Sex Club for Nerds and Geeks Ch. 19

*

It must have been the toilet flush. The bedside clock read 10:50 as I looked up to see a naked Martha walking toward me.

"Feeling better?"

"I think so. Thank you for putting up with me." She slipped under the sheet and pressed her breasts to my chest. She must have cleaned me up because her hand on my cock didn't feel like it was scrapping off barnacles.

"When I woke up, you were in this tight little ball. I got back with the cloth and you'd opened your legs enough that I was able to clean you up and get the wet spot. I see that your fridge has improved, so it's eggs and bacon tomorrow morning. And juice, not Sprite."

"Jen — that's the freshman," she nodded encouragingly, "didn't want to go out to eat around here because she'd lied to her group about where she was going and didn't want to get caught. So we went to that place up the river, then did a food run."

"And had pizza for dinner on Sunday."

"Yes. How'd you know that?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson. Pizza box in the trash, big bottle of Sprite where you always have cans. Not likely you had pizza for lunch. And you just confirmed it." She was good.

"Can we make love now? I am so ashamed about how I treated you."

"Yes we can. And our recent encounter doesn't count as one of the three you're gonna give me."

"I'm not sure I can deliver on that," I smiled, shifting toward her.

"Then we need to hydrate you. Sprite, orange juice, or water?" She moved to get up.

"Passion juice!" I barked, lunging for her. She squealed as I pulled her back and began the assault on her pussy. I dived in, excited but under control as I licked up and down her opening. She got wet pretty quickly and I sucked her lips just hard enough to get a moan. When I moved in on her clit it was out and stiff. One, then two fingers in her, wiggling and stroking, with my mouth on the clit had the desired effect, and she came, albeit quietly.

We knew each other well enough that I could kneel between her legs and slot myself as I waited for her to come down. When she focused her eyes, she smiled. "Yes, please," and I slid in. We moved rhythmically and she moaned happily as I stroked calmly.

"A little faster now, yes, go deeper. That's nice," and she hooked her ankles around my waist. When I came she bucked and came too.

I woke about 20 minutes later, peed, and brought the cloth back. I swabbed her and the bed, then got two glasses of juice. She was awake and looked contented.

"Thank you. If that was a warmup for our next round, I am going to need this." We drained the glasses and the refills, then cuddled and fell asleep.

*

"Round 2?" she asked when I woke her around 2:30.

"Yes. I dreamed about you."

"And doing it doggie?" How did she know?

"Because I was dreaming about it, too," she grinned, reading my mind. "Guess you picked up on it."

She rolled onto her belly and I scooted behind as she lifted her ass. I wasn't hard enough, so she grabbed my cock through her legs and soon had me ready.

"Nice, so nice, do me now, I want you."

Her wetness surprised me as I slid in. Soon she was banging back at me as I stroked into her. It wasn't rushed, just easy fucking, two friends joined in that wordless carnal conversation.

"I was just going to ask for that," she husked as I began to play with her clit. She upped the rhythm as I got it out from the hood and pressed it against her pubic bone. "Yes" she murmured as I played with her clit and stroked into her.

"Are you ready to cum?"

"I'm holding off for you. Tell me, please. Your clit's hard, I think you're close."

"Yeah, pinch it." I did, and she bucked. "Harder," and she bucked again.

"Oh yeah, now it's happening, c'mon Carl, make me cum!"

I worked her clit hard and held tight against her ass as I thrust into her. "Oh god yes, sooooo good, keep it up, I'm getting there."

"God I hope so, I'm so ready to cum — oh god, now, I'm cumming, cummmmming!" I blasted into her.

"Don't stop, keep playing with me, I'm almost there, almost — almost, close, oh yessss, nowwwww!" and she drove her ass into the air, then crashed onto the bed, taking me with her. She writhed on my cock as I slowed, then stopped.

I kissed her neck as we recovered. A satisfied "mmmmm" was my reward, and I fell asleep happy.

*

The alarm going off at 6 startled both of us. She was tucked into my crotch and the wet spot was where you'd expect it to be. I floated my fingers across her haunch. "Wake up time," I whispered as I shifted into position to kiss her ass.

"What're you doi —" she started sleepily, but my finger entering her pussy explained it.

"You said three, that's what."

"You don't have to."

