Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Slide Into Home (MM) by Rory Nisce c.  2015 rnisce2013@gmail.com

   This is a true story--only the names have been changed to protect
privacy.  Please send feedback to the email above.

   +++++++++++++++

   He invited me to a Cubs game.  I said sure, but don't know why.  Playing
baseball was something I always enjoyed, but watching it has always struck
me as duller than dishwater.  Why spend a lot of money on tickets and
concessions to sit around for four hours waiting for a home team that loses
9 times out of 10?  It had been bad enough going to White Sox games on the
South Side, who in four years of college had only been seen to win once. 
The Cubs, though, they were the Bad News Bears without the happy ending.  I
was to learn that the happy ending to Cubs baseball happened a different
way...

   I met him at his house off Belmont.  He roomed with two other guys in a
2nd-floor walk-up.  I had been there once before at a party they had
thrown. I remember my friend and I being dazzled by his sister, who was the
hottest black girl we had ever seen.  Everything else that night had faded
in comparison.  Carl himself was equally attractive, but I had never noted
it beyond the neutral, factual observation you might make in saying, "The
sky is blue." This time, I noticed it more as his thousand watt smile
appeared behind the screen door when I rang.

   He was dressed in full Cubs regalia, hat & jersey, his mitt in case a
foul ball sailed our way.  He clapped me on the shoulder with it and
invited me up.  I had been clapped on the shoulder a hundred times that way
as a baseball player and thought nothing of it, but somehow the leather
glove felt intimate.  I slid past him and up the stairs.  The back of my
arm brushed his abs as I did so and the solid, corded muscle there brought
admiration in spite of myself.  I thought about the endless situps he must
have endured as I mounted to the landing.  Then I shook my head and asked
to store my helmet and leather jacket in his room while we were at the
game. It was an uncharacteristically warm spring day and didn't want to
cart them around.  He nodded, and had a funny look on his face while I
shucked them and sat them on his bed.

   "Well you're not wearing a jersey but at least your flannel shirt is red
and blue.  I think we can get you to pass in a bleacher full of Cubs fans."
My face felt hot.  He chuckled, reached into his closet and brought out an
older Cubs hat.

   "Here, we'll call this a loner."

   I took it, put it on, and he clapped me on the back.  His hand lingered
half a second longer than I would have expected, and again it felt
intimate. A strange notion began to take root somewhere in the back of my
mind, and I felt an ever so slight tightening in my loins.  Was I going to
a game with a buddy, or on a date...?

   That thought preoccupied me as we walked over to Wrigley Field.  Carl
chattered on about the Cubs's chances for the play-offs, who his favorite
players were, and that sort of thing.  He chucked me on the shoulder and
side as we waited at corners for lights to change, to emphasize his quips
about baseball.  I felt drawn toward him as we went, but I was very
conscious that we were in public.  Wrigleyville is a very liberal
neighborhood in Chicago, but Chicago is still a midwestern city, with very
closed minds.  I knew Carl was gay, but I did not consider myself gay and
didn't want anyone taking me to be.  Still he was my friend and I didn't
want to offend him either, so I found myself walking a tightrope between
those competing forces.  I tried to make my laughter sound genuine, not
forced.  I tried very hard to smile back at his banter, but not too much,
just the amount that a buddy would do with another buddy.  I wore that like
armor as we entered Wrigley Field and found our seats.

   We sat on the first base line, about one section up.  They seemed like
they might have cost quite a bit.  He said he got them at a discount
through the company where we both worked, he full-time and I as a part-time
student.  He expressed amazement that they hadn't already been taken when
he inquired about them; I laughed and said well what do you want, they're
Cubs tickets, not White Sox tickets.  He clapped his hand on my knee and
drew me in to whisper in my ear.

   "Careful, dude, you're in Cubs territory now.  That kind of comment can
get you killed."

   I conceded the point and asked alright who do we root for.  I didn't
know the Cubs starting line up.  Carl happily clued me in, leaning in again
when he got to Mark Grace and saying sotto voce, "He is so cute!  I have
such a big crush on him.  You know, you remind me of him a little..."

