Playing with the Pizza Boy

That second orgasm that has eluded me before came hard, almost causing me to pass out. If it wasn't for another hard smack on my ass, I might have.

"Don't you fucking dare pass out," he barked at me. "You are done when I say you are."

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?," I asked, looking back with a half smirk.

He liked that. And his response was to ramp up the speed of his thrusts, leaning over me to use the rosary beads still around my neck to choke me. I know, I know; we are totally going to hell.

It didn't take long after that for me to feel him ramping up for the grand finale. Every stroke began to include him throwing all of his weight into it, and I felt his cock pulsing inside of me. It caused climax number three. Dear Lord.

I'm not a cream pie girl typically, but after what I had just experienced, if that's what my little devil wanted, I would happily acquiesce. Anything to ensure this happened again. He didn't though. Instead, at the last second, he pulled out, shooting rope after rope onto my very very red ass. It actually kinda felt nice... like aloe on my burning skin. Reaching back, I scraped some of his load with my finger and gave myself a taste.

"Mmmmmm the next one is going down my throat," I purred. "And after I clean myself up and get rid of some of this makeup, It's time to see who the man behind the mask is."

I headed to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Christian

I can't believe that all just happened. I didn't even want to go to that party. I was dragged there by a few teammates that insisted it was important. Something about getting introduced to the best of what CCU had to offer. I begrudgingly agreed to go, but then dragged my feet again when they told me it was a costume party.

It was a losing battle though. Especially after our coach overheard us and basically told me it was mandatory.

"You are about to be our star pitcher, and our boosters need to know who you are," Coach Topsil lectured. "Shake some hands and talk to them about the upcoming season. You don't have to stay the whole time, but I expect you to be there for the first couple of hours.

"Oh, and if you have a little fun in the process, that would be good for you too."

So that was the story of how I ended up at the Booster Bash, wearing Cliff Jenson's devil costume that was WAY tighter on me than him.

The party started with exactly what Coach had described. A lot of talk with old guys that were there strictly to write a check for us. I told them how glad I was to be on the team, and that I was really excited to go up against better competition after dominating at the JuCo level. One of them even slipped me a couple hundred dollars cash. A clear NCAA violation, but I'm poor and not on scholarship yet. I figured I deserved it. At about 11:00 though, those attendees started to clear out. Old people have bedtimes, I guess.

That's when the "real" party began. I don't mean to say that there weren't people having a good time before then, but things hadn't gotten to the levels I had been told to expect. Most of the girls didn't start getting there until well after 10, and a lot of the athletes were a little nervous about getting truly wasted with all of the big money investors there. I had very little interest in what happened next, so I was getting ready to bounce. That is, until I saw her. Pizza girl.

She was looking like something I would willingly sign my soul to the Devil for. Considering that she was wearing a nun costume that was the epitome of blasphemous, that is probably less a metaphor and more of just a fact. She was basically wearing nothing but a thong and a tub top. Sure, she had the headpiece of a nun and the rosary beads, but she was dressed as much like a nun as Karen Smith was a mouse in Mean Girls. It didn't matter. She was fucking hot. You could see her nipples through her top, and the black lipstick and dark eyeliner really completed the "Will suck dick for communion crackers" look.

When I initially spotted her, she was talking to a guy on the basketball team, and from the looks of it, he was putting on the full court press. It didn't seem to be working, though. On more than one occasion, I noticed her looking post him and directly at me. I even thought I saw her wink, but I could be wrong. Regardless, I decided it was time to go over and say hello.

I honest to God thought that she had already recognized me. I figured that's why she kept looking my way. My plan was to go over there, laugh about her little stunt, make a snide comment about it being her loss, and then leave. But when I got there, it seemed like she had no idea who I was. And the longer we danced and hung out, the more it became evident that was indeed the case. She didn't have a clue who I was. That's when I realized I had an opportunity to get some payback for Thursday. It was my turn to get HER all hot and bothered, only to bail at the last minute. Give her a taste of her own medicine.

