Remembering a Legend
mc; Mb; g; Mdom; mast; oral; inc; sissy; caution
Paul was in the truck stop restroom, cleaning a toilet when the news came over the speakers. He was slowly licking one of the toilet bowl’s rims, trying to get everything off he could before he actually scrubbed it. As he did so, he had a hand under his uniform pants and boxers, jerking himself off. This didn’t excite him as much as giving some big trucker a blowjob, but at his age, it was getting harder and harder to get one to agree to a blowjob.
“The sports world was saddened by the death of Antonio Scarza, legendary pitch for the Saint Louis Cardinals. Scarza, who was 75, played for the Cards for fifteen years, starting in 1964. Although he was traded to the Mets in 1979, and had some success there before he retired four years later, it was at Saint Louis that he is best remembered…”
For the first time in fifty years, Paul did not feel an aching need to get himself off while licking toilets or sucking cock. As he raised up and vomited into the toilet, his mind drifted back—fifty years ago, when he was a five-year-old boy.
It was May 8, 1966, the last game the Cardinals would play in the original Busch Stadium before moving to the new Busch Memorial Stadium. His parents had taken five-year-old Paul to the game for the momentous occasion. They got there early, and were lucky enough to see pitch Antonio Scarza signing autographs. Paul, wearing his little league uniform, convinced his parents to let him get his program signed by ‘a real Major League Pitcher’, which little Paul hoped to be himself one day.
As they waited in line, Paul thought there was something odd about the way the man was doing autographs, but since his parents didn’t seem to find anything strange, he didn’t say anything. After a few minutes, he was facing the man himself.
“And who do we have here?” The big, dark-haired man said, as Paul suddenly found himself bashful.
“P-paul, Paul McCloskey. You’re Antonio Scarza—you’re a really good pitcher!” The boy blushed. The man was sitting in a folding chair, with a small table to one side. Paul’s father stood behind him, giving him a slight shove, encouraging him to approach the ball player closer.
“Thank you, Paul, it’s always good to talk to fans. Don’t be afraid, I won’t bite.” The man smiled at him, which for some reason only made Paul uneasy. He took a few hesitant steps forward, offering his program to him.
“Oh, don’t worry about that shit, Paul, what you really want is to suck on this, isn’t it?” As Scarza said this, Paul noticed for the first time that the man’s pants were partway down, and his penis was hanging out.
Paul looked back at his parents, confused. They smiled encouragingly. He looked around, and noticed the crowds walking by, no one paying any attention to the ball player sitting with his thing sticking out.
“Paul, I said you want to suck on my cock, my penis, my manmeat,” Scarza’s voice had a predatory tone to it now. “As a matter of fact, there is nothing you like to do more than suck on cocks, any man’s cock.”
Paul opened his mouth, licking his lips. He did want to suck on the thing. He somehow knew it was very wrong—his parents, being good Catholics, had never talked about such things before. But he knew he shouldn’t touch another man down there, much less suck on it where the piss came out. But he wanted to now, more than anything.
He knelt down and licked along the big shaft. He tentatively put his mouth over the tip, to see if he could suck part of it into his mouth.
“That’s it, little fag—the more you suck on it, the more you’ll like it. You’ll want to suck on cocks like this more and more.” Antonio was enjoying the degradation as much as the fellatio. “I’m sure your father will help you out, let you suck his cock.”
As Antonio smiled at him, Paul’s father smiled back and nodded eagerly, his eyes wild.
“As a matter of fact, the only thing that will feel almost as good as sucking a man’s cock, is licking a men’s room toilet seat or rim. It won’t be as good, but almost, especially if it’s a really dirty, smelly toilet. The dirtier it is, the more you’ll like it. Yeah, when you’re older, you’ll be able to come just from sucking a fag’s cock or licking a nice, nasty toilet bowl rim.”
Paul was barely listening to the things Scarza was saying, so intent was he on sucking the big fat cock.
