Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Ballplayer

   By Jordan Bradders

   (c)Copyright 2016 Jordan Bradders.  The author reserves all rights. 
Permission is granted to download this story for personal use only.  It may
not be published in any other forum, web site, magazine, granite block,
golden tablet or book without my prior permission.

   The following is a work of fiction, meant for adults.  If you are under
18, or under the age of consent where you live, stop reading now and do not
download this story.

   This work of fiction will eventually involve sexual contact between two
boys, one 14, the other 13; but for now it's all pretty innocent.  If you
find plot and character development boring, you might want to skip this
one! If such stories offend you, stop reading now and do not download this
story.

   Neither boy is real.  If you have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from
reality, please stop reading now, do not download this story, and consider
getting psychiatric help.  If you have already consulted a psychiatrist,
please take your medications.

   If such stories are illegal where you live, stop reading now, do not
download this story, and consider moving to a more civilized country.

   If you enjoy stories like this one, please consider donating to this
forum.  Websites like this do not run themselves and are not free!

   All of my stories, including this one, are archived on the Alt Sex
Stories Text Repository at
/files/Authors/Jordan_Bradders/

   I really like SPECIFIC feedback on my writing.  Good or bad, it helps me
improve.  I also like story ideas, though I can't guarantee that I will use
every idea since my characters have minds of their own.  Email me at
jordan.bradders@writeme.com

   ==================================================

   Chapter One - The Away Game

   Paul sat in the stands watching the baseball game.  He wasn't really a
fan but his mother had insisted that he accept Mickey's dad's invitation to
attend.  He didn't really think of himself as Mickey's friend -- he had the
impression that he and his friends only barely tolerated him -- but he
often found himself attending cop gatherings because his single mother
worked for the Township Police Department as a secretary and occasional
auxilary officer.  He actually got along well with most of the officers,
but didn't do nearly so well with boys his own age, possibly because of his
lack of interest in sports.  Mickey's dad seemed determined to correct that
problem.  The night-shift Sergeant had taken him under his wing, possibly
because he knew he didn't have a father.  He didn't mind the attention, but
he just wasn't as interested in sports as Mickey and his friends.  That, he
reflected, was only one of the things that set him apart from most other
boys.

   The Sergeant kept up a running commentary on the game.  Apparently a
hopeless optimist, the man seemed determined that the Bobcats were "due for
a win." Paul watched as their first two batters got on base, having been
walked.  Even the non-athletic boy could see that the other team's pitcher
was pretty bad, almost hitting one of the boys with a pitch.  He probably
wouldn't have noticed the third batter at all except that the Sergeant
nudged him and said "Watch this kid; he's good." Then the man sighed. 
"Never mind.  The coach just gave him the 'take' sign."

   Paul looked up at the disgusted tone in the Sergeant's voice and lifted
an eyebrow, indicating his incomprehension.

   The man opened his mouth to explain as the pitcher wound up and released
the ball.  His mouth snapped shut at the sound of a resounding crack as bat
struck ball.  Paul turned just in time to see the small white orb flying
over the head of the right fielder.  The Sergeant was on his feet now and
said "If there was a fence out there, that woulda been a homer!" The
excitement was obvious in the man's voice as the batter rounded second and
stopped at third.  The big man put up his hand for a "high-five," saying "A
stand up triple.  That's what I'm talkin' about.  Didn't I tell you that
kid's good?"

   'I could pitch better than this kid,' Paul thought as the next pitch hit
the ground in front of the batter.  The catcher ran forward to catch it,
but it got away from him.  The Sergeant grabbed his arm and directed his
attention at the shaggy-haired blond who was running hell-for-leather
toward home.  The catcher grabbed up the ball and ran to intercept him but
it was too late.  Paul grimaced at the sight of the boy diving head first
to slap his hand down on the plate.

   The Sergeant literally jumped with joy.  "Three-nothing and no outs," he
almost shouted.  But all Paul could think was of that face he'd seen coming
straight at the plate, only inches from the ground.  'I hope,' he thought,
' he didn't damage that pretty face.'

   After that, Paul was fixated on the tall boy with shaggy blond hair. 
"What's his name," he asked the Sergeant.

   "His name's Billy." He turned and looked down at the diminutive ninth
grader.  "Can you believe he's only in seventh grade?  Mickey tells me he
plays football and basketball, too!"

   Paul watched the exchange of back slaps and high fives around the bench,
feeling a little jealous of the camaraderine.  Then he watched as the coach
called the seventh grader over, apparently to praise him for bringing in
three runs.  Then the boy ran off and started to play a very hard and fast
game of catch with another boy.  Turning to the Sergeant with a
disappointed tone, he asked "Are they taking Billy out of the game?"

