MIKE AND LILY NAKED IN SCHOOL
PART ONE
MONDAY
CHAPTER ONE
Shit, hell, and damnation.
I had come into school on the Monday of my most important week since I came to Westport High, and I got called down to the office.
And I knew what it was. The Goddamn Program.
I’m Lily Woodard. I had only been in Westport since Christmas—and it was the end of March, so it hadn’t been that long. We moved here from the Boston area—where, at my school, I had been Big Chick On Campus. Being uprooted in the middle of my junior year was no fun, but Dad got a great job opportunity here that he couldn’t turn down. I understood.
But I was a nobody here at Westport. You move in mid-year, and nobody knows you. The friendships and the little clubs and the cliques had all been formed, and you were on the outside looking in.
That was fine. I knew who I was, what I was capable of. I knew I’d have my chance to shine. And that chance started this week. But not if I was going into The Program!
Look, I have nothing against The Program. When I came to Westport, and heard about it, and read the brochures, I thought it was a neat idea. We didn’t have anything like it in my old school. Now, don’t misunderstand me, Boston’s always been a pretty liberal place, and with the recent loosening of society’s mores, it’s a really liberal place. Walking past two people fucking on Boston Common in the middle of the afternoon isn’t unheard of. And you’d occasionally stumble past a mad boinking on the grounds of my old school. But they didn’t have anything specifically like The Program there.
And, like I said, I thought it was a great idea. I’d seen how it worked. I had the program director, Ms. T, for biology first period, so any time we had a participant in class, I’d see how it worked. I even got asked to give one of my classmates some relief one morning, which I gladly did, and thought it was fun. I’m not a prude, nor am I ashamed of my body. I’ve had sex, enjoyed it, and can’t wait to do it again. And I wouldn’t mind at all participating in The Program.
But not this week.
Which is what I tried to explain to Mr. Tilling, the principal.
“Look, Mr. Tilling, I’m not asking to get out of this, at all! I want to do The Program—just not this week! All I’m asking for is a postponement.”
“Lily, the only acceptable excuses for postponement are illness, or something important that’s going to keep you out of school for most or all of the week.”
“What about a very important school activity that I can’t do in the nude?”
“What can’t you do in the nude?” he asked.
“Throw a baseball. Tryouts are this week for the team. I’m planning on trying out. I’m a pitcher. And I’ve never tried to pitch in the nude, and I don’t see how I can do it with these things flapping around!” I poked at my boobs.
“Baseball? You? A girl has never played baseball at Westport High.”
“So, I’ll be the first. I pitched for my old school. Varsity. Both years, that includes freshman year. I’m good, and I aim to prove it. But I can’t see how I can do that if I can’t at least wear a sports bra during tryouts to retain these things.”
“Sorry, Lily. No sports bras. Look, this is a high-level baseball team. The competition in our conference is incredible. Why don’t you try softball, instead? That’s next week.”
“Because I don’t play softball, I play baseball!”
Just then, the door opened. A guy walked in. I didn’t know him, but I’d seen him around school. “Hey, Mr. Tilling,” he said. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. The Program?”
“The Program. And this is your partner. Lily Woodard, Mike Kirkland.” He came over to me, big smile, and shook my hand. I forced a smile and shook back.
“OK, you two. Let’s go. Off with everything.”
Damn. He wasn’t going to let me off the hook. Damn his stupid rules—and damn his prejudices. This was because I was a girl.
Look, I didn’t expect smooth sailing. I knew there’d be resistance. I was lucky—the guys on my old school’s team were largely guys I’d played with since Little League. I didn’t have to prove anything to them, because we moved right up the ladder together. But girls playing baseball past Little League—especially with the explosion in softball programs—was a novelty. But I figured I’d prove myself. Until this.
I stripped off my clothes in a huff, rolled them in a ball. I practically threw them at Mr. Tilling. I stormed out of his office. The other kid—Mike—was right behind me.
The usual crowd of gawkers was out in the halls, clapping and cheering. I knew the rules. They were going to watch. If they were going to grope, I had to let them. But the crowd must have picked up the waves of frustration rolling off me, because they pretty much kept their distance.
Mike caught up with me. “Hey, you seem really upset with this.”
“It just completely fucked up my life.”
“Ah, it’s not so bad. I think it might even be fun.”
“Easy for you to say,” I snorted.
“Look, if there’s anything I can do….”
“You want to do something? Fine. Can you rustle me up a damn catcher?”
