Jody, the Team, and the Navy
By: Kenneth Kirk
(© 2018 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

kkirk@tickiestories.us

Chapter 1

Hi, my name is Jody Di Franco and this is my backstory.  I appear as a character in the Deputy Boys series of erotic books by Kenneth Kirk, available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle e-version.  If you like what you read here, look at that series for more of my sexual adventures.   

I was born September 10, 1951 to Peter Di Franco, a second lieutenant in the US Navy (pictured), and his wife Barbara, an RN who usually worked at the base hospital wherever Dad was stationed.  At the time of my birth, Dad was on an aircraft cruiser somewhere in the Pacific Ocean where he flew bombing runs over Korea.  While Dad was away preserving freedom, Mom lived with her mother in the big old house where she grew up.  Mom married young and was barely 19 when she had me.  She had a little sister Harriet who was only 11 when I joined the family.  Of course, she still lived with Granny, too, and she became the go-to babysitter when Mom needed one.  We all lived in Sylva, a tiny town in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains in North Carolina not far from the Cherokee Reservation and the national park.  Before I had any firm memories, we moved to Pensacola, Florida, where Dad was stationed after the Armistice ended the Korean War.

I attended kindergarten in Pensacola, 1st and 2nd grade in Jacksonville, and 3rd through 5th in Norfolk, Virginia.  Then Dad retired at the rank of Commander and we moved to Charlotte, North Carolina, because he got a job flying for Piedmont Airlines out of Charlotte.  It was also only about three hours from Granny and Aunt Harriet in Sylva. That was cool because I got to spend quite a bit of time in the mountains during the summers of junior and senior high school. 

It was on those long summer vacations that I got to know my little cousin Gary, who is six years younger than me.  His jerk of a father had dumped Harriet as soon as he could after Gary was born.  It had been a shotgun wedding since that’s what you did if you got preggers during the 1950’s.  So, Gary grew up without a dad or brother or any other guy in his life much.  I guess I was the only older guy in his life.  I could tell he looked up to me a lot.  He’d follow me anywhere, but that was okay because I didn’t have anyone else to hang out with there either.

My big sport turned out to be baseball.  I’m not sure why, but I could hit pitches that most other guys would miss.  I had a good trajectory on my hits, too.  By the time I was playing in high school, I could be counted on to hit the ball in a good line driver with no easy ground-outs or pop-ups.  Well, very few, anyhow.  I didn’t hit but a couple of home runs, but I could often bring a couple of runners home or make it to second base myself with a long hit into the outfield.

When I was in junior high I became aware that I was a little different from all the other boys.  I liked girls as much as anyone else, I think, but I found myself noticing certain other guys in a way that I instinctively knew was unusual and, therefore, dangerous.  When I was around a more masculine guy, I found myself mesmerized by his physicality.  I would become aware of the curve of his butt or the stretch of his shirt across his pecs or the energy in the way he walked and moved.  Sometimes I would also become aware of how his clothes bunched up or wrinkled or bulged out in that special area below his belt and above his legs.  I would watch to see how the bulge appeared when he sat down or how it moved when he walked toward me.  If the guy was especially masculine or his pants were especially revealing or, best of all, if the bulge was unusually large, I would find it almost impossible to look anywhere other than his crotch.  I would become transfixed and oblivious to everything else going on around me.  This was not always a good thing.

One summer afternoon when I was 14, my cousin Gary and I were at the local pool in Sylva when a couple of high school Harrys came into the pool area.  One of them was wearing a pair of trunks that fit like street shorts with a hem that was an inch below his crotch.  He was rather cute and I saw him before I saw his friend.  I strained to see the bulge in his not-very-revealing trunks, so I looked for several seconds before I gave up.  It was only then that I noticed his friend walking a couple of steps behind.  Oh my God!  The friend (pictured) was tall with a thin torso, but good pecs and relatively big biceps.  He had a deep tan and sun-bleached hair.  He gave a beautiful, toothy smile to a couple of girls sitting at a table as he walked by.  Even with all these lovely qualities, it was lower down that he carried his greatest attribute. 

Barely hidden in a pair of snow-white, low-cut, brief-style trunks was the most substantial bulge I had yet seen anywhere.  I was totally drawn to the guy and I had to mentally restrain myself from running to him.  As the two passed Gary and me, I saw the profile of the bulge, which curved out from the vee between his legs a couple of inches as it snaked up to the waistband, where I swear I could see the corona of his cockhead make its own bulge beyond the bulge created by the cock shaft. 

