I had only recently moved to this smaller town with my parents. There was a job opening in the local mill, and dad had applied. I had to leave behind all my old friends and familiar faces.

Not only that, but at seventeen, I had just graduated high-school. If you are not in school, it makes it very hard to meet new people. What do you do? hang around the streets or the malls hoping to meet people? Besides, I spent much of my time out submitting résumés and looking for a job.

My dad suggested I join one of the local soccer teams. As I was 17, I was too old for one of the youth teams. I had to join one of the men's teams, as a real rookie player. Luckily, I did have the skills enough, and was fast enough to actually get on the field. I didn't have to spend a lot of time sitting on the sidelines hoping to be subbed in.

Unfortunately, though, at seventeen, I was youngest member on the team by three years. All the other guys were old enough to go to the bar after the games and after practice. All I could do was head on home - with soccer balls.

You might call them blue balls or lovers' nuts, but I chose to call them soccer balls. You know what I mean: when your balls are so aching for sex that they get swollen and painful. I would get this way from fantasizing about the older guys on my team. There were some real good-looking guys, and I imagined them as they might look in some Playgirl spread.

Jake, for example, who was tall, tanned and aways immaculately groomed. He was a real hot guy, and he knew it! He was probably about 26 or 27, and he treated me like a lowly piece of shit. He would boss me around "Bring me the water!" "Get me a towel!" But still, I loved to imagine him near-naked, posing just for me, his junk bulging under his tight bikini underwear.

Or there was Ken, a really nice guy, who did not treat me like a turd. But he was engaged to a hot chick, so I knew he would not be interested in a 17-year-old gay guy who had the hots for him.

I never imagined these guys completely naked. Mostly because I couldn't. I didn't have a lot of experience of what guys looked like naked. At my old high-school, the showers were cubicle style, and it was not considered polite to peek. And the soccer team did not have a club-house. We just used the municipal fields, and only one of these had change rooms. So we mostly came dressed to play, or changed on the field with a towel wrapped round.

But it was also partly because it would spoil my romantic dreams of them. I didn't want to someday strip away the undies and find that Jake had the world's ugliest dick, or that Ken's dick was microscopic.

But I would imagine enough to get me aroused in my jock-strap under my shorts. One good thing about a jock-strap - it would keep you held in tight so the other guys didn't know you were walking around with a perpetual woody imagining having sex with them.

The major drawback to my daydreams was the soccer balls. I would go home after the Wednesday evening practices or the Sunday games with aching nuts - soccer balls.There was nothing I could do about it but go up to my room, drop my drawers, and beat my meat.

The one guy I did try to imagine completely naked was our goalie-captain, Rick. He was my idol. He was one of the oldest guys on the team and I looked up to him in everything he did and said. He must have been nearly thirty. I knew he was single. I knew he had a degree in horticulture, and that he had started his own, booming nursery and landscaping business. He was tall and blondish and had a nice bulge in his shorts. And it was that bulge I imagined about.

Sometimes I imagined it uncut, like my own. Other times I saw it as cut, like others I had caught glimpses of. At that time, I had never actually touched a circumcised cock. Or maybe it was long and thin, or was it short and fat. I never really dreamed I would ever find out for sure.

I played sweeper on the team, the rear-most defense man before the goalie. I liked it that I was back near Rick, but on the other hand I regretted that I spent most of my time with my back to him. I almost wished I was a forward on the other team so I could watch Rick's every move.

Much of my time on the field was spent getting the ball away from the attacking team and passing it forward to our own attackers, but more often than not, all I could do was pass it back to the goalie, or more often than that kicking it out of bounds. At least that way, they were not in aggressive control of the ball.

On the day I am talking about, the opposing team was in particularly good form. They had been in control for most of the game, and we had held on by the skin of our teeth, but the score had been 2-1.

I took the ball away from the opposition once, dribbled it forward, then kicked it back to Rick who threw it forward to one of our other defense men, who passed it forward.

"Good boy, Jay!" Rick called to me. "Keep feeding them to me if you can't feed them forward." I felt super proud that he had acknowledged me.

But the opposition's attack didn't let up . They kept the pressure on us constantly. Rick, my hero, made some terrific saves, and one of our attacks succeeded and we tied up the game 2-2.

I took it away from the attackers again soon after, and tried to kick it back to Rick once more, But I guess I was too excited.

I kicked it clear over the goal and out of the field altogether, right through the glassless window of an old house adjoining the field. The house was scheduled for demolition.I started to run to get it, but Rick called,

"Forget it, Jay! We can find it later," and he signalled to one of our reserves to throw him a spare ball. He threw the new ball into play.

Their forwards captured the ball right away and made a last drive which saw them get past me and Rick and put the ball in the net seconds before the ref blew the final whistle.