“A catcher.”
“Yeah, a catcher. You know, baseball?” I said snidely. “I have to try out tomorrow, and now, because Mr. Tilling is an asshole, I have to do it in the nude. And I’ve never pitched in the nude before, and I need to practice it, tonight, because I have no idea if I’m going to be able to snap off my slider with these fucking things bouncing around!”
I could see his eyes bouncing rapidly from my face to my boobs. “Yeah, I can see why that might be a problem. They’re not…er…insubstantial,” he stammered. OK, I admit it, I stifled a giggle. It was cute.
“Anyhow,” he continued—eyes now locked right on my face, which was cuter—“I have the answer to your problem. Starting catcher, varsity, and that’s last year, too. For a Sophomore, around here, that’s quite a coup. I can catch you.”
“Really?” It was the first thing that had gone right since I had gotten out of bed.
“Really. We can do it after school.”
“Oh, Mike, that’s great. Thank you. Shit, I don’t know if I want to do it here, though. If I’m having trouble, I’d rather not do so out on the field, before tryouts, where there might be people watching. Word gets around. And I’m going to face enough prejudice.”
“Prejudice?”
“As I was just informed, a girl has never played baseball at Westport High.”
“Ah. Well, anyway, the field is no problem. We can do it at my house. I’ve got the whole set up, regulation mound, plate sixty feet six inches away, the whole bit. We’ve even got lights if it gets dark. All the guys come over to my place to throw.”
“Really? Oh, that’d be great.”
“Sure. How do you get here? My place is in walking distance, that’s how I get here.”
“Oh, I drive. We live a couple miles away. I’m in Lot C. We can head over there after we meet at the entrance.”
“Sounds good. Got your glove?”
“I’m a baseball player, what do you think?” We both laughed. “It’s in my locker.”
“Great. See you after school, then.”
CHAPTER TWO
Going into the program was no surprise. I looked forward to it.
Now, it wasn’t the greatest week for me, either. Though I didn’t have to try out, I did have to be there at tryouts to catch the pitchers. Well, at least I could wear the cup, shinpads, chest pads, and mask. Those are “protective equipment,” not clothes, so they’re allowed. Plus, we had a game Friday night, so I’d have to be nude for that, too.
So, I could use my little session with Lily to try catching with no clothes on, so that worked out. I was guessing the chest protector was going to itch like hell. Ah, well.
Lily. I thought about her quite a bit that day. A chick pitcher, huh? Well, she obviously thought she could throw. We’d find out. She seemed quite serious about this.
Shit, though, she didn’t look like any pitcher I’d ever caught. She was gorgeous. She had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, a cute little pug nose. She was tall—had a couple inches on me, actually. And she was built. Oh, yeah, her bust, of course—but not just that. I noticed when she was walking nude in front of me that her thighs were like tree trunks. And her ass had a woman’s curves—but I saw the muscles clench up in it and they were prominent. From the waist up, she was all girl—except for her right arm, which did look like it had hurled a few fastballs.
And, OK, yeah, she had boobs. Rather large ones.
Anyhow, I went through the day. It was fine. I got groped a little, that was fine. I didn’t have to ask for relief, because I was pretty mellow about the whole thing. Didn’t mind doing so if I ever felt the need, but I was OK. All right, I admit it—somebody in the girls’ locker room at gym jerked me off to an orgasm. Which might have been one of the reasons I didn’t have to ask for relief.
The day got through, and I went to the exit where Lily and I were supposed to meet and put our clothes back on. She was there waiting for me, glove and clothes in hand. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey. Ready to go?”
“Just let me get my clothes.” I did—and had to catch up with her, as she was already heading for her car.
We got in and I gave her directions to my place. She drove, not saying a word. Halfway there, I realized she had been moving so fast that I never did actually get dressed. Ah, well, whatever. I did say I was mellow about the whole Program. I was raised pretty liberally, never had any problems with nudity or sex or any of that. So, you know, whatever. It was fine.
“This is it,” I told her. She pulled up front. “Come on in. I’ve got to go get some equipment. Come on in, meet my Mom.”
She smiled, rather blankly, then it hit her. “Your Mom! Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Mike—I was in such a hurry I didn’t even give us a chance to get dressed. Here, let’s throw this stuff on before we go in.”
“What’s the point?” I laughed. “You’re just going to have to strip before you pitch, aren’t you? And I will, too, because I have to catch at tryouts and want to practice, since I have to be naked this week, too. Forget the clothes.”