   His breath felt hot, and I felt hot, and so I laughed it off and said
nothing, not knowing what to say.  He must have seen me blushing because he
held up two fingers to the beer vendor and handed me a cup.  In the shadow
of the bleachers there was a chill to the air, and the alcohol burned
through me, masking my hot skin.  As we watched the game, we lept to our
feet when the Cubs singled or caught fly balls.  Each time as we took our
seats again it seemed he brushed against me, shoulder against shoulder,
fingers against thigh, knee against knee.  He leaned in to give me back
story as often as he could, and I could swear each time he spoke his lips
got closer to my ear.  He bought me more beer.  I was still too young to
buy alcohol and a poor student, so I took them and asked no questions.  By
the time the seventh inning stretch came around, I had quite a buzz.

   Inevitably, all the beer we had drunk needed out, so we headed for the
bathroom.  The troughs were full of guys who looked like they slung iron
and bratwurst for a living.  We were bursting, so Carl grabbed a stall and
motioned me in.  We crammed in and released in the manky toilet.  I was
actually glad for the close quarters because the beer was making my head
spin a little and it helped me keep my feet.  As my piss stream petered
out, I fumbled unsuccessfully to tuck myself back into my jeans.

   "Whoa man, not that way, you got to shake the dew of the lilly before
you put it away!" Before I knew it, he had taken my dick in his hand and
shook it neatly three times.  The head thwapped his knuckles as he did so
and it seemed several drops of piss landed on them.  He tucked me back into
my shorts and zipped up my jeans for me.  I mumbled, "Sorry, man, your
knuckles..."

   He licked them clean and said, "No harm," and guffawed as he looked at
my shocked face.  He led the way out of the stall, laughing, and pulled me
along.

   True to form, the Cubs snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.  I
didn't care.  I couldn't get my mind off Carl's hand on my dick, and the
look in his eye as he licked the drops of piss off his knuckles.  The act
disgusted me a bit, but the look in his eye transformed it into something
dirty but arousing.  Again my loins tightened and I felt butterflies in my
stomach.  My breath quickened slightly.  It was only after a couple of
blocks that I became aware that we had left the stadium and were walking
back to his place.  His hand was on my back, guiding me as I weaved
slightly on my feet.

   By the time we reached his front door I felt light-headed.  Carl guided
me inside and up the stairs.  His hand had slid down to cup my side
slightly and hold me close to him.  A tingling had begun in my scrotum and
my asshole was puckering.  I couldn't tell quite what was happening, what
the giddiness meant.  I wasn't thinking at all about what might happen.  I
pendulated between the buzz of alcohol in my head and the sensations
coursing under his touch.

   We reached the landing and entered the kitchen.  A handsome guy with
curly brown hair was leaning against the sink, eating yogurt out of the
container with a spoon.  He was wearing gym clothes, with a weight belt
slung over his shoulder and a duffle bag slung across his chest.  His
shorts were baggy, and I noticed a substantial bulge there.  I didn't
recognize myself for noticing that--I would never have noticed something
like that before.

   Carl introduced me to him as his roommate, but I didn't catch his name,
so fixated on his bulging shorts was I.  Carl said, "Let me show you my
room," and directed me toward the first door on the right.  I didn't know
what there would be to see in his room, but with the state I was in I
didn't object; I needed to collect myself and sober up before trying to
ride back home.

   He introduced me to the small room first, followed, and closed the door
quietly behind us.  The furnishings were simple, spartan.  A twin bed, a
small bedside cabinet, and a dresser.  No posters, no books, no
knick-knacks.  No shirts draped over drawer pulls, no items of any kind
visible.  Carl had taken his arm from around me to close the door; suddenly
without support I wobbled.  I placed my hands on top of the dresser in
front of me and spread my stance a bit to stabilize myself.  The room spun
slightly.  My hearing faded.  As my vision slowly stopped moving, I became
aware that his right hand was back on my side, just below my arm, and his
left hand had cupped my ass, between the buttocks.  I felt a brief moment
of gratitude for the support, that was quickly whisked away down a vortex
of exhiliration.

   His hand slid lower, the fingers probing my hole through my jeans.  Too
tight for him to touch me directly, his fingertips continued on around to
the front.  They lightly massaged the perineum, and then the base of my
scrotum.  My balls shifted as he slid them up and cupped my package.  The
tips of his fingers found the head of my penis through the jeans, and he
traced little circles on the underside.  His forearm kept up the pressure
on my ass, and an aching began deep inside me.  I caught my breath and
arched my back to open myself more to his touch.

