I sat that evening, looking at the wall filled with newspaper clippings, the wall with the trophies, the wall with the photos. Three walls; this entire room was mine, devoted to my memories of the past that had been so, so sweet. The days when I had meant something. The days of boys lining up to get my autograph on their baseball glove or bat, the days of the cheering crowds, the days of adulation by the masses. Not any more. Now, I'm just a hardware store manager, and not a very good one at that. I'd been chewed out by the area supervisor (damned corporation that owns the stores has as many supervisors as they have store employees, it seems!), and he'd gotten under my skin a bit more than they usually did. It was his parting shot at me when he was done.
"And don't forget that you can always be replaced!"
"Yes, sir." I'd replied like any wage-slave sheep, baa-baa-baa!, in tune with the herd. Baa-baa...BAH!
I should have told that needle-nosed, hunch-backed, bald-topped, acne-scarred piece of shit just where he could stick it! And then grabbed a bat off the rack and make a home-run hit right on his nasal-toned pie-hole!
But I hadn't, of course. And the reason, of course....
There was a knock at the door. My reason. "Daddy? Daddy?"
"What is it, Hector?"
"Can I come in?"
"Can't it wait?" Hector knew not to bother me when I was in my room with my memories. His mother (mother!) had drilled that into him before she died. (That was fourteen months ago. Sometimes I can actually go an entire hour without thinking about her.)
"Please?" Hector knew it could wait but didn't want to.
Well, I sighed and looked around. If I ever needed reminding about why I'd "yes-sirred" that airplane-eared, snot-nosed, whistle-toothed yack this afternoon, now was it. "Okay, Hector, come on in." Poor kid, I wasn't spending enough time with him. My sister came in each afternoon to make him and me supper, but after that, I had darted into my room to reminisce about the past for a while. Retreat from an ugly present into a beautiful memory.
"Thank you." Hector said and opened the door. Hector looks so much like his mother that I have to watch myself. Sometimes I find myself getting mad at him because he looks like my former wife (former!) and isn't, and sometimes I want to grab hold of him and never let go, because he looks like my former wife. I try really hard to keep an even keel with Hector. If I fake it long enough, maybe I can actually make myself believe that it's the way I really feel.
Same hair as his mother. Same eyes. Same cheeks. Same nose. All of this on a soft, seven-year-old frame as delicate as a flower's stem, fragrant with the vitality of youth, gleaming with the joy of new life freshly begun. It hurts, but it's not Hector's fault, that he has a face that can make me want to break down and cry.
"What is it, son?" I said, my voice cracking only a little.
"Ted's dad picked us up from school." Hector started. Ted was one of the dads that drove now and then when his wife couldn't for the after-school pickup; his family and mine were part of a group of eight that squeezed our kids into our car once every week and a half. I hadn't been able to chip in on the rides (I had to work) since the funeral, but so far, nobody had mentioned that to me and I wasn't going to bring it up. "He told me something."
"What's that?" I asked.
Hector's eyes were scanning my newspaper clippings. My heyday as a professional baseball player, cut tragically short by a bad fall when diving for a foul ball that I should have let bounce before trying to catch, instead I bent over, snagged my cleats on something (I never could find anything that did it, ever), and went down right onto my left knee. Something had gone "snap!" and my career had ended. My left knee is still a couple inches bigger than my right knee, and than it had been before that fall. That had been ten years ago when I was only 21, I'd met Hector's mother that same year and in the months of my rebuilding my life anew, she had saved me from myself. She'd given me moral support, love, understanding...and the child of that union, born in the third year of our marriage, stood before me right now. After Hector had come three miscarriages, and the fourth, a stillbirth, had ended in a hemorrhage that had carried my wife away as well. "What is it?" I asked him again as his perusal continued.
"This." Hector's finger jabbed at a newspaper clipping. "They used to call you ‘Two Bats.'"
"That's right." I agreed. "Lots of ballplayers get nicknames, you know that. Mine was Two Bats."
"Why'd they call you Two Bats?"
Uh-oh! I lied quickly. "Because I would warm up with two bats, before every time I went up to bat." I said. "One time I carried both bats up to the plate, didn't even notice I had them both on my shoulder until I was settling into the stance and the umpire told me. I was going to bat with two bats at once, and my buddies were going to let me. It's not fair to use two bats at once, of course."
"Ted's dad said something else was the reason."
Here it comes! "Really?" I strangled out, hoping I was wrong. How could any but my old teammates know....
"Uh-huh." Hector said. "He said it was because you had one bat on your shoulders and another bat down here." And Hector's hand made a grab for my crotch.
It was a fluke of sorts. I had an erection, the kind you get now and then and don't really notice until you move. God knows I'd not noticed this one until Hector's small, pale hand caught hold of it through my sweatpants. Hector couldn't have known just where to grab, but his aim was perfect. He caught hold of it exactly and held on until I pulled his hand away.
