Backdoor Slider - A Love Story
by Joe L
There are two outs. It's the top of the ninth inning. The Arizona sun is beating down. The count is two-and-two. I'm playing shortstop and the pitcher is my best friend, Luke. Luke is pitching a perfect game and he just needs one more strike to finish it off; he has twenty-six outs in a row. I want it so badly for him. I probably want it more than he does… well, maybe not. Luke is incredibly competitive and he's obsessive about his stats. I can just hear him bragging about having a perfect game. He's never even been close. Matt McKenzie is at bat. Here comes the pitch… foul ball.
Matt is a fat redhead with freckles… what a combo. He's one of the McKenzie twins that play for our rival, Riverside. I always hate playing against Riverside because I hate having to see those fat asshole brothers. They're way too cocky for being so fat. Where do they get off having that attitude? They need to do some cardio... and they need some plastic surgery. I guess they do hit home runs against our guys fairly often, but not today. Matt's brother Paul has already struck out three times and Matt has struck out twice. Just one more time… another pitch… fouled at the plate.
I pray even though I don't believe in God. It seems like I have to do something.
"Please, please let him get one more strike," I mutter out loud as I kick the dirt and wait for the next pitch… ball three. Shit. It isn't looking good. I try to convince myself that it is just a high school baseball game. It isn't even the playoffs… but please, one more strike… one more .
Luke looks completely wiped out, but his intensity has never been higher. He's having a tough time keeping the sweat out of his eyes and he's totally filthy. His cap is completely drenched with sweat. I bet it smells amazing. He won't look at me, and I'm glad. We've all been avoiding him since the third inning. No one wants to jinx a pitcher who is throwing a no-hitter by talking to him, coming near him or even looking at him… another foul ball. Luke winces with pain.
"Dammit, why is that fat fuck trying so hard?" I mutter again, but not loud enough for anyone to hear. Their team is down six to nothing. They're going to lose anyway. It won't mean anything to this asshole if he gets on base, but it'll devastate Luke after coming so close to a perfect game… another foul ball. How can this keep happening?
The truth is that I am totally in love with Luke…. It's really bad. I guess I can't say love because it's more of an incredibly obsessive crush. It's not a two-way street, so I shouldn't say love... but love is really the only word I'd use to describe what I feel. It drives me crazy because he's my best friend, which often makes things really awkward. We've been friends for years… long before I started to develop feelings for him. In fact, it's been seven years since we've officially been best friends. We met in little league in the third grade and we've been inseparable ever since. I watch him try to gather up some strength from some unknown place, and I hold my breath as he releases another pitch.
STRIKE THREE ! -- Oh God, no! The umpire calls it a foul tip as the ball trickles away from the catcher. Motherfucker ! The team and the eleven spectators in the bleachers go from an exploding celebration to a nervous groan. Luke has nothing left in the tank and is standing there in disbelief. I can't imagine how he could even get one more pitch to the plate… timeout. The coach goes out to give him a pep talk. Oh shit, don't prolong this.
I just want to grab Luke and escape. This can't end well, now. I want to go far, far away and make him forget about this stupid almost-perfect game. I know he's going to take it really hard. He'll punch a wall or a locker and hurt himself. He won't consider that he pitched his team to a win; he'll only concentrate on that one fat fuck that he couldn't get out. He'll sulk for weeks until I'll finally make him laugh. That's all it will take, one laugh to snap him out of it. However, that's easier said than done. This will be my greatest challenge yet... and just when I've decided to back off and try not to spend so much time with him. He's just standing there. He won't throw the pitch. The fat ginger kid calls timeout and backs out of the batter's box. The other team is starting to heckle Luke… those assholes! I'll fucking kill them!