   The man laughed.  "No, it looks like coach is putting him in to pitch."

   Paul grinned but shook his head in confusion.  His eyes were on the boy
some on the other team called "Goldilocks" when what he was starting to
think of as "his team" scored another run.  He laughed happily when the
Sergeant almost knocked him over as he jumped around excitedly.  'This,' he
thought, 'is turning out to be more fun than I expected.'

   His excitement grew when Billy took the mound, his shoulder-length blond
hair framing his very young looking face.  'Did I look that young when I
was in seventh grade,' he wondered as he watched the boy exchange looks
with Mickey, who was croched behind the plate.

   He started to feel more confident in his understanding of the game as he
watched and listened to the Sergeant's comments.  The first batter hit the
ball, but the first baseman caught it and he was out.

   The second batter swung and missed the first pitch, then hit the second.
The outfielder got under it and they had a second out.  'This really is
starting to be fun,' he thought as the third batter moved into position. 
'That's one big kid,' he thought.  'Is he really in high school?  Did he
get lost on his way to college?'

   Billy threw his first pitch and it was a strike.  'This kid really is
good,' he thought.  He giggled as he thought 'He's not ju8st a pretty
face.' The Sergeant turned and looked at him, then shrugged his shoulders
and returned his attentiion to the action on the field.

   The huge batter slammed the ball down the middle but the shortstop
snagged it for the third out.

   Suddenly, the excited fan grabbed Paul in a bearhug and spun him around.
"I can't believe it," he shouted.  "We're winning!" Paul was relieved when
the man put him down, reminded once again of how small he was compared with
some of the other boys.  Standing five-foot-four and weighing in at 110
pounds, he wasn't the smallest ninth grader in his school, but he surely
wasn't the biggest.

   The team didn't score and Billy was back on the mound.  'Where are they
getting all these giants,' Paul wondered as yet another really big boy came
to the plate.  Billy wound up and hurled the ball.  It looked to Paul like
it went right over the plate, but the boy didn't swing.  The Sergeant
grumbled but said nothing when the umpire shouted "Ball."

   Billy threw another pitch, which the Sergeant said was a "slider."
Again, the batter just stood there and let it pass.  This time, the umpire
shouted "Strike." Only then realizing that there are different kinds of
pitches -- that pitching is more than just throwing the ball -- Paul
started to pay attention to the moveement of the ball as it went from the
pitcher's hand to the catcher's mitt.  'They all look the same to me,' he
thought.

   Paul could almost feel the impact in his bones when the bat contacted
the next pitch, but it went wide.  The umpire shouted "Foul ball!" Bat hit
ball again, but it was another foul.  Paul could see that the ball would go
into orbit if this boy ever connected solidly.

   Billy hurled the ball yet again.  Paul noticed that the ball did
something different this time: it seemed to drop several inches just before
crossing the plate.  He made a mental note to ask the Sergeant about it
later but didn't take his eyes off the pitcher.  'There's something about
those beautiful eyes,' he thought.

   Another batter took the plate and Paul turned to the Sergeant.  "At
least this one isn't a freakin' giant!"

   The Sergeant nodded and laughed, but kept his eyes on the pitcher as he
threw for a ball, then two strikes.  Paul felt the excitement as the
smaller boy tapped the ball, but it went out.  "Foul ball," shouted the
umpire.

   The Sergeant muttered "Full count" as the tall blond boy stared intently
at the catcher, then shook his head.  He wound up and threw what seemed to
Paul to be a faster pitch.  It blew by the batter as he swung and missed.
Another strikeout!

   Caught up in the excitement, Paul jumped around and cheered.  He didn't
notice the Sergeant grinning at him.

   Mickey's dad grumbled again as the umpire shouted "Ball" after each of
the next two pitches.  Paul couldn't see it; those pitches had looked
pretty much like most of the others.  The batter connected with the next
pitch, but it went foul.  Looking frustrated, he swung at the next pitch
and missed.  The same odd exchange passed between Billy and the catcher. 
Paul started to wonder if they were trying to agree on a pitch, but then
his attention was captured as Billy threw another very fast pitch.  The
batter swung and missed.

   Paul leapt into the air, shouting "Strikeout," as if he knew what he was
talking about.

   The Sergeant turned to him, grinning like a loon.  "You gotta love this
game," he shouted.  "He just struck out the side!  A freakin' seventh
grader!  I can't believe it!" Paul saw him coming this time so was able to
elude the bear hug.

