Thursday dawned. I was in a hell of a mood. There’s a surprise.

Sat down, ate breakfast with Mom and Marina. Told them all about it. Hustled myself to school.

I got there early. Grabbed the school paper, which had just come out. Figured I could read it while I was waiting—figured I’d have to wait for Lily since I was so early. I went over to the parking lot. Surprise, surprise—she was waiting for me, sitting in her car. She got out the minute she saw me coming.

"I’ve been waiting for you," she gave me a come-hither grin.

"Oh, goody." I walked over to her, and we wrapped each other in a soul kiss.

"You know what’s a pity? You’re not in any of my classes," she told me. "I’d rather get relief from you."

"Yeah, me too," I agreed. "Hey, if you need it, take it. It’s The Program. Plus, one of two things is going to happen today. You’re either gonna get felt up more, or people are going to avoid you."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you’re about to have a bit of notoriety around here." I held up the school paper. Right there, on the front page, was a picture of her—pitching, in the nude—and the big headline: "Girl Makes Westport Baseball Team; First Time In History."

"Oh, geez. I should’ve expected this."

"Yeah, I should’ve too. It’ll be alright." I took her in my arms. "Your catcher will protect you."

"Oh, will he?" she grinned. "How? By kissing me senseless so I don’t care about the notoriety?"

"That sounds good." So I did. The rules against PDAs were still on the books at Westport, but, in wake of The Program, they really weren’t enforced. Especially in the parking lot a half hour before school.

I broke the kiss, and she grinned at me. I grinned back, and looked down. She was wearing a sleeveless white blouse with flowers on it, and a knee-length flared knit skirt.

"You know what? You’re gorgeous even with clothes on," I told her.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. And even without the dirt and the grime and the eyeblack."

She just giggled. "You’re the best, you know that?"

"I’m glad you like what you see," I joked. "Hey, we only have that team meeting today. It’ll only be about an hour. You want to go out on a real date? Dinner?"

"Love to. Burger Hut or real food?" she laughed. "We can always go to The Mariner nude."

"That’s an idea, but we could always do that after the game tomorrow—it’s kind of a tradition among some of us to hit The Mariner after a Friday game."

"Oh, great. Cool."

"For today, though," I said, "I was thinking more about Luciano’s."

"Oh, yeah! I love that place. Only been there twice, but I love it." Luciano’s was a good Italian restaurant in town. "Can’t get nekkid there," she laughed, "but that’s cool. I’d love to go there with you."

"It’s a date, then," I said. Then I kissed her again. It went on for a good long time. Until we heard a sports car vroom into the lot. It pulled into the space next to where we were, and the driver yelled, "Hey! Get a room!" It was Ed.

"Don’t spoil my fun, Ed," Lily teased him.

"Of all the people on this whole wide earth, only you would consider him fun," Ed teased back.

"Oh, yeah? Made your travel plans to Latvia yet?" I put in. Lily was, of course, confused—so I explained my earlier joke to her.

Eddie teased us for another minute or so, then went in. We were still cuddling.

"Almost time to go in," Lily told me.

"Yeah. Darn."

"I know." We started to walk to the entrance. "I have a surprise for you," she continued.

"A surprise?"

"You’ll see." I swear she shook her hips in front of me when she walked away after she said that. She positively sauntered. Hadn’t seen that before.

We got to the entrance, and all the kids were gathered around for the daily unveiling. We hadn’t really put on a show, so I decided to do a little. I went up the stairs ahead of her, and yelled, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Westport High’s newest ace pitcher, coming soon to a clothing-optional ballpark near you, Lily ‘Pedro’ Woodard!!!!"

She giggled through my whole spiel, then bounded up the steps, bowed to all four points of the compass, and then flexed her pitching arm. I thought she might’ve been embarrassed by my little speech—I did it on the spur of the moment—but she was enjoying it. Little did I know that she had a little show of her own planned.

"Thank you, thank you. Mikey, can you start the disrobing today?" I shrugged, and started peeling off my shirt. "Now, you all might like to know that that beautiful guy over there getting naked—well, he and I made love for the first time yesterday evening." Shit! She said that? "Right after I made the team. Those of you who use the baseball diamond for a cut-through, look out for the cumstains in right field. We wouldn’t want any accidents." SHIT! "And now we’re going out. All done, honey?" I, now naked, nodded, bemused. This girl sure was unpredictable. And, boy, did she have—there’s no other word for it—balls. "OK, now, since we were already naked, because of The Program, there was no grand unveiling. I thought about us undressing each other here today, but we’ll have plenty of time to do that. Then, I had a better idea." Her shirt came off.

