A Stitch in Time Pt. 05

I gave him my address, phone numbers, e-mail address, everything I could think of. He stopped me when I started to give him Tanya's contact information, in case I wasn't available.

Rabbit sent a foul ball screaming towards us. It hit the bleachers harmlessly a little to our right, but it was enough to make me look down at Rabbit in the batter's box. He was looking back up at me, his hands spread wide, as the pitcher paced around the back of the mound.

"Well?" he mouthed.

I nodded, and he sent the next pitch screaming into left field for a single.

Mr. Rogers shook my hand, and wished us good luck in the game today. I left him there in the bleachers and returned to my seat on the bench in time to see Cary ground into a double play.

"Thanks," I said to Rabbit as I tossed him his glove on my way to right field.

"Don't mention it," he smiled.

By the top of the final inning, we were back in the lead, although only by a single run. Cary had been taken out during the top of the fifth inning when he started to tire, and we were now in the hands of our relief pitchers. I sidled over next to Coach.

"I can give you an inning," I said.

"You threw enough on Monday," he shook his head.

"Nine pitches," I said. "Just nine pitches."

He looked back at me and up into the stands where Buddy Rogers was still sitting, and then nodded.

"Narburg!" he yelled. "Warm Trick up."

The bottom of the seventh — the last inning in high school baseball — actually took ten pitches, because their first baseman fouled off a wicked third strike on the outside corner. But when it was over, three strikeouts later, it was in the books as a 10-9 Marshall win. Coach Rogers was waiting for me at the door to the bus.

"I'll call you tomorrow, son," he said with a barely disguised smile.

"I'll look forward to it, sir."

Instead, I was summoned down to the office after fifth period by a very excited Rachel Carter, who practically shoved me into the vacant desk next to hers and threw a pen and a pad of paper at me. Then she just sat there smiling at me.

"So I'm getting prettier already?" I finally asked. "And you decided we should spend more time together?"

"Shut up," she said. As if on cue, the phone rang.

"Marshall High School," she sang out. "Yes, ma'am, he's right here. Push the blinking button, Trick."

"Why?" I asked.

"Just push it!"

I pushed it.

"Hello?"

"Patrick Sterling?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"This is Cynthia Salem. I'm Coach Rogers' secretary at the University of Virginia."

"Yes, ma'am," I smiled. I liked the way she said that. THE University of Virginia.

"I believe we need to fill out an application."

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed. I looked over to see Rachel Carter practically glowing at her desk.

It was a great week, except for Jill. She was still a sort of zombie as she boarded the afternoon bus with Jeanne and the other choristers, including Cammie. Dad and Tiffany left shortly after seven for the bowling alley, with Tiffany making sure that I knew that they wouldn't be home until after eleven. I was still none the wiser about Tanya's plans for the evening, but by now it was clear that she had enlisted Tiffany as a co-conspirator. The knock on the door came less than ten minutes later.

I opened it to find a pom-pom thrust in my face and then yanked back to reveal a beautiful blonde.

"Are you de guys dat awdahed de cheehleadahs?" Liane's gum-chewing New Yawk accent was flawless.

"Ordered, um, cheerleaders?" I asked slowly. "Plural?"

"We nevah delivah alone in this neighbuhood," a gum-chewing Tanya stepped out from in back of Liane. They were wearing identical cheerleader outfits: sleeveless sky blue tops that ended well above their belly buttons, with white piping and with a large "M" across the front; matching short skirts that were so tight they looked like they would be hard to move in; and white tennis shoes.

So are you atheletes gonna let us in, or what?" Liane asked after I'd stared at them for much too long.

"Uh, yeah, I mean, yes, of course, come in."

"Oooh, muscles," Liane squeezed my arm as she passed me.

"Oh, I wanted dis one," Tanya pouted as she followed and I shut the door.

"All right," Liane huffed. "Beeyitch. Where's de udder one?"

"Um, downstairs," I pointed.

Tanya and I watched Liane pull open the door to Dave's basement apartment.

"Are ya decent down theyah, sweetie?" she yelled down.

"Liane?" Dave answered in a panic-stricken voice. "No, I —"

"Good," Liane said. She turned back to us. "See ya, sweetie."

"See ya," Tanya answered her.

I turned to look at her again.

"This is just amaz —" I had a big smile by now.

"So ya got a game tomorrow, right?" Tanya interrupted me.

"I, uh, yeah, a game," I stammered. "The big game."

"Good," she said in an echo of Liane's earlier approval. "So ya got a bed, sweetie?"

