Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Out of the Ball Park

Batting A Thousand
by KM

“Are you fucking kidding me? Soccer? No, no, no my naïve little friend. It’s all about baseball. Baseball or nothing. Baseball is where it’s at. Baseball is the sexiest sport there is.”

“Just look at them Eva. Look at them! Men with hot asses playing with dicks and balls for money. Lots of money. What is not sexy about that? Soccer players don’t play with dicks and they don’t make dick. Do the math.”

Eva dipped her corn dog in mustard and took a swift, fierce bite while glaring at me. With her mouth stuffed full of pork parts, she attempted to argue her point about soccer being a real man’s game.

“Who the fuck cares about the men or the game,” I said, playfully blowing foam off of my Miller Light at her. It’s what they do for us that counts. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that you would be 10 times more satisfied after a night with Scha-wing Baby than Cry Baby. Think about it Eva. Seriously. Wanna bet?”

“Blow me Megan,” Eva retorted, sucking the last chunk of deep-fried meat off of her stick and chasing it with a healthy gulp of eight dollar stadium beer.

Oh, I wasn’t about to let her off that easy.

“Baseball players are totally OK with being whoever they are. Look out at the field. There are at least six guys rearranging their nuts right at this moment. Soccer players are too fucking good for their nuts. I know for a fact that soccer players train themselves to suck their balls up to protect themselves if they get kicked, and more often than not, their nuts get stuck up there. Who wants a nutless, gutless intellectual fucking prick?”

Eva pulled her shades up and gave me another wicked stare. “You’re on bitch. But we fuck as a team, and they have to be pros. No amateurs.”

“You’re on Eva. You are so on. Play ball!”

This was going to be good, but there was one little problem. How do you get a pro athlete in the sack when the closest you ever get to one is through the super-zoom lens of your binoculars?

I began sending big, juicy, karma-filled hot fucking fantasies to all of my favorite ball players in my mind as the game went on. I was no longer even paying attention to what was going on out there, the bet having taken top priority in my lizard brain. I gathered up a big pile of sticky, sweet, wet, juicy green lusty balls filled with hot, sexy thoughts and fired them off in series of fast pitches, aiming for the player’s heads, their asses, their big, itchy nards. Bam! Take that short stop. Oooh, did I just see you flinch? Feeling horny now lover? Wham! This one’s for you, you hunka-hunka burning third baseman. Welcome to the Field of Wet Dreams baby! Oh yeah, uh huh! I’m gonna make this happen. Build it, and he will cum.

At that moment, a miracle happened. A true miracle. He found me. My big, handsome ball player found me in the crowd. Now here we are. Midnight on the pitcher’s mound. Right in the middle of the fucking stadium. He is banging me to kingdom come. He’s incredible! This guy has stamina. He’s no Punch-and-Judy belter. I’m on all fours, spread out over the mound, with number 21 driving it home. He pulls me up onto his thighs and squeezes my tits with a catcher’s mitt, the lingering smells of the park, hot leather and cool grass all swirling around my sweat-soaked head. Oh baby, you have such a big, hard stick! Fuck me! Go home crackerjack! Go home! I no longer have a g-spot. I am a g-spot. This fence buster between my legs, it’s incredible. Right down Broadway big guy – worm burner to the cunt, oh yes, bring the heat!

“Hey lady! Can you fucking tone it down? I haven’t taught little Josh here that word yet.”

What the? This fatass in front of me is up and screaming, displaying half of his nasty crack in the process, tossing popcorn up behind him as he barks and shakes his finger.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said, returning slowly to reality, my karmic drive disrupted. “I apologize, but would you mind returning your hairy crack to your seat? It’s a little uh, distracting, not to mention disgusting.”

“And here, I said, holding out a handful of popcorn retrieved from my bra and perturbed beyond words that jack-hammer-ass had popped my lust bubbles. “Thanks for the tossed corn, but I’m really not hungry.”

After the game, we dropped by the Atlas Pub for some health food: Double martinis and chicken Caesars. The “boobs and butts diet” as Eva calls it. “Extra Lubrication and bird tits on a bed of greens. Keep it light and make mine tight. Bite me, don’t fight me. Hoo-ya!”

“You got it Eva,” Donny, the lesbian waitress said and winked. “Ditto for me,” I said. “Dressing on the side por favor. And make the lube dirty, no olives please.”

“Why does she always wink at you?” I asked Eva after Donny, a pixie in Doc Martin’s, sauntered off to the kitchen. “She never winks at me. Never.”