“But…your Mom…”
“My Mom is cool,” I laughed. “She’s a child psychologist. Has her office right in the house, see that other entrance over to the side? That’s her office. She schedules her appointments so she’s done before I get off school. Anyhow, Mom says that, because of her job, she has seen everything and anything, and at least twice. And she says the worst thing you can pass off on a kid is repression and guilt. This is a very open-minded house. She won’t get fazed in the least about us walking in like this.”
“Well, OK. If you say so.” We got out, and went in.
“Mikey, is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom. Come on out and meet my friend.” She came on out, and I introduced them. “Mom, Lily Woodard. Lily, Elsbeth Kirkland.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Kirkland.”
“Please, call me Ellie.” Mom looked at me. “So, I take it The Program hit this week? What, do they make you come home from school naked, too?”
“Nah.” I explained the situation.
“Oh, yeah, I can see where that might be a problem,” Mom said. “So, you guys want some Coke or something before you head out there?”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” I told her. We sat down at the dining room table.
“Yes, please,” Lily said.
Mom went to get the stuff, and Marina came down stairs. She walked over and gave me a kiss.
“Hey, Mikey. You looking pretty good.”
“I bet you say that to all the guys,” I teased her. “Marina, this is Lily. Lily, Marina.”
“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands. She asked what was up, so we told her what was going on. “Cool. Well, Lily, you’re in good hands—this boy can catch. Have fun. Mikey, where’s your mother?” she asked me.
“Kitchen,” I told her. Marina went to find her. “Marina is Mom’s partner,” I told Lily.
“Oh. Your mother is gay?”
“Well, technically, she’s bi. I was actually created in the traditional way,” I laughed, “by your basic man-and-woman rutting. Though Mom and my father were never married, and he disappeared shortly after the ‘blessed event’. So she’s bi, and says she can love men and women, but I think she’s happier with women. I’ve seen both, and she’s happier with women. And it’s been a while since I’ve seen her with a guy, because she and Marina have actually been together six years now. Marina’s great, she really is a second Mom—and they’re great together. If this ass-backwards state ever got around to legalizing gay marriage, I think they’d consider it.”
Just then, Mom and Marina came back in with the cokes. We sipped them for a while, chatting about nothing in particular. Then I said, “Well, we should get out there soon. Let me go upstairs and strap on the ol’ tools, and grab my mitt. Be back down. Entertain her, eh?” I asked Mom and Marina. They just chuckled. And I headed upstairs to get my stuff.
CHAPTER THREE
So, there I was, sitting stark naked chatting to two women I didn’t know. Two gay women, mind you. Was I uncomfortable?
No, I wasn’t, actually. I was raised pretty open-mindedly myself. I like to think I’m open-minded. Every so often, though, you find yourself being tested.
The thing is, I liked them instantly, especially Mike’s mom, Ellie.
“So, you play baseball?” she asked.
“Yeah, played at my old school. We just moved here a few months ago from Boston. I really want to make the team here. I’m encountering prejudice already, and now I’m at a disadvantage.”
“We know all about prejudice,” Ellie said. “Marina and I, you see, are together.”
“Yeah, Mike told me,” I smiled at them.
“And even in this newfangled, sexual freedom, no inhibitions, everything’s great world—it still exists. It’s better, but it still exists. People take the whole ‘whatever makes you happy’ attitude, or so they say, but it still creeps in, especially when it comes to assumptions.”
“The one she gets,” Marina said, “is that a lesbian can’t possibly raise a son. I mean, a son needs a man, right?”
“I always say that I can relate to my son as well as any guy,” Ellie replied. “I mean, what do fathers talk about with their teenaged sons, anyway? Girls, right? I can do that!” I cracked up laughing at that.
“The one I get is the exact opposite,” I told them. “Because I’m in a sport that is traditionally and overwhelmingly male, I must be a complete butch lesbian, right?”
Ellie giggled. “I take it you’re not.”
“No, I’m straight,” I told them. “But girls who play guy’s sports can’t be straight. Especially if they’re good at them.”
“I take it you’re good,” Ellie said.
“I’m very good,” I grinned. “But, yeah, I must be lesbian because I’m not ‘feminine’ enough. Which is bullshit. It’s bullshit in general, because who says lesbians can’t be feminine; and it’s bullshit personally, because I can gussy up as well as any girl. I just don’t do it on the baseball field. But I can change from sweat and dirt and eyeblack to makeup and styled hair and a slinky dress so fast it’d make your head spin.” I sighed. “Of course, walking around school naked isn’t going to make that easier. The other thing that I get is that straight girls can’t have muscles, and I have them. And, walking around nude, I can’t hide them. The guys get a load of my thighs and butt and that just gives them another reason to think I’m butch or something.”
“Honestly, Lily,” Ellie said with a smile. “I don’t think the boys who see you like that are really going to notice your muscles. At least not at first. There’s a couple other things you can’t hide.”
I blinked—and then laughed. “Oh, you mean these two things that are going to get in my way when I try to throw my curveball?”
“Yes, those two things. I think those’ll get you noticed before the thigh muscles,” Ellie said.
I snorted out a giggle. “Earlier today, your son called them ‘not insubstantial.’ While he was desperately trying not to look at them. And failing miserably, I might add. It was actually rather cute.” We all laughed. Just at that moment, Mike came down, gear on, mitt in hand.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Don’t ask. Trust me. Don’t ask,” his Mom told him.
“Whatever,” he stared at us. “Damn females, always talking where a guy can’t hear,” he muttered, which made us laugh even harder. He turned at the doorway from the dining room and the kitchen and stared at me. “Well, Pedro, you gonna come throw, or what?”
“Oh, he just wormed his way into my heart,” I told the ladies. “He called me Pedro.”
“Martinez,” Ellie told Marina. “Best pitcher around, plays for the Red Sox.” She turned back to me. “I know my baseball,” she told me.
“Well, she did grow up in Boston,” Mike said.
“And I am a member in good standing of Red Sox Nation. And Pedro’s my idol.” I got up out of the chair. “You can tell me if my changeup is as good as his.” I said to Mike.
“ Nobody’s changeup is as good as his.”
“True story. Though mine’s pretty good.” He led me outside. It was a nice setup.
“OK, Pedro, climb the hill and let’s see what you got. Nice and easy, at first. Just warm up.” He crouched behind the plate, and I got on the mound. I threw a few easy ones.
“Hey, don’t blow yourself out, huh?” he called. “Nice and easy.”
“This is nice and easy,” I said. I threw a few more.
“What, are you trying to impress me?”
“Not yet,” I grinned at him. I threw a few more.
“OK, fine,” he said. “If that was nice and easy, fine. You should be warmed up. Fire one in here, full throttle.” I wound up and threw the heater, nice and hard.
“YEAOWWW!” he hollered, and then looked down at his catching hand. “Shit! That must have been 90!”
“Yeah, that’s about right. I’m usually at about 90. I hit 93, 94 on the gun every so often.”
“You throw ninety miles an hour?” He stared at me. Then he took off his mask, and looked down at the ground. He seemed upset. “I’m a jerk. I’m as prejudiced as everyone else.” I looked at him, totally confused. “This is my junkballer’s mitt,” he said, pointing to his catcher’s mitt. “We have a guy on our staff, Frankie Gutierrez, who doesn’t throw anything past 65. Knuckleballs, soft sinkers, you name it. But his ball really dips and weaves, and the catcher’s got to be agile. So I use this mitt for him, because it’s lightweight and flexible and it helps me keep up with his fluttering knuckleballs and dying quails. But it’s got very little padding.” He looked even more upset. “And I just grabbed it, without even asking you, because I just assumed that you were a junkballer. I mean, a girl can’t throw hard, right? I didn’t even ask. I just assumed. Serves me right to get my hand blown away by a ninety mile an hour heater.” He looked up at me. “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m going to get my other mitt.” He was gone back in the house before I could say anything.
I suppose I should have been upset with him for making that assumption in the first place. But how could I be upset with someone who was so contrite about it? And was absolutely adorable while doing it?
He came back out, still visibly upset with himself. So, I smiled and said, “Apology accepted. And you’re not an asshole.” He flashed me a little smile, and then put his mask back on.
CHAPTER FOUR
MIKE
It was not going well. We had been at it for a while, and it was not going well at all.
OK, I admit it. I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, stupid, and wrong. What an asshole. This girl could throw. She had five pitches, and her changeup was a thing of absolute beauty. Nobody’s in Pedro’s league, but for a high school kid? Fuck gender, for any high school kid to throw a 70 mph changeup that looks just like her 90 mph fastball? That’s a rare thing. She had two different fastballs, a hard slider, a soft curve, and the changeup.
But she was all over the place.