   The excitement continued as the Bobcat ninth grade team got a hit, which
put the batter on second base.  When Billy came to bat again, the Sergeant
didn't need to get Paul's attention.  His eyes were on the beautiful boy
when he hit the ball to the right, driving his teammate in for another run.
The next two batters struck out, stranding Billy on base, but they were up
four to nothing.  The Sergeant was ecstatic.  "They're finally gonna win
one!"

   Paul was disappointed when Billy didn't take the mound again.  The
Sergeant explained that he was limited to 20 pitches due to his age. 
'Shit,' thought Paul, who had really been enjoying watching the movements
of the younger boy's lithe body.  The other team scored six runs in the
next two innings.

   Paul thought he saw a tear in the Sergeant's eye when his son, Mickey,
hit a grounder that turned into two outs, ending the game.  The Sergeant
pasted a smile on his face then turned.  "That was a close one.  If they
coulda kept Billy in, they woulda won!"

   Paul and the Sergeant talked about the game on the ride back to the
school.  Mickey, Billy and the other boys, he knew, were on the team bus.
They waited in the parking lot for a few minutes before Mickey ran up.  "I
invited Billy to the barbecue, dad."

   The Sergeant dropped him off at his house.  "You and your mom coming to
the barbecue, Paul?"

   Though he usually demurred from these invitations, Paul enthusiastically
nodded his head.  "We'll be there, sir!"

   So it was that just a few hours later Paul found himself looking up into
the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.

   Chapter Two - The Barbecue

   Mickey and his friends had always been nice enough, but Paul had never
really felt they had much in common.  On the other hand, he had even less
in common with the adults, so he always gravitated toward the boys during
these gatherings.  'Besides which,' he laughed to himself, 'there's always
the chance I'll meet Mr.  Right.'

   He found himself standing in a circle with Mickey, Liam, Caden, Lucas
and Alec, large plastic cups of soda in hand, talking about the game, when
Billy arrived.  He didnt think anyone noticed when he didn't join in the
laughter when the younger boy asked for juice or water instead of soda.  He
knew what it was like to feel different from everyone else.  Trying not to
be too obvious, he made an effort to make eye contact with the younger boy
as he bantered easily with his fellow jocks.

   He smiled appreciatively as the older boys seemed to make an effort to
make the middle-schooler comfortable, asking him lots of questions about
himself.  He noted that the boy seemed a bit uncomfortable when one of them
asked if he had a girlfriend.  'Maybe,' he thought as Billy explained about
a girl who was a friend, rather than a girlfriend.  After a while, he
noticed that Billy was returning his looks.  He almost melted when the
pretty boy smiled at him.  'Oh my god,' he thought.  'What if?"

   Seeing that it was all in good fun, Paul did join in as the group made
jokes about the seventh grader being a robot, and was pleased when Billy
acted as if he was in on the joke.  'This,' he thought, 'is a smart kid,'
when he commented that he was to be decommissioned and used for parts if he
failed to fit in on this, his last mission.  He wondered if that was how
the boy actually felt -- desperate to fit in with the other boys.

   The Sergeant, who had been hanging out with the adults to give the boys
some privacy, came over and told Billy "If we had you to close the fifth
and sixth you guys would've had your first win!" Paul could see that the
younger boy was pleased, but he didn't get full of himself like some boys
might.

   Paul went to get himself another drink then stopped briefly to talk with
his mother, who informed him they would need to leave soon.  When he turned
back to the group of boys, he saw Billy walking toward the house.  Seeing
his chance, he intercepted him.  "Dude!  I'm not a big baseball fan, but
that game today was really great.  Even I can see that you're really... 
ummm...  good."

   Billy looked down at him, smiling, and said "Thanks." The younger boy
had seven inches on Paul, but his most strking features were his long blond
hair and his piercing green eyes.  'Up close, he could see they were
flecked with gold.  I could stare into those eyes forever,' he thought.

   Seeming embarrassed, Billy said "I was on the way to the bathroom" and
started to move away.

   Impulsively, not wanting to miss his chance, Paul blurted out "You know
you're beautiful, right?  I'd love to...  ummm...  get to know you." Afraid
that he'd blown it, he half-turned and said "Gotta go.  My mom gonna want
to leave soon." 'The ball's in his court,' he thought as he almost
literally ran away.

   Billy stared after him, confusion and excitement warring within.  Had he
misunderstood?  'He said I'm beautiful.  Boys don't say things like that to
other boys.  Not unless...  could he be a gayboy like me?' Sporting a
boner, he hurried through the house in search of the bathroom.  Though he
knew he wasn't huge down there, he was afraid he'd run into someone who
would notice the lump in his shorts.  'There it is,' he thought as he
spotted porcelain through a partially open door.

   Pushing down his shorts he consindered jacking off, but rejected the
idea.  'No way am I gonna do that in Mickey's house,' he thought as he
tried to direct his hardon down into the bowl.  Though most guys would
think about baseball under these circumstances, he thought instead of his
older sister, who'd always called him 'little brat.' That did the trick and
he was soon pointing his almost four inch dick down into the bowl.  His
thoughts returned to the older boy.  'That kid,' he thought, 'was kinda
cute...  and like he kept looking at me and all...  and what he said!! 
Wugh!  I hope hes still here when i finish...  like i wonder if he's like
in ninth too.  i never seen him before.  Like he must be if he's friends
with Mickey and the other guys.  What was his name again?' He shook off the
last few drops, tucked himself back into his shorts abd carefully washed
his hands before returning to the backyard.

   Paul stood waiting on the outskirts of the backyard, part-way between
the adults and the boys.  An outsider-- a non-jock among a group of
athletes and their families -- he knew he'd be screwed if the
seventh-grader called him out as queer.  He was, of course, prepared with
an explanation.  The younger boy had misunderstood what he'd said.  He'd
meant only that his pitching had been "a thing of beauty." But, he knew it
wouldn't work.  He'd somehow managed to get through most of his first year
of Junior High as a cypher, invisible to the elite.  He wanted to keep it
that way, but it could all be over because of one impulsive decision.

   After what seemed an inordinate amount of time the younger boy stepped
out onto the patio.  He didn't make a beeline for Mickey and the other
boys, as he might have if he wanted to share what "the little fag" had
said. No.  He seemed to be scanning the backyard.  'Is he looking for me,"
Paul wondered.  It had been the fourteen-year-old's plan to stay out of
sight and watch to see what Billy might do.  But he just couldn't do it. 
Knowing that he was risking disaster he stepped from the shadows and smiled
at the blond boy.

   His senses alive to every detail, Paul watched as the beautiful boy
walked toward him.  'Smiling.  That must be good.  Right?  And he's walkin'
kinda casual, like he doesn't wanna be noticed.  Would he do that if he was
planning to yell at me?  Or to punch me?' Paul had seen for himself just
how strong the younger boy was.  'If he punches me I'll go down like a bag
of rocks,' he thought nervously.

   None of that happened,.  The younger boy stammered.  "Hey...  ummm... 
like im sorry...i like kinda forgot your name." He giggled nervously.  'Not
so good for a robot...  my memory banks are suppossed to record
everything!" He giggled again then fell silent.

   "Damn," Paul thought as he stared up into the other boy's eyes.  "He's
adorable." All of his fears forgotten, he talked fast, before he could lose
his nerve.  "That's okay.  I'm Paul.  I meant what I said.  I think you're
gorgeous and I want to get to know you."

   Seeing that his mother was signalling him and not wanting the other
ninth graders to grow suspicious, he reached into his pocket and handed
Billy a slip of paper.  "That's my cell number.  Text me any time.  "
Smiling, he looked around the crowded backyard and added "Maybe we could
get together somewhere private and you could explain baseball to me.  I'd
love to help you out.  I could maybe polish your bat for you.  Or maybe I
could carry your ball bag." His eyes twinkling, he laughed "I promise to be
gentle with them.

   Just then, Paul's mother called his name sharply.  She had to be at the
police station for her next shift in just a few hours and was anxious to
get home.

   Paul looked at Billy and smiled.  "I guess you'll have to give me that
ball-handling demonstration later"

   Not breaking eye contact with the younger boy, he backed away several
paces.  "Really.  Text me any time.  I'm at you're service, stud." Then,
waving his goodbyes to Mickey and his dad, he ran to catch up with his
mother.  'God I hope he doesn't throw away my number.'

   Chapter Three - Emails

   Paul paced about the small apartment he shared with his mother, checking
his phone for messages every five minutes.

   His mother, who was preparing to leave for her night shift at the police
station, noticed and asked "Are you okay, sweety?" She knew he had very few
friends, making this behavior unusual, even for a boy known for his unusual
behavior.

   Paul gave the answer that had become his standard over the past few
years.  A slight edge to his voice, he said "I'm fine, mom." He didn't
elaborate, but did slip his phone in his pocket.  He loved his mother, but
hated it when she questioned him.  Especially when she questioned him about
girls; and he knew that was what she was thinking.  'How am I supposed to
tell her she's never gonna have a daughter-in-law or grandkids,' he thought
miserably.