The plan wasn't without sacrifice on my part though. I can't tell you how many times I almost blew my load on the dance floor as she kept grinding her ass on what quickly became a VERY hard erection. I probably spent two thirds of the time dancing thinking about dead puppies and that time a line drive hit me square in the balls when I was pitching in the tenth grade. It was a losing battle. My hardon was there to stay. Which led to a second problem ... my costume didn't just leave little to the imagination, it left NOTHING to it. Everyone at that party could see the complete outline of my junk. There was no doubt that I would be getting massive shit for this at tomorrow's practice. Oh well. At least I don't have a small dick.

My plan seemed to be working based on her reactions, but I'm only a man. At some point, my brain lost control and let my little guy take over. And he didn't like my plan one bit; he wanted to finish what was started on Thursday. So that's what we did. All it took was one line about my tongue and we were in an Über and headed back to her place.

I knew my ruse would be ending the second we disrobed, but if that was the price of getting to fuck the religion out of the woman next to me, so be it. Until a light bulb went off. All I had to do was stay in character. I wouldn't have to take off the mask if I did that. Luckily, she was super into it.

The sex was incredible. I'd like to say that we stayed in character, using stories from the Bible to really hammer home the idea that I was indeed the Devil and she was a chaste woman of the cloth that I had seduced and corrupted. The truth of the matter was that our knowledge of the subject kept us from continuing that line of talk for too much longer. I mean, there was a reason that we were completely fine dressing us as the devil and a slutty nun — neither of us had bothered to walk into a church or open a Bible in quite some time.

Still, the role play allowed me to continue to keep my cover intact. I didn't know what I was going to do with that secret, but it felt nice to have that in my back pocket. That's why, when she went to go shower off before round two, I decided to quickly put my costume back on, and make the three block walk of shame home.

I'm not saying it was my proudest move ever. Not even in my top ten. Before this, I had told myself that I never wanted to be THAT guy. You know, the one that sleeps with a girl and then completely ghosts them? I tried to make myself feel better by telling myself that she seemed like the type to not want more than what we did, and that this was only temporary anyways, that I would EVENTUALLY find a way to tell her who I was.

But who was I really trying to convince?if I was being honest with myself, I knew I was full of shit. She didn't have my number. She didn't even know what I looked like under the mask.

Over the next couple of days, I felt more and more guilty about it. The guys on the team kept trying to interrogate me about what happened after I left, but I wanted to drop it. I wanted to take my mind off my scumbaggery. Besides, we had a big series coming up against Duke, and I was going to be pitching the Saturday game against their ace — and future first-round pick — Tyler "Rocket" Ricketts. I had to focus on that. Oh and the full course load I was taking. And my job.

By Thursday though, the guilt got worse. Earlier that day, one of the guys on my team pulled me aside after practice and told me that some girl named Liz was asking around about me. Well there goes the theory that she was fine with my Irish goodbye. OK it was time to come clean. I knew it.

That night, I went through the system at work to look back at last week's transcript so I could get the phone number she had tried to get me to text her on that night. I spent my entire night trying to think of what I should say.

I knew that I wanted to tell her that it was me EVENTUALLY, but I also wanted to have some fun with it first.

Liz

It is more about pride than anything. I mean, it's not like I haven't left a guy in the dead of night to avoid that awkward morning after. But it doesn't happen TO me. I mean, fuck, I had just promised him a round two. No one has ever turned that down before. I just had to know who this stupid fucker was.

It shouldn't have been difficult. I mean, the only guys there were ones that played a sport for the school. All I had to do was comb through the rosters of our major teams and find any CJs, right? Wrong. Not a single fucking CJ could be found. The prick gave me a fake name.

I thought about giving up, but I couldn't let him win. I was out for blood. So I called in reinforcements.

"Emily, I need a favor."

"Plan B is in the second drawer on the left. You can Venmo me whenever."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

"Alright, what can I do you for?"

"I need help identifying the guy I went home with last weekend."

"The one that gave you a fake name and left while you were in the shower? That guy is my hero," Emily said with a chuckle.

Emily was clearly getting more enjoyment out of this than I was. She seemed to think it was karma for all of the games that I have played on numerous guys over the years.