"Is that why they called you Two Bats, Daddy?" Hector asked me. His face was all round and soft and liquid-eyed and pliably soft and earnest.
I couldn't lie to him again. "Well...yeah, Son. That's why they really called me Two Bats." I admitted. "Some guys saw me in the showers once and gave me the nickname. The manager and me came up with the other story to explain it. I didn't know anyone else knew the story after all these years."
"Ted's dad said you had a woody when you were in the shower." Hector went on relentlessly. "Said it made it stick out like a baseball bat would."
"That's right." I nodded. Boy, was I going to have a few choice words for Brian (Ted's dad) soon as this was over!
Hector's hand grabbed my cock again! "Why was it all hard? Like now?"
"Sometimes, a grown-up's body does that." I said.
"Can I see it?" Hector begged me. "Please, Daddy? Does it really look like a bat?"
"Not really." I choked out. "It's just...bigger than most people's is all, that's all they meant."
"Big like a baseball bat?"
"Not that big." I said. Why wasn't I yanking Hector's hand from my cock again? It felt so damned good.
"Can I see it?" Hector asked me again, braver now that I wasn't fighting him off. "Please, Daddy? Jim and Fred and Ace said they didn't believe it was that big."
Oh, God, just what I needed right now! Childhood curiosity run amok! And Brian feeding the frenzy with anecdotes about a piece of my past that I was having enough trouble dealing with right now!
Hector's hands began pulling at my sweatpant's waistband, finding and undoing the tie at the waist. All that came out of my mouth were soft, whimpering sounds. Oh, God, so long! So long since I'd had anyone touch me, at all!
Hector reached in, tugged and brought my manhood triumphantly out into the air. "Wow! It IS like a baseball bat!"
"It is not!" I gasped. I had a ten-inch cock and it's pretty big around, and if you aren't expecting it (like my teammates hadn't been), it can look pretty intimidating. Or like Hector. "It's just a little bigger than other men's, that's all!"
"Ted's dad said you had the woody in the shower because you liked looking at the other guys' asses." Hector said, avidly eager in his recapitulation.
"I did not!" I protested. "I was merely stimulated by...by...uh!"
Hector had begun to pump up and down on my pud!
"Oh, God, Son, oh, baby, uh, uh, uh!" I grunted. "What are you...uh!"
"You like this, don't you, Daddy?" Hector asked. "I know Ted and Jim like it when I do it to them, when they stay over."
I'd known Hector had been overenthusiastic about sleepovers lately, but wrote that off as a combination of the privilege newly acquired, and the joy of the discovery of the penis. Most boys discover it this way, experimenting with each other.
Only I wasn't a fellow seven-year-old boy, I was his father! "God, Son, you shouldn't do this! Uh, uh, uh!"
"But you like it, don't you, Daddy?" Hector's hand was pumping me with a skill I'd never have imagined. Or maybe it was my own long-deprived body revenging itself on me by throwing itself whole-heartedly into this forbidden lust.
Hector knelt onto one knee to put himself down next to my organ, his eyes feasting on the sight of my manhood being pummeled by his little hand into a blurred piece of erotic, kinetic sculpture. Picture of a cock being masturbated.
"Hey, it's getting sticky on top!" Hector marveled. "Is it supposed to do that?"
I had both my hands on the armrests of my chair, hanging on for dear life. "Yeah, Son, that's normal. It's...when you grow up, your body produces that, and jerking it like you do makes it weep out."
"Wow!" Hector's admiration was doing things to my brain. His mother had been like that, the woman allowed to associate with the important baseball legend. Her family was into baseball, too, she knew things like what earned run averages meant and the duties of the various positions on the field. She had listened to my anecdotes about the game with the same sort of wide-eyed wonder. It was like my dead wife was reincarnated here in the body of my son, and continuing to pay me the attention and respect that had let me crawl out of the doldrums of the lost career and start to build my life over again. And wasn't I in the doldrums now? Hector was bringing me out of it!
"What's it for?" Hector asked.
"What?" I'd been lost in my musings.
"What's the sticky stuff for?"
"It's...it's how a man makes little boys like you." I said in a flash of inspiration.
Hector giggled. "You mean I keep pumping this, I'll have a baby brother?"
"No, Son." I grunted. Shit, I was getting close! "But it's part of what it takes to make one."
"Yeah? Wow!" Hector said again. "How much does it take? A whole lot?"
"No." I choked. Oh, God, I was about to come! "Just a little bit. Guh!"
"How much does it take, Daddy?"
"You're...about to...find out!" I gasped. "Here it comes, baby, right now! Uh-uh, GUH-HNNNNNHHHH!"