It's going to be my mission to get him a girlfriend so I won't have to be around him so much. Sometimes it's like torture for me to be around him without jumping in his lap and kissing him as passionately and deeply as I can. He's so fucking adorable! Everything he does, everything he wears, everything he says turns me on. It wasn't always like this. Sure, I always thought he was cute once I realized I was gay. However, something happened soon after we turned sixteen. It's hard for me to explain. I guess it's just that he grew into his body with the help of puberty and the gym. Suddenly, one day he wasn't lanky or awkward or a normal teenage boy. He became lean and ripped. He's muscular in all the right places… his arms and legs are so tan and perfect. He oozes masculinity, sex and confidence without being a jerk.
He's socially perfect, too. He's always been popular and I've always been a little socially awkward. I guess I've always been afraid that I'll tip someone off that I'm gay. I'm not ashamed; I just don't want to deal with that part of my life until after high school. Luke never makes me feel awkward, though. He listens to me, he looks in my eyes when I talk, and he's never once made me feel like I'm not worthy of being his friend, which is certainly something that I often make myself think when I let my stupid brain send me into a funk. Luke's just studly and perfect and sweet and adorable and… shit, another timeout. It shakes me out of my daydream, and I start to walk around a little to loosen up. I can't look at him anymore or I will get distracted again.
I can't concentrate on anything when I'm around him. I get transfixed by his plump lips or his sexy eyebrows or that little mole behind his left ear. His smell is like a drug, especially when he's sweating. His scent during a game is nice, but my favorite is to smell him at the gym. Sometimes he'll catch me staring at him and I'll always have to make some lame excuse or say that I was daydreaming or thinking about something important. He never seems suspicious or creeped out by it, thankfully. Unfortunately, it's happening more often these days. He's probably wondering why I'm being such a space cadet, or maybe he suspects I have a crush. I shake my head and arms vigorously. I feel like I'm going to stand out at shortstop for the rest of my life. This game is never going to end. I feel myself let my guard down as he pitches what would no doubt be another foul ball…. Yep, foul ball.
Last weekend is when I made up my mind about spending less time with Luke. It was the most recent time that he caught me staring at him. We were alone in my den playing video games. This time, it was a particularly long fantasy... one where I imagined doing things to him... one where I imagined what it would be like to have his dick inside my mouth and the expression of sheer pleasure that would be on his face... a fantasy that had resulted in a raging boner, which was hardly obscured by my sweat shorts. I didn't think he had noticed me staring because he was concentrating on the game, but he did eventually when my character wasn't moving on the screen. When he saw why I wasn't playing, he tackled me and started to tussle with me. We used to wrestle a lot, but not since I've become infatuated with him. I avoid it at all cost. His touch is too much to handle. I can't be that close to him and keep my composure. Luckily, I landed on top of one of my video game controllers and I pretended that it had hurt my back and that he had to get up. This time, I had really done it. He had to have noticed my hard dick…. didn't he? Oh God, he must have. It was pressed right up against his leg… his perfectly muscular, tan leg. Out of the corner of my eye, I happen to see him start his wind-up for his next pitch. I had almost completely zoned out again.
This time he groans as he releases the ball. He throws it as hard as he can right down the middle of the plate. Fat Matt takes a mighty swing… CRACK . I catch a glimpse of the ball screaming towards me, but it appears to be running away to my right. All I have time to do is dive as hard as I can and turn my glove towards home plate. Oh shit… he didn't get his perfect game. The ball is just hit too hard. He was so close. If stupid Matt had just missed that earlier foul tip by a fraction of a second more– SMACK goes the ball into my glove! I hit the ground, landing on the right side of my face. Holy shit, did I catch that? I squeeze my glove, and yes, there is a ball in there! I immediately raise my glove into the air so the ump can see that I have control.
" OUT !" I hear the ump scream. It's over! Holy shit, he did it! I suddenly realize my hand is stinging intensely. Pulses of pain run up my arm. Oh shit, my face is stinging, too. Did I leave half of my cheek somewhere in the dirt around me? Fuck it… I don't even care about my hand or my face.
