I

Ivan swung the bat like a statuette in motion.

The ball shot in high arc, zipped over the sunlit field, and double-tapped the trimmed grass. Swift as an acrobat, the left fielder snatched and threw the ball.

Ivan slid back onto first base.

Colt turned his face to golden-haired, gay Wesley and to khaki-haired, bi Kyle. “He slammed the ball toward left field,” Colt said suggestively. “I guess he wants to score with you dudes.”

“Our third baseman’s not interested in their butts, like you are,” Felipe said.

“Then, why did he almost tear that ball to tatters?” Colt challenged.

“What kind of a nutty question is that?” Felipe said, about to slug the spike-haired dark blond across the queers. “Ivan hit the ball because he wants our team to win.”

“No!” Colt yipped, swinging a headshake. “Ivan wants to get enough of us on those bases so that Wesley can strike out and give Ivan and the rest of us an excuse to fuck Wesley.”

Jason huffed and pushed his back away from the wall on the home plate side of the dugout. He zigged his fingers through his fine, short hair of honey-brown. Why, Jason wondered, couldn’t his university allow a gay or bi baseball team? Then, fags like Wesley and Kyle would leave that league and stop inciting straight athletes like Colt and Felipe. Sure, the clubbings of the early 2020’s had necessitated the banning of queer teams. But the hostility between straights and nonstraights had petered out considerably in the five years since then. Furthermore, several state universities had begun to re-implement bi sports leagues at the behest of proud, bisexual athletes. Why couldn’t North Carolina do the same?

The Bobcat shortstop stepped safely onto first base.

“Whoo-hoo!” everyone but Jason yelled.

The husky coach with short, curly hair turned to Wesley from above the dugout. “You’ll soon be next in line, Wes.”

“Hit a home run, and my cock is yours,” Colt said. He grasped his crotch to the delight of the capless players around him. “Strike out, and your ass is mine.” He cuffed the blonde’s tight butt.

Wesley smiled humbly; his incisors showed with the whiteness of toothpaste; and he hopped the two steps to the field.

“By the way, we lose the game, and your ass is mine, too,” Colt added, turning to Kyle, the pitcher. “What do you say, Felipe?”

Felipe was slouched on the wooden bench. “Count me in.”

In righteous disgust, Jason scrunched his somewhat diamond face. “Why the fuck do you have to joke like that?”

“Don’t worry,” Colt said. “I’m sure Kyle will lend you a piece of his ass.”

“Bastard!” Jason bawled, storming toward Colt.

Three athletes scrambled toward Jason. They bent under him in their taut, white pants with vertical, black stripes and restrained Jason’s arms.

Jason struggled to shake himself free.

The fiftyish coach rushed below to pull apart the tight pack of guys. “What the hell is going on here?”

Jason grumped, “This jerk keeps playing sexual games here, instead of where they’re