   I felt his breath on the side of my neck and the warmth of his nearness
as his right hand slid around to the front of my chest.  He held me firmly
in the crook of his arm.  His right hand snaked between the buttons of my
flannel shirt and found my nipple through my white t-shirt.  His left hand
cupped me strongly and forearm lifted up as his teeth grazed my neck.  His
hot tongue darted out and licked my skin.  I stifled a moan.  I felt my
cock leap to erection, nearly bruising myself on the zipper.  He licked up
my neck to behind my ear as his left hand abandoned its post and
repositioned itself around my side to open my fly.  The hot, slippery, loud
sensation of his tongue burying itself in my ear made me go weak in the
knees.  I began panting, and could tell he was too.

   I don't know how long he fumbled with my pants button but he managed it
and suddenly by dick was straining against my boxers, pushing the waistband
away from my skin.  His hand thrust itself into them and wrapped around my
dick.  His thumb began smoothing up and down the slit on its head.  I
moaned.  I arched my back again and pushed my ass into his pelvis.

   His left hand wandered again and slid around, inside my boxers, to my
ass.  His fingers followed the cleft between my cheeks into the moist
depths.  I have always had occasions when my asshole would naturally
lubricate, but had never imagined it would be useful.  It was now.  His
fingers found my slippery hole, paused in surprise, and he withdrew his
hand to check.  Seeing it was nothing but mucus, he moaned and returned his
tongue to my ear and his fingers to my asshole.  He slid them in up to the
second knuckle, his middle and ring fingers.  His pointer and pinky he used
to pry open my cheeks.  He set them to gyrating in my ass, and began
plunging them in and out in simulated fucking.  It was driving me wild.

   I risked removing my hands from the top of the dresser--he had me firmly
in his grip--and pulled my jeans and shorts down in one motion.  I fumbled
frantically behind me for his pants and worked desperately to undo them. 
Underneath my fingers I could feel the enormous rod struggling beneath his
jeans.  At one moment I released the button and zipper, and the thing
unsheathed itself from his red bikini briefs.  Its hot, throbbing tip
brushed against the palm of my hand and left a little trail of pre-cum.  I
carelessly seized the tip and wrenched it free of the briefs.  He grunted,
but sighed as I pulled it in to press against his fingers at my pucker.  He
quickly withdrew his fingers and dabbed his cock with the lubrication
building up on them.  Then he gripped his shaft and teased my entrance with
the soft and rigid mushroom head.  I whimpered and re-positioned my hips
again, to open myself even more.  I lost my balance a bit, and grabbed the
dresser with one hand.  With the other, I pulled on my right cheek to open
them.

   His mouth closed on the cord of my neck, nibbled me slightly, and sucked
as his cockhead entered my anus.  There was a moment of glorious resistance
at the sphincter, and then a sudden surrender.  His monster slid in and up
and up for what felt like minutes.  I was being impaled on a dinosaur dick.
I had never felt so full.  My asshole kept stretching and stretching, a
white-hot band of pleasure accented with sparks of pain that relented into
more pleasurable stretching.  Inside, his cock pressed against buttons I
didn't know I had.  Structures that had never been touched caressed the
insistent newcomer and yielded to him with waves of joyful acqueiscence. 
Deeper inside, a wall that pushed back.  His cockhead paused, pressed hard,
paused, rotated slightly, pressed hard.  The obdurate wall turned into a
hidden sphincter whose secret release had been triggered, and it opened. 
The monster climbed several inches more until pubes, steely and coarse like
a Brillo pad, seated in my ass crack.  Between my cheeks I could feel his
scrotum swaying under its load of heavy testicles, its wrinkly skin
sticking slightly to my lubricated ass.  Carl pressed himself up again to
make sure he was all the way in.  I moaned gutturally and bore down on him.
I wanted to pull him all the way into me, to have him press on every newly
awoken erogenous zone at once.