I roll over to look at Luke. It's a look I'm sure I'll never forget. His face is dirty, sweaty and red, and his eyes are wide open… staring right at me. He has tears streaming down his face, but he has a wide, open-mouthed, incredulous grin. My eyes start to well up with tears, but I try to compose myself. I've never heard the sound that he's making. He's somewhere between laughing and crying, probably alternating between the two… it's kind of like honking. He begins to stagger towards me, but the rest of the team tackles him before he can get close. I get up and run over to him. He sees me coming and stretches his arms up to embrace me. I reach out, but at the last minute I dodge his grasp and start slapping him repeatedly on the top of the head like our other teammates. He collapses on his back in exhaustion and relief with that irresistible smile plastered on his face. I receive my own head slaps and purposely collapse on the ground near Luke so I can roll around in his musk. Eventually, the celebration begins to subside, and I get up off the ground.
"Nice game, drama queen," I say as I offer him my hand to help him up. His honking has developed into mostly laughter at this point, but he's still too exhausted to form words. He just stares at me with that wide, open-mouthed grin. I want to kiss him so desperately. He takes my hand and I help him up. He feels like dead weight and it takes all I have to hoist him up on his feet. I'm a little smaller than he is. He has four inches (of height!) and about forty pounds on me, but we're both rock solid. We take baseball and workouts very seriously, and we've spent hundreds of hours conditioning our sixteen-year-old bodies. He puts his right arm over my shoulders. Yes! I get to help walk him to the locker room and smell his wonderful aroma the whole way.
I'm too small to be a serious baseball contender… that is, to play past high school. I have a solid frame, but I'm not big enough to hope for a baseball scholarship. I'm the scrappy kid with lots of hustle, but I have average speed and little power. Still, I try really hard and I've substantially helped my high school team, even as a sophomore. However, I know that high school will be the end of my baseball days.
Luke, however, is a different story. When his body filled out, coach told him that if he does everything right, he might have a career as a professional. He's the star of our team, and he was the star even as a freshman. That's when we seriously started working out. He spends all of his time at the gym and he has devoted his life to baseball. So, of course, that's where I am all the time, too. I tell everyone that I'm supporting him, but I just want to be around him... I crave him… his muscles, his smell, his hair… Oh fuck, his hair !
Luke has sexy movie-star hair. It's a medium-brown color and ear-length, but has a lot of natural highlights. It always looks so sexy, even if he lets it grow too long. It's even sexier when it's wet or sweaty. It curls out from under his baseball cap so perfectly. He'll get out of the shower, comb it a little, and it'll always just fall perfectly into place. I have short, dark brown jock hair that I buzz once a week. I can't let it get too long because it doesn't behave. I'll get a cowlick or a wave that I can't control. I just use the number-four attachment on my barber-style clippers. I love that length… really short, but just long enough that you still have hair that someone can run their fingers through... if that could ever happen.
With all of the workouts we've been doing, I've turned into a little sexpot, myself. I'm 5'8" and weigh about 142. I have to really work hard on my arms and chest. My legs like to hog all of the muscle growth from my workouts. So, I have to do much more upper-body work or I'll be the short dude with a tiny chest and tree trunks for legs. The added bonus to this condition is that I get to bench press more often, which means Luke has to spot me more often. In that position, his crotch is just a few inches from my face. I can really smell it sometimes, especially after we've really been sweating it up. Sometimes it smells like buttered popcorn. I love that smell, but it can really make me hard at inappropriate times.
"Hey Spacey!" Luke is standing right next to me. I had gone to lala-land again. I'm sitting in the locker room, still in my uniform staring at the slats of my locker. Everyone has already showered and they're starting to file out. I didn't shower at the same time as everyone else. I was fumbling with my phone to kill time. My boner still hasn't softened because I can't get Luke out of my mind. I may have to come up with an excuse and go home in my dirty uniform. "Garrett, can you come over? I can try to do something about that boo-boo on your face, and I have to think of a way to repay you for saving my perfect game."
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