We had lost the game.

But as Rick reassured me after we had done the usual handshake with the winners, it was only a local game, and we were not to the play-offs yet. Nor was it an inter-district tourney.

The other team members were packing up their stuff, getting ready to hit the bar for a round. Rick put his hand on my shoulders as I was swapping my runners for my soccer boots.

"Hey, Jay," he said, "You gonna help me find that ball you kicked out of the game?" As captain, Rick looked after our gear and our soccer balls - the real ones, that is. He already had jeans on over his shorts, but I was intending to walk home as I was.

"Sure," I agreed, glad to spend any extra time with Rick, especially alone time, just me and him. "but don't you want to hit the pub with the others? I can find the ball by myself. After all, I kicked it out."

"Well, that's nice of you, but I'd rather spend my time with you than spend it in the bar."

Did I hear him right? Did he really mean he wanted to be with me? I hoped he would explain what he meant, but he said no more.

We slung our soccer kit bags over our shoulders and headed off for the old house.

The doors of the old house had been boarded up, but kids had pulled the boards off and just propped them back in place for easy future access.

We clambered in through a gap in the boards, dragging our sports bags with us.

"Oh, shit!" Rick exclaimed when his eyes had adjusted to the dim light in the interior of the old house. I turned to see what he was staring at.

Young vandals - or maybe not-so-young vandals - had been at work. What drywall they had not smashed, they had covered in felt pen graffiti. Among all the dirty words there were drawings, occasionally of female tits and pussies, but mostly of huge cocks and balls, and guys butt-fucking each other or sucking each other off.

"I hope this didn't embarrass you too much," Rick said, as he made a big show of looking for the ball and avoiding looking at the pictures. "No, not at all," I told him. "Actually, I think they're kind of funny …" I paused for a moment. "And kinda sexy, too."

"Really?" he said, sounding surprised. "I would have thought a straight kid like you would have been kind of shocked by some of those drawings?"

'Straight kid like me?' Was he hinting to me that he wasn't straight? I took the chance that that was exactly what he was doing. If I was wrong, he would probably be disgusted by me, but I had to follow this through.

"Actually, the pictures really turn me on. I get hard looking at them." I admitted.

"Me too," he chuckled. He rubbed his crotch. "I've got a woody right now!"

We were all alone. No-one could see us. I took the chance.

"Can I see it?" I asked.

"No way," he replied. "It wouldn't be right. You're only a kid. I could go to jail or something."

"No you wouldn't." I insisted. "I'm well and truly over the age of consent," I said, "and it's not as if you are my teacher or anything."

"You're sure?' he asked. "You won't tell anyone?" Rick sounded a lot excited, but a lot scared, too.

"I'm sure," I promised him. Then I confessed, "I've dreamed about being alone with you like this for ages."

"Like this … ?" he queried. "You mean …"

"Yes," I confirmed, "I mean having sex. Besides," I added, "I've got a woody, too."

"Well, OK," he said, reluctantly, "if you'll show me yours, too." As corny as it sounds, that's the way it happened. There in that crummy, partly destroyed, abandoned house, we both stripped off our team shirts and pulled down our pants. Rick actually stripped of his jeans and tossed them and our shirts onto a broken old plastic chair on a ledge beside us. Coincidentally, our missing ball was there. too.

Both our dicks were now exposed, both pointing upwards. They were both of about the same size, six inches, and both of us were uncut. I reached out to touch his cock. Rick pulled away at first, almost as if expecting me to hurt it or something, but he relaxed and pushed his hips forward again.

I grasped it tentatively. It was hot and throbbing.

"I've never touched another man's cock before," I confessed to him.

"Never?" he queried.

"Well," I admitted, "another guy's cock, yes, but never a man's." My friend at our previous town and I had played around with each other a few times. My dad had actually caught us at it, so he knew I was gay, and he was OK with it. I drew Rick's foreskin back. "You want me to suck it?" I asked.

"Sure, if you really want to."

"I really want to," I assured him. Boy! How I wanted to!

I dropped to my knees, opened my mouth, and leaned forward and took his cock-head in my hungry mouth.

"Oh, yes," he sighed. "I've noticed you watching me all the time. I've been hoping you wanted me as much as I've wanted you."

This man had been wanting me? I was in heaven!

A sexy scent of man-sweat exuded from his pubic hair as I pushed my face down on Rick's beautiful cock. I had not had much experience at cock-sucking, but I loved the feel and taste of this man's penis in my mouth. I sucked his swollen bulb and nibbled his shaft, and with each change of action, I heard Rick murmur "Yes," or "oh," above me.

I began to bob my head up and down on his dick rapidly, but he begged,

"Stop, or I'll cum too quick!"

