Strawberry Shortstop

Strawberry Shortstop

He was lying next to me, watching the dark haired catcher jerking off, almost begging as he hardened. I snuck a peak at his shaved lump, his strawberry crew-cut bobbing next to mine, his chest of fine blond down. I saw he was distracted by the catcher's dick bulging out of a dark curly bush, so I grabbed his lollipop. He barely noticed until I squeezed a bit too hard. One ouch and then the oiled rig was ready to blow. I don't believe in wasting lollipops, especially fruit-flavored ones, no matter how small.

And he didn't seem to mind that I was wrinkled and old. One look at what I had to offer and he was begging for more. So we did. He was short; he was small; he was horny. He mentioned later that he was worried that I'd mind. Me? He was the strawberry shortcake that I'd spent years waiting for.

I may be old but I'm flexible. I learned how to ride behind him on his motorbike, my nuts to his butt. He got over his fear of flying when I told him I needed a strong travel companion. I planned; he budgeted. I knew how to approach strangers; he knew how to make them our friends. We were welcome in every port.

I was the observant nutty professor; he was the baby-faced charming shortstop, the original ball-blocker. He wasn't an easy out... small strike zone and he was quick on the bases. Amazing arm... and accurate. He knew how to hit the mitt, the bulls-eye or whatever needed pinning... like a tail to the donkey.

He was a bit shy about his shortcomings though. A one-night stand once crowed come morning about how unsatisfying a cock-a-doodle-don't he was. Word got out. Their loss, that catcher's loss, my gain. Let's just say that we grew on each other as we learned what we liked. Know that we were more gourmands than gourmets. And like two fowl at a ball game, we knew how to handle strikes and curve-balls.

"We're a couple of odd ducks," he once said on a black-sand beach. I responded, "Quack" and laughed, at which point he stuffed my mouth so I couldn't talk back. Did I love him? Oddly, yes. He was devoted to me and I never tired of having him at my side. But that was then; this is now, and the river Styx flows between us ... and as hard as I beg I can't find a ferryman to take me across.

© Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.55] (8.august.2022)

~425 words

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