1. Gay Interracial


    Date: 10/9/2016, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Author: RBBL91, Rating: 50, Source: sexstories.com

    had drifted off to the side. I was on my own. I stepped back into the box, determined to catch up with that unearthly speed. I started moving even before he released it, practically ripping my arms from their sockets as the ball bore down on me. I was still late, and even if I wasn't I couldn't have hit it, because it was up at the level of my forehead. I heard catcalls from the other bench, a tide of laughter was running along the line of kids like an electric charge. I stayed in the box, and choked up on the bat slightly, a bit less than I would have liked, but I didn't want anyone to notice, to see I was giving in. I started even earlier, but when I the ball appeared my body froze. It was right on me! Suddenly, I was on the ground, fighting for breath. The ball had hit me with the hardness of a billiard ball, right in my upper ribs. Mr. Puglisi was rubbing my chest, trying to coax the breath back into my body. My breath did come back, but in the form of muffled tears. The game was a nightmare. When I was pitching, I was distracted by the antics from their bench, and the thought of what my next at bat would be like. Mr. Puglisi ended half my misery by moving me to the outfield in the second inning. It was 11-0 -- I hadn't retired a single batter. My heart was racing when I came up in the fourth. I stood in the box, and Kyle seemed to be smiling at me. I wondered if he noticed the shaking in my knees. Maybe not. But I knew he noticed the way my ass backed away from the ...
    plate as he threw the first two pitches. I wasn't going to hit anything. I knew it. He knew it, and his father knew it. "You the biggest badass!" So there was no need for what he did. The third pitch came in like a wasp, heading right for my temple. When I got up from the ground, and dusted myself off from the near miss I was hopeless. Kyle was smirking, because he could see it now. Their bench was rolling with laughter, because one of them, a little dark Latino, had grabbed a bat and took a stance just like mine, a comic mime of a batter with an uncontrollably shaking ass. We ended the game early thank God, after Mr. Puglisi walked over to the other coach and apparently begged out. No mas. The only concession to sportsmanship they made after a morning of abuse us was to line up and shake our hands. "Good game," they all said, in a voice that let us know they didn't really mean it. When I approached Kyle in the line, though he had a different greeting for me. A special greeting. He smacked my hand and said, loud enough so my teammates could hear: "Pussy." ** It was just a game, just one morning in a season of battering for my entire family. But like my father's layoff, and the strange inner odyssey of my long-gone mother it affected me deeply. I walked home in silence with Dad. He didn't even bother encouraging me, knowing that what happened was too blatant a demonstration of my limits. The two of us came back to the apartment. He took up his station in the recliner, and flipped ...
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