"Yeah, well I'm not finished with him yet. And once I find him, he's going to regret leaving before I was done with him."

"So what do you need from me?

"Call anyone you know that plays a sport if they know a CJ or remember the guy dressed as a devil at the party. SOMEONE has got to know something."

I was right. It didn't take long to ruffle the right feathers. Because that night, I got a text from a number I didn't recognize

"I heard you've been asking around about me"

So fucking cocky; I hate him.

"You have got a lot of nerve, you know that? Who leaves when the promise of a round two was thrown out there? Do you have any idea how many guys would sacrifice their left nut to get a shit at me?"

"You said you wanted to unmask me. I couldn't let that happen."

Now I'm super confused. I thought he kept the mask on because of our little role play. But now he is saying he kept it on to keep me from knowing who he is?

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Depends entirely on what you consider 'knowing.'"

God dammit. Now I'm intrigued again. "OK well tell me, mystery man. What is your real name?"

"Haha that part actually wasn't a lie. Most people call me CJ."

"Bullshit. There isn't a CJ on any Coastal team. I checked. Either tell me your name, or fuck off."

"1. I said more people CALL me CJ. I didn't say that was my actual name. So check the tone.

"2. I just transferred here a few months ago, and the athletic department is incompetent as fuck. Despite already playing in like five games, I'm still not on the roster on our website."

Shit. I'm back to square one.

"I must admit, though, I had a fantastic night. And I'm looking forward to doing that again."

"What makes you think that I even WANT to do it again with you?" I was starting to go back to being pissed again.

"Because you have spent the last three days trying to find me lol."

The ass was right. I DID want to do it again. I highly preferred it to be on my terms, but if that wasn't doable, I still wanted it to happen.

"Well I'm not doing it again unless I get to see who you are. Those are the rules."

"You really want to know?"

"Yes. Tell me who who are and why you seem to be dodging the question."

"You free Saturday night?"

"Yeah, why?

"Be at Spring Brooks Stadium at 7:00. You'll be able to figure it all out."

... I'm not sure why I thought it would be easy.

—

"Hey, are you free to go to the baseball game tonight?"

"Baseball? Do you even know what sport that is?"

"What are you even getting at? I love baseball."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I mean, I have never been to a college game, but I follow the Braves pretty closely." OK, that's a slight exaggeration. These days, it's more that I follow Freddie Freeman pretty closely. Still, I did grow up watching the game with my dad. It was how we bonded.

"Had no idea."

"So can you go?"

She couldn't. She had plans to go to the beach with her boyfriend and have dinner at some fancy restaurant. If I was going to this game, it was alone.

—

I went back and forth about whether to show about a dozen times. I hate going to shit like this alone. Especially because I always get hit on. It didn't help that I had no idea what I was looking for. I mean, I assumed he was a player, but what if he ended up being in the stands?

I felt like Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams. You know the scene where he basically kidnaps James Earl Jones and takes him to a Red Sox game. Except he has no fucking clue what he's supposed to be looking for (I told you, I grew up with the game)? That was me.

I got to the game a little late, but still in the bottom of the second inning. I got a program — thinking that may have a clue in it — and sat in the first baseline between a family of four and an old guy that was laser focused on the field and did the "scoring the game" thing. I figured they were the least likely to harass me.

Nothing so far. I mean, we did put up two runs in the inning to take the lead, which was exciting, but no clues as to who my man was. I did get one surprise, though. When our defense came out for the top of the third, I recognized the pitcher. I didn't know who it was, but I definitely knew him.

I looked through the program for the guy, but he wasn't there. Dang, "CJ" was right. Our athletic department IS shit.

The third inning went by, then the fourth and the fifth. I was no closer to solving either of my mysteries. Answers to the CJ dilemma and why I knew the pitcher evaded me. Honestly, the second question was starting to become more important to me. Not only did the guy look super cute (albeit from 15 rows up), but he was GOOD. Through five, he had only given up the one run in the first inning before I got there, and had struck out seven.

"Excuse me, sir." It was time to consult the expert next to me.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"Can you tell me who number 51 is? He doesn't seem to be in the program."

