Naked In School

Right between my legs.

I walked very gingerly back to the dugout, sat down, and stared down at myself. This was an emergency-the last thing I needed was to try to pitch with dirt in my pussy. So I yelled, "I need a squeeze bottle, one of the ones with the long straws, filled with lukewarm water. Now, please." After about a minute, someone handed me one, and I pulled up my leg, bent down, and proceeded to irrigate my nether regions.

I happened to look up, and saw every member of the team looking at me, in absolute horrified shock. "Hey, that shot through the mound kicked dirt up," I shrugged. "You guys think The Program is all fun and games. You try sand in your pussy. Ow." And I kept up watering myself. Mike and Eddie cracked up laughing, but most of the rest of the guys abruptly turned away. "Look at all these he-men ballplayers, squeamish at a little feminine hygiene," I teased. I got a few sheepish grins for my trouble. I finished up, and casually placed the water bottle next to me. The trainer came over, grabbed it, wrote "LILY" on it in huge letters, and put it back down. I had to laugh. I mean, God forbid anyone else use it by accident, after it had been down there, right?

Of course, Mike’d use it. That made me giggle to myself.

Here’s a conversation you won’t often hear on the mound. Happened in the sixth inning.

Mike: How are you?

Me: My pussy itches.

Ed: So scratch it

Mike: Wouldn’t that be a foreign substance?

Ed: You mean, like a spitball? We’d have a pussyball?

Me: How about I just ignore it and throw the fastball instead.

Ed: Or, you could let Mike scratch it.

After that, I even managed to somehow get the next guy out. Like I said, I was cruising.

When I went back to the dugout after the sixth, I saw another problem. Yes, the ol’ no-no game. Don’t talk to the pitcher throwing the no-hitter, because that’s bad luck. I was on one end of the dugout bench, and the whole rest of the team seemed to be huddled at the other end. Even Mike.

"OK," I announced. "First of all, I am not at all superstitious. Second of all, I’m a complete stat-head and know exactly how many hits I haven’t given up. Third of all, I threw two no-hitters last year and it’s no big deal. So could you please all stop treating me like I have the plague?" They laughed, and stopped.

Alas, it was not meant to be. I got the first guy in the seventh, but I hung a slider to the next guy, and he ripped a single. I was so pissed off at myself that the first pitch to the next guy was a feeble excuse for a fastball, and he hit that for a single. I went from throwing a no-hitter to having guys on first and third with only one out. Shit.

Mike came out to the mound. I was quickly learning that he liked having Ed out there with him. "Get yourself together," Mike said. "Don’t lose focus."

"Yeah, yeah," I said.

"Take a deep breath and bear down," he said.

"And we’ll get two," Eddie asserted.

They did. The next guy hit a one-hopper to Eddie. 5-4-3 double play, end of inning. "Thank you God!" I yelled. "You’re welcome!" answered Eddie.

I cruised through the eight, and led off the bottom of the inning. We had still gotten nothing going with the bat. Zero-zero ties are an antacid maker’s dream, I’ll tell you. Anyhow, I got up there, and finally got good wood on one. Single, right up the middle.

At first, it looked like it was going to get wasted again. Roger struck out. Frankie hit a weak pop-up. Two outs, I’m still stuck on first, and it was all up to a certain catcher.

And damn if my sweetie didn’t rip a double into the gap! I was running like the wind on the crack of the bat, telling myself "I can score from first on a double. I can score from first on a double." But their right fielder hit the cut-off man perfectly, and he fired a bullet to the plate. I saw the ball coming in as I sped towards the plate, and the on-deck hitter, Ty-not thinking-gave me the ‘slide’ sign.

I slid. It was a really, really stupid thing to do.

The only thing I had the presence of mind to do was slide tilted over to my right side, with my legs tight together, so I wouldn’t tear up the ol’ cunny. But that’s all. And that made the slide more awkward. I hit the ground hard, and at an awkward angle, and I probably would’ve been bruised even if I had been wearing pants. But I wasn’t. And I found myself sliding along with nothing to protect my skin from the dirt and sand and gravel. And I was a girl, I had soft skin. Sure, I had calluses on my pitching hand, but on my butt and hip and thigh, that skin was quite soft.

And I was shredding it.

The pain was so bad I fell backwards mid-slide, which just spread the damage. I felt like knives were dragging from my right knee to the ace bandage around my torso.

Then, the ump yelled, "SAFE!" At least that was something.

The trainer started to come out, but, before he did, I managed to get up. I was walking off this field. By myself. But, oh, jeez, my right hip and thigh and the edge of my ass were just a mass of bloody, torn skin. And my hip was already turning into a purple bruise. Jesus.

"Jesus, Woodard, I told you not to slide!" Coach exclaimed.

"You know what, Coach? You were right," I replied with a wince.

"Muggsy, who we got in the pen?"

"No," I said. "No bullpen. I’ll finish this game."

"Lily, you’re hurt."

"Not that hurt. Bandage me up. I’ll finish the game." He gave me a look. "OK, look. Get the pen up, get them ready. But let me try this. Please."

He relented.

The trainer stuck some bandages on the more bloody scrapes, but that was just a patch job. I grabbed the water bottle and did a little irrigation-I didn’t cut that, thank goodness, but there was more dirt down there. Meanwhile, I realized my ace bandage was shredded. I tore it off. "I need another one of these," I said. A mad scramble was on to find one. But the inning was over. I had to go warm up. And there weren’t any ace bandages handy that were big enough.

"Lily, we don’t see one and we have no time," Coach said.

"Fine," I pulled the patches off my nipples. "Then I go out there like this." And I did. I walked out there, and the crowd didn’t know whether or not to cheer, or gasp. If I had seen myself walk out there like this, I probably would’ve gasped myself. But I was going to at least try to do this.

CHAPTER TWENTY MIKE

I was left on second, so, when the inning ended, I had to go back to the dugout and put on my stuff. Brady would warm up the pitcher-what I thought would be a new pitcher. But, nope, Lily was out there. She was crazy. She looked like she had gotten run over by a truck. And her boobs were out-the ace bandage must have been ruined. I finished putting on the gear, and trotted out to her.

"How you feel?" I asked.

"Like shit."

"You sure you can do this?"

"Hell, no, but I’m going to try."

"What about the boobs?"

"I’ll deal with them."

"All right then. Throw strikes. We’ll take care of the rest."

"Thanks," she said.

"For what?"

"For, right at this moment, being my catcher and not my boyfriend."

"I’m always your boyfriend. On the field, I’m your catcher; so, on the field, I’m both."

"Boyfriends get all protective."

I looked at her. "Protective? What would I be trying to protect you from-your will to win? What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I did that?" I trotted back behind the plate, turned-and saw the smile. Hey, I meant it. If she had to do this, then she had to do this.

Which isn’t to say that I wasn’t worried, mind you.

Anyhow, I got into my crouch, and gave her the sign. She threw. In pain, and it was visible on her face. But she threw the ball, and made short order of the first guy.