“Because I have charisma,” Eva jabbed. “It’s not a hot wink. It’s a universal sort of muffinista wink. A knowing thing between chicks, like, you’re cool and I’m cool and we bitches got to stay tight. That and she’s an ass man. Relax, Meg and you might get a wink too.”

Of course, our conversation then turned back to the bet and the various endearing qualities of soccer and baseball.

“So how do we determine the winner?” I asked Eva. “We need a scoring system.”
“Do physical characteristics count or do we base the win on pleasure alone?”

“It’s got to be the Big O-meter,” she replied quickly. “It’s the only fair way.”

“We each get a turn, then we team up – the highest O-rating with the combined score factored in will tell us which one of our star ball players is worthy of Hall of Fame status – and which one of us gets the cash.”

“So how in the hell are we going to nab a couple of pros?” Eva asked, stabbing at her romaine.

“Well, it’s not like we can advertise. It won’t do any good to hang out at the stadium. We could bump into some here, you know, the ones who just want to slip in for a beer, keep a low profile.”

“Good point,” Eva said, grinning. “This place is just skanky enough to draw some guys looking for a little escape from the fanfare.”

The universe turns on simple, fateful moments. In the crowded pub, we didn’t hear or see anyone exit the booth behind our table and relocate to the bar. If we had, it might have been a whole different ball game, most likely no ball game.

“Don’t ask too many questions – just verify they’re pro and leave it at that,” I added. “We don’t want to scare anyone off. And where does this gig go down?”

In unison we cheered, “Pete’s place.”

“That’s perfect,” I said, biting an olive in half. “A nice little get-together at the love palace.”

Our bachelor friend Pete owns a fucking incredible place – ocean view, pool, hot tub, multiple guest rooms– the perfect party pad. There was always something going on there, crazy but casual beach style fun. We drop by, conduct our experiment in one of the extra rooms….fire up the Big O-meter. Tally. Score! We have a winn-aaaah!

As we finished our lunch and continued our devious scheming, Donny returned to our table with two martinis.

“Compliments of those two handsome gentlemen at the bar,” she said, winking at me this time.

A few minutes later the men got up and headed towards our table. One was tall and thickly muscled with black short hair and massive arms. The other was average height, lean and muscular, with reddish brown hair and a nicely trimmed goatee.

Muscles turned pulled a chair over from an adjacent table and sat down as if we were old friends. “Afternoon ladies. I’m Ryan and this is my buddy Giles. We couldn’t help but take notice of you lovely ladies. We’re in town until Monday for a sports convention.”

Eva and I looked at each other. Why not?

“A sports convention eh? Are you two athletes?” Eva questioned.

“Yes we are hot stuff,” Ryan said, lifting his chest. “I’ve got the hands and the swing. Giles here is known for his fancy footwork. I take care of the strike zone. Giles is king of the slide kick.”

“Are you professional athletes?” I added, smiling coyly.

“Are we pros? Are you gorgeous?” Giles grinned, green eyes flashing. “You’re looking at the cream of the crop. Ryan is MVP third year in a row and a national champ. Cincinnati Centaurs – minor league.”

“Giles,” Ryan chimed in, “is this year’s Player of the Year and an eight-time national tournament all-star – Atlanta Comets. You should see him move the ball. He’s nearly flawless – and that’s just his head game.”

Eva looked across the table at Ryan, giving him her best “Don’t fuck with me or else” face.

“Very impressive,” she said. “So….Megan and I are headed to a party later. We’d love to have a couple of champions join us.”

“What do you think Giles?” Ryan said, sexy dimples creasing across his cheeks. “We could probably swing that. Hang with the locals. Sounds like fun.”

“Here’s my cell number,” Eva said. “Call at 7 p.m. We’ll give you directions.”

Right on the dot, Ryan buzzed Eva. She directed him to Pete’s where we were already working on a couple of drinks and a few hits of weed to keep our nerves in check.

The party had ramped up to rage mode by then. Music blared from multiple stereos, half-naked women danced around Pete’s brass pole in the sunken living room. Even Donny was there, making out with a woman twice her age on a purple moon-shaped couch. A mixed crowd filled the hot tub, mixed meaning some clothed and some not. If our new friends couldn’t perform in these conditions, there was no hope at all for the wild world of sports.

The boys showed up at the door with a couple of expensive bottles of wine. With no time to waste, we offered hasty introductions before guiding them upstairs to the guest room suite with its own wet bar and Jacuzzi.

“You girls sure know how to throw down,” Ryan said, wide-eyed, as he handed me a glass of deep red wine.