"Upstairs," I gestured, letting her precede me. I followed, watching those long legs extend out of that short, tight skirt as they slowly ascended the stairs. I reached for the skirt, and she reached back to slap my hand.

"Naughty boy," she laughed. "Just hold yer horses."

She sashayed into my room and leapt onto the bed with a pirouette that left her sitting against the headboard.

"There," she said. "Now speakin' o' horses, let's see dat stallion all de girls have been talkin' about."

"Um..."

"Come on, sugah," she snapped her fingers. "What kinda frat house is dis? Dey just let de slow guys in? I'll bet Liane's already got your brudda undressed."

"He was taking a shower," I said as I nearly ripped off the buttons on my shirt.

"Excuses, excuses," Tanya shook her head. "Maybe somebody isn't interested in a little cheerleader pussy."

Her voice had returned to its normal state, and she spread her legs to let me know that the only thing between me and cheerleader pussy were my own clothes. I was naked in mere seconds, my face buried between those cheerleader thighs.

"Oh, God, Pat, I was so hot coming over here," she said breathily as my tongue explored her.

I looked up over the skirt that was bunched around her hips to see her reach for the bottom of her cheerleader top.

"Leave it," I growled.

"Oooh, somebody likes the idea of doing a —"

"Leave it and shut up," I grabbed her hands off the top and pulled them underneath her ass, causing her to squeal and making her just that much easier to snack on.

I kept at it, tonguing and sucking through all the moans and the gasps until I finally got to the "oh, Pat, honey, Trick, oh, fuck, honey, I'm almost... almost..."

I looked up over the skirt again, taking a moment to admire how her sky blue chest was rising and falling, how the lids of her nearly closed eyes were fluttering, and how her lips were trembling. Then I stopped.

Tanya's eyes flew open.

"Honey?" she asked hopefully.

I sat back on the bed.

"My turn," I said cheerfully.

"You bastard," Tanya said with a little heat.

"Athlete," I explained, holding up my hands. I nodded toward her. "Cheerleader." And down at my erect cock. "Blowjob."

"You bastard," Tanya was laughing now. "I'll give you a blowjob."

She did the same thing to me I'd done to her, bringing me right to the edge and then stopping. Then she went back to her sucking, to licking the shaft, to kissing the balls, to swirling her tongue around the head. And then she stopped again.

"You're just being mean now," I laughed.

"Payback's a bitch," she grinned up at me.

We were both laughing as I grabbed her around the waist, picked her up and sat her down in my lap as she folded her legs on either side of me. A little squirming on her part was all it took to get me lined up properly and slip inside of her. But I just held her there, the tip of my dick parting her but going no farther.

"Trick," she warned me, her eyes lidded once again.

"Honey?" I asked her.

"Pat," this one came out as more of a whine.

I let her go, and she impaled herself on my dick. I leaned back and watched Tanya ride me, her hand gripping the base of my cock like she was afraid she would get bucked off. I was half afraid of that myself, and kept my arms resting on her thighs in case she got too rambunctious. Other than that, it was all Tanya: Tanya rising, Tanya falling, Tanya squeezing me with muscles that I had never felt before.

"Oh, Pat," she squeaked. "Oh, honey, yes... yes... oh, I, oh..."

I pushed my hands forward on her thighs until the fingers slid underneath that skirt, finally meeting and then climbing the angle of flesh where her legs joined her hips.

"Oh, Pat," Tanya squealed again, looking down at her lap, where she could feel but not see the thumbs of both of my hands sliding toward her clit.

"Honey," she keened, grabbing hold of both of my wrists and then stiffening, her face thrown back her eyes wide open now, her mouth locked in an astonished "O." Her body shook with release, and then finally she collapsed forward onto my chest.

"You haven't," she panted. "You haven't come yet, Pat."

"Do that thing again you did before," I pushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled at her.

"What thing?" she asked, breathing heavily.

"That thing where you squeezed me with your little cheerleader pussy and I — oh, fuck!"

She pushed herself back to a sitting position and did "that thing" a couple more times, smiling down at me as she brought me to a very vocal climax of my own.

"Tanya. Oh, fuck! Oh, yeah, honey. Oh, yeah. Oh, God, yes. Uh. Uh."

"Mmmm," she snuggled onto my chest. I had slipped out of her, but she was still sitting astride my lap, and we just held each other for a long, long time.

So long, in fact, that the next thing we heard was "Hey, sweetie, we gotta go."

I looked up to see Liane in the doorway smiling at us.