"Y’see, I was thinking about him all night last night. And this morning." She reached back and unclasped her bra. "All the way here, that’s all I could think about, what we did yesterday—and how soon we could do it again." The bra fell to the floor. I was mesmerized by this point. "And I was making myself hornier and hornier, just thinking about it." The skirt was unzipped. "And, so, while I was driving, I let my hand slip down…..here." Her skirt fell, and she stepped out of it. She gathered up her skirt, bra, and blouse, and dropped them into the box we used for that. Then she turned back to the crowd. "I was so horny." She stuck her hand between her legs. "I spent the whole ride here thinking about him, making myself horny—and making myself oh….so…. wet." Off came the panties. They were pink and frilly. She wasn’t kidding, I could see the moisture on her pussy. "So, I spent the whole ride here making myself so hot and bothered—because of Mike—that I absolutely drenched these panties." She held them up. She was right, they were soaked. Then she took them, folded them up, unzipped my bookbag, and put them in! "A souvenir, sweetie. Not a direct one, but the best indirect one I could come up with." Then she kissed me on the cheek, and disappeared into the building.

Oh my fuck.

The crowd was going apeshit. I turned back towards the school, half in a daze—with one thought on my mind. Relief. I need relief. DAMN do I need relief. And why, oh why, wasn’t she in any of my classes?

Eddie caught up to me. "That is some girl," he said admiringly.

"You got that right," I agreed.

I went to first period, and immediately requested relief. That was probably the most desperate cum of my life. If Lily had been here, I might’ve taken out one of the fluorescent lights with it. As it was, my friendly reliever got a healthy blast in the cheek. Luckily, she didn’t mind.

Unfortunately, the relief was rather temporary. Because every time I opened my bookbag, all I could smell was her. I sit next to Maggie Benson in third period, and, when I opened my bookbag, she leaned over and said, "Why does it smell like pussy in here?" When I told her, she howled. "I don’t know this girl, and already I like her."

Eddie was right. She’s some girl. It just got better and better.

I couldn’t believe I had done that!

It was impulse. I was getting all hot and bothered thinking about it driving to school, and I was rubbing myself—and the kisses we shared in the parking lot didn’t help any. So this brainstorm hit.

I hope he liked his present!

Word got around that Mikey pretty much had to ask for relief before first period. Of course he did, the poor dear. I must’ve really got him going. And the rest of the morning must have been torture—every time he opened that bookbag!

So, when I found him at lunch, I had a shit-eating grin on my face. He smiled back, came around the table, and sat next to me, instead of across from me. I was about to ask him what was up—and two fingers plunged in to my pussy. Oh FUCK. I almost elevated off the chair, and had to swallow the squeak that buckled up. He sat there, very calmly, munching on the sandwich he held with his left hand—while his right hand was furiously thrusting in and out of me.

Ohgodohgodohgod—in the middle of the cafeteria, where I couldn’t even moan. It was torture. It was delicious.

And right in the middle, Ed and Frankie came over and sat down across from us!

"Hey, kids, how’s it going?" Frankie asked us.

"Great," Mike said nonchalantly. I managed to smile and nod. At least I think I smiled.

"Nice stunt before school, Pedro," Eddie laughed.

"Th-thanks," I managed to stammer. Oh fuck, I was hovering right on the edge of one massive cum.

"Hey, are you all right?" Frankie asked. I tried to say "Fine," but, when I opened my mouth, the only thing that came out was a half-squeak/half-gasp.

"Hey, what’s going on?" Eddie asked.

"Payback," Mike grinned at them. That’s when I went. I grabbed his hand and ever-so-slightly humped myself on it. I stifled the huge roar that wanted to come out. I grit my teeth. I probably looked like I was in extreme pain. Fuck, what a cum.

I sat there panting, not trying to look like I was panting. It’s very difficult to catch your breath when you’re trying not to let anyone know that you’re out of breath. And, my torturer, my delicious, wonderful, torturer—took his juice-covered fingers and lifted them to his face. "Hey, I know that smell," he said—and then he licked them off.

I was a pile of goo. A complete pile of goo.

Then Mike said, "Hey honey, don’t you think you might want to eat something? Lunch period’s getting on, you know."

I just sighed, and shuddered. Ed and Frankie were very amused. I managed to pick at some food, but didn’t really care. After a cum like that, who needed lunch?

And do not ask me how I stood up when the bell rang. I have no idea.

Anyhow, I made it through the rest of the day. Somehow. And then, at the exit, was my wonderful guy. We had to go to the team meeting—au naturel, of course—so we just grabbed our clothes and went. Once we got away from the crowd, I said, "You cruel beast. I was having aftershocks for three periods."

"Payback, sweetheart. I’ve been smelling you all day." We grabbed hands and walked to the meeting. We got there, and grabbed a seat on a bench with Frankie and Ed.

