The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (38 page)

Except for the captain of the team, that is. Donovan was a long, lean, obviously athletic guy with short, rubbable black hair and brilliant, knee-sagging green eyes. He reminded me of Alex
Rodriguez of the Yankees, and I could tell by the way he was throwing balls around during warm-up that he could really play the game.

We ended losing 21–19 to the Wheaties in a tight-scoring affair, but I had a good time and got a heck of a lot more exercise than I thought I would. Some of the old skills returned along
with the arm soreness and the stitch in my side, and I found myself running the bases virtually every time I stepped up to the plate. And when our team captain saw I could field the ball without
closing my eyes and offering a prayer, he put me in left field, which meant I was chasing down balls almost every inning, as well.

The best part of the game, though, was sporting young Donovan. He was decked out in a pair of tight, silky blue shorts and a blue-mesh muscle shirt. I reverentially watched him coil at the
plate, knees bent and bum waggling, run the bases after a hit, powerful bronze thighs and arms pumping, loose cock flopping. And I had a good, unobstructed view of his big, rounded butt from my
position in left field as he crouched in the hole between second and third. I fantasized about filling the stud’s own hole with my bat and balls, field-dreaming that a fall-summer sexual
encounter could be as natural as Roy Hobbs.

“Hey, you ever think of playing serious ball?” Donovan asked me after the game, when we were stowing the baseball gear in his equipment bag. “You’re pretty good, you
know.”

“Thanks,” I replied, beaming. “What do you mean – serious ball?”

“Well, I just play on this team for fun, and to recruit new talent. I’m on another team with a bunch of guys who play a lot harder. Thought you might be interested in stepping it up
a notch.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I’m interested, absolutely,” I blustered, lost in the guy’s twinkling emerald eyes. I was willing to even play on the Tampa Bay Devil Rays if it meant
spending more quality, sweaty time with the D-Man. “When do you guys play?”

Donovan cracked a blindingly white smile that lit up my small corner of the world. “Every Friday night. Why don’t you come out this week?”

If I squeezed in a massage and a session with my chiropractor, I could just maybe make it to a Friday game in one piece. “Great. I’d love to come . . . out,” I enthused,
watching Donovan’s kitten-pink tongue part his thick lips and apply lubrication.

“Excellent. I’ll give you my address. The guys always get together before the game to strategize and stuff.”

They did take their diamond-ball seriously. Donovan gave me his address, and I memorized it like some guys memorize baseball stats.

That Friday night, I bumped the kerb a couple of doors down from Donovan’s house at six o’clock sharp. He lived in the funky, elm-shaded neighbourhood we strait-laced, suburban Sioux
Fallsians call the Yippie District. And Donovan’s place turned out to be an old, refurbished, two-storey job painted a wild neon green with purple trim.

I wasn’t absolutely sure of the young man’s sexuality, but the house and the ’hood were sending out the right vibes. And so was the flamboyant tease with the pink hair and blue
nose studs who answered the bell when I rang. “You must be Malcolm,” he gushed, spilling some of his drink and his spit. He winked at me. “I hear you can really play.”

Dressed in black leather pants and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, drinking anything but Gatorade, the guy looked about as ready for a ball game as my dead uncle Clarence. “We’re all
in the backyard,” he whispered, breathing booze in my face. Then he pirouetted and sashayed away down the hallway.

I followed his tight, twitching buns through the eclectically furnished house and out onto a creaking back porch that overlooked a small-size backyard. The yard was surrounded by an
eight-foot-high cedar fence, and there were enough guys crammed into the green space to make up a ball team, all right; but they were playing a different kind of catch entirely.

A long-haired blond and a flat-top redhead were passionately making out in a shaded corner of the fence, Blondie gripping Red’s head while Red gripped Blondie’s ass, their tongues
entwining like the ivy at Wrigley Field. Two more players were executing the ol’ squeeze play on a third guy in another corner of the yard, their mouths attached to his sun-burnished nipples,
sucking and licking and biting, their hands on his blue-jeaned equipment, rubbing and squeezing and stroking. The double-played dude had his back up against the fence and his shirt up around his
neck, his hands on his buddies’ heads, as he got licked and sucked and manhandled.