The other guy went to the low diving board and bounced a couple of times before diving into the pool.  The whole time that was happening, my eyes were fixed on the nylon-covered dickmeat the tanned blonde so unabashedly displayed to the high-school Harriets … and me.  Holy shit!  When he bounced on the diving board, I watched like a hawk to see if the cockhead would slip past the waistband, but of course, it didn’t.  Gracefully, he dove into the pool and into my secret fantasies.  Shit, he lifted himself out of the pool at the ladder right in front of Gary and me!  The sight of his arm muscles flexing and his flat stomach rising out of the pool drove me crazy.  When his skin-tight white trunks bursting with firm prime boymeat came into view, water dripping off everywhere, I stopped breathing.  Where the nylon fabric was stretched thinnest across the front of his cock, I swear I could see pink through the white!  It took no imagination to see that he was thickly endowed and circumcised, wearing his cock straight up the middle with two nice orbs resting in the pouch beneath it.  I’m sure my mouth dropped open as he stepped onto the concrete and walked across my field of vision, again showing the profile of his substantial prick as he returned to the diving board.  After another dive, he repeated his pattern and I noticed Gary also watching closely.  Glancing around, I could see that almost everyone had their eyes glued to this vision.  This time he didn’t go back to the low board, but climbed the ladder on the structure supporting the ten-foot platform.  From my vantage point, I could see the movement of his crotch from left to right as he lifted his legs to take each step on the ladder.  As he walked out toward the end of the platform, I think my heart officially stopped.  His crotch as he bounced around before diving was indescribably erotic.  His dive was graceful and fluid as he jumped upward, bent into a sharp angle (tight buns momentarily pointed at Heaven), and arched out from the platform to split the surface of the pool with his outstretched arms.  I was more out of breath than he was!  As this vision came out of the water, several onlookers applauded and yelled encouragement, causing him to give the entire crowd (including me) a happy smile and a slight nod.  Again, he walked across in front of me and began climbing the ladder once more. 

Suddenly from right behind me a low voice growled, “What the hell you looking at, kid?”

Startled out of my trance, I looked to the side where I recognized my idol’s buddy glaring at me.  Had he realized I was watching his friend out of lust rather than admiration for his diving skills?  Would he hit me?  Would he tell anyone the dark truth about me?  I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I couldn’t let him know that truth.  My fear came up from my stomach like vomit, clogging my throat and preventing me from speaking. 

My accuser’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed my shoulder roughly, twisting me a little so I more nearly faced him.  “I said,” he growled more threateningly, “what the hell are you looking at?”  

My brain was running 90 miles an hour as I evaluated potential answers.  “Uh,” I started hesitantly. 

“Uh, what?” he derided me.

“I’m, uh, just watching, uh, your friend’s, uh, great diving,” I stammered.

He squeezed my shoulder hard.  “Just be sure that’s all you’re looking at!”

“Uh, sure,” I promised.

With another mean glare and strong squeeze, he went away.  I was seriously unnerved by this nasty encounter, but as I looked back at the vision of masculine beauty high above me, I was again transfixed as he executed another amazing dive.

Gary had not spoken during my altercation with the ‘friend,’ but after that dive, he tapped my elbow.  “Let’s get some ice cream,” he said.

Reluctant to leave our vantage point, but grateful to get away before the ‘friend’ got even more hostile, I nodded.  We rose, stuffed our towels into the canvas bag Grandma had given us, and padded through the gate to our bikes chained in the bike rack.  Neither Gary nor I ever mentioned the incident, but it stayed vividly in my head for years.  After that afternoon, I never lacked for a potent fantasy.  I must have beat off a thousand times to the flickering images of that almost transparent white suit straining to cover an indecently huge cock.  The incident also showed me how much trouble I could stir up just by looking too long at a guy.

I was too short for basketball and too light-weight for football but seemed to be built okay for baseball.  From 6th grade on, I was a passable shortstop and a good hitter.  There were several guys on the team and some of the other athletes (football players and wrestlers mostly) that I found attractive.  My natural instinct was to just stare at them whenever they happened to be in view, especially if we were in the locker room or, better yet, the showers.  During junior high I got caught a couple of times by the object of my attraction or another nearby observer.  Whenever I was confronted in some way, I was able to come up with some excuse (just daydreaming, are you crazy?), narrowly avoiding the disaster of being exposed as a queer.  The irony was that I was totally queer in my heart but had never acted on that impulse at all.

By the time I was a junior at West Charlotte High, I had the highest batting average on the team and was the back-up shortstop.  During our games, I would peruse the players on the other team and occasionally be rewarded with seeing a hottie who might inspire a few jack-off sessions for a while.  One guy stood out in my fantasies for a long time.  He was the pitcher for cross-town rival Garinger High School and was a drop-dead gorgeous blonde with a muscular body along with an excessively full crotch.  Oh, my!  I had my worst performance in the batter’s box during our first game.  I was so distracted watching his crotch move as he wound up for the pitch that he easily struck me out every time I was at bat.  I did a little better when we played them again but was still struggling to concentrate on the ball instead of his balls.  Oh, but I had my most powerful jack-off fantasy from then on!