First, we elected captains. There was no requirement that captains be seniors, except that they usually were. Unfortunately, there were very few seniors on this team. When Coach assembled his team last year, he had a whole lot of seniors—who had since graduated—and not too many juniors. He said the junior class last year was the worst he’d seen in 15 years at Westport. However, he had a lot of good sophomores, who were now juniors, who were the core of the team. The couple of seniors we did have weren’t considered leaders. So, it was with no surprise—but a great amount of delight, at least on my part—that Mike and Ed were elected the co-captains.

Then we got measured for uniforms. I wouldn’t get to wear mine right away, of course, but I would eventually. The equipment manager asked me if I had a number preference. "45," I said immediately.

"We usually don’t do numbers higher than 30," the coach said.

"Can you?" I asked. The coach looked at the equipment manager, who said. "I don’t see why not."

"Any particular reason?" The coach asked me.

"For 45? Well, of course. It’s Pedro Martinez’s number."

"That’s right, it is, isn’t it," the coach chuckled. "They told me you were from Boston." I nodded. "OK, 45 it is." Thank goodness. I had always worn 45.

Then the coach started talking about our opening day game—tomorrow, Friday. "OK, it’s Newburgh. For those who are new here, Newburgh High is the perennial conference champion. They won States two years ago, and were runners-up last year. And we haven’t beaten them in six years—and most times it hasn’t been close. I’m sure those of you who were here last year remember the 15-1 drubbing."

"So, we’re going to do something different this time. Woodard, you’re starting." I was? I AM? Number one starter? I didn’t expect that. Frankie had been 7-2 last year, and there was an impressive sophomore on the staff. They only knew what I could do from a brief tryout. I knew it, but they didn’t. And they were starting me first? I was thrilled.

For a minute. The coach went on. "Hey, we’re going to lose anyway, so we might as well waste her in this game, and we might get lucky." The team members who didn’t want any girl on the team all chuckled. "And, who knows? She’ll still be in The Program tomorrow. Might increase attendance."

Damn it. I was being used as a sacrificial lamb. Mike was furious, I could see, but fuck it. If that’s what the skipper thought he was doing, he was in for a rude awakening—I didn’t care how good this team was.

Then he started talking about hitting. After talking about some of the guys in the order, he got to me. "Woodard, was that hitting display of yesterday a fluke?" he said with an ill-concealed laugh.

"No," I said, my fury building.

"Now, you didn’t play every day with your old school."

"Yes, I did."

"Obviously, that school had a talent problem," he chortled.

"That’s an interesting theory," I said, "about the Massachusetts State runners-up. Division Two, true, but state runners-up all the same, and we would’ve won the championship if I hadn’t exceeded my innings and been able to pitch the final game."

"You mean to tell me that a state runners-up didn’t have anyone else to DH?"

"I didn’t DH! When I wasn’t pitching, I played Center Fucking Field!"

"Hey, that could work," said Frankie, who was going to start in center when he wasn’t pitching. The coach just glared at him.

"And they would’ve found somewhere to play me when I wasn’t pitching—you don’t sit down your fucking leadoff hitter!" I continued.

"You. Hit leadoff." The coach was flabbergasted.

That did it. "Leadoff. .320 average. .430 OBP. Plus 27 steals in 29 attempts in only 28 games, plus I scored 35 runs. Oh, and if you think you’re sending me out as a sacrificial lamb tomorrow, get a load of these numbers. Nine wins, zero losses in ten starts. And the one I didn’t win, I left a scoreless tie in the eleventh. Zero point three two earned run average. A strikeout to walk ratio of a hundred and two to twelve. That’s in 85 innings. I threw two no-hitters. I didn’t make all-conference, I made all state. As a sophomore!" I stood up. "You have your little chuckles. You think you’re setting me up to take a fall tomorrow. You’d better be good and damned prepared to come here tomorrow and watch a fucking three-hit shutout. Now, if this silly meeting is over, you’ll have to excuse me. I have to go study. Because I’m a straight A student, too!" And I stormed out of the room.

I probably shouldn’t have done it. I know. But I was pissed. I slumped against the locker room door, totally drained. Then I heard the sound of laughter from inside the locker room. I was all set to storm back in there and rip somebody’s throat out. Until I heard the coach bellow, "Kirkland, what’s so fucking funny?"

"The greatest girl in the world, that’s what’s so funny," I heard Mike say. "That, and the look on your face. Sorry, Coach, but you looked like you had swallowed your tongue. And, Coach, I gotta say it. If I were a betting man, my money’d be on the three hit shutout."

Aw. That’s all I could think. Aw. He stuck up for me—and he did it without getting all possessive and pissed off and boyfriend-like. He did it with wit and style.

Then he came out. Big shit-eating grin on his face. I got some glares from some of the team—but pats on the shoulder from Eddie, Frankie, and Ty. We walked out of the locker room, he pulled me off into a corner—and gave me a big hug. "You, my dear, have more balls than most guys." I could just smile.