Rick pulled me to my feet. My cock was almost bursting. It stood right out. He dropped to his knees before me. He did just as I had done to him minutes before. He grasped my cock, squeezed out a drop of pre-cum, then swallowed my knob.

It was too much for me. I felt my loins about to explode with desire.

"I'm gonna cum!" I squealed, trying to warn him. But it was too late. I was already cumming into his mouth. I thought he would spit out my dick and my cum, but he kept it in his mouth, swallowing every spurt of cum that shot from my piss-hole.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I cried, thinking I had made a fool of myself.

"Don't be," he said as he took his mouth from my dick and pulled me to my feet. "I loved every drop of it."

His arm wrapped round me and pulled me to him. His face bent to mine. Our mouths met, opened and we kissed greedily. Traces of my own cum dribbled from his mouth into mine. I could taste myself through him.

"Will you fuck me?" I begged. "I want your dick inside me."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Have you ever been fucked before?"

"Not really," I admitted. "But I have stuck my fingers and other things up there to see what it feels like."

"Well, OK," he agreed. "I've got some crotch creme in my bag that should work OK as lube."

Crotch Creme was what we called an athlete's foot and jock itch ointment that we all used to soothe chaffing from jock straps.

We both shucked off our shorts and jockstraps, which had been round our knees. Rick retrieved his sports bag from near the door where we had dropped them. He rooted round and drew out a large green beach towel and his tube of creme. He spread the towel on the dirty floor for me to lie on. I got down on my hands and knees on it. Rick pushed my front end down so I was face down on the floor with my bum sticking up. He spread the creme on his hard cock, and used his finger to smear some onto and into my hole. When his finger went into me, I shivered with delight.

"This is going to hurt," he told me, "but just tell me when it hurts too much and I will pull out of you."

"I don't care if it hurts," I told him. And I didn't care. I just wanted him to fuck me, maybe to make love to me.

He kneeled behind me. I felt him spread my ass cheeks. I felt him searching for my hole with his knob. I felt his knob pressing against the doorway to my insides. Then I felt like I was being torn open!

The pain was immense. His knob was in my hole, stretching it wide open. I wanted to scream, "Take it out! Take it out!" but I wanted it in me more than I wanted it out. Ignoring the pain. I pushed back onto the head of his cock. I felt a sort of 'pop!' and then the pain was disappearing. I could feel him sliding slowly into me, deeper and deeper.

Every moment the feeling of pleasure increased and the feeling of pain diminished.

"Am I hurting you, Jay?" Rick asked, concerned.

"Not any more," I told him. "It feels great. Just take it slowly until I get used to it." Rick began slowly pumping his long penis into my manhole slowly and deliberately.

"This feels so good," he sighed. "You don't know how many times I have jerked off after a game, imagining doing this with you. I thought it would never come true, because I would never hit on a young guy."

"What a laugh," I replied. "I've spent weeks jerking off thinking about you doing me like this. Now it's happening. You fucking me feels so great!"

And it did feel great. Rick would slide it almost out of me, then slowly push it back into em. Each stoke was exciting parts of me that I had never felt before.

"I have another confession to make," Rick confided. "When I asked you to help me find the ball, I was hoping something would happen, but I wasn't going to make the first move. The graffiti did the trick, didn't it? But I didn't know it was here, honest!"

"The guys who drew those pictures were just hoping they could be doing what we're doing right now," I suggested, enjoying the feel of my hero inside my bumhole, fucking me slowly.

After what seemed hours, but was only really minutes of Rick's fucking me ass, he told me, "I'm gonna cum soon. Do you want me to pull out before I cum?"

"No," I replied. "I want you to do it inside me." And he did. Seconds after, I felt him tense up, then felt his dick giving spasms, and he pushed hard against my butt-hole as he began to shoot his cum into me. He gasped again and again as he shot his cum from his insides into mine. Then he was done.

Afterwards, he offered me a ride home. As we walked back to his car, he said, "I hear you're looking for a job. How would you like to come work for me - mowing lawns, trimming hedges, tending gardens, and so on. It's mostly spring and summer work, but I also have maintenance stuff on the nursery in fall and winter."

"How would I like it? I'd love it!"

That was early spring. I worked for Rick for all spring and summer, and now we are heading back into fall. I love working with him, and I love him, and we make love together as often as we can.

I've brought him home to meet my parents - not as my employer, but as my boyfriend. My folks like him, and are OK with the arrangement. Rick wants me to come live with him, even marry him, but I've promised mom and dad I will wait until I'm nineteen. I turned eighteen in July so there's only about ten months to go.

Soccer season is starting up again soon. I know one thing for sure this year - I won't be going home after every game with soccer balls!

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