"Tanya," I shook her a little.

She mumbled something.

"Tanya," I said again.

"I'm coming," she said, sitting up and again finding herself impaled on me.

"Not again you're not, girlfriend," Liane laughed. "They'll be home soon."

"All right," Tanya said. "Beeyitch."

The two laughed together and Tanya joined Liane in the doorway.

"You sure I can't borrow him when you're not using him?" Liane asked Tanya, giving me a predatory smile.

"A shiksa like you?" I answered for her. "Not a chance."

They left and I went down to find out if Dave needed anything before I turned in.

"Did that really just happen?" he asked me sleepily. Apparently he'd already taken one of his pain meds.

"Yeah," I said. "I just hope you didn't pull out any stitches."

I was in a very good mood the next morning, when we boarded the bus for the five-hour ride to the tournament site. I slept most of the trip, and woke up only after we'd arrived at the motel. Tommy and I got settled in our room, and then it was back on the bus for a late afternoon practice session at the minor league stadium where we would be playing our first game.

"Trick," Coach called out as I finished throwing. I followed him into the dugout.

"We got invited here because we had a good team," he explained.

I nodded.

"Unfortunately, that was last year," he said. "There's no way we can win this thing. We only have two decent pitchers, and if you and Cary both win, we're gonna get killed in the final. Which'll make everybody miserable for the rest of the week. So what I'm gonna do is pitch you in the first game tomorrow morning. If you can win that, we'll finish no worse than fourth. Then I'll pitch Steve or Donnie in the second game, tomorrow afternoon. We'll lose that one. So on Monday we'll be playing for third place. Cary can pitch that one, and I'll have you available for an inning or two. How's that sound?"

"Fine, Coach," I shrugged. I didn't get it. All he needed to say was "Sterling, you're pitching tomorrow. Don't screw up or we'll be playing for last place."

I found out why the next day. We were ahead 1-0 in the fourth against one of the local teams, Clifford High School. With one out left to go before we took the field for the bottom of the fourth, Rabbit leaned over to me and said he'd be shading their captain a little bit toward third right this time. If it was hit back to me, I should go to Eddie if there was a man on first.

"And, uh, which one is that?" I asked innocently. "The captain?"

"The shortstop?" Rabbit looked at me quizzically. "Guy with the 'C' on his chest?"

"The 'C, '" I smiled. "Got it. Thanks, Rabbit."

"Are you okay, Trick?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, peering around our dugout without success.

"Are you looking for something?"

I finally gave up.

"Oh, hell, Rabbit, who's our captain?"

"Parker, on deck!" Coach yelled.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked as he stood up.

It wasn't until he walked away that I figured it out. I surreptitiously glanced down at my own chest. "C." I was the captain. Well, that was embarrassing.

We ended up winning that game 2-0, since nobody on the Clifford team had figured out the percentages in hitting the ball to our third baseman. It was only after the game had ended and we were eating a very nice buffet that the host school had laid out for us that I remembered it was Sunday and that I hadn't been to church that day. I figured that was okay. I'd done plenty of praying during the game, mostly that they wouldn't hit the ball at Mattie. That probably counted.

After lunch, though, and a short bus trip to the nearby college where we would play our second game, I learned that I must have used all my prayers up. Hell, even the left-handed hitters on our semifinal opponent were trying to punch the ball toward third. Neither Donnie nor Steve could stop them, and at the end of the fifth they invoked the mercy rule on us, so that it went down as a 16-6 defeat. I could only thank God that it hadn't happened at home.

That evening I knocked on the door of the room that Mattie was sharing with one of our backup outfielders, Ron Braskin. I could hear the TV, so I kept pounding on the door, and Ron finally opened it on the chain.

"Oh, it's you," he said. "Sorry. I was afraid it was Coach."

I walked in to find the two of them watching a porn movie on a channel that probably should have been restricted.

"Mattie, tell me why you aren't outside gettin' somebody to hit you grounders," I said.

"Aw, fuck you, Sterling," he answered, watching the movie and not embarrassed at all about his performance.

"No, fuck you, Denton," I retorted. I reached down and found the cable to the television, surprising myself at the ease with which I could yank it out of the wall.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ron screamed at me.

"Right now?" I asked. "I'm going to go tell Coach that I broke your TV. You want me to tell him what you were watching on it?"

"NO!" they both yelped at once.

"Good choice," I smiled. "Maybe we can trade rooms after you take some infield over in that grassy area next to the parking lot, huh?"