When he finished, and Scarza sent him away, with an autograph on his program and his cum dripping down Paul’s chin, Paul could hardly enjoy the game. Every time a batter came up to the plate, he imagined what it would be like if he were kneeling at home plate in front of the batter, sucking on his penis.
Every night after that, for many years, he sucked on his father’s cock. It wasn’t long before Paul met a priest at his parish who was happy to let him come by after school and suck his penis. Sometimes, the man wouldn’t let him suck it until he had put it up his ass and cum. He didn’t really enjoy that, but he acted like he did so he could suck a cock.
He dropped out of school when he was caught in the locker room with a couple of the football players. He did odd jobs, mostly as janitor, to pay the bills. But all that time, he had an insatiable hunger for sucking on men’s cocks.
As a grown man, he hung out at gay bars, enduring the humiliation from the doms who knew about his obsession. As he got older, he had a harder time convincing even the scummiest of homosexuals to let him suck them off. Most of the time, he had to get off at his job, as he was now, licking toilet bowl rims and jerking off.
But now, for the first time in fifty years, he knew why. And now that he knew his tormenter, Antonio Scarza, was dead, he no longer felt the need to suck cock or lick toilets. He sat in the rest room in the truck stop and began crying.
Christi was hurrying down the street to her job when she glanced at the newspaper stand. At forty, she was running late to get to the Pussycat Palace, a cheap strip bar on the wrong side of Saint Louis. She kept herself in good shape, but even with the boob job a wealthy customer had paid for a few years ago, she knew she didn’t have many more years to work as a stripper. Even at a dive like the Pussycat Palace, she had to work harder to make rent money, competing against girls half her age.
Her one advantage was her willingness to do more for her customers than some of the other dancers. The owner didn’t care what she did for her lap dances, as long as she made her quota and kept the customers coming back. And she had to admit, she still got off on it, especially if the customer called her a ‘whore.’
These were the thoughts running through her mind when she happened to look over at the newsstand and see a copy of Sports Insider with Antonio Scarza’s picture on the cover, with the caption “Antonio Scarza, Saint Louis Cardinals Pitcher and Coach, 1941-2016.” She stopped and stared at the picture.
It was 1987, she was eleven years old, and she went by Christine at the time. As Christine Aronson, she was a fairly normal eleven-year-old girl with dark brown hair tied in a ponytail. Saint Louis had begun allowing girls to play little league two years before, and Christine had been one of the first girls to try out in the league. The boys on her team were not too happy having a girl on the team, but over the two years, she had won them over.
She and her parents had gone to a Cardinals game that Saturday afternoon, and somehow, they met Antonio Scarza, a legendary pitcher for the Cards, and now their pitching coach. She and her parents were a little fuzzy on what had happened, but that evening, after the game, they met Scarza at a hotel suite in downtown Saint Louis.
“Mr. Scarza, we do appreciate you inviting us to your party,” Christine’s father said, looking around at the high-rise suite. It had an impressive view of the Saint Louis skyline and the river. “Are some of the players joining us?”
Scarza chuckled and looked at the man and his wife. “Oh, don’t worry about that.”
He turned to Christine. She was tall for her age, with healthy tanned skin and shoulder-length dark brown hair. She was wearing a ball cap, with her ponytail pulled through the back of it. She wore a red Cardinals jersey and white shorts and sneakers. “I’m always glad to meet fans, especially ones as cute as your daughter. What is your name again?”
Christine felt a little self-conscious as the older man leered at her. She wasn’t used to men looking at her like that. “Christine, sir. I’ve read all about your days as a pitcher for the Cards. You were really great. I’m pitching for my Little League team this year. I’m hoping maybe one day, I’ll get to play in the Majors, if they let girls play.”
Scarza laughs at her optimism. “Yeah, I heard Little League was letting girls play. At first I thought they just meant as playthings for the boys, but then I watched a game and saw it for myself.”
Christine and her parents looked confused at his statement. He caught the adults’ gaze and stared at them briefly. Their puzzled looks turned to goofy grins, as their eyes stared blankly through Scarza. The mother’ mouth was open, and she began drooling down her chin as she stood motionless.
