleaded for release.

He staggered back, eyes wide, popping his cock out of my mouth, plopped down on the edge of the bed, naked legs splayed wide, arms stretched out behind him to hold himself from toppling over, and gaped at me. "I don't know what I was expecting when I saw you standing in the bar, Jack, but THIS was what I had been hoping for, for a long, long time. You're the first I've ever met, who does it right!" He sighed, smiling. "I do it right, too, you'll see. But you're the first," he repeated.

"You mean I made it to first base?" I asked, holding my breath.

"No, man," he sighed with emotion, "you just hit a home run!"

"Yes!" I agreed with enthusiasm, clenching my fist for emphasis.

We had been lying next to one another on the bed for a while as he regrouped his energies, talking casually, like old friends. I still had an erection poking up out of my shorts. I studied his muscular frame and excellent development. He was unembarrassed by his nudity as athletes are, and oblivious to my stares. Lying beside him, talking with him, was a true pleasure.

He rose up on one elbow and said, "I gotta take a leak." He got up and went towards the bathroom. I followed, watching the play of muscles as he walked before me.

He took a wide stance in front of the commode, hands on his hips, and began urinating. I watched from behind, and also watched from a completely different angle through the large bathroom mirror. It was only a young man peeing, but I found it very stimulating. From whatever angle I looked at him, he was beautiful. Strong, handsome, virile and athletic, yet boyish, charming, humorous and sensitive. Aside from the small scar on his lip, which enhanced his appeal, I saw no other blemish on his entire body. It was difficult to keep from reaching out and touching him. I wanted to be in constant physical contact with him. I was having very strong emotional reactions to him. Stronger than I could remember having with any other partner, of which there had been so many. Well, except for a Marine years earlier, but that's another story.

He flushed the toilet and moved to the sink. He washed his groin with soap and hot water, rinsed well with cool water, and dried off. He looked up and smiled at me through the mirror from time to time, taking note that I was studying his every move. He seemed to see right through me.

"Those scars on your thigh, Jack. What are they?" he asked. He had been studying me right back.

"I got spiked," I answered calmly.

"Spiked! Christ, I thought spiked shoes when out a long time ago," he said as he bent over to study the scars.

"Well, not in the college league we played in."

"I've never seen a spike-scar. It's like a badge of honor." He gave me a warm smile. I smiled back, remembering how I got them and pleased with his reaction.

As we headed back towards the big double bed, he hooked an arm affectionately around my neck and whispered, "It's the bottom of the inning. I scored in the top, and now it's your turn. YOUR Louisville Slugger looks ready to blast one deep into center." He grinned, holding me tight, then he released me and dove onto the bed to lay there on his stomach, legs apart, his long cock pointing to the foot of the bed.

I had seen open invitations in my life, before, but this one really surprised me. I don't have to be hit over the head to know that no man intentionally lies on his stomach with his legs splayed apart in front of a man with a hardon unless he expects to get fucked. I slipped off my shorts and stepped up to home plate with overwhelming excitement, knowing I was about to hit another home run. A grand slam!

Penetration was not easy. He wanted to be fucked, yet he was both inexperienced and very tight. And I was much bigger than he had expected. While he kept saying, "Wait!" he never said, "Stop." He gritted his teeth, groaned a little, but clung tightly to a pillow, hiding his face in its softness, and let me do the hard plowing.

His well-muscled buttocks were firm and full, and felt terrific as I slowly eased my cock between those mighty mounds of masculinity and into him until I was pushing flat against them. From this angle, lying on top of him, I was in as far as I could go. I rested, amazed at his heat and extreme tightness. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tensions went out of him and he gradually began to adjust to the anal assault. I waited eagerly, but patiently, feeling the progressive responses in his body and knowing the wait would be worth the effort it took to concentrate on not blowing my cool and fucking the shit out of him right then and there.

