Recruiting Jeeter

Steve drew Jeeter to him and took the young man's lips in a deep kiss.

Coming out of the kiss, he whispered, "Could Ron really not make it today?"

"I didn't tell him I was coming today."

Steve's hand went to Jeeter's fly. He unzipped it and pulled the youth's cock out. Jeeter was already in half erection.

"The bedroom is back this way."

Steve lay on his back on the bed, holding his legs spread and raised, his hands gripping behind his knees. He was groaning, and it wasn't just from the arousal or the tongue lapping at his hole. He wasn't as flexible as he once had been. It had been some time since he'd let a man do this to him.

Why had he stopped going to bars and bringing, first, older, and then after a couple of years, younger, men home? He'd forgotten how this got his engine revved up. He was panting. He groaned and let out a low moan as Jeeter's mouth came down over his cock head and the young man's tongue started to worry his piss slit. Flicking his piss slit. "Oh, god, yes. Yes!"

The slender, tight-muscled ebony body came up over him, Jeeter searching out his mouth, the two going into a lip lock. Steve moaned, jerked, and instinctively moved to disengage their lips, but Jeeter wouldn't let him. One of Jeeter's hands was gripping Steve's throat, holding the older man's head pressed to the pillow. The other hand was guiding his cock in place.

Steve did pull his face away from Jeeter's then, though, arching his head up, his eyes focusing on ceiling. "Oh, shit. Fuck! You're big. Too big! Fucccckk!"

But Jeeter wasn't too big. It was difficult, but Steve slowly gave into him as the young man penetrated and pressed in. Steve's passage stretched for him. "Fuck. Fuck! Yes, fuck me!"

Thick, long, inside, both of Jeeter's hands went to gripping Steve's throat. Steve's hands moved down the sleek brown back from shoulder blades to the tight butt orbs. He dug his fingernails in, holding the young, virile stud to him, inside him, thick and long and throbbing, and the two moved together in the dance of the fuck.

A half hour later, Steve had rolled off the bed and gone into the bathroom. Jeeter rose from the bed as well and went over to the window overlooking the terrace and the pool. Steve came up behind him and embraced him, palming the youth's flat belly with one hand and the bulge of one of his muscular pecs with the other. Jeeter raised his arms in surrender and palmed the glass window. He moaned and turned his face toward Steve's and they kissed. The hand left the young man's chest and went behind him, stroking a buttocks cheek.

"Jut your ass toward me," Steve whispered into Jeeter's ear. Giving a low groan, the basketball start did so. Steve put his cock head in position. Jeeter jerked and gave a little gasp as the shaft entered him. Then he spread and set his legs more, arched the back of his head into Steve's chest, and panted, as the man fucked him.

* * * *

Steve was doing all the work, and, as it was the third time they've fucked that day, Jeeter let him do it. Jeeter, young, virile, ever ready, was letting the older man control the fucking—at least to the last minute, when, overcome with need and arousal, Jeeter would take over in frenzied, take-no-prisoners thrusting.

"Just keep it hard. You're a stud. Just keep it long and thick and hard as steel. Be the man," Steve had said. They were on a lounge bed by the pool at Steve's house. Jeeter, naked, black, body beautiful, was stretched out on his back on the bed, his erection proudly reaching for the sky. His contribution otherwise was to hold still, hold Steve's waist between his hands, smile, groan, and thrust from time to time as the mood struck him. Steve straddled the nineteen-year-old's pelvis, his passage burying the cock, and rose and fell on it, occasionally changing position, from facing the young man's feet, grasping his ankles, and moving his own ass up and down on the shaft with the strength of his knees, to facing Jeeter's head, leaning back, grasping the young man's knees, and raising and lowering himself with the strength of the balls of his feet.

They fucked like this for over twenty minutes, Steve controlling the edging, gauging his movement by which of them was tensing, ready to blow, and backing off, only to go again, taking the arousal to a new high each time—until, no longer being able to control it, in one powerful movement, Jeeter turned them both, putting Steve under him, holding him in close embrace, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, both exploding, releasing, crying out the satisfaction to the skies above.

Pushing off from the lounge bed, laughing, both strode toward the edge of the pool, and dove in. They cavorted in the pool, until Steve lifted Jeeter up, sat him down on the rim of the pool, pressed the palm of a hand into the young man's flat, muscular belly, coaxing him to lie flat on the stone terrace, took Jeeter's cock in his mouth, and did his best to give the youth a deep-throated blow job. When Jeeter came, Steve rose up over him at the edge of the pool, grasped the young man's ankles, raised and spread Jeeter's legs, thrust up inside his channel, and fucked him hard and deep.