We made arrangements to go out, he was going to pick me up, so I gave him directions. Then I threw on my clothes—chuckling at the lack of panties—and headed home.

"Lily, is that you?" It was Mom.

"Yeah. I’m starting tomorrow."

"That’s great! Too bad your father and I can’t go."

"There will be plenty of opportunities. Hey, I need your help. Can you come upstairs with me?"

"Sure."

"Mike’s taking me to Luciano’s for dinner."

"Aw, that’s nice," Mom said. "Oh, that means your father and I will get to meet him, yes?"

"Yes, he’s picking me up. Anyhow, I need your help. I need something to wear, and I want you to help me with my hair."

"Going all girly-girl tonight?" she chuckled.

"Yep. He’s seen me halfway—in the parking lot this morning before school when I was wearing this. And he’s seen me with dirt and eyeblack and stuff. But he’s never seen me in full girl mode."

"Are you testing him?" she asked.

"Nah. Hey, if he can accept the eyeblack and stuff, I don’t think he’ll have any problem accepting Lily The Girl. However, I do want to shock the shit out of him," I grinned.

"Ah," she laughed. "OK, well, let me riff through your closet, I’ll get a selection out for you. And while I’m doing that, you need a shower. Wash that hair before I style it."

"Good plan." I started stripping off my clothes, forgetting what I wasn’t wearing.

Mom noticed. Ah, well, like I said—she’s cool. "Lily, honey? Where, exactly, are your panties?" She was stifling a giggle.

"In Mike’s bookbag," I grinned. "Presented them to him this morning. And I made sure I got myself nice and horny on the way to school."

She wasn’t stifling the giggle anymore. "You minx! So he had your…wet panties…"

" Very wet panties."

"Oh my. OK, very wet panties in his bookbag all day?"

"Yup," I grinned.

"Oh, Lily, I hope he really likes you after that!"

"Oh, he got me back."

"Oh, really? How?"

Hmmm. Well, should I answer that? What the hell. "Under the table at lunch, with his hand, right in the middle of the lunchroom," I grinned.

"He didn’t!"

"He did. Have you ever been in a situation where you were cumming up an absolute storm and had to force yourself not to make a single noise? Jesus. It was complete, blissful, fantastic, exquisite pain."

"I can imagine," she laughed. Then she looked at me. "Lily. You’ve actually found a guy to keep up with you, haven’t you?"

"Yeah. And how. And in every way." I told her about my outburst to the Coach, and Mike’s reaction to it.

"I’ve never told you about this. I worry about you. I know you’ve had lots of boyfriends, but they never seemed to last, and there never seemed to be much emotional content, even for a teenaged girl. It just seemed they were all about sex. And I must admit, I sort of worried when I found out you slept with Mike before you guys even had an actual date. But, jeez, honey, if you’ve actually found a guy who can keep up with you…..wow. I worried they didn’t exist."

"Yeah, me too," I admitted. "And Mike is a new thing. But, Jesus, Mom, so far he’s just perfect. I have to tell you, I think I could fall for this guy in a big way."

"I think you already are," she smiled. I smiled back. She had a point.

I showed up at Lily’s at the appointed hour, and knocked on the door. Her Dad answered. He shook my hand and welcomed me in. Said he was glad to finally meet me "after hearing so much." Hmm. I wonder what Lily had told them. Anyway, if he knew about our right-field escapades, he must not have minded, because he was very nice.

We sat in the living room, and chatted. About baseball, about the team. You know, guy stuff. Then I heard a creak on the stairs, and looked up, and saw Lily walking down.

Oh. My. God.

I couldn’t fucking swallow. Or breathe. Or think.

She was wearing a spaghetti-strap blouse, black, low-cut, ruffly, with a cinched waist, that flared out at the end. A red skirt, short and flared. Black panty hose. Red heels (not too high, thankfully, since I was shorter to begin with!). And her face! She had makeup on, lightly but skillfully applied. And her hair was down. I’d only seen it in a ponytail, or up under her cap on the field. Tonight, it was down, and had been styled with a curler of some sort. It cascaded past her shoulders in chocolate waves.

She was…exquisite.

Don’t forget, I had fallen in love with a ballplayer. I had made love to this girl when she was a sweaty, dirty, mussed-haired, grass-stained pitcher. And I had told her she was beautiful. And I had meant every word. I saw the beauty in a cocky, shitkicking, take-no-prisoners ball of fire who struck me out on three pitches and made love in the outfield like a banshee. And now I was confronted with this vision coming down the stairs at me.

And it was the same girl. The same unbelievable girl.

She walked over to me and shyly said, "Hi."

"Hi. And wow," was all I could come up with.

She giggled. "You like?"

"You’re beautiful."

She blushed but giggled. "Better than that dirty pitcher you rolled around in the outfield with, huh?" Ah. So her parents did know, as they were right there. But they were still smiling at her.