I lay still, my legs between his, my chest pressed against his back, our hearts thumping, my dick throbbing in his hot, moist channel. Then, he raised his head out of the pillow and let out a long sigh. "Oh, man," he hissed softly, "what a fucker!"

He humped back at me, shoving my cock in deeper. He pulled away and then humped back again, controlling the movements and getting used to the strain in his rectum. I watched beads of sweat form on his brow. He was doing his best to make this memorable. For both of us!

I realized I was oozing streams of lubricant into him. I knew it was helping to make the contact slipperier and therefore easier on him. Every instinct in me told me to fuck his brains out, not caring about his discomfort, but I knew it would be better for both of us if I let him direct the action. I knew him well enough by now to know he wouldn't let me down.

And he didn't. He became very vocal, telling me how good it was starting to feel with my big cock up his ass; how full and satisfied he felt with me inside of him; how hot it was starting to make his own cock feel; how stimulated he was getting, feeling the fuck throughout his whole body. I loved it.

Then, he began to squirm, roll, hump and grind, all in an effort to improve the pleasures of the fuck. I reacted with tricks of my own, and soon we were engaged in an athletic, almost acrobatic, screwing of major proportions, shaking that bed and rattling the rafters. People in rooms all around us must have known a royal fuck was in progress.

Suddenly, Jeff wanted to turn over so he could watch me fucking himself. I pulled out, my cock hot, moist and throbbing with lust, and plunged right back in after he turned over and lifted his legs. I held his ankles high in the air, rolling his hips, and plugged him good. We were both able to see my shaft pumping in and out of his tight little asshole, while he started a slow masturbation on his giant weapon. It looked incredible.

Finally, he said, "I want to sit on it, man."

It took a moment for me to react, but then I once more pulled out and we exchanged positions. I was lying on my back, holding my erection upright, and Jeff was squatting above it, ready to lower himself downward and impale himself on my massive, powerful, pulsating penis.

"I've always secretly desired to be a catcher," he admitted with a grin, "'cause I love the way they squat." With that, he squatted downward athletically, forcing his tightness over my cock, and then immediately began to raise and lower himself on the full length of my erection. It was heavenly. Here was an incredibly handsome, young, hung, muscular professional athlete working himself into a frenzy on my cock. Rapture was written all over his face. He was loving every inch of my dick deep inside him. And so was I!

I lay there transfixed. It was becoming impossible to withhold my orgasm. His tight, moist heat was sucking the cum out of me, demanding its release as payment for the pleasure he was giving me. As I watched him stroking his giant cock, and felt him squeezing his rectal muscles to improve the exquisite contact, I whispered, "I'm gonna blast off, man."

"Oh! Yeah! Do it!" he grunted, pumping faster on his big organ, "Let's blast off together!"

With that, he shuddered and came to a full stop at the base of my cock. His cockhead flared to its maximum dimension, looking awesome, and then spat a thick wad of cum right at my face. It landed on my upper lip with a splat. Its rich odor and exotic touch lifted me over the brink and I came. Explosively!

We both watched his endless ejaculation as he pumped cum all over me. I lapped up the sperm on my lip and fingered more into my mouth as it landed on my chin, my chest and my abdomen. I couldn't get enough of it. It tasted much better than when I had sucked him off, for some reason.

His orgasm did spectacular things to his rectum, and my wrenching salvos of cum were siphoned out of me and into his tight heat. It was so enthralling I thought I would pass out. I wanted to stay inside of him forever.

Without breaking the connection between us, he slid his feet back, kneeling over me, and then he slid his entire body down on top of me. The weight of him felt wonderful. We held a long embrace. Slowly, he worked my cock out of his ass. He let out a long sigh as it emerged.

"What a ballgame!" he whispered excitedly in my ear, nibbling at it.

"Yeah," I agreed, "what a ballgame!" And, as he led me to the bathroom, where we would shower together, I knew we still had an inning or two left to play. Maybe even a double-header!


Jack Sofelot


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