Digging for Home

byPenelope Street©

Sequel to:

Never Make the Last Out at Third

After some minutes, Charlie broke the embrace. Backing away a step, she steered her moist brown eyes into Frank's damp grey ones. "What now?"

The man tilted his head to one side and shrugged. "I'm not sure. It hasn't been a day yet since you went from being the girl of my dreams to; well, the girl of my dreams with something extra."

"Ok," Charlie sighed. "What would you have wanted to do with me today supposing you hadn't found out I was a girl with, as you say, something extra?"

Frank's head bobbed for a few seconds in no apparent direction. "I'm still not sure."

Charlie noticed the man's gaze waver. "Am I your girlfriend or not?"

The question snapped Frank's focus to her face. "You are. You definitely are."

"Alright, then. If you want to say something, say it. If you want to do something, do it. If I like it, I'll tell you. If I don't like it, I'll tell you. That's how relationships work. And don't worry about offending me; if liking those damn Red Sox didn't scare me away, nothing will."

"Ok." Frank nodded. "But I know there are other things that make relationships work; like each partner giving, you know; in a loving way."

Charlie smirked as she read between the lines. "I'm not expecting a blowjob tonight. I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable doing."

"I know," Frank said. "But you do want one someday, right?"

Charlie sighed as she nodded thoughtfully. Easing forward, she moved a palm to the man's upper arm, initiating a gentle caress. "You said you'd try. I can't ask for anything more."

"I just don't want you to be disappointed if I can't bring myself to do the things you want."

"Ok," Charlie whispered. "You made your point and I heard it. If it doesn't work out, I'll be ok. I'll still have some great memories of a great guy. What more can a girl want, right? So let's just keep going where we left off and see what happens."

Frank chewed his lower lip as he nodded. "Ok."

Charlie smiled and draped her forearms over the man's shoulders. "I think part of having masculine genitals means I have a sex drive to rival any man. Sure, we can go do dinner and a movie if you want, but I think where we left off was somewhere around here." She leaned into her man, resting her bosom against his chest.

Frank's eyes fell at once as he sensed the pleasing softness of her flesh through the fabric of his shirt. When several seconds later his gaze returned to the woman's face, he found her lovely brown eyes locked upon his pale grey ones.

"You like my titties, don't you?" Charlie whispered.

"You know I do."

"I bet we can find a lot we both want to do, starting there."

Frank tongued his lips. "Ok."

"Are you tense?"

"A bit."

"Why? I'm your girlfriend, remember?" Charlie moved her arms around the man's midriff and pulled him closer. "Just be yourself. That's all I want."

She exhaled through pursed lips as she sensed the hardness of his manhood against her. Her chest heaved with imprisoned excitement as she moved her own inflexible rod adjacent to his.

Frank's spine stiffened as he felt the girl begin to grind the two upright shafts against one another. He swallowed as his lips twitched, unable to conjure words to express his diverse emotions.

Charlie began to undulate her shoulders in concert with her hips. "Tell me that doesn't feel good."

"Yes," Frank admitted. "It does."

"I know," Charlie whispered, inching her face closer to his. "It feels better than good."

Frank's neck extended as if of its own accord. His eyelids drooped as their lips met; intertwining, reuniting, confirming. Charlie issued a whimper as the warmth in the man's kiss warmed her soul as well. Her hands fell to his buns. Groping his buttocks, she pulled their hips even closer together. She pushed her face forward at the same moment, simultaneously meshing their entire forms, from lips and loins.

Frank's hands fell to the woman's flank, where he caressed, rather than groped, savoring the softness of her form, the softness of her very feminine form. His eyes bolted wide. In that instant he realized that he still thought of Charlie as a female, just like he always had; just like he always would. That was what she was; a woman; and no physical anomaly would ever change that.

One mental hurdle cleared, Frank tucked his hands beneath the lower edge of the jersey. Rising, his fingers found both sides of her compressed breasts, petting the soft, distended flesh.

Charlie arched her back away from the man's torso, allowing her bosom to assume a more natural shape. "Yes," she whispered. "Love my titties. Do whatever you want to with them. Whatever you want, I want it too."

Frank's gaze dropped to the bulging Yankee pinstripes that separated him from the treasure within. How much can that shirt have cost? he mused. His lips curled in a salacious grin as he brought his eyes to hers. From inside the jersey, his hands found the garment's central seam.