And smack in the middle of that miniature field of dreams, a guy suddenly sank to his knees in the grass and deftly unbelted and unzipped another guy. He tugged his pal’s jeans down and
said howdy-do to a slender, ebony-black cock rising up and sniffing the open air. The kneeling man fielded the standing man’s cock like a pro, seizing it with his hand at the base, with his
mouth at the head. The standing man grunted and tore off his T-shirt, exposing even more shining ebony skin. He started pinching and pulling his nipples, as his playmate got a good, hardcore
sucking rhythm going, as I watched and drooled in amazement.

“What’d you think of the team?” someone asked, startling me like a voyeur caught with his pants down. Donovan casually threw an arm over my shoulder. “Think you can play
with us?”

I looked at that muscular, brown arm, felt its soothing, sensuous warmth, looked out at that orgy unfolding in front of me, felt its raw, white-hot heat. Then I looked into Donovan’s
gleaming green eyes and gulped, “Game on.”

He smiled, took my hand and led me down off the porch and onto the field of play. He pointed out the various players, told me their names, their favourite positions, then gestured at the guy
with the pink hair and the skewed fashion sense to come on over. “Skeezer, Malcolm,” he said by way of introduction. “Skeez here can really suck up the ground balls.”

“Oh, yeah? How about that? We’ve, uh, already met,” I mumbled.

“Not properly,” Skeezer responded, grinning and touching my shoulder like I was “it”. Then, without further ado or coaching, he dropped to his knees and stood his drink
in the grass and popped open my Dockers. He had my pants and briefs down around my ankles before I could say, “Holy cow!”

I flinched when his warm, wet mouth engulfed my shocked cock, flinched again when Donovan slid his warm, wet tongue into my ear and swirled it around. My reflexes were still pretty quick for an
old guy, though, my bat corked and balls juiced in a matter of seconds, thanks to Skeezer’s loving lips and tongue and Donovan’s whispered wet nothings.

“Jesus,” I groaned, my wood filling the heated cauldron of Skeezer’s mouth to the gag reflex and beyond.

But the ball boy didn’t back down. He locked me tight and hot and wet in his mouth and throat, his nostrils flaring for air, his baby blues gazing up into my eyes. Donovan bit into my lobe
and kissed my neck, his musky man-scent filling my dizzy head.

I’d only ever gone two men down once before in my life, in my wild youth, in a secluded barn with a pair of kissing cousins with no one to witness our wicked mischief other than a pair of
disinterested cows and a one-eyed field mouse. This, on the other hand – Skeezer bobbing his pink head up and down on my pink cock now, Donovan tonguing and biting my neck – was wildly
out in the open, ten other guys and who knew how many peeping Toms catching the action. I was overwhelmed by the thought, by the double-team sucking and kissing, and my knees buckled with the sheer
erotic weight of it all. Thank God I’d been working out.

Donovan helped me unbutton my denim shirt, my hands shaking like a teenager showing his buddy his hidden stash of gay porn mags and wondering what would happen next. Donovan pushed my shirt off
my shoulders, grabbed my pale pecs in his hot brown hands, and licked at my cherry-red nipples. I moaned as he twirled his thick tongue around first one nipple and then the other, as Skeezer
hard-sucked my cock, almost pulling me off my feet with the intensity of his blow job.

Shivers of delight raced up and down my spine, like batters rounding the bases and heading for home, my balls tightening with imminent release. Donovan bit into a flaming nipple and pinched the
other; Skeezer squeezing my tensed sack as he wet-vacced my cock.

“I can’t take any more,” I yelped.

“Swing for the fences, Mal,” Donovan urged, mouth full of nipple. “We all do.”

He stuck two of his fingers into my gaping mouth and I anxiously sucked on them, Skeezer taking me down to the matted hairline and back up again, over and over, sending me flying. I trembled out
of control and my balls boiled over and my cock exploded. I blasted Skeezer’s pretty mouth full of sizzling sperm and whimpered like a spoiled millionaire athlete, my body jolted by wicked
orgasm again and again.

Skeezer took everything I had to give, like a true teammate, swallowing hard and sucking harder, milking my pulsing cock, draining my balls. And when I’d finally, blissfully, spurted my
last dollop of sticky sunshine, I would’ve tumbled to my knees in gratitude and exhaustion had Donovan not held me up by the nipples and whispered in my ear, “Now you have to prove that
you’re
a team player.”