After watching the ball go everywhere except where it was supposed to—and after watching her get extremely frustrated, I stood up out of my crouch, and flipped up my mask.
“Look, you can obviously throw, but you’ve got no command.”
She glared at me.
“And you’re wild as shit.”
She really glared at me.
“I take it that these are not normal problems for you?”
“I pitched 85 innings last year and walked twelve.”
“Twelve?” That was unbelievable.
“Twelve.”
“How many K’s?”
“A hundred and two.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. “You had a strikeout/walk ratio of a hundred and two to twelve?”
“Told you I could pitch,” she said.
“Well, something’s obviously wrong today.” I figured I knew what it was. “It’s the boobs?”
“It’s the boobs,” she confirmed. “They get in the way of my release point, they get in the way of my follow-through. And they’re damn distracting.”
“Yeah, distracting, I’ll agree with that,” I blurted, then got embarrassed when I realized what I said. But Lily just laughed.
“Don’t get too distracted, I’m so wild I might take your head off.”
“Nah, my reflexes are fine,” I said. I walked out to the mound. “There must be something we can do. Shit, it’s not fair. And look at me, look at all the shit I’ve got on, and you’ve got nothing.”
“But that’s ‘protective gear’, not clothes.”
“I know.” Then I blinked. “Hey. Wait a minute!”
CHAPTER FIVE
LILY
“What?” I asked him.
“Hold on, hold on, give me a minute.” He was staring off into space. “Here. Come inside with me.” He headed off towards the house. When he got to the dining room table, he said “Sit,” and pointed. I sat. His Mom and Marina were sitting in the living room in a couch—the living room and dining room were one big room. Mike went over to a pile of papers on a small table in the corner. He ruffled through them, muttering, “Come on, come on, I know it’s in here.” His mother gave me a quizzical look. I just grinned and shrugged my shoulders.
“Got it!” He came over to the table. He had the brochure for The Program in his hand. I was completely confused. He sat next to me and started thumbing threw it. “OK, OK, I know it’s in here….here!” He started reading. “OK. Students in athletic competition, can’t wear uniform or undergarments, yadda yadda yadda…..yes! Here it is! ‘However, students in athletic competition may wear any padding, gauze, or tape considered necessary by the student for protection. This includes cups, protective padding, and helmets. This also includes taping and bandaging of any injuries, or other taping, as in a football player taping an ankle for stability.’ THAT’S IT!” He bounced out of his chair. “Wait here!” He excitedly ran up the stairs.
“ What is he doing?” I said.
His mom and Marina laughed. “Lily,” his mom began, “it is my experience that when Mikey gets a brainstorm, it is best to just let him go with it.”
“OK.” He came tearing down the stairs, a whole pile of shit in his hand. He dumped the shit on the table. From within the pile, he withdrew a large, wide, ace bandage.
“See?” he said. “We’ll tape ‘em!”
I looked up at him, and my eyes widened. “Oh, damn, Mike, that is a good idea!”
He laughed. “Stand up.” I did, and he started wrapping the bandage around my boobs. “Tell me if it’s tight enough or too tight.” I did, and he worked at it and got the tightness right. “OK, now move around. Do a windup or something. See if it’s stable enough.”
I did so, and it was stable enough, but……. “Is it tight enough?” he asked.
“Well, yeah, it’s plenty tight enough, nice and stable, but there’s another problem.” I swatted at the bandage. “This material. It’s like sandpaper. And it’s rubbing up against my nipples. Ow, ow, and ow.”
“Oh.” Mike looked crestfallen. Then he looked back at the table. “Wait a minute. Come here.” He unwrapped the bandage and took it off me. “OK, sit.” I did. He took a square gauze bandage out of the pile, and applied surgical tape around the edges. “I know this is going to hurt like a bitch coming off, but at least it’ll let you pitch.” He took the gauze and placed it right around my nipple, so it was covering it. Then he pushed and prodded and worked at it to make sure it stuck.
Oh, shit.
Pitching. Pitching. Concentrate on pitching, Lily, concentrate on pitching. And then he was doing the other one. Pitching. Pitching.
Shit. Who ever knew catchers had such gentle hands? Damn, I’d been touched before, but fuck. And this was when he was being clinical!
“Ok, that should hold. Stand up,” he said. I managed to do so, don’t ask me how. He then wrapped the ace bandage back around me. I calmed down a little—thank goodness—and he told me to walk around and do a windup and stuff.
