Castle Roland

The Odd One Out

by Gary Conder


Chapter 4

Published: 14 Apr 16

The Odd One Out

Copyright © 2015
by Gary Conder
All Rights Reserved

Odd Man Out Logo

"You're out!"

The shout rose from the gully, as a cry of joy lifted in unison from the opposing team. He was out. Colt the brilliant batsman, the handy fieldsman was out for a golden duck.

"What the hell were you thinking about!?" Don Wilson, the team's number two batsman, growled as Colt, his head lowered and gently shaking in self condemnation, passed on his way back to the shed.

"Dunno Don." Colt humbly answered, took a deep breath and walked to the cheers and hand clapping of the opposing team, to face the reprove of his own.

First ball of the day and the danger man was heading back to the pavilion and once there met with stony silence. He hadn't even attempted to defend his stumps. The ball hit the rough, passed between pad and bat cannoning into the offside stump, sending the bails high and handsome.

"What were you thinking?" George Denman, the team's captain demanded. His broad arms folded above his protruding belly, his eyes still bloodshot from the previous night's grog, bulging in disbelief.

"Dunno George, I guess I just wasn't ready."

George grimaced and slowly shook his head in disgust before collecting his bat and heading towards the pitch as the teams number three, without lifting his eyes as he passed.

"A bloody duck, that's all we need," he growled on passing through the gate in the field's picket fence. "And a bloody golden duck at that!" He added.

Colt took his seat well behind his team mates, who now appeared somewhat unconcerned with his failure. Keeping his head low, he picked at the stitching along the side of his left leg's pad. Colt removed the pads, placed them in his cricket bag and took a deep sigh.

He knew all to well what he had been thinking and it wasn't cricket.

Charlie Wyse was the opposing team's left hand spin bowler. Colt didn't much like spin, especially left handed spin but usually he concentrated enough to see the worse of it off.

This day and for some reason Colt's eyes diverted from Charlie's bowling arm and the hand carrying the red cherry to Charlie's crotch remaining there well past the breaking of the stumps, only being diverted on hearing the timber fly.

Wyse was most mature for his years. Not yet twenty, his body well defined, his hair blond and long and when he bowled the ball, would fall across his line of sight. His bowling arm was strong and straight and loved to bowl to Colt. There was camaraderie between the two, usually finding Colt having the upper hand, scoring more runs against Charlie, than times Charlie managed to break his stumps.

Charlie had a distinctive walk up for his bowling. His hips moved from side to side, giving a gently sway, somewhat akin to a Pacific Island dancer.

This time his approach was different, it was obvious he wasn't wearing underwear and with the swagger his dick moved from one side to the other within his tracksuit. Colt was mesmerised. Unconsciously his thoughts turned to sex, feeling swelling beneath his box protector push uncomfortably against the box's solid form. Then like his innings it was gone and his walk back to the pavilion one of failure.

Once his team mates had lost interest in his failed innings, Colt moved to the picket fence. Moments later the shout of 'out' lifted and Denman's innings was also over. Seven runs, two byes and a no ball. He did the humbled march back to the pavilion in much the manner Colt had but nothing was spoken as he passed by. At least he didn't make a Duck, a bloody Golden Duck. With his Captain's failure Colt felt reprieved enough to allow his thoughts to return to the game before him.

Charlie Wyse had completed his first stint at bowling and had taken his fielding position close to the boundary, almost in touching distance from where Colt was standing. Firstly he would place his weight on his right leg, then move to his left, making the muscles on that side of his rear contract and with the flexing, tighten the material of his pants across his arse. Moments later the ball came skidding across the field towards him. In time to save a boundary, Charlie stooped for the ball, displaying the crack between two well formed cheeks. Colt was once again mesmerized and only the arrival of Eric, the home team's quick bowler and number nine batsman, distracted him from his erotic thought.

"Coming to the pub tonight?" Eric Chambers asked giving Colt a light nudge at the shoulder. Colt turned sharply his expression full of guilt.

"Suppose so," He answered sharply believing his thoughts were transparent. Eric lent into Colt, pushing him against the picket fence, his hot breath on Colts neck before gently slapping his opened hand across the back of the batsman's head.

"What happened out there?" Eric asked, referring to Colts failure to make runs.

"Just one of those things Eric, one day you've got it, another you ain't." Colt sighed and moved away from the fence and the nearness of Eric's stance.

Back in the pavilion the team was concentrating on the game, seemingly happy with the fact that their number two had reached twenty five in good time. Colt's lack of an innings for now had been forgotten.

For once the water was hot and Colt stood silently facing the shower wall, hands resting each side of the taps while enjoying the force from the oversized shower-head massaging his shoulders. The sign on the wall beside the line of showers instructed that a shower should last for three minutes but none of the team took notice and being one of the last to shower, Colt took longer than usual.

Behind he could hear banter, mostly directed towards his failure to make runs. He peeked sidewards towards Eric and his naked wet soapy form. Quickly he turned away, held his breath and changed his thought. He concentrated on the banter.

"Hey Colt what were you thinking of today, she better have had big tits." Rob Stanton asked, flicking his towel towards the rear of Colt. He missed and Colt, broadly smiling, turned to meet the banter.

"You didn't do so good yourself, four runs from twenty balls." He answered defensively, applying his words with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

"Four more than you mate." Stanton answered, his eyes lowering towards Colt's crotch.

"Shit Colt was your mother mated with one of your old man's stallions?" He gasped at the size of Colt's equipment. Stanton was a new recruit to the team and had not seen Colt naked before. On discovering what extended from the lad's crotch encouraged Stanton to tightly wrap his towel around his midriff to hide his own inadequacy.

"Are you jealous mate?" Colt cheekily answered, without attempting to hide from sight.

"Yea but does he know how to use it?" Eric, now drying himself interposed, as most of the team's eyes became trained on Colt.

"More to fact is there enough blood in his body to get it up." Stanton added.

If envy had been runs, that day the local team would not have been thrashed in such a humiliating way.

"Don't worry its use enough." Colt protested.

"Wanking doesn't count." Bill Evans the keeper declared, causing laughter to lift from the remainder. The banter soon waned, allowing the conversation to divert to that night's activity at the local pub. There was to be a wet tee shirt competition, with some out of town young ladies attending and Colt felt he could not avoid joining the rest of the team for the entertainment.

The wet tee shirt night wasn't really Colt's style. He did attend and wowed and whistled with the best of them, wishing he felt the same as his mates when it came to desiring women's naked parts. If it were Charlie Wyse or Eric naked before him, he would instantly become aroused but confronted with female nudity he was totally unmoved. It would come in time, he told himself. It must. With his looks, his strength and love of sport, he could not be anything but normal.

Did Colt know how to use his equipment? He did that night and with his hand wrapped tightly around its form, his thoughts returned to the walk up of the Wanderer's spin bowler. He visualised the side to side movement within Charlie Wyse's so called light blue pyjamas and it stirred him on towards climax, only to be interrupted by the barking of his dog.

"Quiet Max!" Colt shouted as the image of Wyse dissipated and the urge deflated. Max continued barking.

At the window Colt saw nothing but dark forms in the moonless night. Trees and shadows, outlines in silhouette. An owl hooted and a disturbed bird squawked, fluttered from its tree, circled twice before returning to the same tree, while giant fruit bat's fed noisily in the distant grove of mango trees, drooping the occasional seed with a loud thud upon the iron roof of a small shed beneath.

Standing naked on the front verandah Colt failed to discover what held the dog's attention. He repeated his command for quiet and Max whimpered then obeyed, coming to Colt's side and gently pushing its cold moist nose into the rear of his leg.

"What was it boy?" Colt asked in an almost whisper. The sound of his voice soothed the animal. Max released a wine and passed through the open door on his way to his master's bed.

"Jumping at shadows." Colt concluded but before he could turn, noticed a faint light on the far bank of the river. There was a rudimentary track there, created by the hooves of feral horses as they found advantage to take water. The light appeared to be moving and flickering, so it couldn't be a flashlight. Appearing somewhat like a hurricane lamp or lantern or an ancient coach light. Then it was gone.

Colt believed it to be town kids fishing from the river. Holding his breath while listening for any sound carried on the slight breeze he heard nothing. He would investigate with the morning but remained for some time, his eyes fixed on the dark forms of horses as they moved about in the adjacent paddock. He heard the occasional snort and the dull thud of a hoof upon hardened turf, to dissuade bitting bugs from a free meal of horse rump but nothing more, concluding if the horses weren't spooked then all was fine.

Back in bed Colt had to force Max to give him room. It would be easy for the animal to lie longways on the bed; instead it lay across the bottom leaving little freedom for Colt's legs.

"Move yourself!" Colt grumbled kicking out at the dog. The animal complained and obeyed but within a short time and once Colt was asleep, again took more of the bed than had been allotted.

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