"No. She’s just as beautiful. Beauty is beauty, there’s just different ways to let it out. Thank you for showing me this one." I never thought of myself as all that eloquent. I just speak from the gut and the heart. Well, I saw the moisture in her eyes right then. I guess I’d said the right thing.

She beamed at me and sniffled. Then she ran her hands over my simple (but clean and pressed) blue oxford button-down and tan chinos and said, "You know, you clean up pretty well yourself. For a catcher." I just grinned at her.

She made a supreme effort to keep her composure—and then introduced me to her mom. We chatted a bit, and then it was time to go.

I let her in the passenger side, then swung around and started up the car. We drove for a minute in silence, then she said, "Thanks."

"You’re welcome. For what?"

She giggled, and then her voice got soft. "For what you said in there."

"I meant every word."

"I know you did." Sniffle. "Damn it, I can’t cry! My mascara will run!"

"Ah, fuck it. Let it run. We’ll just smudge it around your face and call it eyeblack." She looked at me, and roared with laughter. "Then again, though eyeblack suits you just fine, I don’t think it’d go all that well with that particular ensemble." She let out another snort of laughter, then got serious and turned to me.

"Is it OK? I mean, really OK? I know you’ve never seen me like this. I know Luciano’s is sort of casual, and I tried not to go overboard, but I wanted you to see me like this."

"Is it OK? I’m gobsmacked," I said. "You came down those stairs, and I couldn’t have made a fist if my life had depended on it. Look, you know me. You know how I reacted to that grubby pitcher in the outfield yesterday. And you know I meant it when I called you beautiful. What I see now is different. It’s a different kind of beauty." I took a breath. "I guess the best way I can say it is this: the Lily that stands on that mound glaring in at me builds a fire in my gut. The Lily that came down those stairs tonight took my breath away. Do you realize how beautiful that makes you, that you can do both those things?"

Her voice, when she answered, was low and hoarse. "Do you realize how beautiful it makes you, that you can recognize both those things?" There was a slight sob at the end of that, and then a tone of wonder. "You’re the first. The absolute first. Ever." She sniffled. "If I were to be asked, I’d say that the most beautiful thing about you, physically, is your eyes. They’re the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen on a guy." I could hear the grin in her voice. "In my diary, I called them ‘liquid pools of iridescent sapphire.’ That’s when I knew I had a thing for you, when I started waxing poetic." I cracked up laughing. She giggled a little, then her voice dropped again. "But now I know the truth. The true beauty in your eyes isn’t the way they look; though they are beautiful and I drown in them every time I look into them. The true beauty in your eyes is inside, what they see. You see things I didn’t think anyone would ever see."

"They weren’t looking hard enough."

"I don’t think you had to look hard at all," she replied.

"You’re right, I didn’t. It was there, it was all there. Every time I looked at you."

She sighed, and sniffled a bit. Then her voice got forceful. "Mike Kirkland, you had better be ready, because I am falling head over heels in love with you, and I am doing it good and fast. And I don’t do anything halfway."

I roared. Is this girl something, or what? I couldn’t stop laughing.

"What?" she said.

" Only you could tell me you’re falling in love with me and make it sound like you’re challenging me to a duel at ten paces."

"Oh, jeez, I did, didn’t I?"

"Hey, I’m the one that thinks that getting struck out is foreplay, who am I to argue? Besides which, I can hit that meatball out of the park. If you think you’re falling in love with me, Lily Woodard, you’d better catch up in a hurry, because I’m rounding third and headed for home."

"Good," she sighed, and snuggled up to me for the rest of the ride.

We got to Luciano’s and got a table right away. We looked at the menu, ordered, and then sat there, chatting.

"I’ve been meaning to ask you," I said, "Do you have any dreams about being the first woman in the majors? I mean, I caught a guy who got drafted last year, and you’re better than he is."

"Well, yeah, now I am," she replied. "But I won’t be. My body will break down eventually. Pitching-wise, I mean, and probably long before I’d be ready for the majors. We’ve talked about the whole women’s body not being meant for this thing. Well, it’s only gonna get worse. I’m only seventeen. That’s going to get harder to maintain."

"Yeah, but some of it won’t. I mean, your hips are your hips. They might get fatter, but you do a good job of keeping that in line. A lot of maintaining your body for pitching isn’t any different that maintaining your body for any other kind of sport—like soccer. A lot of the basic differences-in-physiology problems you have aren’t going to get any worse. Not any time soon."

"I see your point, and it is something to think about," she said. "What they tell me—doctors and such, I mean—is that, because I’m female, I have more of a chance of something going wrong. There’s more of a chance that I could snap a tendon in my hip. There’s more of a chance of arm problems. Hey, my arm bone is smaller than yours. I do a damn good job of building up the muscle and such around it, and I do a good job with exercises to keep it flexible. But it’s smaller. It could snap in half on my first pitch tomorrow. Hey, if it happens in high school? Oh well. If it happens after three years of mucking around the low minors? It’d be far more devastating."