ZING! Well, this wasn’t going to work, that was plainly apparent. “Well, it’s not painful, I’ll say that,” I told him with a little grin. “But I think the gauze is a little too…well….stimulating.”
“Oh,” he blushed.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to leave a puddle on the pitching rubber by the third inning,” I grinned at him. Oh, I got a nice blush from him for that one. Ellie and Marina were giggling behind us.
“OK. Let me think. Let me think.” He stood there for a minute. “Hey, this might work. Mom? Marina? Either of you two have a bra that you don’t wear anymore? Even if it’s ripped or broken or something?”
“Sure, I have one that I broke the shoulder strap on,” Ellie said. “It’s sitting in the pile to be tossed out, but I still have it.” She grinned at her son. “You taking up cross-dressing, Mikey?”
“Could you just go get the bra, please?” Mike asked her. With a giggle she went to get it.
I wasn’t sure where he was going with that one, but I just let him go with it. He unraveled the bandage, and then pointed me to sit, then he got the gauze off me. I suppose it hurt, having tape ripped off my boob, but, honestly, I didn’t notice.
Pitching, Lily. Pitching.
His Mom came down with the bra. He grabbed it, and held it up. It was your basic, standard white bra. “I know sports bras tend to be less silky than this, but do you think you could pitch in a bra made of this material if you had to? I’m not talking about the restraint, I’m just talking about the material.”
“Sure,” I told him. “I actually did it once. I ripped one sports bra and my other was in the wash and it was fifteen minutes before game time, so I pitched wearing a bra rather like that one. The lack of restraint was a problem, but the material wasn’t.” I grinned at him. “You seem to know an awful lot about bras,” I teased.
“Look who I live with,” he grinned, pointing at Ellie and Marina, who chuckled. “And all their friends are female. I’ve been in gatherings of twenty people where I’m the only guy. And all of them are open and unguarded. I know more about girls than most girls. Hell, I’m so surrounded by females I swear I get PMS by osmosis.” I howled at that—as did Ellie and Marina.
“Anyhow,” he said, sitting down. He took the bra, and cut a little square out of the cup material. OK, now I see what he was thinking. Damn, that might work. He took the little bra square, put the tape on it, and applied it to my boob.
I wonder if he noticed the little sigh that I couldn’t help escape my mouth.
Then he did the other one—pitching, Lily, pitching—and had me stand up. The ace bandage was quickly applied. I walked around and moved. And it seemed OK. Hey, I could feel the little squares—and it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling—but it wasn’t that bad. Since my tits were mashed into me by the ace bandage—which wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world—it kind of balanced out. As long as they were out of my way, which they seemed to be.
“I think this just might work,” I smiled at him.
“Try it?” he said, grabbing his mitt. I nodded, and we went back outside. He crouched behind the plate, and I got on the mound, wound up, and threw the heater.
Strike fucking one. Right down the pipe. “Yes!” I shouted.
“Let’s see that slider,” he told me, and I ripped one off. It snapped off, nice and tight, and went right where I wanted it to.
“Damn, what a slider!” he enthused.
“This is great. They’re nice and out of the way, just like wearing a sports bra,” I said. I gave him my assortment of pitches, a couple of each. Everything worked, just the way it’s supposed to.
“Mikey, you’re a fucking genius!” I shouted. He came out of his crouch and took off his mask, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“We’d better shut it down, you don’t want to wear yourself out before tryouts.”
“Yeah,” I said. I walked up to him, and kissed his forehead. Got another nice blush out of him. “Look, you’re a sweetheart,” I told him. “I was an absolute bear to you earlier, and you’ve been nothing but sweet. And you are a genius.”
“Ah, it’s nothing. And I know why you were a bear, you were frustrated, understandably so. Besides which, I’m glad I could help. You’re a good kid. And, I have to say, I absolutely want that right arm on my team!”
“I want this right arm on your team, too,” I smiled at him.
“Don’t see how you can miss,” he told me. “Come on, let’s go inside and get you undone.”
I’m sure I could’ve taken off all the stuff myself. I didn’t. I let him do it. Pitching was done for the day, right? So, I let him put his hands on my boobs and take the stuff off.
MmmmmmMMMMMmmmmmm!
My only problem was that he stopped!
Ah, well. I thanked him again, said goodbye to his Mom and Marina, and headed home. I went in, chatted with my parents about my day, and went up to bed and went to sleep.
OK, I admit it. I played with myself first.
Then I went to sleep.
--End of part one—