Hector had closed in to watch, peering into my slit with one eye, and that was when I blasted. The first squirt got him right in the eyes! Hector gasped in shock, raising his head, and the next load hit right into his open mouth. As Hector's face came up to look at me, my come splattered on his beautiful, creamy skin, more of my squibs pelted him, splashing his cheeks, his neck, his chest. He waited for me to explain this, I guess, for he didn't say anything, just looked at my face and me in the throes of rapture and delight, groaning eloquently above him.
"Uhhhh! Uhhhh! Uhhhh! Whooh! Huh! Hah! Uhhh!" I bellowed as I finished. "Oh, man, Son, that was beautiful, just beautiful!"
And Hector broke into giggles. Astonished, I looked at him as he reached for his face, to wipe at the heavy white wads of jizz that clung there.
As Hector chuckled, I waited, then finally asked, "What's so funny?"
"You are, when you squirted me with this white stuff." Hector said. "You had a look on your face, Daddy, like this!" And Hector mimicked my face contorted with passion, only on him, it was turned into an idiot's look, with widened eyes, puckered lips, head bobbing back and forth.
"Yeah, I guess it looks like of dumb." I said with a smile. "But I looked like that because it felt so good."
"Yeah, Ted and Jim say the same thing." Hector agreed. "I think it's nice, too, when they do it for me. But none of them ever squirted white stuff on me like you did, Daddy!" Hector looked at the smear on his palm and I groaned as he put the palm to his face and began to lick it off. "That tastes funny!" Hector observed as he kept licking. "All salty and warm and gooey."
"You like it?"
"Yeah, it's neat." Hector finished with his hand, looked at it.
"There's more on the head of my bat."
Hector looked, saw the huge pearl of come there. "Hey, yeah!" And his soft lips dove for my dong!
I moaned as he sucked at the flesh still tender from the whacking my son had given it. Hector didn't stop when he'd sucked the glob of jizz off the tip, he kept on sucking on my pud, which was wet with the remnants of those final weak spurts, which had dribbled down my shaft.
Hector was treating my cock like a bar of frozen fruit juice, the kind that comes in those clear plastic sleeves and you freeze them and eat them on a hot day. When Hector was done, my cock was standing at attention as rigidly as before. "It does look like a baseball bat, Daddy." Hector said.
"Okay, so it looks like a bat." I agreed. "Get up here." I indicated my lap. Hector climbed into it and he offered his lips for a kiss. I gave it to him, then I began to lick at his soft face, tasting my come on his warm flesh, my hand fondling his jeans' crotch, and the soft, young bit of boy-pud inside.
"Ooh, ooh, Daddy." Hector gasped as I worked on his neck, nibbling at the soft skin. "That feels good, Daddy!"
"Want to feel even better?"
"Then let's get you out of those clothes." I said.
I took Hector into my bedroom and on the very bed where he had been conceived, I lay him down and with his little pud standing tall, I took it in my mouth and sucked on it tenderly. Hector moaned as I nursed at him, and then he shivered and his hips hunched upwards at my face. Only when he was completely done, silent except for heavy breathing, I let go and said, "That's something your friend never did, I'll bet."
"No, Daddy." Hector agreed. "Can I try it on yours?"
So I lay by my son and he got up on all fours, and eagerly stuffed my prick into his mouth. I had to guide him, explain things, but he soon was plying his lips with a skill borne of eagerness and delight in serving his Daddy, I found my orgasm building up quickly and I gasped, "Here it comes again, Son! Not as much, but some!"
I thought Hector would pull away, but I hadn't so I guess he felt he should hang on. I groaned, spasmed and shot my load into my son's hungry mouth and he drank it all down as fast as I could produce it. It felt like a nice load, not as heavy as the first, but ample, and when I was done, Hector said. "Mmm, Daddy, I like the way you taste!"
"Well, let's get some sleep, and maybe later on I'll have some more for you." I offered.
Hector trustfully crawled into bed and I pulled my rumpled covers over the both of us, him snuggled tightly under one of my arms.
I was off work the next day (I work only six hours a day but six days a week, this weekday was my sole chance to catch up on the housework that never seemed to get done), and after I had gathered up the dirty clothes and put them in the washer, I looked around and thought about what I needed to do next. So much to do, but where to start?
Went into my little room of memories, and began to take all the newspaper clippings and photographs down. I'd put them into an album, something I could give to Hector when he grew up.
The past had been so sweet...but my future was looking pretty sweet to me right now, too!
Comments, Complaints or Suggestions?
Send E-mail to Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM.
NOW ON SALE!
USE THE "CLICK TO LOOK INSIDE"
FOR MORE FREE STUFF!
(The Story You Just Read is Available in the "I Love You, Daddy!" book)