"You’ve thought about this," I commented.

"Oh, yeah. Look—if I keep my stats the next two years the way they’ve been the first two years—well, if I were a guy, I would be drafted. We’d have to see if any organization would want to take a chance with a girl pitcher—knowing what I know, and just told you—but, yeah, it’s a possibility. I’d have to at least consider it. Especially if I were to get drafted by the Red Sox. Having the chance to make that kind of history with a Sox uniform on my back? In Fenway? I admit, that’s enticing. Frankly, chasing a slim-chance dream, being in the back of busses for years, doesn’t hold much appeal if that slim-chance would happen—if it ever does--in a Florida Marlins uniform, or something. But the Sox? Yeah, I’d have to at least consider it."

"What about college?"

"You mean, if I were offered a baseball scholarship? Oh, yeah, in a heartbeat. No question. Even if my arm falls off halfway through sophomore year, I’ll have my education. And, I’ll tell you, that is a milestone that I might be able to get to before my body goes south—first woman in the College World Series."

"What to you want to go to school for?" I asked her.

"Journalism," She grinned. "If I can’t play for the Sox, I’ll be their beat writer."

"I should’ve known, shouldn’t I have?" I laughed.

"Yes you should’ve. And you?"

"I want to go pro—however, I won’t be accepting any offers if I’m drafted out of High School. I am going to college first. If I’m drafted out of college, to the minors I go. In college, I plan to major in psychology. If the baseball thing doesn’t work out, I’m going to take after my mother."

"That’s neat," she beamed.

"That would be awfully interesting," I said.

"What would?"

"What if we got offered scholarships, but not to the same school? What if we ended up in different schools? I can just see it. College World Series, final game. Pitching for Arizona State, Lily Woodard. Now batting for Miami, Mike Kirkland."

She laughed. "I’d strike you out on three straight pitches."

"No way. Double into the gap."

"In your dreams." She took a breath. "Well, we might not be able to go to the same school. But if we’re still going out next year when the offers come out—which we will be—I hope we end up at closer schools than Arizona State and Miami."

"Good point," I laughed. "’Which we will be,’ huh?"

"Well, you know….I just feel something about this."

"Yeah, me too."

"Hell, I’ve even contemplated the nasty possibility that you might be drafted by the Yankees. Which means, if we’re still together, which we will be"—we both giggled—"I’d have to go be a beat writer in New York. Writing about the team in all of pro sports I despise the most. Jesus. Shoot me now. I don’t know if I’d be able to keep the dripping contemptuous sarcasm out of my columns." I howled at that one.

The food came then, and we ate and happily chatted. I paid the bill, and we left.

"Mikey?" she said shyly after we had climbed into the car.

"Yes?"

"I, uh, want you. Really, really bad."

"You do not beat around the bush, do you?"

"No, not usually," she giggled.

"That’s just fine by me, because I want you, too. Really really bad."

"Where can we go?"

"That’s easy." I started driving to my house. When we pulled up, she said, "You sure?"

"Mom won’t care."

"Yeah, I guess she wouldn’t," she said. "She seems open to all of this."

"Always has been."

"Actually, I don’t think my parents would mind all that much either—if I didn’t have an eleven year old sister."

"Good point." I stopped the car, walked around, and took her hand. We went into the house and found Mom and Marina there. We chatted for a bit, then I took her upstairs. Mom just gave me a grin and a wink.

I got her up to my room—which I had had the foresight to straighten up—and looked around. The only girl I’ve ever had in my room that appreciated the baseball posters, I can tell you that. Then she looked above my bed—and started howling.

I had pinned the panties onto the wall right above my headboard.

She pointed at them. "Did you at least wash them?" she chortled.

"Never," I told her. She laughed louder. "I’m trying to decide whether or not to frame them."

"You’re a nut, you know that?" she giggled, then tackled me onto my bed. "C’mere, you nut." We rolled around on the bed, making out, wrapped around one another. Various pieces of clothing started to be shed.

Before long, her blouse and bra were undone—the bra had hooked in the front--our mouths were locked, my hands were on her boobs, and she was writhing all over the place. Not long after that, her pantyhose and panties were in a ball at the end of the bed, my mouth was on her boobs, and my hand was in her pussy. Then I started kissing downward. I knew what I wanted—I had wanted it since the first moment that morning that I had opened my bookbag. So I started trailing kisses down her stomach. She giggled. Her skirt was still on, so I just lifted it out of the way, and started kissing her thighs, moving my way towards the bullseye.

She tensed. "Mikey? W-what are you doing?"

"I’ve been smelling it all day," I chuckled. "Now I need a taste."

