One of the big perks of entering the Flushing Meadows Tennis Academy that used the U.S. Open tournament courts in Queens, New York, for its classes was that every summer the students enjoyed contact with professional tennis players entered in one of four major annual tennis tournaments by being given volunteer jobs at the two-week venue. Two new eighteen-year-old students just coming out of high school programs, David Wu and Jason Lee, had quickly gravitated to each other because of their similarities and interests and, for that same reason, had found themselves in ball boy jobs at the U.S. Open tournament.
The ethnicity of both stood out in what once was an all-white gentlemen's sport. David was Chinese-American and Jason's family had immigrated from Jamaica. Other similarities had brought the two together. They were both of small stature for developing professional tennis players, which had made them both scrappers who took risks and learned to move fast on the courts. Their speed as well as their size and the knowledge they already had for the sport were what had qualified them to be ball boys for tournament play. At eighteen, they normally would be too big and not agile enough for such duties.
What solidified their friendship, though, was that they both knew they wanted to be actively and submissively gay and were drawn to muscular men older than themselves, preferably pro tennis players--and they both were old enough to make that decision for themselves now. They both had started messing around, necking with local tennis players, and giving head, although only Jason had, as yet been ass fucked.
Both young men were sassy, on the make, full of themselves for being accepted into the Flushing Meadows Tennis Academy, and more than ready to rub elbows and other body parts with male tennis stars. They were delighted to have been made part of the coming U.S. Open and both were determined to score with professional tennis player in those two weeks.
On Wednesday afternoon of week one of the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament in the closing days of August, David stopped Jason in the ball boys' locker room before they were to go out onto the Louis Armstrong Stadium for a U.S. Tennis Open second-round afternoon match between the twenty-six-year-old Italian, Marco Spinelli, heir to an Italian shipping vessel empire and a notorious bad boy, and the American Steve Melton. Both of the ball boys were perfectly formed beautiful angels.
"You know what we discussed about Spinelli," David said. "I bet you couldn't."
"I bet I can," Jason retorted. "Piece of cake. He's got a reputation for it."
"Well, I've read it's OK in Italy, where they're a lot more open about this, but I bet he wouldn't try it here with those working the tournament, with one of us--with a ball boy. I think they'd mostly think the ball boys were off limits anyway--that they'd be too young."
"If he does it at all, he's hooked and will do it anywhere with any small guy. It's a matter of letting him know we're legal. Gossip is that size matters with him, that in his case, he likes them small," Jason said. "He himself is a big dude. Over six-seven according to the tournament book and nearly two hundred pounds. A real hunk."
"So, what, you want to do the bet or not?"
"Sure. What's the bet, then?"
"If you can, you have to return this used, with him initialing the packet." David surreptitiously pulled a Trojan Magnum condom packet out of his bag.
Jason laughed. "What do you have that for? And what makes you think Spinelli needs a Magnum?"
"His photos have been on the Internet. I know you've seen them. We've looked at them together. You tell me whether you think he needs a really big one or not. As you said, he's a really big boy for this sport. It stands to reason he's big everywhere. You've seen a hell of a lot more erections than I have. Is he big or is he big?"
"OK, you're right. But why again are you carrying that around? You haven't done it. I've done it. You haven't."
"There always will be a first time," David said. "I've had it with me since the day I turned eighteen--just in case. That's the bet. Take it or leave it."
"What if I don't get Spinelli to do me?"
"Then you have to let Egan Smithe do you. You know he wants to." Egan Smithe was one of the tennis academy financial managers. He had something to do with setting up the ball boy roster, and he'd made no bones about wanting to do eighteen-year-old Jason, who he knew had let some of the local tennis pros screw him.
"Yeah, but Smithe's an old, fat, ogre."
"He has a dick. That's the bet. If you don't really think you can get Spinelli--"
* * * *
It really wasn't that hard. Marco Spinelli was a bad boy in many ways and that was one of them. Eighteen-year-olds were fair game for him, the smaller the prey the better. Spinelli treated them as fair game everywhere, and there were rumors and Internet gossip about him taking them young and small, none of which seemed to faze him a bit. Eighteen was more than "good to go" for him.
He was an arrogant son of a gun with every reason to be so. He was a gorgeous Italian--sleek and sensual, Mediterranean dark and sultry. Sex on a stick and independently wealthy. He had no trouble getting what he wanted. Any young man prone to go under a man would give it all up for Spinelli without a second thought. He had not only fame, fortune, and looks, but a big cock too. He knew what to do with it and he was an endurance champion. He had shown that he easily could go five sets in tennis and three quick fucks in bed afterward.
During the match, which Spinelli won handily, Jason, through looks and flirting and letting Spinelli touch his hand longer than necessary when he provided the ball or the towel, and by floating gracefully around the court chasing balls with Spinelli ogling him and fantasizing about him, had no trouble making Spinelli want him. Jason, in turn, made it quite clear the Italian tennis pro could have him. Once when Spinelli reached out for a ball Jason was holding, Jason smiled and said, "You've got nice balls already." They'd been flirting, so there was no question that he was speaking in innuendo.
Spinelli smiled back and said, "Yes, I do, but you haven't seen them. Want to see them after the match?"
Jason's answer was just to get in, "I'm eighteen and have no plans for after the match. I could have a look," and that was that. Given opportunity, they both realized they had a deal.
They met, not by accident, an hour after the match was over. As Spinelli was leaving the court, he stopped where Jason was standing to pin down that he wanted the young man.
"Nice. I haven't had much chocolate," he said to Jason as he came up to him. "Are you a player? You say you're eighteen. Do you take cock? Can you handle a big one?"
There it was, baldly out on the table.
Jason had to pin this down fast, so he was equally direct. "I haven't been laid by an Italian. You're a big, sexy stud. I'd love you to do me. And big is better."
No need for further negotiations. Jason told the tennis player where he could find a usually deserted section of corridor under the stands that he could pretend was just a way he was trying to find to get out to where the courtesy cars were waiting to take players to their hotels if that was necessary.
It wasn't necessary. They kissed and felt each other up in the corridor. Spinelli would have risked fucking the black ball boy right there, up against the wall. But Jason needed an initialed condom packet and a used rubber, which would be hard to manage here, so he begged off, which made Spinelli want to spike him even more.
"Can I carry your bag out to the car taking you back to your hotel?" Jason asked, fluttering his long, thick eyelashes at the Italian.
"
Sicuramente puoi
--You certainly may," Spinelli said, patting Jason on the butt.