As Christine tried to make sense of what he had said, he looked back at her. “Girls shouldn’t be wasting their time playing baseball. I suppose you can finish out this season, as long as you play with a nice tight uniform and no underwear, so everyone watching you try to pitch or bat can see your nipples and cunt lips. You’ll look ridiculous, like some kind of baseball slut, but you’ll enjoy every leer or whistle. And you better give every boy on your team a blowjob before the end of the season.”
As she looked into his eyes, she found her thoughts shifting. She looked forward to looking like a slut in front of the parents and fans at her games. The idea of offering the boys on her team blowjobs made her tingle. She had never done anything like that before, but she vaguely knew what a blowjob was.
“And you need to let the team know that if they make it to the playoffs, you’ll offer your cherry to the MVP.”
As she stood there, taking in his filthy instructions, he turned to her parents. “Why don’t the two of you leave your pretty little slut with me while you go in there,” He said, indicating the second bedroom in the suite. “I think it’s about time you got to work on a little brother for her. Maybe he can actually play baseball.”
Mr. and Mrs. Aronson, turned and began kissing each other passionately. With a wild, lustful look in their eyes, they hurried to the bedroom and closed the door, never looking back at their daughter, who stood staring at Scarza.
Scarza picked up a remote and pointed it at the stereo system against the wall. Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” began playing.
“Now that all those silly ideas about playing baseball are out of your head, little slut, you should think about more practical career goals. With your looks, you could be a stripper, or maybe a whore or a pornstar. While you think about that, why don’t you dance for me, as sexy as you can, and show me that sexy body under those clothes.” The eleven-year-old didn’t have much experience in dancing sexily, except for what she had seen on television, but she moved her hips to the beat of the song. As she shook her body, she lifted her jersey over her head to reveal a cute little white bra. She awkwardly danced and tried to take the bra off at the same time.
“You’ll learn over time to dance and tease. I’m sure your parents will help you learn, and you’ll probably find some boys at school who will be delighted to help. You love to show off to men and boys. Of course, that means you don’t wear bras, and while going commando will give you a tingle, you’ll like the nastiness of wearing crotchless panties or thongs. You will want to dress every day to make men pant, any clothes that don’t make men drool will simply not be comfortable. I’m sure your mother will be glad to help you shop for the right clothes.”
As he talked she continued dancing, undressing as she went, until she was wearing nothing but her panties. She was swaying to the music, and had begun rubbing her crotch. She was getting more and more aroused stripping in front of him.
“That’s right, little slut. Play with yourself. You like sex, and as you get older, you’ll like the idea of making money from showing off your body and fucking. If you know you’re being paid to have sex, you’ll cum every time.”
“Now, I don’t want to deny your teammates the opportunity to take your cherry, but there are other ways we can have fun. And when we finish, I’ll give you a whole five dollars…”
He said this just as she had slid her panties off and exposed her bare, wet, reddened pussy. She rubbed her pussy hard and came.
For the first time since that meeting, she remembered what had happened. As tears filled her eyes, she remembered the humiliation as she had dressed for the next Little League game, having borrowed pants and shirt from the smallest boy on the team. She had succeeded in giving blowjobs to all of her teammates that season, and her promise to offer herself if they made the playoffs had worked. Timmy McGee, with 25 home runs in twelves games and a batting average of .325, took home the team MVP trophy. Later, in the locker room, the entire team watched as he took her cherry.
In high school, she got a reputation as a slut. She made sure her teachers knew she would trade sex for grades, or even better, for money. She managed to graduate, but had no interest in college. The day after graduation, she got a fake ID that said she was 18, and got a job at a Strip Club. For the next ten years, with her looks and enthusiasm, she was a headliner all over the Midwest. She met a guy that produced porn, and became a star in the pre-Internet, DVD boom of the porn industry.
As she got older, the parts got harder to find, and she just couldn’t get into the whole fetish niche. She went back to dancing, supplemented with whoring. The clubs that hired her were not as good, and she found that she had to do more for her customers to get money.
As she stood on the sidewalk, a block away from the Pussycat Palace, she was sobbing. The idea of stripping and giving some overweight slob a handjob or blowjob was revolting. With a shudder, she realized she had no alternatives, no other way to support herself.
Bekki looked at the time on her laptop and realized she had a few minutes before her camshow started. She sat in her apartment, looking at herself in the camera monitor to make sure the lighting was right. She wore a black mesh top and leather skirt. Her nipple piercings were plainly visible through her top. They matched the piercings in her nose, eyebrows, lips, and of course, her earlobes. She had a tattoo of a skull and crossbones over one nipple, a snake that wrapped around her left arm, and a trampstamp over her tailbone.
As she shifted in her seat, she reached around and adjusted the thick buttplug shoved up her ass. As she did so, the bell attached to the piercing through her glans jingled. Her cock and balls were tiny and completely useless—she had never experienced an erection, and the idea of it revolted her. All she had ever wanted was to be a sissy girl—she had a fund she contributed to regularly that would go to THAT surgery—surgery that would get rid of her hideous little penis and turn her into a real girl.
After she got everything set up for the camshow, she brought up a newsfeed on Yeehaw. She scrolled through the headlines, until she happened to see a sports headline that caught her eye: “Baseball Legend Antonio Scarza dies at 75.” She immediately clicked on the headline.
“Family has reported that longtime Saint Louis Cardinal pitcher Antonio Scarza died yesterday in his Miami, Florida home. He had suffered a crippling stroke a year ago, and had been bedridden. He suffered a second, more severe stroke and died. There will be no autopsy, and his body will be cremated and his ashes spread over the baseball field at Busch Stadium where he spent so many years playing the game he loved…”
As Bekki read the article, she remembered what had happened ten years before, when she was visiting her grandfather in Miami.
It was 2006, and at the time, his name was Billy Thompson. He and his grandfather were going to a Pokemon event, as part of Journey Across America, celebrating the tenth anniversary of the game. A typical twelve-year-old, he was in a hurry and impatient with his grandfather’s slow pace. Now he had stopped completely, looking across the busy mall at a tall dark-haired man walking with a cane.
“Gramps, why have you stopped? We’re running late, they’re giving away prizes to the first five hundred kids, and I wanna get a prize.”
“Billy, do you know who that is? That’s Antonio Scarza—he’s the greatest pitcher the Saint Louis Cardinals ever had. He got voted into the Hall of Fame last year. He pitched in the first baseball game I ever saw.” His grandfather said, moving toward the man.
“Aw, c’mon, gramps, baseball? Baseball is for sissies. He’s probably a big homo.” When he said this, the man turned and looked their way. When he saw the boy, he smiled crookedly.
His grandfather looked sternly at him. “Billy! That is not a nice thing to say!”
Billy didn’t seem to pay any attention to him, he was staring intently at Scarza. He began walking toward him. His grandfather was puzzled, then looked at Scarza. As he met his gaze, he began walking toward him as well.
“What did you call me, son?” Scarza said, as the boy approached close enough for them to talk over the people walking past.
“B-baseball is for sissies. He’s probably a big homo.” The boy said, robotically.
“That’s what I thought you said. Kids,” He muttered, looking at the grandfather, who stood behind his grandson and stared at the man. “This generation treats its elders like crap.”
“What’s your name, faggot?” He said, looking down at the boy.
“Billy—Billy Thompson.”
“Well, Billy, what if I said that you’re the sissy? What if I told you that you look more like a, um, Bekki than a Billy. That’s Bekki with an ‘I’. Yeah, I think you’d be much better if you just thought of yourself as a girly-girl, and forgot all about being a boy. You’ll want to dress like a girl, talk like a girl, look like a girl. And you’ll enjoy all the things girls like to do. That little cock and balls you have in your pants? They’ll be worthless, tiny, incapable of getting hard or providing you pleasure. Actually, you hate that you even have a penis at all, it’s just a reminder that you’re not a normal girl. When you get older, as soon as you can afford it, you’ll get the surgery to have that little dickie removed and replaced with a nice tight girl pussy.”