"Oh. Well, uh, nobody’s ever done that to me."

I was stunned. "You’re kidding."

"No. I dunno. It just never happened."

I looked at her. "And for some reason, the thought bothers you."

"Not bothers me, really," she said. "It just seems so….personal. I don’t know how to explain it."

"If you don’t want me to, I won’t," I said simply.

"No. I’m being silly. Well, why do you want to do it?"

"Well, the first reason was what I said, I want to taste you." She shot me a dubious look. "Really. Some guys like doing this, you know, and I’m one of them. As for the second reason—well, you’re just going to have to trust me."

"Trust you?"

"Yeah."

She smiled. "OK. I do," she said, and then lied back—still visibly tense, but I’d change that. I moved back down towards her—and started with one long lick up the length of her pussy.

She jumped. I worked my way up and down and delighted in her increasingly ragged breathing. I worked my tongue in and out of her hole a few times and she writhed all over the bed. Then, I dragged my tongue upwards again—and went right for the clit.

"YYYYYYIIIIII!!!" she wailed. "OhmygodNNNGGGGGG!!" as I worked my tongue up and down. A little bit of that, and I zeroed in on the clit, and listened to the wild animal cries coming from her mouth. When she came, she almost threw me off the bed bucking her hips. I eased off as she came down, lightly trailing my tongue on her labia, then I brought her right back up again. This one was even more explosive.

I quit after that, crawled up next to her. She was beet-red. She was still gasping for air. Her fingernails were practically digging a hole in my mattress. Her legs were still shaking. She opened her eyes, saw me lying next to her—and she grabbed me and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me ferociously, still shuddering.

"That’s the second reason," I said in her ear.

"Ohgodohgodohgod."

"I’m glad you liked it," I chuckled.

"Oh God that was—I can’t describe—I can still feel it!" She was babbling. "Oh, God, Mikey please fuck me!" I was going to argue with that?

I quickly got my pants off—she had already taken the shirt off—and crawled on top of her. And entered her. She started moaning right away.

I looked down. After all this time we had spent together naked, this was almost better. Her black blouse and black bra—both undone—still hung off her shoulders. And her skirt was still on, and bunched up around her waist. I moved in and out of her, and she went fast—I guess she wasn’t kidding about still feeling the tongue bath—as she howled. I was nowhere near, so I kept going.

I noticed her starting to build up again. Right then, I leaned over and started kissing her. She had her legs around my hips, and she wrapped her arms around my neck as I fucked her. On every stroke, I felt her mouth vibrate on mine as she let out a "MMMMMMMMMM!" And then she went again. She grabbed my neck and ground her mouth on mine as she screamed into my mouth. He pussy ground on my dick. Connected at both ends like that, I felt her orgasm all over.

Did I say I was nowhere near? That ended in a hurry! But not before I brought her to another one, still connected mouth-to-mouth and dick-to-pussy.

I’d never passed out from sex. I came damn close that time. I collapsed in a protoplasmic heap beside her.

When I had regained my wits, I looked over to her. She was still wheezing and gaping. Her breasts were flushed and heaving. Her face was flushed, eyes closed, hands bunched into fists. Her lips were swollen—both sets. She was still shuddering.

When her eyes fluttered open, she gazed at me with a look of wonder. "Oh my. What was I missing?"

I just chuckled. "I’m a little surprised that you’d never had that done to you."

"Well, like I said, I sort of shied away from it. Stupid me. But the other part is, hey—not a lot of guys, even in this day and age, will do that. I’ve heard that enough from girlfriends over the years. ‘Expects a blowjob, but won’t give me any’." Then she blinked. "Which I’ve never done for you, come to think about it."

"I don’t mind," I laughed.

"Next time," she promised. "Anyhow, like I said, not all guys will do it. I’ve also heard that some guys will try it, but aren’t very good at it." She shuddered again. "You, my sweet, are very good at it. I have never cum so many times in a row in my life. And so loudly. Jesus, I probably woke up the neighbors."

"Well, Mom and Marina, at the very least. Well, if they had been asleep, that is. They’re not—they’re downstairs."

"OH SHIT!" she blurt out. "I forgot where I was!"

"Don’t worry about it," I laughed. "This is Mom, OK? You think you’re the…well, forget it. Just that Mom won’t care."

"What were you going to say?" she pressed.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Mikey, come on. No secrets."

"Fine, all I was going to say was, do you think you’re the first girl I’ve ever had up here."

"Oh, is that all," she said. "Hey, I know you have a past. I have a past. I’m actually rather glad I wasn’t your first, nor you mine. When I lost my virginity, I wasn’t capable of what just happened."

"Yeah. How old were you?"

"13. Summer after seventh grade. You?"

"14. Eighth grade. Right after my 14^th birthday, which is in January. The 25^th."