   He breathed a sigh of relief when his mother took her regulation Glock
.40 caliber pistol from the safe, slid it into its holster and demanded her
hug.  "You're never too big to hug your mother," she said as she pulled him
tight.

   Truth be told, her job made him nervous and he worried the entire time
she was gone.  He knew she didn't go out on patrol, but even desk duty
could be dangerous.  But tonight he was glad to see her go.  His anxiety
had gone up every minute since he left Billy behind at the barbecue and he
wanted to be alone with his worries.

   'Did I misread him?  Maybe he's not gay.  Did I scare him off by being
too aggressive?' He got up and paced some more, then checked his phone for
what had to be the hundredth time.  Then he realized that he'd given him
his email address, as well.  'Did the kid even have a cell phone?'

   He took the stairs two at a time in his rush to get to his bedroom and
turn on his computer.  He had an email, but it wasn't from Billy.  In fact,
it wasn't from anyone he knew.  But he opened it anyway.

   hey paul

   so....  ummmm....  i like really ...  well , geez...  you like ...  ih i
dunno...

   thnaks for giving me your email and all...  and like what you said when
i was going inside.

   and like after i came out...  omg....  maxi bad way to phrase thst
huh?????

   hahahaha

   so like....  ummmm....  are you a gayboy??

   Paul stared at the screen, frozen, thinking back on what he'd said after
the younger boy had come out of the house.  "Oh my god.  He must think I'm
some kinda freak." Reading the email again, he realized that he'd laughed
about it.  'Maybe,' he thought, 'he isn't mad or grossed out or anything.'

   He clicked on reply but sat unmoving for a very long time.  'How do I
respond to this without making it worse?' He started typing:

   hey billy

   sorry about that.  didnt mean to freak you out.  was just playin
around...  kinda...

   just wanted you to know ...  umm...  I like you...

   He stopped and looked at what he'd written, thinking of what would
happen if the younger boy forwarded his email to Mickey or Alec or Lucas or
one of the other boys.  That last question terrified him.  He knew he'd
never have a boyfriend if he didn't take a risk, but did he really want to
do that in an email?  'No,' he decided.  'That's too much.'

   maybe we should talk in person about...  ummm...  stuff like that.

   sorry if i scared you...  im not really like that...  sometimes i just
say stupid stuff cause i dont know what to say

   i just want to be your friend...  ya know?

   Paul re-read what he'd written, then got up and went to the bathroom. 
Then he went downstairs to make himself a snack.  He returned and read the
email again, but didn't press [SEND].  He went and took a shower, his mind
whirling.

   Thinking about the baseball game and the barbecue and of the pitcher,
his hand found it's way down to his penis, which was already stiff.  This
was where he always jacked off, since his mother had accidentally walked in
on him in his bedroom.  He pictured the younger boy, up on the mound, his
entire body stretched out as he prepared to throw the ball.  He couldn't
help but wonder what he looked like under that uniform.  Did he have hair
under his arms yet?  Between his legs?  Both were huge turn-ons for Paul.
It didn't take long before he was spraying the wall of the shower with his
jiz.  His eyes closed, he waited for his heart rate to drop, then rinsed
down the shower.  His mother always got on him if he didn't clean up after
himself.  He suspected she knew what he did in there.

   He returned to his room, sat down at the computer and deleted everything
he'd written.

   billy...

   sorry i was such a dick...  your right...  that was a maxi bad way to
phrase that...  i just wanted...  i mean

   i want you to know...  i like you a lot...  and...  ummm...  yeah im
gay...  i think your maxi sexy

   you can fuck me up at school if you show this to anybody but i don't
care

   i want you to be my friend

   paul

   ps...  i do care -- please don't show this to anybody

   Knowing he'd change his mind if he waited, he pressed [SEND], then sat
at the computer, stunned by the stupidity of what he'd done.  'If he shows
that to anybody, I'm fucked.'

   Still naked, he walked through the house turning off lights and checking
doors.  His mom always laughed that it would be embarrassing if a cop's kid
got kidnapped, but he knew she worried about that so he checked every night
when she was gone.

   Then, unable to shake a sense of impending doom, he turned on the TV and
searched for a good horror or sci-fi movie.  Or even a bad one.  He knew he
wouldn't be able to sleep, maybe ever again.  'There's no way to take back
an email,' he thought as he scanned the program guide.









   (This story is obviously not finished.  Do you have ideas on what should
happen next?  Drop me a line or two and let me know!)

   =========================================================

   If you enjoyed this story, please do two things.  First, email me at
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