I explained to Coach what I had done, emphasizing my anger and omitting the porn. I volunteered to pay for the damage once we returned home, and I repeated my offer to switch rooms. He told me that wasn't necessary and that he'd explain it to the hotel. If they couldn't fix it, he said, Matt and Ron could have his room. He had a smile on his face when I left his room.

I returned to the room I shared with Tommy.

"You talk to Mattie?" he said without lifting his head from the book he was reading.

"How did you know I was going to talk to Matt?"

"Somebody had to. You're the captain. Who better than you?"

I sat down and picked up "Moby Dick," but my thoughts were elsewhere. Maybe I had finally reached a turning point. There probably wasn't anyone better than me to take on that job. And I had done it, too.

Chapter 18

Monday morning's game was a distinct improvement over Sunday's afternoon fiasco. The minor league stadium was reserved for the championship game, so our third-place game was played at the college field where we'd been yesterday. Cary started off well, but got shelled for four runs in the top of the fourth inning. Mo and I had already driven in three runs, and Jesse added a two-run shot in the bottom of the fourth to put us back into the lead. In the top of the fifth, their best hitter sent a tough bouncer toward Matt, and we all held our breaths. But he scooped it out of the dirt and threw it over to first to beat the guy by two steps. The guys in the dugout leaped off the bench to cheer him. Mattie turned and gave me a thumbs up. Cary settled down again, and we went on to an 8-5 win and a third-place trophy. We left after another great lunch, and got home around six.

I raced home, showered, and arrived at Tanya's around seven, well before sunset. That gave us all a while to chat before the Seder began. It was a fairly formal gathering, and I was a little nervous. We were all a little nervous, actually. Unlike Purim, we hadn't had anything to drink.

"So, have you been done anything exciting for your spring break so far?" Mrs. Szerchenko asked as we sat uncomfortably in the living room.

I gave Tanya a malicious grin and leaned forward.

"I did break a television yesterday," I told her parents.

"You broke a television?" Tanya asked with alarm. "In the motel?"

"You were in a motel?" Mrs. Szerchenko's radar had gone on full alert. "What were you doing in a motel?"

"I was out of town, ma'am. We had a tournament."

"How did you break a television?" Tanya asked.

"What kind of tournament?" her mother inquired.

"Ladies, ladies," Mr. Szerchenko came to my aid. "First off, tell Tanya how you broke a television."

"I yanked the cord out of the wall," I smiled.

"Why?" Tanya insisted.

"Does she get another question?" I asked her father.

"No. Now tell Anna what kind of tournament you were at."

"A baseball tournament."

"You play baseball?" Mr. Szerchenko's face lit up.

"Yes, sir." I turned to Tanya. "You never told them I play baseball?"

"It never came up," she said weakly.

"Pffft," her father exhaled noisily through pursed lips. "She thinks we're intellectuals who hate sports."

"You do hate sports, daddy," Tanya protested.

"I hate overpaid professional athletes," he corrected her. "But amateur sports, that's a different question. Did you know the Final Four is on tonight, Patrick?"

"I did know that, sir," I grinned.

"I have a television in the study," he winked. "In case we get tired of celebrating the deliverance of Israel from the bondage of Egypt. Now, as for baseball, my favorite sport —"

"You've never watched a baseball game in your life, daddy," Tanya sputtered.

"And how much of my life have you been around for young lady? Eighteen, almost nineteen years?"

"When is her birthday?" I interjected.

"April 28th," Mr. Szerchenko said quickly to avoid interrupting his argument. "And I am how old, sixty-one? So how much of my life is that you've been here for? A third?"

"Less than a third, I think," I put in, getting a dirty look from Tanya and a grin from her father.

"I'll admit I haven't watched it recently," he continued. "They're all overpaid now. Isn't that right, Patrick?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," I scratched my head. "I'm sure they're worth every penny they get."

"You just say that because you're going to get drafted," Tanya said.

"You're good enough to be drafted?" her father seemed to swell with pride.

"Well, we'll see," I said with a smile.

"So you're not going to college?" Mrs. Szerchenko was prepared to act horrified.

"Oh yes, ma'am," I said. "If I can get a scholarship to the University of Virginia, I'll go there. And if not, there's always the draft."

Mr. Szerchenko leaned forward.

"Do you know who Sandy Koufax was?" he asked, nearly vibrating with excitement.

"Yes, sir," I said. "Left-handed pitcher for the Dodgers. Back in the sixties. I'm a left-handed pitcher, too, so I Googled the best ones to see if I could learn anything."