"Cool, you’re an older man," she giggled. "Slightly. Mine was a couple weeks ago. March 10^th. You turned seventeen also, I assume?"

"Yeah," I said. "Have you had a lot?" I asked.

"Yeah, I’d say. 8 or so, I think? As I told you, I’m not a one-night-stand sort of person, generally, though I did have one. I mean one that I knew exactly what it was when I did it. Of course, that was the one time I was with a considerably older man."

"Oh, really?" I laughed.

"Yeah. Look, that’s a topic of girl-gossip when you’re teenagers. How much better older men are. I was 15. He was 26. I wanted to try it out. And I have to admit, he was good." She looked at me. "Oops, maybe I shouldn’t have said that."

"Why not?" I asked reasonably. "My male ego’s pretty resistant, you know. Besides which, I have eyes. If you tell me anything you’ve ever had was better than what I just saw, you’re lying, lying, lying."

She cracked up laughing. "OK. I admit it. Hell, I thought our roll in the outfield yesterday was the ultimate. Until this. Five times I came. Unbelievable." She took a breath. "You like doing, you know, what you did to me tonight?"

"Sure do."

"GOOD!" I had to laugh at that. "Anyway, back to my experience—except for the older guy, it was never a one-night stand. It might have ended up not being many more nights than that, but it was always what I considered a relationship. Even if it ended up being short-lived."

"You ever had your heart broken?" I asked her.

"Once. Bill Shumer. I went out with him last year, sophomore year, over most of the winter. I thought I was in love, but I was fooling myself. You see, he knew, in his mind, that I was a baseball player—but it was winter, so he was able to avoid it. Then, right after the season started, I was walking home from practice and I ran into him downtown where I used to live. I still had my uniform on, spikes, eyeblack, dirt, the whole bit. He broke up with me that night. Said he thought he was going out with a girl. I told him he knew I played baseball, but that didn’t matter. Confronted with visual evidence of it, he freaked."

"Oh, damn, Lily," was all I could think to say.

"Lucky for me, no more of that," she said, smiling at me. "Now you. How many?"

"Ten or so. I’ve done a few one-night stands. Mostly relationships."

"All right, I have to ask. You said a few one-night stands. Have you ever done Maggie Benson?"

"Yeah," I laughed. "Right here, as a matter of fact, about a year ago. And that’s why I know that Mom doesn’t care—because Maggie’s so loud, I think she shattered a couple bulbs in the dining room chandelier." She howled. "You know, it’s kind of incredible that I can tell you this stuff."

"Look, your past is your past, that’s the way I look at it. And I would’ve been surprised if you hadn’t been with Maggie Benson. That’s a small list."

" Speaking of Maggie, she sits next to me third period, and when I opened my bookbag today, she leaned over and said ‘I smell pussy.’" Lily really broke up at that one. "When I told her why she smelt pussy, she said she liked you already."

"Uh-huh," she giggled. "Have you ever had your heart broken?"

"Once myself. Marcia Ryerson."

"She’s in my English class."

"Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this story, then. Ah well, it was two years ago. Freshman year. We went out for a couple of months, and were doing it the whole time. She always told me her parents were strict, she had to keep it secret, we snuck around a lot. That part wasn’t the greatest, but I had really fallen for this girl. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her parents she didn’t want to find out about her guys—it was her other guys."

"Oh, shit." Lily saw what was coming.

"Oh, it gets better. Despite all her grand schemes, some guys just can’t keep a secret from their best buddies. I can….but Eddie can’t."

"Oh no," she said.

"Yep. He sidled up to me one day and told me about this great relationship he was in, but he had to keep it hush-hush because of her parents, but he wanted to tell me. And then named the girl I had been fucking not two hours before. I almost hit him. Then I realized that he didn’t know."

"What happened then?"

"We confronted her. She got all weepy, ‘I love you both so much I couldn’t decide’ yadda yadda yadda, all that crap. We both turned our back on her, and shook over it. And we made a vow, right then and there, that, no matter what, we would always tell each other about the girls in our life, so that this never happened again." I grinned at her. "Of course, I didn’t have to tell Eddie about us—you did that yourself at the Burger Hut."

"Yes, I did." She giggled.

"I don’t like sneaks. I treat everybody on the up-and-up, and prefer to be treated that way myself. We’ve told you about Jared and Amanda. Now, while that might not be my style, I respect that, when they stray, they’re open about it. And I actually have enormous respect for Maggie. She like sex, she likes variety, and doesn’t apologize for it. I just don’t like sneaks."

"You don’t have to worry about that with me," she said.

"You, Miss Blunt?" I laughed. "No, I didn’t think so. If you ever got pissed off enough to cheat on me, you’d scream it from the top of the school building."

"I might at that," she giggled. "Though, you know," she said softly, "that’s never going to happen."

"I know." We just smiled at each other.

--End of part 4—