First Inning:
My name is Richard Walton. I grew up in a southern Wisconsin town large enough to have its own high school but not the size of Madison or Milwaukee. We were the kind of town where everyone knew each other and most folks didn't bother to lock their doors when they were away. Like most mid-sized towns in America, we had a few who were called the "rich" people and others that were just getting by. Most of us were somewhere in the middle and of course, that included my family.
I got interested in girls around junior high age. Before that it was all about sports ... baseball, football, and basketball. My friends and I didn't abandon our interest in sports when girl awareness became a pandemic among us. Girls just added one more sport to the list. Most of us had no idea about women but it was already clear that just the hint of female sexuality inflamed our adolescent cocks. School books served as excellent cover for the embarrassing bulge in our jeans while going from class to class. Night time was the right time for relief as we discovered how to sooth our jangled nerves from our growing problem.
Becky was my first girl friend and that was in junior high. "Girlfriend" at 14 means mostly phone calls. A date was usually at McDonald's or at the local movie theater. Oh yes, we did our homework together just as an excuse to see each other and occasionally we met at the library but books and studying were not my interests. Every Friday night after basketball games, there was a "dance" at the school gym but no one danced. It was just a place to hook up ... not in sexual sense, but more of a social event. Of course, the guys would brag the next day about how they got a little tit but that seemed to be ridiculous. First, there wasn't much there to begin with and second, none of my friends were brave enough to try any thing more than holding hands. I was by far the most innocent, naïve, and timid of them all.
Basketball was my game and by the time I was a junior in high school, I made the varsity as a reserve point guard. We were known as the Trojans as in "Trounce 'em Trojans." It wasn't points on the scoreboard that brought me recognition but it was elsewhere that I scored. The team shower room is a great measure of men. I suppose that's why males shower openly together while women tend to shower more privately. Anyway, my teammates were clearly envious of my "hose" for that is what it was affectionately called. Those who have been around athletes know that good natured ribbing is a mainstay of the culture and believe me, I got plenty of sports "culture," if you know what I mean. The thing was, in a relatively modest size town, there are no secrets that last more than few hours. So, the news of my "hose" was out and had already circulated among the girls at school. In fact, teams in our conference had gotten word of my anatomy which made for some humorous trash talkin' during a game. Once I was at the foul line shooting a one and one and just as I was ready to shoot, a big dumb ox yelled, "Hey Dick, ya got a Trojan on the hosen?" People were laughing so hard the coach called time out. Oh ya, I missed the front end of the one and one. We lost that game by a point!
I had a reputation by then that wasn't easy to live down. Yet, what seems to be a disaster often turns into good fortune. Becky and I were still friends. Like me, she had changed physically and now had a woman's body. It wasn't the sexiest body in town but nice and comfortable. Some of the girls showed off their new equipment wearing tight fitting clothes but not Becky. She dressed conservatively but always with a sophisticated style. Her father ran the hardware store so her family was closer to the wealthy side of town and they could afford buying her nice clothes. We ran around with a group made up of our basketball team and our girlfriends. Most "dates" meant going to Stan's house to watch videos. Stan's real name is Stanley but the girls called him "Johnny" because of his resemblance to Johnny Depp. Stan had a special way with the girls and living in an upscale neighborhood didn't hurt. Stan's folks were the wealthiest people in town. They had an indoor swimming pool and the most fantastic entertainment center imaginable. Sometimes there were fifteen to twenty kids laying around watching movies on their large screen projection TV. By that stage in high school, our hormones were raging but mostly under control for fear of making fools of ourselves. Other than Nolan, our center, no one openly said they had sex with a girl and he only fucked a girl at the community college because she thought he was older. The rest of us got off watching porno movies and fantasizing in our bedrooms. One thing was for sure, when I ejaculated, there was enough spunk to populate a city the size of Milwaukee!
On Thursday before the game with our biggest rival, I opened my math book and noticed a folded piece of paper with my name on it. I opened it and it read, "Go Trojans" but what was really weird was a little icon drawing of a penis. It wasn't signed and I wondered who was playing a joke on me. The next week we were doing the second half of a home and home series with our rival and another sheet of paper appeared but this time in my science book. It was different. This time it said, "Get it on, Trojans" and the drawing was larger and more detailed but it was definitely a stiff cock. Now I was getting hyper. This was both exciting and scary. Who was doing this and why? I just couldn't just go around the school and ask, "Who is the cock artist?"