Jeeter never had it so good, and he seemed to realize it. Every day in every way, he increasingly came under the spell and influence of Steve Taggert. It was time. They'd known each other for three weeks. Steve had attended Jeeter's end-of-season high school basketball games. He'd played ball with Jeeter on Saturday mornings at the Y. He'd been balled by Jeeter and had balled Jeeter at his house, first on Saturday afternoons, but soon thereafter on Saturday, Monday, and Wednesday afternoons. They'd discussed what Jeeter wanted to do in life—how much of that was basketball and how much was something else. He'd taken Jeeter to a Harlem Globetrotters game when that high-performance, high-entertainment team came to the local arena. Jeeter's single-parent mom had gone with them. When she wanted to talk about colleges and scholarship offers, Steve begged off, saying he just wanted to help Jeeter find the best offer. He'd also hinted that if he were judged to be recruiting Jeeter for a particular school, they'd be crossing a line, and he didn't want to saddle Jeeter with that.

But they did discuss programs and scholarships and offers. Steve did help Jeeter consider the pros and cons of each offer, being a neutral or possible, letting Jeeter work the advantages and disadvantages out for himself. Jeeter was a smart kid. And the offer from Hanson University was included in the mix.

It was time.

As they climbed out of the pool, Steve said, "You'll have to make a final decision on a college to accept next week. Let's dry off, dress, and settle down to some serious discussion about that."

* * * *

Steve took Jeeter to the barbers for a haircut on college signing day. They gave the trip plenty of time. They both understood what the gesture meant. Steve took Jeeter's mom along and on to the signing ceremony. She had no idea what the symbolism of the barber shop meant, but she was glad Jeeter got a haircut. He ignored her asking him to do such things. Jeeter didn't ignore Steve's gentle guidance, not giving conclusions, just making Jeeter think of all the angles on what would be best for him.

Jeeter and his mom sat up front in the signing hall. Steve took a seat in the back, where Craig Littleton, the Hanson University alumni recruiter found him and sat beside him.

"So, today's the day and you lost him," Littleton said.

"UNC is a good school and it offered him the best package," Steve answered.

"He liked it better than your package, apparently. Does that make you feel less manly?"

"Not in the least. And you didn't check that angle out too well, just like you didn't check out Jeeter's college needs very well," Steve responded. "It wasn't my package that was in play here in a decision on his future."

"What do you mean I didn't check his college needs out?"

"Not just you. He visited Hanson twice and the coaches there pitched him. None of them found out that he wants to use the basketball as a way to get the education he wants, but he wants to be an environmental scientist. The University of North Carolina has a program in that. Hanson doesn't. All he heard there was playing basketball and going on to playing basketball professionally. And that's all the Hanson portfolio talked about too. You guys didn't take into account that he might be headed to a different kind of life. And you didn't find that out when putting a package together on him."

"You saw that before he made his decision, didn't you? We could have sweetened the pot or changed the pitch."

"I told you from the top to give it your best pitch the first time around, Craig. If you could have sweetened the pot, you should have done it off the top. Nothing's going to change that UNC has the academic program he wants and Hanson doesn't. If he didn't want to get a college degree out of this, he has the talent to go straight to pro. And that's not all. You didn't do too much thinking on his family situation."

"His family situation?"

"His mother's running a single-parent household. Jeeter has a younger brother coming up. He can get home in an hour's drive from UNC. Hanson is in Indiana. Family is important to him. He could have told you that if you or the coaches who interviewed him had asked."

"You let us down, Steve."

"The important thing is that I didn't let Jeeter down. I went over the Hanson offer with him. He knew I'd gone to Hanson. I think that made him keep Hanson in the mix longer than he would have otherwise. And if I'd pitched him any harder, Craig, we'd be getting into recruitment fixing. I'm sure you wouldn't want us to be going there." Steve said this knowing fully well that that was exactly where Craig had wanted him to go. "If I'd pushed harder on Hanson, Jeeter would be living with that being found out some day and coming back to bite him in the butt and screw up his prospects. I didn't promise to cheat for Hanson—or to cheat Jeeter on his future. You got someone. Ron Halpern is signing with Hanson. He's a good ball player."

"He's good, yes," Craig said, "or Hanson wouldn't be signing him. But he's no Jeeter. I don't think we'll be asking you to help us with basketball players again, Steve." Upon saying this, Littleton pulled himself out of his chair.

"Yes, that might be best, Craig," Steve said as Littleton started to move away. "I don't think Adidas would be happy with me getting caught up in a recruiting scandal anyway."

As Jeeter's name was called and he and his mom moved forward for the signing for him to go to the University of North Carolina, Steve cringed a bit. He hadn't been all the selfless, and, if anything, he'd leaned Jeeter toward UNC. UNC was the closest school to here that had rushed Jeeter. Jeeter wouldn't have the best opportunity to visit his family from UNC. He'd have the best ability from UNC to visit Steve too. There was college recruiting and then there was recruiting for what Jeeter and Steve liked to do.