My eyes fluttered open and I stared at Blondie and Red staring back at me, cocks in their hands and grins on their kissers. I glanced down at Skeezer gently stroking my spent and slimy prick,
noted the evil grin on his puffy lips. “I’ll . . . I’ll put out for the team,” I gasped.

They were all over me like a guy getting mobbed at home plate after belting a game-winning dinger. They stripped me clean of clothing. Then the lube came out, Skeezer gleefully greasing my
asshole and Donovan’s cock. Sufficiently slickened, Donovan stretched out on a hastily unfolded lounger, long and hard and glistening in the hot sun. He gestured at me to stretch out on top
of him.

I gingerly climbed onto the man’s smooth, awesome physique, facing away from him, facing the crowd. His heavy cock squeezed up between my legs and pressed against my balls. Then he gripped
my hips and pushed me upwards, easily holding me there with one hand while he grabbed his cock with the other and pushed its head into my butt cheeks, probing for my opening. I spread my trembling
legs and positioned my feet, and Donovan’s bloated hood quickly broached my asshole and punched up inside. He lowered me back down, burying his cock in my ass in one slow, sensual motion.

I closed my eyes and groaned, my body flooding with heat, a hard young cock up the ass feeling so very good, so very right. But I wasn’t expected to field just one cock. Blondie and Red
stepped up to the plate, on either side of me, extending their erections towards my open mouth. Donovan had a secure grip on my waist, raising and lowering me on his cock like a pennant on a
flagpole, so I reached out and grabbed on to Blondie’s long cock and started stroking, pulled Red’s thick little penis into my mouth and started sucking.

The fearsome foursome went on like that for an amazing few minutes, Donovan impaling me while I alternately tongued and tugged Red and Blondie’s cocks. But then Skeezer got in on the
action, grabbing my flopping cock and filling his mouth with it again. He got me hard as before, then greased the both of us up.

Donovan slowed his ass-pumping so the pink-haired guy with the rock star body could straddle the two of us, facing away from us. I knew what to do and I did it, plugging my numb cock into
Skeezer’s tight little hole, sinking deep into his quivering bum like a spike into the warm, wet sod.

I could hardly believe what was happening. Here I was, a respected, middle-aged business executive, getting reamed by one young stud, reaming another, while sucking and jerking off two others
– in blazing backyard America. It pays to participate, I guess. And being a good sport certainly helps.

I licked and sucked and pulled on Red and Blondie’s cocks as best I could, as Skeezer joyfully bounced up and down on my cock, as Donovan surged his cock back and forth in my tingling
chute. It was a hard, intensely pleasurable workout, and I was soon wetly rewarded for all my efforts.

Red bellowed like he’d been hit by a pitch. He grabbed my head and poured molten semen into my mouth, just as Blondie started shaking on the end of my hand and I jacked his hot seed all
over my face and his buddy’s groin. And the sight and sound and smell of those spurting males quickly set off my two bum-buddies. Donovan dug his fingers into my slick flesh and grunted,
unloaded in me, blasting my ass full of come. Then Skeezer shook like a stadium full of fans and fell back against me, sperm jetting out of his hand-cranked cock.

It was left to me to bat clean-up, my body arching and my brain melting as I rocketed spunk into Skeezer’s dancing bum, as I hand and mouth and ass milked my teammates. A guy’s never
too old for this game.

Joe, Wheat Ridge

Sex with a stranger. A woman who tells you her name five minutes before you fuck her. A woman that you have never met before and, the chances are good, you will never speak to
or see again. That is how I lost my virginity when I was nineteen years old.

I’ve never been very comfortable around girls. I have many girls that are friends and I have no problem talking to them but to make that next step from friend to girlfriend or even just to
fuck buddy, is the hardest thing in the world for me. I had wanted to have sex since I was fifteen. All of my friends were doing it, talking about it, enjoying it. I wanted to get in on the action.
The only problem was, I didn’t know how to ask any of the girls I knew if they wanted to sleep with me. Do it wrong and I could royally fuck up some pretty good friendships. I was such a
wreck. Then when I turned nineteen, I finally decided that it was time. I was tired of being what felt like the only member of the V. Club.

The most logical way for me to go about losing my virginity, at least in my mind, was to put an ad on one of those online personal sites. I figured that being the only sexual partner I had ever
had was my left hand I would be pretty bad at actual fucking and if I was able to lose it to someone I didn’t know and would never have to look in the eye again it would be easier for me. So
I summoned up all my courage and posted my ad: