"BALLGAME"

By Donna M.

This is the sequel of a story written by fellow author Candy, called “Georgie”

Candy had begun writing this a while back but never did much with it except an introduction. She wanted me to finish it, and so I did. I hope you enjoy it.

Play ball!

___________

I was at the game with my Uncle Eric when the bat flew out of Dale’s hands and came straight at me. Everything was in slow motion after that. The crowd grew eerily silent. I froze in my seat. My uncle threw his hands in front of me and almost caught the damned thing. It hit me anyway. While everyone wanted to know if I was okay, Uncle Eric held the bat high like a trophy. My uncle was a big kid like that.

Time really stopped for me when I saw that Dale was walking toward the grandstand. Walking toward ME! The game paused as my favorite player approached. Even if I’d really been hurt I would be feeling no pain now. Credence Dale Pinebold was going to talk to me!

“Are you okay, young lady?” he asked in that sexy, deep Southern voice of his. One of the batboys had rushed over with a new bat to exchange it for Dale’s game bat, like they usually do. Even though the game bat came from my uncle’s hands, Dale personally handed the new bat to me, saying, “I’m glad you’re not hurt. Come by the clubhouse door after the game and I’ll autograph it for you. I’ll make sure they know you’ll be there to see me.” With that, they went back to playing the game, and I sat there in wet panties for the remaining innings.

My name is Georgette, but everyone’s always called me Georgie. The name stuck mostly because I was always considered a tomboy growing up. I loved sports more than other girls, and maybe because I was a bit bigger and stronger than most of them I was good at it. I played three sports in high school, including softball.

I may have been a tomboy, but I believed I didn’t forsake my femininity in the meantime. I lost my virginity at thirteen after climbing a widower neighbor’s tree to spy on him, ending up in his bed. You might say that as a teenager, I ‘studied’ sex. My neighbor, David, along with popping my cherry, gave me a sex book to look at, and I learned a lot of things about positions and anatomy from that book. I think I’ve been able to practice a lot of those things since then.

Why I’m telling you this is so you understand I wasn’t naïve, and that I knew why I was wet when Dale handed me the bat. I had a clear image in my mind of just what I wanted the hunk to do to me. It was a hot fantasy.

Ironically, the uncle whose name was taken for my older sister, Erica (who was now in college and studying abroad) liked me better. Uncle Eric was like a big kid, much more than his brother, my father, ever was. If there was a sporting event to go to, I’d go with him, and he loved my company. We always talked sports; the local teams and the players who were going places. Today, we were at the ballpark watching the local Double-A team beat the crap out of their rival. I was watching Dale Pinebold. I always watched Dale Pinebold. Someday I knew he’d move up in the organization, but I selfishly rued that day. My panties were always wet for him, but no more than at that moment when he handed me the bat.

As the innings progressed, I grew self-conscious, worrying about my looks and clothes. We were at a baseball game, for God’s sake, so it wasn’t like I was dressed up. I wore jeans and a tank top with the team’s logo on the front. My chest strained the shirt but otherwise wasn’t that revealing. The jeans were tight so that was good. My hair was in a ponytail, and I went back and forth in my mind about whether I should let my long hair out. Overall, I knew that I was a big, full-figured girl who was nonetheless fit and looked older than my age. I couldn’t wait.

My uncle was as excited as I was to be waiting for Dale outside the clubhouse door after the game. Of course his excitement was different than mine. A bunch of kids were there when Dale came out, so he signed autographs for them but not before winking at me. He had showered, his hair still wet, and he wore jeans and some sort of a cowboy shirt, as I think of them. He looked good enough to eat.

When we were the only ones left, he asked “What do I write on this?”

I gushed, “To Georgie, your number one girl.”

He looked at me funny, smiled and said, “You don’t really want me to put that, do you? That would mean something was going on between us, sweetheart.”

I felt hot, knowing I was blushing. I leaned a little closer and whispered, “If only,” then in a louder tone said, “Put number one fan.”

Dale sure heard my whisper, for he looked me up and down appraisingly and, while Uncle Eric wasn’t looking, he slipped me a business card. I normally hate it when boys leer at me like that, like they’re undressing me in their mind, but Dale Pinebold could undress me any way he wanted.

He signed the bat and I gave him a kiss on the cheek. I looked at the card he gave me and it had a telephone number handwritten on the back. His cell number! I didn’t say anything before we parted; I simply nodded. I knew he understood. I masturbated twice that night, fantasizing about my favorite baseball player lying between my spread thighs.

I didn’t get up the nerve to call him until the team’s next homestand. “Of course I remember you, Georgie. Why wouldn’t I?” was his answer to the question I had to ask when I called. He continued, “A pretty girl like you must always be remembered. You old enough to drink?”

“Ah, not like legal,” I said.

“Well, no matter around these parts,” he said. “Are you legal otherwise?”

“Nothing is illegal if you don’t get caught.”

He laughed. “Fair enough, sounds like something folks down South where I’m from would say. Now, let me ask you if you can go out with me this coming Saturday.” Of course I said yes, and began my planning on how I was to explain going out. I mean, I couldn’t tell my folks I was going to go drinking with a twenty-something ballplayer.

He picked me up around the corner from my house in an orange Dodge Challenger. I joked with him about that old TV show and he said, chuckling, that he’d slug me if I called him either Luke, Duke or worse, Bubba.

“What if I used your real name and called you Credence?”

“That wouldn’t bother me none, honey. It’s the name my momma gave me.”

“Okay, Bubba,” I said.

He laughed but I saw him checking me out too. I wore the same jeans I’d had on at the game; tight and low cut. I wore an old, worn out Alice In Chains t-shirt I stole from my sister, one which I cut short, showing plenty of midriff. I managed to get out of the house braless, too. Of course he’s looking. He took me two towns over to a roadhouse. The place looked like one of those Country music shitholes, which sucked, but what could I do. I was his date after all.

I wondered how he was going to get me past the liquor Gestapo without proper ID, but he was a regular and they all knew him. They looked the other way and I quickly had a beer in front of me. “Georgie, before you and me get better acquainted, I want your age. No bullshit either.” When I told him, he just nodded and took a drag on his beer bottle. “You’re younger than I thought,” he eventually said.

“Is that a problem?” I said with my best ‘flirt-face.’

He laughed that easy chuckle I sensed was his nature, “Nope, not a problem with me, sweetheart.”

We talked mostly about his baseball career so far and things about baseball in general. He was good at telling stories about crazy things that ballplayers did. By the time I finished my second beer, I found myself laughing at even the silliest of stories he told me. I openly told him about my tree-climbing adventures and how my neighbor took my virginity after I spied on him. He sure perked up when I told him that story. I also kept saying how he was my favorite player. Over and over.

He thought about it for a while but eventually ordered me another beer. Some Country crap was playing on the juke box, and Dale asked me if he could teach me some southern dance steps. I thought that line dancing stuff was stupid but tonight I wouldn’t turn down anything he asked of me.

He stood behind me and guided me through some moves. I kind of got into it right away, but maybe that was the beer’s doing. It might have been a move to test the waters, but after a while his hands tentatively brushed my breasts. I reacted by leaning back against him. With no bra, my nipples stiffened and got right out there. I took a furtive glance around the bar and it seemed as if every male eye in the place was watching us, probably lost in their own fantasy, yet unlike the professional ballplayer they weren’t going to score later with the teenager with the big tits.

Oh yeah, he was going to score. Maybe a grand slam. Definitely a game-winner.

After another beer (or was it two?) we left and he drove straight to a motel. I said, before he got out of the car, “You’re a bad boy. You’ve done this before.”

“I never tell,” he said. As he sauntered toward the motel office, I watched his ass move and creamed my panties again. He came out shortly with a key, which he tossed to me. He moved the car into one of the motel’s regular parking spaces and we went into the room which was at the end of the building. He’d pulled a fifth of Jack from some hiding place in the back seat of his car. Goody, I liked Jack (even though I’m not supposed to be drinking at my age). I sat down on the bed with a bounce, and I caught him staring at my bouncing titties under my shirt.

He poured each of us some Jack in the motel’s plastic cups. Tipping his cup like giving a toast, he said, “Georgie girl, I have no idea what’s going through that mind of yours, but I know what’s going through mine. You are like a dream angel that just dropped in from heaven, and I know I could get in a heap of trouble by having you here, but I say let the trouble be damned, ‘cause we’re gonna have us a little party.” With that speech, he slugged down his entire cupful.

“A party’s what I had in mind too,” I said, taking a smaller sip than he had from my cup. Ah, better than beer! I had a good buzz on already from the bar, and the buzz extended to my pussy. I stood and pulled my t-shirt off.

He whistled, and said “Those sure are a prime pair, Miss Georgie.” He put his cup down, walked to me and gave each of my tits a little squeeze. “Oooo-wheee, nice and firm…young is wayyyyyy nice,” he said before taking me in his arms and sliding his tongue almost down my throat.

While he was busy with me, I was busy with his pants. Before I pulled them down, I pulled my mouth away from his and said, “I’m drunk, you know.”

He chuckled. “Usually, that would be my strategy to get a girl’s panties off, but I get the feeling yours would be easy enough to coax off even without the drinkin’.”

He got that right. I slurred, “You’re my favorite player.”

“I hope you still feel that way in a little bit, honey.” He slid out of his own jeans as he unfastened mine. He whistled when he found my thong panties were soaked. He slid them down and then we were on the bed making out again. In my beer and Jack-fueled haze, I finally noticed that he was quite big and quite hard. He slurped away on my wet pussy, making it wetter by the minute. His mouth and chin shiny from all the pussy juice, he looked up at me and said, “Oh baby, I love it that all you girls shave your coochies bald like this.” He went back to eating me out.

Okay, so “coochie” was a new one on me, but I was sure glad I shaved since he liked it so much. “I don’t throw like a girl,” I said, not giving a drunken moment’s thought to how ridiculous that sounded.

“I bet you don’t do anything like a girl,” he said as he reached for his jeans and pulled a condom packet from a pocket. “I bet you also know what this is.”

I rubbed and kissed his beautiful, stiff cock before unrolling the condom onto it. Then I flopped onto my back and spread my legs wide for him. He sure was gorgeous to look at as he got between my splayed thighs, his condom-sheathed cock looking oh so much bigger as it loomed above me. I remembered my first time, and how amazing that sight was, looking up at a man just before he put it in. I reached my arms up to pull him down on top of me. He slid into me without any problem whatsoever. I immediately bucked my hips to meet every one of his thrusts.

“You’re…a…wild…one…” he groaned, before our mouths found each other’s. I’m not a closed-eye kisser, but I was surprised he had his eyes open like me. So close. I moaned as my orgasm grew closer with a leap.

He banged me hard. No, actually we banged each other hard; so hard the bed was slamming against the wall. If anyone was in the next room, there’d be no mystery what we were doing.

“Ohhhhhhhh Shittttttttttttttttt” I screamed as the best orgasm swept over me. Then I felt him cum and the earthquake started all over again.

“Girl, you’re just what this ballplayer needed.” He sighed, lying next to me, the spent condom still on his dick. “Do you fuck like that without drinkin’ first?”

“You’ll just have to find out, big guy,” I said, but by that time my eyes were heavy from drink and sex.

“Whoa, don’t fall asleep on me Georgie. I’ve gotta get you home before your mama sets to throw my sorry ass in jail.”

“Your ass ain’t sorry. I think it’s beautiful,” I slurred as he helped me get dressed. “Can I see you again?” I asked him.

“Don’t you worry, sugar, Credence Dale Pinebold is gonna do more than SEE you again.”

“I’ll be ready to show you how I can throw a ball, and maybe I’ll show you other things I can do.”

“‘Other things,’ huh…sounds like a plan,” he said, smiling.

He invited me to the next weekend home game, giving me instructions to come early, and on whom to ask for when I got there. By the time he got me home, I wasn’t quite as drunk, and managed to get to my bedroom without anyone the wiser.

From that day until the day of the game, there wasn’t anything else occupying my mind but the memory of Dale and me fucking. You might find it funny, or maybe hard to believe, but I still had the sex book that my old neighbor Dave gave me, though it was tattered and falling apart. I pulled it out of its hiding place and studied some of the sex positions illustrated within, imagining doing them with Dale.

My dad knew how much I liked baseball so he never questioned that I had bought a ticket and was going to the game by myself. I certainly wasn’t going to tell my Uncle Eric either. Of course I didn’t really have a ticket. I was counting on Dale coming through on his promise. Dad dropped me off at the stadium, early like Dale said. I spoke with a man at one of the gates and he told me where to find the guy Dale said to check in with. That guy was expecting me, and with a quick look around, probably to be sure one of the bosses wasn’t looking, he let me in and took me to the home team’s clubhouse. Of course I couldn’t go in there (though what fun it would be to see all those naked players before they put their uniforms on!) Dale came out in street clothes and gave me a pass to wear around my neck so nobody would question me being there. He said he was going to get into uniform and then take me out on the field.

I’d worn a pair of cut-offs that were real short, a team t-shirt with the mascot’s picture on it, and a team logo ballcap. I had tied my hair into a ponytail and slid it over and through the size adjustment snappy-thing at the back of the cap. When Dale came out of the clubhouse, he said, “Georgie, you look mighty fine. Those legs of yours are something to behold.”

I walked up close and said, “You can ‘behold’ them later.” I was thrilled to be this close to him in his uniform.

He had two gloves with him and he tossed me one. “That’s my new one I’m breakin’ in, so don’t hurt it,” he said and chuckled. “Now we’ll see whether or not you throw like a girl.”

He led me out onto the field where some of his teammates were having batting practice. He picked up a loose ball and we went over to the side by the dugout. He tossed me one, kind of slow, that I caught easily even though the glove was a bit stiff. Before I threw it back, I hollered “Is that all you got? I can throw harder than that.” And I did.

I actually surprised him. He was a little slow in his reaction to the speed of my throw, and it was noticeable by the way he caught the ball. A couple of the other ballplayers noticed too. One guy yelled, “What’s the matter Dale? Can’t handle the girl?”

Dale muttered, “I can handle her, all right,” as he returned the throw, harder this time. My hand stung a little but I didn’t let on. We played catch for a while, settling into an easy rhythm. Teammates of Dale’s began hanging around me. One guy told me I had nice “meaty” legs and wanted to know if I’d “wrap them around” him sometime. Another said that if I was too much for Dale, he’d take over. He didn’t mean playing catch.

As game time drew closer Dale arranged for me to sit in a box seat near the home dugout. Before he went back inside, he leaned in close and said to me, “You’re right, you don’t do anything like a girl, spitfire woman.” I felt so damned good. All the hunky baseball players wanted to get into my pants; I saw it on their faces. And now Dale called me a woman.

Poor Dale went 0-4, striking out twice in the loss. Maybe his mind was elsewhere.

I stayed in my seat after the game. No one rousted me; I guessed that all the security people knew I was waiting for Dale. Eventually he walked out of the dugout, his hair still wet from the shower. He came to me and lifted me over the short wall and onto the field. He kissed me like before, with his tongue deep. I was breathless. I was wet. I had this mental image of all the players in a communal shower and I got wetter. I know, I’m beyond help.

“I wasn’t sure you’d stick around after the stinker I just had,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t I? Besides, I’m the one that can make you forget the whole game,” I said with a smile, hoping it was my best flirty one.

“You certainly can, sweetheart. You certainly can.”

We drove for miles to a different bar, but the folks there knew him too. He got some beers “on the house” so that meant I could have some too. Like the other place, nobody seemed to care about my age. Dale told me how tired and achy he was.

“Does that mean you don’t want to have sex with me?”

He looked from his beer bottle to me and said, “Not that, hon. Maybe I won’t be able to perform in bed any better than I did in today’s game.”

“If you’re too tired for sex then maybe I could give you a massage or something.”

He chuckled, “Who are you Georgie? You must be a figment of my imagination, a dream, or else I can’t comprehend you coming into my life like this.”

“You’re my favorite player. I’ve always had a crush on you ever since you were drafted. And now you’re playing here and I feel so lucky.”

“Well, we can’t go to my place since I’m rooming with other guys on the team. I suppose we could get another motel room but I’m afraid of getting us both in trouble, so what do you suggest?”

“I know a cool place upriver where we could go skinny dipping in the creek that comes off of there.”

Dale laughed. I loved his easy laugh. He said, “I don’t suppose you have your driver’s license, do ya?”

“Nope, but I can still drive.”

He shook his head. “I must’ve gone a bit crazy when I met you,” he said while tossing me his keys.

I drove a little slower than I wanted to because I didn’t want to be stopped by a cop along the way. When I turned off the main road onto the first dirt one, we bounced and Dale hit his head. He hollered for me to be careful, but then he guffawed, and said if I ruined his suspension he’d take it out on my hide. I told him he could have my hide anytime, and winked at him. He told me to keep my eyes on the road. Of course by this time it wasn’t much of a road. Two overgrown ruts challenged the cars’ undercarriage as I drove on. When we came to its end and could hear the creek, I shut the car off, tossed him the keys, got out, and ran to the water shedding clothes as I went.

He gamely tried to catch up to me, but when he attempted to hop out of his pants, he tripped and fell. I walked back to him and helped him up, and out of the remainder of his clothing. “For a professional baseball player, you sure are uncoordinated,” I said.

“I’ll show you, you little demon,” he said as he picked me up and put me over his shoulder. Both of us naked and giggling, he carried me to the creek and jumped in. Immediately he howled and cried out, “Why didn’t you tell me how damned cold it would be?”

“You didn’t give me a chance, outfielder, sir,” I said, and then joked with him on how his balls had shriveled up from the cold creek water.

He looked me up and down as we stood knee deep in the calmly flowing water. “The body of a woman, for sure,” he said. “I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact you’re standing there, as beautiful as can be, and with me.”

I knew I was blushing. “I’m not beautiful.”

“Oh, you sure are,” he said before pulling me into a hug. I wasn’t, in my eyes. I still felt like the tomboy I used to be, and maybe still was. When Dale went to kiss me, he stopped, pulled back a bit and while holding me at arms’ length, said “Do you know how strange that looks to see you naked except for the cap?” I still had the ballcap on, forgetting all about it until now. We both laughed before he threw me into the creek.

We frolicked in the water for a while, but it was cold and we couldn’t stand it for very long. When we got out of the creek, I tossed the now-soaked cap aside and went into his arms. The kiss warmed us both. I liked the feeling of his cock brushing against me as it stiffened and rose.

“Are you sure no one comes here?” he asked me as he reached for his pants and fished in his pocket for a condom.

I stared at him like that, with his cock erect, and a shudder passed through me. Sex was such a great thing, but sex with HIM was like a dream come true. I muttered, “Not usually, this time of year,” feeling a small trickle of moisture that wasn’t creek water dribbling down my inner thigh.

We prepared a spot on a patch of tall grass, and then we made love. I asked him to try one of the positions I saw in the book (though I didn’t tell him about the book itself) and he looked at me quizzically. We tried it but we ended up like a twisted pretzel. So, I got on top, and he commented that he liked me this way so he could “play with” my tits while we fucked. I liked it because I knew I had his full attention and that I was in control. I closed my eyes and swayed my hips, relishing the feel of his cock deep within me. I hardly thought about my actions; my favorite ballplayer Dale Pinebold had his cock up my vagina and that thought alone propelled me. I savored the way he caressed my breasts.

“Oh, Dale!” I groaned as I began to climax.

“Oh, Georgie!” he sighed. I pushed down, taking him as deep as I could, and felt every blessed throb of his ejaculating cock.

Done, we lay in the grass, warming under the afternoon sun, and shut out the world. I told him stuff about me and school, and how most boys don’t look at me like he did. “They’re stupid boys,” he said. “They see a big jock of a girl who they probably fear of beating the crap out of them.” (That got a smile out of me.) “They don’t see the frail little girl they think they want, like their mommas probably were. I see a full-bodied woman; and that body’s pretty hot, not to mention she doesn’t throw like a girl.”

He grew serious while he opened up about all his insecurities, primarily his worry that he’d never make the big leagues. I told him that no matter what he did, he’d always be my favorite player in the whole world. While we talked, I’d been playing with the spent condom, interested in the feel, smell and taste of his semen. Somehow what I did turned him on, because he was getting hard again. Before he could say anything, I said, “I wish we didn’t have to use these things.”

He said, “Me too, honey, but we can’t have you getting pregnant now, can we.”

“No,” I answered his rhetorical question, though all kinds of images were in my head; my belly all swollen with his baby inside was one of them. I sucked on his cock for a while, thinking that this time I’d want to taste him. I worked harder, taking him deep in my mouth and trying not to gag.

When he whimpered, “I’m gonna cum,” I sort of closed my lips around his shaft like I had a popsicle in my mouth, and flicked my tongue against him. He exploded in my mouth, filling me with his hot semen. I didn’t mind its taste at all. I swallowed some as the rest dribbled down my chin. Our eyes met, and the only way I can describe his expression was that it looked like love. I thought, I was the one having sex with a gorgeous, up-and-coming professional baseball player, and he was looking like he was the lucky one, not me.

Before we jumped back into the creek to clean ourselves off, I told him, “Don’t worry, you’ll make it to the big leagues. I know you will.”

He made sure I got into any home game I could attend. I cheered him on loudly, and in many ways I got ‘adopted’ by the team, like I was their number one cheerleader. Several of the guys hit on me, and it felt good knowing how much they all wanted to get into my pants. However, I was Dale’s. That 0-4 game he had was his last hitless game in a while. We could never say if I had anything to do with it, but his torrid hitting was being noticed, with rumors abounding that he would be called up to the Triple-A club soon.

He booked various motel rooms in faraway towns whenever we needed each other, and that proved to be every homestand. One Sunday after a day game, we were in a motel bed. He was sort of stroking me all over, like he was studying my body. What it turned out he was doing was committing me to memory. “I think I’m gonna get the call-up. The big club is calling up Triple-A’ers for the stretch run, and I think I’m on deck to replace them.”

I jumped all over him, kissing him before saying, “Oh Dale that’s so great! I know you’ll do great!” and then more kissing.

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

I looked into his eyes. “Yep, it means you’re on your way to fulfilling your dream. It means I have to do good in school this year so I can graduate. Then next year or the one after, when you’re in the Bigs, I’ll be the proudest girl in the universe, besides your mama that is.”

He said what I wanted to hear. “I’ll look for you…next year…so no matter what happens to me in baseball, I’ll want you, Georgie, who throws like a boy and loves like a woman, to be with me.”

“Aw, don’t say that, you’ll make me cry and I hate to cry”

Our lovemaking had a different feel to it that afternoon-into-evening. He was so attentive, getting me to cum too many times to count. I had him cum all over my belly so I could feel its warmth, and dream of it someday going deep into me, and doing what it’s supposed to do. He kept telling me how pretty I was and how pretty parts of my body were. He admired my ass and the curve of my hips, he said. He loved my firm breasts, he said. He loved my (“meaty”) legs, he said. Then he said he loved me. That’s when I cried.

After we made love for the last time that day, he pulled out a Sharpie pen from a pants pocket (“For autographs”) and asked me if I wanted one. I giggled like crazy when he wrote on my shaved pubic mound DALE PINEBOLD WAS HERE. “Don’t worry, it’ll wash off eventually,” he said.

“Like, maybe I don’t want it to,” was my reply.

He got called up the next day. I followed him on the Internet, checking stats to see how he was doing. He was doing well at the next level. I thought it was neat that he still wore the number 12. He’d told me that he had that number since Little League, but he’d give it up in a heartbeat if he made it to the Majors. We spoke often on the phone, my mom always inquisitive and asking lots of questions (“Was that the ballplayer again? You two got something going?”) My Uncle Eric was jealous (if only he knew the whole story!) It seemed as if the next game after each call he would hit a homer or two. I was his good luck charm!

The day late in the season when he got called up to the big club, I first cried tears of joy before talking a friend into taking me to a tattoo parlor. Where his ‘autograph’ once was I had a big “12” tattooed there. “It’ll hurt like hell” the tattoo artist warned me before beginning. Wow, did it!

When Dale called me we talked for a long time about the whole Major League experience and how he was fitting in with the older players. He struggled early on but was now finding his “groove” at the plate, and thus has been playing more.

“I’m number 28 now,” he said. “Not as nice as my old number 12.”

“It’s okay, Dale. Number 12 is alive and well in a nice warm spot.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s just say that you’ll be IN number 12 again next time we get together.” I emphasized the word ‘in’ but I wasn’t sure if he got it. “There will be a next time, won’t there be?”

“Yes, there will be a next time. One way or the other, I will see you again. I promise.”

“Yeah, I bet you say that to all the girls now that you’re a big, handsome Major League ballplayer in the big city.”

“Georgie, whatever I say to girls doesn’t matter since you’re the only woman in the Credence Dale Pinebold ballgame.”

I get wet every time he says I’m a woman like that.

The Big League club fell short of a wild-card slot by one game, so no postseason for Dale. He took a coach’s advice and headed off to someplace in South America to play winter ball. I loved him with all my heart, but I was very realistic and had no expectations that he would remember me now that he made it. That didn’t change how I felt about him in the least. I had his posters on my bedroom wall, his old number tattooed on my pubis, and many masturbatory orgasms to remember him by.

I hadn’t heard from him through the winter, so I was surprised when he called me from spring training in Florida. “How’s my favorite flame thrower?” he said with a chuckle.

I was so damn happy to hear from him I could hardly breathe. He wanted to know if I had a boyfriend, and I told him that he was the only one for me. “That’s sweet to hear, Georgie girl, since I’ve been wondering how you would explain that tattoo to a new boyfriend.” We both laughed after that. He asked how school was going. “Graduation’s just around the corner, isn’t it?”

That’s when I asked the silly question. “Can you take me to my prom?” I’m not the prom type, so Dale would be the only one to take me if I was going, anyway.

Instead of laughing, he asked for the date so he could check the club’s schedule. “Assuming I haven’t been sent down or anything, it’s a home weekend and we’re scheduled for day games, so I reckon I could do it. You really want me to take you?”

Now, THAT was HIS silly question. “Duh, of course, stupid. Besides, you won’t be sent down ever again.”

My mom and dad were quite taken aback that a professional baseball player was taking me to my prom. Mom and I went shopping for a dress, and since I had a bit saved up I bought a beautiful navy blue one that cost way too much but was perfect for my full figure. Mom kept after me about “protecting” my “virtue” and not letting him “fool around” with me. How could I tell her we’re way past the fooling around stage?

The night of the prom he picked me up with a limo! His tuxedo looked perfect on him, or maybe I should say he made the tuxedo look perfect. The corsage he pinned on me was so beautiful that I knew he spent a lot for it; more than I bet any girl would have that night. Not many kids at school knew who was taking me, if they knew I was going at all, so when we arrived and everyone recognized Dale, the place went crazy.

To the chagrin of their dates, all the girls converged on him, and after some polite talk, he made sure they all knew who he was escorting. The sweet smell of jealousy dueled with teenage musk to fill the air. During the meal and afterwards, it was nigh impossible to have a moment alone with him, but that was okay. At one point, he whispered to me to be patient; that the rest would have his attention for a brief while but then it would be all mine.

When we danced it was like the whole ballroom held its collective breath. All eyes were on us, and it made me feel more special that I’d ever felt before. He looked at me, and I remembered the way he’d looked at me next to the creek when I was naked except for the ballcap. I leaned into him and held on while he led me around the dance area.

Every once in a while I’d pick up snippets of conversation.

“…ever imagine Georgie dressed up like that?”

“She used to be such a tomboy, and now look…”

“What does he see in her?”

“…thought she was a dyke…”

“You think it’s a pity thing? Like those make-a-wish things for sick kids?”

After hearing a few, I tuned them out. Dale heard them too, for he whispered to me during another dance, “I forgot how small-minded kids can be. I hope you aren’t listening to them, because they’re all wrong. The most beautiful woman in this whole place is in my arms at the moment, and I’m aiming to keep her there.”

A tear formed in my eye, but I fought and won the battle to not cry. In their own way, they were right. What did I do to deserve this—to deserve him? I wasn’t petite and pretty like some of them, so what did Dale see in me? He must have sensed something, for he stopped dancing, looked into my eyes and said, “They don’t know anything, Georgette. You’re the most beautiful one here, and the answer to my dreams.” Oblivious to all the stares, we kissed for a long time.

I stopped hearing the negative stuff as pretty soon all I heard was how lucky I was. No doubt on that score.

In the wee hours, we climbed into the limousine, but instead of taking me home, we drove for an hour to a beautiful hotel. “I booked us a suite,” he said. “I figured it’s much nicer than those motels, and it has a Jacuzzi in the room, so it’ll be better than that creek—warmer too.” When I started to say something, he said, “Sssh, I’ll explain everything when we get to the room.”

The suite was beyond anything a simple girl like me ever envisioned. Dale showed me around a bit, then stopped, pulled a small box out of his pocket, and said, “I meant it when I said you were the one for this plain, country ballplayer. Georgie, will you marry me?” He opened the small box and took out the biggest damned diamond ring I ever saw.

All I could say was “Oh, Dale,” before jumping into his arms and kissing him seemingly forever.

Finally when we both needed air, he said, “Is that a yes?”

“What do you think, Credence Dale Pinebold?” The ring fit perfectly. Now, finally, I allowed myself to cry.

While he filled the Jacuzzi, he asked me if I’d seen any stats so far into the season. I quoted his .343 average and his 7 homers, and he said, “Now that I’m with you, everything’s good.

Before we climbed into the bubbling hot water, he admired my tattoo. We weren’t in the water long before he was extremely hard. While we fucked, sending water splashing everywhere, I said softly, “See, you’re wearing number 12 again like I said you would.” He thrust in deep, and whether his old number had anything to do with it or not, he came with such force that I swear I felt the hot semen hit my womb. It didn’t take much longer for me to be screaming in orgasmic happiness, but I must admit that a small corner of my brain contemplated the baby-makers that he just spewed deep into me.

I looked at the ring on my finger. Georgie Pinebold sure sounded great. If I have a girl, I’ll teach her how to throw a baseball the right way. I’ll teach her about sex when she’s old enough, and not leave it to a neighbor to do it. If I have boys, I’ll leave them to their Daddy. That’ll be his ballgame, not mine. I’m just a tomboy after all, right?

THE END

I had to write this, since I had similar fantasies when I was that insecure teenager. As a ‘tomboy’ growing up, who wasn’t at all comfortable in her body much like Georgie, I had crushes on several Boston Red Sox players (who I won’t date myself by identifying!)

Donna M.

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