   Carl grunted and moaned as he gyrated his hips against me.  His right
hand left my nipple and held my mouth shut.  As he withdrew slightly and
hammered me with a short stroke, my squeal was muted.  He began a
rollicking rhythm of strokes that melted my brain and induced a moaning
gibbering, an erotic glossolalia that squeezed past his clenched fingers.
An image of his curly-haired roommate standing rapt, listening to my
pleasurable torment, flashed across my brain.  My insides felt watery.  My
knees grew weaker.  I couldn't hold on.  I flailed behind me with my right
hand and tried to stop Carl from collapsing me to the floor.  He cradled me
in his arms and murmured in my ear, "I got you baby, I got you.  You like
this lovin', baby?  I got more for you, babe, I got more for you." He
punctuated each word with another jab of his cock.  My mouth free, I
pleaded with him to let me lay down.  My head was spinning and my body was
melting and my feet, chained together by knotted jeans, couldn't hold me up
anymore.

   His tennis shoe pressed down on my pants, bunched around my ankles.  He
lifted me up at the same time and my feet slowly suctioned free of the
cloth, and the shoes with them.  He shuffled behind me, his cock still
throbbing inside my ass, and pivoted me left toward the bed.  We lurched
like some bizarre creature, toward the platform.  The movement caused his
cockhead to squeeze against my prostate, and I yelped.  A hop, a drag, a
step, falling.  We fell onto his bed and I marveled that the thing didn't
break, but it squeaked like it was seriously considering it.

   Carl shucked his jersey, and pulled mine up over my head, too.  We were
both sweaty and I could feel his pecs pressing down on my shoulder blades.
His nipples were like pencil erasers pressing into me.  His breath and
teeth and tongue fell about the back of my neck.  He nuzzled his face in
the crook of my neck.  His hands snaked under my armpits and cupped my
shoulders from below.  His knees teased my legs further apart until my hips
swiveled to the perfect pitch.  I was firmly pinned to the bed.  His voice
came in a low, gravelly rasp, "I'm gonna fuck you good now, baby."

   All I could do was nod, gasp, and try to prepare myself for the assault.
My ass was gushing wetness.  He was sliding around and in and out with
obscene, wet noises.  Slapping, grunting, squelching.  The bed squeaked in
time.  His monster cock pounded me.  If not for the heat and the head of
his cock plunging in and out, I could have sworn from the size he was
fucking me with a baseball bat.  My eyes were closed.  My sweaty hair clung
to my forehead.  My mouth was half-open, with groans and moans coming out
of me in a register I had not known I could reach.  Carl's whispering,
throaty words, dirty words, intense words, wanton words in my ear.  His
tongue playing with my ear and forcing my head sideways so he could drill
into me there, too.

   A tingling quiver began to mount inside me.  Lightning bolts raced up my
spine.  My sides clenched.  I was climbing a mountain, a dazzling golden
mountain and I clung to the razor-thin ledges, trying to catch my breath.
The pillar inside me drove me higher.  I was shivering and shaking.  My
neck muscles were so tight they could snap.  Then, for a dizzying instant,
I teetered on the edge of the abyss and then lept into it.  I lost all
control of my body.  My mind went out of space and time.  Wave after wave
of shivering clenching rushed over me.  I couldn't stop.  Seconds later I
would get a deep breath, and think I could hold on, only to feel an
aftershock sweep me away again.

   Consciousness came back to me slowly in the form of Carl's own moans
growing louder.  He was really pounding me hard, and his tempo was picking
up.  "I'm gonna come in you, baby, I'm gonna come!"

   I opened myself to him, prepared myself to receive his seed.  I
encouraged him.  The sloppy, loose, slick cleft of my ass was his to gush
into.  I was his vessel.  He jabbed once, twice, thrice, four, five times,
and pressed me so hard into the bed that I thought I would dislocate
something.  I felt his cock pause, and spasm.  Hot jets of liquid shot into
me.  They filled up around his head and soothed my poor battered walls.

   We lay there as his enormous balls emptied their stores into me.  It
kept coming until it worked its way down his shaft and leaked out of my
entrance.  Rivulets of his come ran down my perineum and joined the puddle
of my own semen beneath me that I became aware of as it cooled.  Carl
kissed my back and held me tenderly.  I lay there, still quivering with
after effects of my own climax, and found I could talk again.

   "When you asked me to the game were you thinking you were going to get
to third base?"

   "No," he said, "I was hoping to slide into home." He thrust his cock,
which had been softening but suddenly swelled with new life, into me and
drew another gasp from me.

   This game was going into extra innings.