Charlie's eyes dropped to see the ends of the man's fingers peeking from between the buttons of the uniform. Grasping his intent as he grasped the cloth, she inhaled a single short breath, snapping her head horizontal.

Their eyes met as Frank yanked his hands, sending black buttons flying across the woman's parlor. Charlie pressed her bosom outward, emitting an inadvertent snarl as her passions surged from simmer to boil.

* * * * *


Late the following morning, Frank paced in his study before his main computer monitor. Behind his back, just below the base of his spine, his left palm loosely coupled his right wrist. He reached the end of his three-meter walk and reversed course for the one hundred and fifty-ninth time; not that he was counting.

The screen beside the man showed the day's stock prices as they changed. What did not change was the quantity of any particular commodity owned by Frank. Earlier he had sat, staring at the display; but he had not seen a thing, much less made a purchase or issued an inquiry. After sitting for half an hour, he had risen to pace for an equal amount of time.

Frank stopped and wheeled, his gaze finding the chair. "Didn't I sit right there a few weeks ago," he mumbled to himself, "and say that I would gladly buy her?"

"Yes, Master," the computer answered. "You did. It was Tuesday, August . . ."

"Shut up!" Frank snapped. He sighed as he shook his head. Stupid computers, he thought. But stupider me; just two weeks ago I did want to buy her. I'd have done anything for her then, why not now?

Frank moved to the chair and sat, burying his face in his palms. You idiot! he scolded himself. You total fucking wimp! Yesterday was such an opportunity; you know she wanted more. You have to give her more. I know you can. How hard can it be? After all, she's the same girl she was when you all but worshipped her. That's right you moron, the same girl; and all you need to do is treat her like one.

The man's face sprang from his hands as another portion of the doubt faded from his mind. "Computer, find me New York Yankees apparel, authentic jerseys." Frank dropped his brow into a low line. "How many Yankees are in the Hall of Fame anyway?"

"One hundred and nine," the computer replied. "Counting players and managers. There are fifty-three additional inductees who played primarily for other franchises, but spent part of their career with the Yankees."

Frank shook his head and snorted. "That's just ridiculous. How many numbers have those bastards retired?"

"If by 'those bastards' you refer to the Yankees, Master, then they have retired thirty-seven numbers. In order, these are; one, Martin; two, Jeter; three Ruth; four, Geh... "

"Stop!" The man exhaled a long breath through loosely pursed lips. "I want to order a half dozen official Yankee's team jerseys," he paused to sigh. "The name will be Forbes, and the size will be whatever size Charlie Forbes wears."

"The size Miss Forbes should wear or the size she does wear?" the computer inquired.

"What do you mean?"

"Given Miss Forbes's physique, she should wear a size M-7," the device explained, "but she wears an M-5 instead."

Frank smiled as he pictured the stylized "NY" logo stretched out of shape by her bosom. "Let's go with M-5."

"Very good, Master. Home or road uniform?"

"Home, of course."

"The Yankees do not have names on their home jerseys, Master."

"Really?"

"Yes, Master. Would you like to see an example?"

"No, I should have known that; I don't need a picture. Skip the name."

"Very good, Master. Will there be a number?"

Franks head moved in a slow nod as his lips drew back in the widest smiled that had ever graced his features. "Make half the jerseys with no number and the rest with number sixty-nine."

"Yes, Master."

Frank continued to both smile and nod as he pictured the look on Charlie's face when she saw that number. Yes, she'll like that, he decided. But it's still just words; or, in this case, numbers, a hollow promise until you make it something more.

The man brought his eyes to the display screen. "What's the estimated ship time?"

"Two days, Master."

Frank brought his fingers to his scalp and scratched above his right ear. "Now I'm buying fucking Yankees apparel; like those bastards need any more revenue. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Nothing, Master. You're in love."

Frank's body jolted as he absorbed the unexpected reply. He searched his memory, seeking to confirm what he had heard. Even then, he did not trust his recollection. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'Nothing, Master. You're in love.' "

"Elaborate!"

"There is nothing wrong with you, Master. You are simply in love with Miss Forbes. It is natural for humans to purchase gifts for one another in such a situation. There is nothing socially abnormal about your behavior."