"But I want to." She rolled onto her back and I languorously tongued from her forehead to her toes, then crossed over and eventually got to her already-wet pussy.

"Ride me. I want to remember you with your breasts flying around and that 'determined-to-cum' look on your face."

"You're gonna wish you hadn't asked for this. I'm gonna fuck you so good you'll fall asleep at your computer." She was on me now, squeezing my cock.

"Then I'll lose my job, but I'll be a happy street person."

Martha did cowgirl well. She started with her hands on either side of my head, allowing me to play with her nipples. Her eyes locked on mine and at first she just churned. As I began to get excited she sat up, lifting and dropping down fully, gradually increasing the tempo. When I started pushing into her, she'd take me deep. I'd play with her clit with one hand and tweak a nipple with the other.

The part of Martha's cowgirl I liked best, though, was when she got really excited. It was then that she would fly, lifting herself to just the tip of my cock, teasing the head. Sometimes she'd slide down, churn a little bit, but always return to tease the head and make me cum.

"You really want this, don't you?" she said huskily as I humped into her.

"And how! Make me cum, Martha, get wild!" She sat upright, cupped her breasts, and rose to the tip of my cock, then began gyrating wildly. I got the sight I loved.

"Oh god, that's too much, I'm gonna — CUMMMMMING, I'M CUMMMMING!" I howled and shot what felt like a firehose into her.

"Good!" She dropped onto my chest but still churned on me. "Play with me now, make me cum too!" I was dazed and don't know if what I was doing helped, but I worked her clit hard. I knew I had her when she began slamming against me. When she stiffened, hissed "yessssss," and then collapsed onto me, we became a sweaty, messy heap, gasping for air.

We showered, changed the bandages, then dressed. She had me assist in frying the eggs and bacon. We were running a little late, so we left the dishes for later and drove to her dorm. While she changed into her travelling clothes, I carted her stuff — two instrument cases, a very big suitcase, and a couple of duffle bags — to the car. We were at the bus station by 8:15.

How are you going to do this? You can't make a scene. Get her stuff to "Checked Baggage." She doesn't leave for a couple of hours, but you have to get going.

After depositing her bags, we walked into the gritty waiting room and dropped into two plastic seats. She slid her backpack off, folded her hands in her lap, and leaned into me.

"I don't mean to sound mushy, Carl, but I want to tell you that I love you." I must have looked stricken but she kept going. "No, not romantically, we don't have that. I love you because of what you have done for me. No one else could have done this." She stood up and I followed. "I'm going to fly away now and you are going to go to work. Hug me."

We held each other. I trembled, sniffled, but held back the tears.

"Go on now," she said, setting me loose. "Get to work. Remember our good times."

*

I was feeling pretty low and must have looked it. Anna noticed. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just saw a good friend off to her future, and I doubt if I'll ever see her again. Life sucks."

"You wanna go first?"

"Yes, please. I want to get out of my head."

It wasn't great, just okay. My second wasn't perfect either but more than adequate, and I was at least functioning. As we left the elevator, on our separate ways for lunch, she sat me down on the bench outside the building.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'm not very good at having people come into my life and go out again."

"I know what you mean. Hey, you free for dinner? The boyfriend's working late. Home-cooked meal."

"Oh, yeah, sure. That's very nice of you."

"Good. I'll text you my address. 6 o'clock?"

*

I knocked on the apartment door at 6:02. "It's open, come on in," Anna sang out, so I pushed through the door.

"SURPRISE!"

The small living room erupted in a gleeful roar and I nearly fainted. Through my daze I saw Lisa, Carrie, Tom, Margery, Professor Draper and his secretary Marilyn, Amanda from the library, Anna of course, and a guy who had to be her boyfriend — even Paul, who had gotten Martha home after the awful drinking session at Lit Saturday before last.

Lasagna, red wine, and salad were on the dining table. We sat around, laughing and talking. I got teased unmercifully about my hero status and my lame explanation for my scars; how it was a good thing they'd invented digital photography or I'd be in debt up to my eyebrows paying for film and developing; and of course my passage from being a teenager to "adulthood." Anna wisecracked about the university president becoming my best friend at the hospital so I wouldn't sue him.

The lettering on the cake was succinct: "Teen No More XX."