We had a bye the next week and no drawing appeared but at the beginning of March, the playoffs started. Our first game was Wednesday night with the Red Demons that were known for upsets and we were by far the prohibitive favorite in the regionals. I had almost forgotten the messages from earlier until my English book contained a new note on Wednesday morning. This time the message was, "Trojans ... Give me ecstasy." The drawing was more like a detailed painting because it was a massive cock showing veins and a nice cap on the end with a hint of a pee hole at the tip. It might have been my imagination but there seemed to be a little moisture oozing from the orifice with a shape like the letters bj. Was someone trying to encourage me or upset me? "BJ" could mean only mean one thing and if I could find the artist, I could get to the bottom of this mystery.
Our basketball season ended abruptly as we unexpectedly lost to the Demons in overtime although I had my best game. Our starting point guard had fouled out early giving me a chance to score some points. After the game we took the bus back to school where I met Becky. Our group met at Stan's but no one was in the mood for a video. I took Becky home early but not before we enjoyed a little romance. We had moved onto having a more physical relationship. Becky didn't mind me feeling her up and she liked being touched. This night she even removed her bra and let see her nicely protruding tits. Her breasts were firm and her nipples were still at the puffy stage but seeing them drove me wild. It surprised me when she began panting like a dog in heat each time I touched her tits. When I began sucking on them, she let out a little yelp that startled me. I got the nerve to take her hand and move it over to my hard cock but that was as far as she was willing to go. I couldn't hold back as streams of cum filled my pants. Becky could feel the wet spot on my jeans but said nothing. We kissed goodnight and said how sorry she was about the game. That's when she said, "I'll find a way to make it up to you."
April 12th was my 18th birthday. The guys gave the Hose a "bachelor" party on Friday night at Stan's. We used the pool, watched some porn flicks and snuck a few beers from the stash located in the garage frig. Stan was already 18 and bought a couple of cases of Old Style for the occasion. I'm not a drinker so two beers were fine. We all had a good time and decided since the party was in honor of the Hose, we should be skinny dipping. That's what we did until 1:00 AM and by that time we were either tired, drunk or both. Driving home, I thought about Becky's surprise. She said Saturday night was bowling night for her parents and to come over around seven. It was kind of hard sleeping while fantasizing about her intentions. Hopefully, she was going to let me fuck her and pop that delectable cherry. It was something I had imagined doing all year.
Saturday night we had unusual weather. The temperature had dipped down to 28 degrees and it was snowing. When I rang Becky's doorbell, I was shivering. Was it from anticipation or the cold? Becky opened the door flashing her dazzling smile punctuated by a pair of killer dimples. She was dressed nicely with a lavender button-down blouse and jeans. She wore no shoes but had little pink bows on either side of her head holding two tiny blond pigtails. She looked so Barbie doll cute and smelled delicious! "I have a surprise for you birthday boy," she said smiling.
"Oh, what is it?" I replied in my manliest voice.
"Look in the refrigerator. There's something to help us celebrate!"
Sure enough, a nice bottle of French Champagne was chilled with two identical flute shaped glasses painted with "Happy Birthday, Hose!"
"Where did you get those?" I blurted out.
"Oh, they came from the Party Store in town. Do you like 'em?"
"I LOVE 'em!!! Do ya want a glass now?"
"Sure, let's do it."
I'm no
sommelier
but I had tasted champagne during New Years Eve parties and I knew how to open champagne bottles. It was a good thing that it wasn't Chardonnay where I had to use a corkscrew. That would have been a sure way to illustrate my inexperience. The cork made a loud pop startling Becky and she made a little hop at the sound making both jugs jiggle. The scene got me thinking of last night's porn flick where a lady's boobs jiggled while giving a guy a well lubricated hand job and blow job. Cum slowly cascaded down his dick just like the tasty bubbly was oozing over the neck of the bottle. It was so sexy and suggestive; I had to bite my tongue to keep me from laughing.
A little champagne goes a long way with me. After the second glass, I was feeling really good and Becky seemed to be feeling no pain as well. She said, "Let's take our drinks upstairs. I want to show you my latest painting." Becky planned to be an art major in college and I had seen several of her pieces shown at the art gallery in town. She was that good! I didn't know that her easel and art supplies were in a corner of her bedroom and that is where we were headed. Again, my imagination got the best of me and I swore Becky was showing a little more cleavage than usual. Once in the room, she closed the door and simply said in a calm voice, "Let me see it."
"See what?" I stammered.
"Show me your hose," she replied with a bit of blush on her face.
