Naked In School

"You got it," I grinned back.

"Except, this year, if you’re gonna be on the hill, I think I’m switching to catcher. Third basemen only get to see you from the back. Mike gets to watch you from the front. Far better deal."

I had to laugh. "Don’t mind him, he’s a lech," Mike said.

"Hey, last time a good friend was in The Program, she let me fuck her in the shower in the gym locker room," Ed said. "Now, I’ve got my best friend in The Program, and he’s escorting around this gorgeous babe with great tits who also happens to be the savior of our pitching staff. I must say, I like this program thing."

I laughed. Ed was kidding. I could tell. I didn’t mind. Ed said that whole spiel without once looking at my tits. He was just joking. Mike, on the other hand, was looking at my tits. And wasn’t making a single hint of an effort to hide it.

What was this?

"Hey, you guys are making me feel like a piece of meat."

" Us?" Ed asked. "Hey, Lily, did you notice that when you took the hill yesterday, there was a flurry of people getting out of the third base bleachers and moving to the first base bleachers? That’s because we got a better beaver shot from the first base side when you went into your leg kick." I couldn’t help it. I howled.

"That’s the worst part of pitching in the nude. Well, except for the boobs, which Talented Hands Mike took care of for me." Mike almost choked on his soda with that one. "No, now the worst thing is that every time I go into my leg kick, my pussy rubs together. That can be a little distracting."

Ed howled. I liked Ed. As a friend, but I liked him. I appreciated people who were free and easy about stuff. "Hey, we’ll just schedule it," Ed said. "We have the seventh-inning stretch, right? Well, we’ll just pencil in the fourth-inning screaming cum. On the mound."

"The fourth inning," I said through my giggles. "And the fifth, and the sixth, and the seventh…"

"Gives a whole meaning to the term ‘call for relief’, doesn’t it?" Ed laughed. We were rolling right then. Except for Mike. He was laughing, sure, but he was blushing. And there was a strange look in his eye.

So, I went for the jugular. "Hey, if I’m going to be standing on the mound cumming every inning, I’m gonna need some help." I looked at Ed when I said it, but said, "So, do you think that’s in a catcher’s job description?"

Ed howled louder. "Well, a catcher must help his pitcher out any way he can, right?"

Mike was laughing, he was. But he was also blushing purple. And looking at my tits again. When he looked up, there was something in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what it was. But there was something.

Goddammit. I was going to be nice. I was going to be friends. I was not going to get my hopes up. Wasn’t I?

Well, so much for well-laid plans. Of course, I didn’t really want any well-laid plans-what I wanted was a well-laid pitcher. And, despite the banter, I didn’t think I was going to get that-not, at least, from Mike. It was just banter. Ed was bantering, too-but he was just being funny, I didn’t see any real interest there. I knew that. That was fine. I liked Ed, instantly, but not that way. So why would I manufacture Mike’s banter as something more in my mind? It wasn’t going to happen.

Then again, there was that strange look in Mike’s eye.

Fuck it. I could not do this to myself. I had more tryouts this afternoon.

Pitching, Lily, pitching. Remember?

CHAPTER TWELVE MIKE

Oh, my fucking head.

After that performance, I needed relief. Bad. I requested it-and got it, a superb blowjob from my friend Maggie Benson-two periods after lunch. And it wasn’t enough. And it should’ve been, because Maggie’s the blowjob queen of the junior class.

No, wasn’t Maggie’s fault. It wasn’t enough because I couldn’t get that picture out of my head. Lily standing on the mound-and me out there, helping her cum.

Jesus Christ. Was this real?

I knew I was going to try to find out what was what, after tryouts. I knew that. But she had me on a knife’s edge all afternoon. I didn’t know if it was banter, or if it was serious-or even, horrors, if she had given up on me, the ninny, and was going after Ed. I didn’t think so. I knew Ed wasn’t serious-Lily isn’t his type-he’s just like that all the time. But she had just met Ed, and I didn’t know if she knew that.

I managed to get through the day. Don’t ask me how.

Went over to the field. She beat me there. She was also all taped up already. Well, that didn’t surprise me. She probably still figured I was in ninny mode.

Anyhow, I put on my stuff and headed on out there. Skipper asked me to catch a while, so I did. A kid named Paul Sinclair was on the mound. Up from junior varsity. He was a junior in school, also, but I didn’t know him well.

He pitched to a couple of guys-and then in stepped Lily. Paul chuckled, wound up, and threw his first pitch. It was a brushback. Missed her boobs by three inches. "Hey, watch that shit!" I yelled. Lily bounced backwards, but didn’t go down.

She turned to me. She was furious. Not at me, but at him. She hissed to me, "That little shit better knock me right out with the next one if he knows what’s good for him."

Shit. Like I said to my mother, what’s not to be attracted to?

Sinclair didn’t knock her out. He gave her a pitch to hit. And hit it she did. And again. And again. And still again.

It was great. She was spraying base hits all over the place.

"You can hit, too?" I asked her in between pitches.

"Damn right I can hit. I have no power, but I can put the ball in play and get on base."

She just kept hitting, and hitting, a little grin on her face with every whack. "OK, one more, Woodard," the coach yelled up. And Sinclair wound up-and hit her right in the helmet. Smack in the side of her noggin.

"GODDAMMIT!" I yelled. The coach ran out screaming at him. And I saw Lily pick herself up off the ground, wipe the dirt off her naked body, and calmly walk back into the dugout.

They changed pitchers, and batters, and I asked Brady to catch a few.

I went into the dugout, found Lily. "You all right?"

"Yeah." Her tone was one of unrestrained fury.

"The bastard didn’t like you hitting him all over the park."

"Too fucking bad. He has to hit, right? I want to pitch to him," she said.

"Coach won’t like a beanball war."

"There won’t be any beanball wars," she said firmly. "Trust me."

I went and fetched the coach. He was skeptical, too. "There will not be a beanball war," Lily maintained. "I absolutely promise. I will not throw at him. But I want to pitch to him."

The coach agreed.

A couple batters later, Lily came out and took the hill. "OK, Sinclair, time to hit," the coach said. He strode up there, all cocky. I went out and took over for Brady.

"What, are you going to try to hit me with that little girl’s arm?" Sinclair taunted.

"No," Lily said, and reared back and threw the heater. He never saw it. Strike one.

"I’m not going to hit you," Lily said. Slider, this time. I think his knees did buckle. Strike two.

"I don’t get into beanball wars," Lily said, and wound up. Changeup. He swung an hour before the ball got to the plate. Strike three.

"The question is, are you going to hit me?" Lily said, and wound up again. Back to the heater. Strike four.

She stopped talking and just kept throwing. About ten more, all her different pitches. The poor bastard didn’t even make contact. After making him look completely inept on a hellacious curveball, she stood on the mound and announced, "You know what my Daddy once told me about beanballs and brushback pitches? Don’t get mad. Don’t get even. Just get ‘em out. Next?"

Sinclair slinked off, and Lily stood there on the mound grinning. Then I got a glimmer. "Next, huh?" I said. "Brady, come catch, would you?"