Maybe not, Frank mused, but there's plenty socially abnormal just the same. He put his hands to his hips and looked to the computer screen. "Since when is it the computer's job to tell me I'm in love?"

"The model P3703E is designed to provide an answer to all questions posed when it can determine the answer within a certainty of 99.609375%"

Frank nodded. "Well, that's pretty certain."

"There is a small margin of error, Master."

Frank shook his head. "In this case I'd say the margin of error is hardly small, more like about two dozen centimeters."

"I do not understand your assessment of the situation, Master."

"Yeah," Frank snorted. "That makes two of us."

In the apartment across the courtyard, Charlie's body tensed. She awoke less than a second later, bolting upright in her bed. Exhaling a massive breath through her parted lips, she looked down her form, beyond the massive gravity-defying breasts to her still-twitching cock. She watched, mesmerized, as her member issued its final bantam spurt.

With a huge sigh, the woman allowed her torso to fall back to the mattress. Bringing her hands to her scalp, she ran her fingers upward through the length of her hair. Intertwining her digits as they exited her golden locks, she twisted her spine as she attempted to throw off the aftermath of her slumber.

Charlie yawned as she separated her hands in a broad stretch. With a sigh, her body settled and her eyes found the ceiling. "Oh," she muttered. "What a dream. If only it were real."

Bringing her head nearer to vertical, she glanced down her taut abdomen as she moved her palms to her navel, where the bulk of her ejaculate had collected. She smiled and thought of her man while she smeared the tactile substance over her belly.

Charlie's head reclined as she brought her damp hands to her face. Cupping her palms over her nose, she breathed deeply, then issued a low moan as she exhaled. How can anyone not like the smell of cum? she wondered. Is it not the most exotic scent ever? Do guys smell theirs the way I do? Does Frank?

Charlie popped her head up again to view her shrinking member. She smiled. "Frank says you can stay, you know," she muttered, as if her cock had ears. "And he did make love to us again yesterday; after he knew about you, didn't he? I know we didn't do anything new, but it's still very important. I think you may get out of this in one piece yet."

The woman let her head fall, directing her gaze upward. "House," she commanded. "Display Frank Marshall on my ceiling monitor. Any close-up facial shot will do." She dropped her head back to her pillow and looked upward at her beloved.

"I lied to you, Frank," she muttered. "I said I'd be ok if you dumped me, but I won't be. I just had another dream about you. Sometimes I think I could die happy if just one of my dreams came true. You can make me the happiest girl on the planet, Frank, or the saddest. Can I tell you how much I love you without scaring you away?"

The woman blinked as she felt the first hint of tears. "House," she snapped in a suddenly severe tone. "Play the recording from yesterday, Frank and myself in my parlor. Start where I said, 'Love my titties.' "

As the house complied, Charlie's splayed palms slid down the sides of her body, her extended thumbs grazing the edges of her breasts as they passed. The two slithering hands converged on her cock; the digits of the right locating her scrotum; the left seeking her glans.

The woman's eyes found the ceiling as a single finger found her frenum. Her hips twitched as she began to pet this most sensitive of areas. "Are you ever going to lick me here, Frank?" she wondered aloud. "It doesn't have to be today, but you will someday; won't you?"

Charlie continued fondling herself as the man in the recording ripped the jersey from the woman's chest. One of the flying buttons struck the camera lens with an audible click. "That is so hot, Frank," she whispered. "Where did you suddenly get the confidence to do that? Confidence is so sexy. I hope you get the confidence to do more, Frank; lot's more."

Charlie closed her eyes. Her hands began to rub her cock with more force as she visualized some of the many things that "lot's more" could be.

* * * * *


Two days later Charlie's confidence had wavered. Frank had not called since their morning rendezvous, the day he had agreed to give her a chance. Some chance, she thought as she eyed another one of her still-packed boxes. One quickie and he's gone. Looks like there's not much point in unpacking after all.

With a single, shallow nod, the woman bent to pick up the box and then carried it to a closet. Several hours later she had emptied the clutter in her parlor and kitchen and had started working on the bundles that littered her bedroom.

"Mr. Marshall to see you, Milady."

Charlie tensed. The box in her hands fell to the floor with a dull thud. For seconds, all she could do was stand, her ears searching for any echo of the words she had longed to hear for fifty hours and counting.

