Naked In School

"I’m kinda counting on it. Hey, I can pitch. I know it. Pretty soon, they’re all gonna know it. Damn the prejudices."

"Did you get a lot of this back in Boston?" he asked.

"Actually, no, but I played with the same guys, mostly, right from Little League. They all knew what I could do. But there are other problems. I didn’t have a long list of guys lining up for dates." Yeah, I laid down a hint, I admit it.

"Guys. So, you are straight, then."

"Yes. Why, did you assume I wasn’t?" I said indignantly.

"Didn’t assume anything. Didn’t know either way," he said mildly. "When you grow up the heterosexual son of a bisexual mother and her lesbian partner, you learn not to assume a damn thing."

"You’re right," I smiled. "I’m sorry for snapping. I just get that ‘you must be a lesbian’ thing a lot. I had a nice talk with your mother about it, actually, when you were upstairs getting your gear. Anyhow, it gets tiring." I smiled. "And guys tend to get intimidated by a girl who throws ninety."

"Aah. Well, the only time you intimidated me is when I had the wrong mitt on."

I laughed. Fine, let’s see where we stand. "I could strike you out on three straight pitches," I challenged. "And you’re not intimidated?"

"I hit.390 last year. I also led the team in RBI. I don’t crank too many dingers-but I’d take that heater of yours and drive a double in the gap."

"Sure you would."

"If you make it through the cut today-which you will," he told me, "tomorrow, they’ll ask you to face live hitting. I can get up and take some cuts if I want to."

"You’re on!" I took a bite of my sandwich. "You really don’t think a girl who throws ninety is a freak."

" Any high school kid who throws ninety is a freak," he said. "But I’m a baseball player. A girl who throws ninety is my kind of freak." I had to laugh at that. "Though, I must admit, I think that a girl who throws ninety is much more rare."

"Try pretty much unheard of," I said. "It’s a physical thing. Girls don’t have the build for this. Girls have weaker arms. Also, a girl’s pelvic structure isn’t designed for it. I don’t have the biggest hips around, but I do have hips. It makes it harder to get any torque from your lower body. I have great technique, damn near perfect mechanics, which helps-I work damn hard at my mechanics, I have to. I also overcompensate by lifting weights like a madwoman."

"I noticed that your ass and thighs are like rocks. Your throwing arm, too." he commented. I looked at him. "Well, you are nude. Awfully hard not to notice."

"Yep," I admitted, "and that’s another way to get guys to not line up at your door. Have an ass and thighs that look like a guy’s."

"Ah, I said they were muscular, I didn’t say they looked like a guy," he told me. "You’ve got a girl’s ass. It’s just not a particularly squishy girl’s ass." He blushed a little. "Well, as far as I can tell by looking, anyway." Then I noticed the eyes, doing the whole slide-down-to-the-boobs-and-jerk-back-up thing. "Trust me, nobody with functioning eyes would ever mistake you for a guy."

Damn, he was cute!

And, I admit it. I’m shameless. I moved so my boobs jiggled. Noticeably.

THUNK! Down went the eyes. THWIP! Up they came back up again. I could’ve made him sprain his eyeball if I had kept it up. He really was adorable.

And he seemed accepting. Reasonable. Open-minded. And maybe, just maybe, even a little bit attracted to me. Dare I hope?

Well, anyway-I had to put that on the back burner. I had to get through tryouts first.

CHAPTER EIGHT MIKE

Damn. I really have to stop staring at her boobs.

It’s difficult. It’s particularly difficult when the boobs are naked. It’s especially difficult when said naked boobs are particularly fine, and attached to a completely lovely rest-of-the-body.

Muscles? I liked girls with a bit of muscle. Didn’t have a problem with it at all. And the rest of her was just fine. What particularly grabbed me were her eyes. They always seemed to have a glimmer in them.

As for her personality-she was delightful. I was just getting to know her, mind you, but I liked what I saw. She was sweet, smart, funny-and fiery. Deliciously fiery. I am not attracted to doormats. The one ‘demure’ girl I ever dated was the shortest relationship I’ve ever been in-and I’m the one that ended it. I couldn’t stand it. Yeah, I’m sure most guys wouldn’t consider "I can strike you out on three straight pitches" to be a come-on. I am not most guys.

And it seemed like she was dropping hints. I don’t know. I am absolutely shitty when it comes to reading that stuff. You think I’d be able to read girls better, with the way I grew up. Not so. I don’t know if the lesbian mating dance is different than the male-female mating dance, or what. But I never learned to read females. Well, at least I’ve never been able to read hetero females that I was interested in.

And I swear she caught me looking at her boobs-and jiggled them!

Damn. I think I needed relief.

Anyhow, I was trying to read her-and failing. Meanwhile, I am liking this girl more and more every second.

We finished our lunch, said goodbye, and headed off to afternoon classes. And I thought about her all afternoon. I wish I could read her better. I wish I knew what she was thinking. Because I was in a special situation here-and I couldn’t even hint at anything, or ask her out, or whatever, until I absolutely, positively knew that she wouldn’t be offended or hurt or anything.

No, I’m not usually that cautious. Hey, since I’m bad at reading girls, I usually just pick out what I like and take a chance. Sometimes I get a yes, sometimes I get a no, and that’s fine. But we had a special situation here. I’m her catcher.

You have to understand. Catchers have myriad responsibilities. Throwing’s important. Handling the mitt behind the plate is important. Hitting’s less important-lots of teams will put up with a catcher with no stick if he handles the defense well-but it’s a nice bonus. But, to me, the absolute most important part of a catcher’s job description is his relationship with his pitchers.

You have to guide them, support them. Sometimes you have to baby them. Sometimes you have to kick them in the ass. You have to know what they throw, how they throw it, and when to call it. You have to absolutely get in their heads. It’s a symbiotic relationship. And there has to be absolute trust on both sides. You have a pitcher that doesn’t trust his catcher, you have a problem.

As for myself, I can throw, and I can handle the mitt. The hitting was a bonus-when I made varsity, no one knew I could hit that well, except for me-but it was a good bonus. But the absolute first number one reason why I made varsity, and started, as a sophomore was my relationship with my pitchers. The pitching staff wanted to throw to me. That’s why I made it.

Now, here I was-with this girl that I was increasing attracted to-but I had to catch her. If she made the team-and she was going to make the team-I was going to be her catcher, all year long. And my relationship with her-in the baseball sense-was new in itself. We’d need time to develop the bond. And I was terrified that if I acted on my attraction prematurely, I’d shatter that pitcher-catcher bond. Which means she’d resent me, not pitch as well as she was capable of, and we’d lose a whole lot of games.

Damn, damn, damn. Why on earth couldn’t she have been a shortstop?!?!?

Ah, well. I resigned myself. I wasn’t happy about it, but I resigned myself. I was her catcher. That was all.

CHAPTER NINE LILY

Damn, I was nervous. Really nervous.

I didn’t hang around right at the field. I hung around on the periphery. I spend a lot of time in a clutch of trees off the third base line. Mike came up and helped me with the tape job. I was almost too nervous to get turned on.

Almost.