"Oh that's Christian.... Christian something. Can't remember the last name (our jerseys don't have last names on them). He's new this year. Transferred from a junior college this year."

OH MY GOD. PIZZA BOY!

I couldn't believe my eyes. Pizza boy was our team's best player. Fuck CJ. I had a new target in mind. I was gonna give Christian the ride of his life and the star treatment he deserved.

Christian was taken out in the eighth inning. His final stat line was 7.2 innings, giving up just that one run on five hits. He also struck out 11. He handed the ball to the coach and walked off the mound to a standing ovation from the crowd. He waved to the fans, but then added something that threw me completely off guard. He looked up at my section and winked.

Did he know I was there the whole time? What did that mean? He definitely winked, right?

"Let's give a warm round of applause to our newest Chanticleer, Christian Jennings!" the PA announcer said.

Another burst of applause rang out, including the belligerent cry from a drunk three rows behind me: "ATTA BOY CJ!!!"

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Christian

Why the hell did it have to be THIS game. Of all games to be distracted during, why did it have to be the biggest one of my career? Duke was ranked in the top ten, and I was starting against the best pitcher in the ACC. Scouts would be there. Yet my dumb ass was like "Oh yeah, tell a girl to come to the game. You won't spend as much time scanning the crowd as you are focused on the actual task at hand."

I don't typically get nervous when I pitch. The mound is actually one of the few places that things make sense for me. That's why it was so jarring when that wasn't the case on Saturday night.

All of my worries came true. I spent all of my warmups looking through the stands. And when it came time to throw my first pitch off the game, it went about three feet over the catchers head. I ended up walking two guys in that first inning and giving up a run. It should have been worse, but thanks to a great play by Jayson at third base, it was only one. No sign of Liz, though.

I don't even know why she was having that kind of impact on me. We had had sex one time. Sure, I had a good time and all, but so what?

Oh, who am I really kidding here...I have never been the type to be able to successfully separate sex and emotion. It is a real issue. Especially because I let my dick control the steering wheel WAYYYY too much. I'll meet some girl at a bar, we'll have sex, and then I'll either get hurt the next day, when it turns out she didn't want anything serious, or I'll get hurt a few weeks later when it turns out that she's a thunder cunt. I knew I was headed down that path again. The best I can say this time is that when it blows up in my face, I'm not at all innocent. I deserve it.

As for the game, I thankfully settled down in the second, striking out the side. I had made peace with the fact that she wasn't showing. Oh well, I had a game to win.

By the time I got to the fifth inning, I was in the zone. I wasn't paying attention to anything other than the catchers mitt. Sure, I looked around the crowd when we were batting a couple of times, but I knew I wasn't going to find her. After all, even if she DID show up, most of our fans were sitting in the section above our dugout, and therefore out of sight from where I was.

During the sixth inning, though, the camera crew did the super lame "kiss cam" thing. You know what I'm talking about. I typically ignore it, but when it panned to the mother and father of two kids that were clearly beating the shit out of each other, I saw the face I had been searching all night for.

There was Liz, wearing blue jeans, a white crop top, and a Braves baseball cap. She was beautiful.

FUCK! All of those nerves I pushed to the side came right back.

When I got on the mound, something amazing happened. Instead of screwing with me, it gave my fastball some extra umph to it, and kept me going. I thought I was out of gas in the sixth, but that adrenaline rush kept me going until the eighth.

When I was finally pulled, I got a standing ovation. Including from the girl on the first baseline that had given me more trouble than any Blue Devil hitter that night. I couldn't help but shoot her a wink as I walked off.

The game ended with us winning 5-2. I had a bunch of interviews, and even talked with a scout from the Orioles organization. I tried to expedite things as much as I could, but when I left, it was past 10:00. Liz was long gone, as was the high I had been riding.

I tried texting Liz a couple of times over the next few days, but I got nothing in return. I was completely crushed. I really thought I had seen a smile when I walked off the field. Did I imagine it? Was my "play it cool" act too much after ghosting her? I began to hate myself. Surely she has figured out the whole thing by now. If she didn't want to respond, it was because she wanted nothing to do with me.