"Mr. Marshall to see you, Milady," the house finally repeated.

Charlie clenched her shoulders and shivered. "Let him in."

"Very well, Milady."

Don't make too much out of this, Charlie counseled herself. He could be here just to say goodbye. She took two steps toward the parlor, trying to remain calm. But he is here, her optimistic side countered. Don't make too little of it either! With that thought, she scurried down the corridor.

The first thing Charlie noted was that her visitor carried a box of his own. Her eyes wandered as she considered its possible contents. What could be in the box? I didn't leave any of my things over there for him to bring back, did I?

As was their habit, Frank's own wandering eyes soon found the woman's ample bosom. His eyes always found good reason to linger upon her chest, but they found more cause today in the six red letters that arched over her magnificent breasts.

"What's with the new shirt?" he asked.

"Oh, this?" Charlie looked down, then back to the man's face. "It just arrived this morning. My previous one met an untimely end if you recall. I thought perhaps this one might last longer."

"But a Red Sox jersey? Isn't that something of a sacrilege?"

"I think you ignoring me for two days is a sacrilege."

Frank's head bobbed as he absorbed the censure. "I've been busy."

"Doing what?"

"Thinking about you."

"Nice save," Charlie said. "I've been thinking about you too."

"And ignoring me too," Frank noted.

"I'm a traditional girl, remember? It's the guy's job to do the asking."

"Point taken," Frank said. "It's also the guy's job to come bearing gifts, is it not?" He put the carton on the davenport and ripped open the lid.

Charlie peered into the box at the pinstripes. "Thank you," she said a second before her face broke into a sly grin. "Very thoughtful. That's, what, a week's supply the way you operate?"

"If you're lucky," Frank quipped.

"Oh," Charlie said, drawing out the syllable. "Now I'm the one that's lucky when I get my shirt torn off? I see how it is."

Frank flexed his fingers. A grin sprouted upon his face as his hands moved to seize the woman's garb between the "D" and the "S".

Charlie's mind raced as she felt her cock stir. Yes, dammit! Do it! You made me wait for two days; Rip it off!

Instead Frank issued a gentle tug and pulled the woman close, planting a tender kiss on the end of her nose. "Since you're an allegedly traditional girl, let's go do dinner and a movie; or in this case lunch and a movie. Unless you have other plans?"

Charlie's hips squirmed just as she attempted to suppress the urging in her loins. "I guess I can squeeze you into my schedule," she said before adding to herself, but I'd rather squeeze you into me.

"Like either of us have a schedule," Frank noted, oblivious to her wanton musings. "Do you have a formal dress?"

Charlie shook her head. "No. Do I need one for lunch?"

"No, but you should let me buy you one," the man insisted. "Maybe a couple. We should go shopping after the movie. I'd like to start taking you to some of the nicer places."

Charlie's sagging spirits perked up at once with the thought of enjoying an evening on the town as an elegant lady. No other man ever considered me worthy of anything other than a cheap thrill, she recalled. Surely Frank knows he can have just that too; yet he still wants to wine and dine me, be seen with me on his arm! Dare I ever hope for more?

* * * * *


A dozen hours later Charlie beamed as she admired each of her three new dresses as she hung them with care in her closet. Girls wear dresses, not guys, she thought as her shoulders clenched in giddy excitement. And he bought you dresses, didn't he? This is a really good sign. The light blue one he picked out is the best of all. Does he know my favorite color is blue?

Charlie turned to look at her bed and its blue spread, and the blue curtains beyond. Her mind wandered to the parlor, and the blue sofa. She looked to the closet, where her sky-colored tanning attire dangled.

Did he notice all of that and not even say a word? Charlie wondered. I didn't think men ever noticed things like that. But he's not an ordinary man, is he?

She shook her head as her eyes sought to well. If he's setting me up for a hard fall, he's doing a damn good job. If only I was an ordinary girl, this would all be so easy. I know he'll never ask it of me, but that is what he wants, isn't it? Perhaps I should surprise him; just do it, before I lose him!

Resolving to calm down, Charlie made her way to the parlor sofa and began to unpack the box containing the sports apparel that Frank had given her. The woman's mind was still on things other than jerseys until she pulled the fourth uniform from the carton.

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byPenelope Street© 19 comments/ 122455 views/ 15 favorites

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