Billy—now thinking of herself as Bekki—stood still and listened to every word the man said. She loosened her belt and lowered her pants and underpants. The little penis and balls in the front had already shrunk. “That’s it. Turn around and show me that little boypussy. You know what that is for, don’t you sissy-boy?”
“My boypussy is my fun place. Big men like to play with it and shove their big cocks in my boypussy,” he spoke with a high, lispy voice. As he said this, he reached his hand around and caressed his ass, running his middle finger over his opening.
Scarza unbuckled his pants and took out his cock. “Here, Bekki, get my cock ready for your slutty boypussy.”
Bekki turned around and began kissing and licking the old man’s cock. The crowds walking along the concourse at the mall ignored the two of them. Her grandfather stood still, his face blank, as his grandson began sucking on Scarza’s cock.
“You—you’re her grandfather, right? You’ll make sure she’s a good girl, right? You’ll forget that you ever had a grandson, as far as you’re concerned, she’s always been a girl. And a good girl, who likes to suck on your cock. You’ll like that, just like you’ll like to fuck her tight little boypussy.”
Bekki continued to enthusiastically suck the older man’s cock, until Scarza stopped her. Then she obediently turned around and bent over, pulling her asscheeks apart with her hands. As Scarza pushed his cock into the boy/girl’s ass, Bekki moaned. As he roughly fucked her tight asshole, she gave every indication that she thoroughly enjoyed it.
When the man had finished, coming in Bekki’s ass, he gave a few last instructions. “From now on, you little sissy slut, you will think of yourself only as a girl, with no memory that you were ever anything else. If anyone teases you about it, you will not understand why. As you grow up, you will find yourself attracted to boys and men, especially older men with big dicks. You will like nothing better than to fill your boypussy with a cock, and if one isn’t available, you will find other things to stuff up there. Putting a big cock in your mouth will be almost as good as getting fucked by one.”
“You will always be deferential to men, completely submissive—any suggestion they make about your looks or how you might be more attractive to men, you will follow. I’ll make sure your father and mother understand that you are a slutty little girl, not a boy. They’ll help you dress like a girl, get enrolled in school as a girl, and your father will even help you feel nice in your nasty little boypussy. Call me a homo, slut? I’ll show you.”
As he sat in his apartment, staring at the computer screen, ‘Bekki’—now Billy again, remembered what happened after that. When they got home, his grandfather had a long talk with his parents, and when he finished, they began treating him like a girl. His mother took him shopping for new clothes, got his ears pierced, bought him makeup. After he got dressed like a girl for the first time, his father took him into his bedroom and fucked him, calling him “his little slut Bekka”.
It took some doing, but they managed to get him enrolled in a different middle school where nobody knew him. He enrolled as a girl, wearing girl clothes and makeup, and he was accepted as a girl by his classmates. As the years went by, he started dating boys, who never guessed his secret. The happiest day was the day of his senior prom, when he dressed in a beautiful prom dress. His prom date was a handsome, big lineman on the varsity football team. When they ended up in a hotel room after the dance, the horny football player was more than happy to put his big cock up his tight little asshole; he was drunk enough that he missed the tiny cock and balls above his date’s tight hole. The horny brute managed to leave three loads up his ass during that first night.
After high school, Bekki had decided to move out on his own. A string of men with various ideas of what would look hot resulted in Bekki getting piercings and tats. The last boyfriend had convinced him to do porn-style camshows.
Fully aware of what had happened to him, he sat in the darkened apartment, the cam software on his laptop notifying him that it was time to start.
Elsewhere, in a realm of fire and brimstone, Antonio Scarza stood on a cliff, facing a figure in red with horns and a tail. To Lucifer’s surprise, he began laughing. “Totally worth it!” he said, as he was led down to his own personal hell.