Baseball was my passion and I loved striving to hit every ball thrown to me.  Still a little runty as a senior, nevertheless, I was the starting shortstop that year and still the number one hitter.  But I got no scholarship offers.  Several college scouts told me I might get a walk-on slot at their school if I just showed up for tryouts.

My parents were both pretty cool and generally I had a good childhood.  They encouraged me in school and I was generally an A student.  I was good with numbers but for some reason not so good with science.  I liked the humanities more.  So, my dad’s dream of me becoming an engineer was abandoned when I was only able to pull a B in Chemistry.  We talked a lot about what I wanted to do with my life and he often recommended a life in the military, but emphasized that I had to be an officer, which meant getting a college degree.  Working as a commercial airline pilot, Dad recognized the importance of good business skills in the management of a company and suggested I consider some type of business degree. 

As my graduation from high school approached, I considered accounting, economics, management, and finance.  I visited Western Carolina in Cullowhee, near Sylva, where I picked up a college catalogue so I could study which courses are required for various degrees.  I also managed to grab a catalogue when I was at a baseball game at Appalachian State in Boone.  Eventually, I decided to consider finance or econ as I looked for a college.  During my senior year, I got acceptances from Western Carolina, UNC Charlotte, and UNC Chapel Hill.  Mom leaned toward UNC Charlotte so I could stay at home, but Dad thought I should consider Chapel Hill as it had a stronger national reputation.  I didn’t even have to argue to be allowed to get out of town, which was a key ingredient in the decision for me.  Anyhow, I graduated in 1970 and set my sights on the main UNC campus at Chapel Hill.

That summer I worked as a bookkeeper for the big Sears store at the mall.  It was boring tasks, but I enjoyed learning about how the financial end of the business worked.  In mid-June, I took a couple of days off to go to Chapel Hill for a four-day baseball camp.  The camp was at the tail end of a longer camp for high school players I had attended for the previous two summers.  The long camp was two weeks and was meant to help the high schoolers learn, develop, and grow as players.  It had helped me become a better shortstop and had boosted my batting average a bit, too.  This summer, I attended the two days that were set aside for tryouts for the varsity team for the next season.  There were several scholarships at stake and about 70 guys who were eager to get one of the limited places on the team.

We were housed in the athletic dorm that had just opened the previous fall and was quite nice.  Any of us who made the team during this tryout would automatically gain a spot in the dorm, too.  My roomie for five nights was Garret Smithfield, who was the third baseman at West Charlotte.  We were friends, but not especially close.  We were assigned to one of the rooms in a two-bedroom suite.  The guys sharing the other room in our suite were both from Wilmington, Sam and Greg.  They were good guys and the four of us cheered each other on and hung out while we were there.  In the end, none of us received a scholarship and they all decided to attend different universities in the fall.  Even though I didn’t win a scholarship, you’ll soon see that baseball tryouts turned out to be a critical step in my development as a sexual adult male.

 To be continued...

Author’s Note: Dear Readers, This series is a prequal to an erotic trilogy called The Deputy Boys which is about a sort of gay fraternity operating at an Appalachian university in the 1970’s.  The first book of the trilogy is currently available on Amazon.com (The Deputy Boys Book 1: Gary’s Invitation) for $10.99 in paperback or $2.99 e-book.   The Deputy Boys Book 2: Gary’s Induction will be published later this year. 

Following the posting of Jody, the Team, and the Navy, two other related series will be posted in Tickie Stories.  Training the Coopers is a prequal to Deputy Boys Book 2 and Gary’s Summer Interlude fills in Gary’s erotic adventures in the summer between high school and college when he joins the Deputy Boys “club.”  I believe each series works as a stand-alone story featuring characters I hope you will come to love and lust for.  Taken together, all these stories will make you thoroughly familiar with this universe of sexy high school, college, and military guys and the guys they love. 

If you wish to purchase Deputy Boys Book 1, search for the book by entering the ASIN in Amazon’s search bar.  The ASIN for the paperback is 1796605840 and the ASIN for the e-book is B07NKWKFWH (that is a zero not the letter O).  Please let me know if you have trouble finding them.  Incidentally, books purchased from Brentwood Films and Books can be autographed by the author (me, naturally). 

As always, I appreciate your readership and enjoy your feedback. 

So, please sit back and enjoy the adventures of collegiate baseball player Jody Di Franco from his first encounter at the University of North Carolina and through his first few years in the US Navy. 

Sincerely,

Kenneth Kirk
Dallas, TX
January 23, 2021

Posted: 10/23/2020