“How about we start off with a dip,” Eva said, slipping out of her clothes faster than a mermaid splashed with water.

We were all in the Jacuzzi in a matter of minutes, an orgy of hips and lips. Ryan glided over to me and nuzzled my neck. In a flash I was back on that fucking pitcher’s mound in my mind as my ball player wrapped his thick arms around my waist, biting my lips gently between his teeth, then sucking hard on my boobs as they bobbed in the foaming water. His cock rose beneath me, lifting me like a pool float between my legs. O-Meter on.

Eva poured Giles more wine and went down on his cock while he sat in a plush velvet chair and drank from the crystal glass, his face a picture of pure male pleasure. She pressed her breasts together while he fucked her cleavage as she stroked his balls with all the enthusiasm of a rabid sports fan. Ryan was fucking me from behind in the tub while I pinched my dangling tits and got off watching Eva torch the soccer field.

In my mind, pornographic sports highlights were shooting across my brain in flickering frames like an old news reel.

Ryan lifted me out of the tub and carried me, biting my nipples, to the king-size bed. He tied me to the bed posts with curtain ties borrowed from the draperies. He teased my ass with his tongue and buried his face in my breasts. Eva began moaning loudly. The next thing I knew, my hands were free and Eva and I were locked in a hot ‘69, curled around one another like a nautilus shell on a white sand beach. O-Meter spiking, but wait, points off for fucking Eva! Oh my God, bring me bat boy, quick. No, header is moving in, fuck yes! Giles hit the mark, slamming his cock with fine-tuned precision into my g-zone with one swift kick. Bonus points.

Ryan took aim at Eva’s ass and threw down a dinger, pushing her to the edge as I swirled my tongue around her clit. God love baseball! Eva and I both climaxed at once, a hot wave of national pride sweeping over me. I could practically hear the fans cheering as our bodies convulse with pleasure.

At last, Ryan flashed some leather and made his move. He took a meaty handful of ice from the bucket on the table and slid it across my breasts, down my stomach to my cunt. He turned me over and fucked me from behind while Giles entered me from below. Eva got her fill of all the balls while Ryan and Giles fucked me in unison, the rubber game now hot and heavy.

Eva positioned herself in front of me as the pros let me have it. “Looks like your team’s run into a buzz saw bitch,” I said playfully, flicking my tongue across her mouth and giving her a deep, wet kiss. She pinched my nipples hard and slapped me on the ass. “Don’t count your cash just yet honey. I sense a give-and-go goal shot any moment now.”

I screamed with pleasure as an orgasm the size of Babe Ruth’s power swing shook me to the core. O-Meter mother fucking pegged!

The pros gave Eva a good cunt punt while I got my share of ball play before we all collapsed and took another tub dip before re-joining the party downstairs.

“Well,” I asked Eva, mixing us a celebratory drink at the wet bar while the dudes checked out the rest of the scene. “Shall we tally?”

“Meg, you can’t tell me that wasn’t a tie. That was fucking outrageous. The best I’ve ever had. Home runs, goals, whatever! They both pegged my meter, what can I say?”

“I can’t disagree,” I said, dropping a cherry into my Manhattan. “But maybe we need a tie breaker.”

Just then Donny skipped up to the bar for a beer. “Hey babe,” Eva said. “You’re looking sexy and saucy tonight.”

“Thanks honey,” she said, shoving a lime seductively into her Corona. “Did I see you two fraternizing with the Moulton brothers?”

“Brothers? You know those guys?” I said, my jaw dropping. “Yeah, they come around to the Atlas every couple of months.”

“Are they professional ball players?” I asked softly, my stomach in knots.

“They are indeed,” Donny said, giggling. A wave of relief washed over me. “If by ball player you mean bowling balls. They are quite well known in the bowling circuit,” she continued. “In fact, they are PBA champs three years running. Friends of theirs tell me they both have multiple titles and a crazy fucking trophy wall at their house.”

“Bowling? We just had our meters pegged by a couple of alley whores?” I threw up my hands and gave Eva a dramatic look of horror. “I guess it’s not a tie after all. Our little bet is still on!” I could hardly bring myself to utter the words, but I had no choice, considering the stats. “God love bowling.”


Jeremy Edwards said...

This is definitely the best sportswriting I've ever read!

Favorite inning:

He pulls me up onto his thighs and squeezes my tits with a catcher’s mitt ... I no longer have a g-spot. I am a g-spot.

Love the ending, too!

Kirsten Monroe said...

The best ever? Thanks Jeremy! I always wanted to be a sports writer when I grew up.