Tom Skyped a telephone call with Pete. His technological topper, though, was a three-way call with my parents at home and my 16-year-old sister Chrissy at band camp. It was so smarmy that I choked up.

"You only turn 20 once," toasted Jeremy, Anna's boyfriend, with real champagne. "You've escaped teenagerhood. Alive. Congratulations!"

As I thanked Anna and Jeremy for the party, I wondered how it came about. "You told Lisa when your birthday was. She took it from there." And the cake? "Carrie, in SOL's kitchen."

Lying in bed that night, I basked in the afterglow. Remembering how jealous I was when Pete got all those cards and presents at Christmas, I realized that I could have friends who cared. I did have them. And it felt good.

* "Hi Tom, you're the next victim. Any last requests?" I hadn't seen him in two weeks and now it was twice in 24 hours. I'd slotted several of my friends into the study, since they fit the criteria and could use the $150 we were paying.

"Yeah. Bury me far away from any know-it-all bureaucrats." When we talked after the interview, I learned that the project using Lit as the test site for the new student ID cards was actually happening, and he was project leader. He also mentioned, matter-of-factly, that he was working on the video of the Saturday and Sunday charity softball games that Carrie was involved in.

"Do I detect Margery's fine hand?"

"Yeah. She 'volunteered' me. Turns out Fernandez's tour has some sort of deal for the broadcast rights of the games they play and their bus has a video editing suite. I've seen two of the videos that they've done and the camerawork is, well, honestly, mediocre. I want to do as good a job as the women's College World Series games on ESPN."

"I love it when you talk tech," I teased him.

"Yeah, but I love this stuff. You're gonna be there, right? You're down as 'Official Photographer' on Carrie's list."

"Great way to meet girls," I snarked, then regretted it, but Tom let it pass.

"See you Saturday."

It was the end of the first Summer half-semester. The next four days would see almost 2,000 students leave and another 2,000 arrive. The softball game was being hyped as the event for Saturday and Sunday. New talent in town. Ummmm.

I did a food run. A dozen eggs, bacon, English muffins, OJ, and milk. And a coffeemaker like Jen's. With her kind of coffee. You'll have to learn to cook breakfast and run the coffeemaker. Maybe even drink the stuff. Why is life so complicated?

*

"You've healed up real nicely," the doctor said as she finished checking my cheek and ear. "No need for the bandages. Try not to shave the area until next week." Her eyes danced. "What's you story for the girls about these?"

"Got into a knife fight over a woman, didn't move fast enough. Think it'll fly?"

*

The Lisa Fernandez Touring All-Stars bus was parked near the grandstand and looked like it belonged to a touring rock band. Fernandez did an interview with the local TV station in the morning, during which she boasted that they were undefeated. I think this was to boost attendance. It ran every half hour all day, promoting the 2:30 game.

"We're good. We give you an edge, because we only have five players — pitcher, catcher, first base, shortstop, and an outfielder. You provide the umpires, it's your home field, your crowd. On the other hand, my ERA is under 1.50 and we score more than 5 runs per game. Give it your best shot."

The state university system had designated our campus as a regional tournament center for spring-season high school and college athletic tournaments, so the varsity soccer, lacrosse, baseball, and softball facilities are pretty good. For baseball and softball there's this v-shaped brick grandstand with baseball on one side and softball on the other, with locker rooms in between. Counting the metal bleachers on the baselines, the softball side seats over 600 and they video every game.

"Be down in a minute," Tom hollered from the bucket truck he was using to position a camera on a pole in center field.

"Six cameras! They're better'n ESPN! Fernandez has her own setup, including these cameras. C'mon, you gotta see this."

Tom knocked three times, paused, then knocked again, and the door opened. Up three steps and turning left, I met the blue light of massed video screens. Tom introduced me to a tallish woman. "This is Brenda, the director. Also bus driver, chief tour manager, and one mean techie." Brenda smiled hello and blushed slightly.

"Everything's okay?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. I've never gotten this kind of tech support. Usually we have to recruit kids to stand guard over our camera tripods just to make sure they don't grow legs. This is really sweet."

The chair next to Brenda was occupied by someone I remembered vaguely from the game I'd attended with Carrie. "This is Michelle," said Brenda, and Michelle smiled hello. "She's here to provide color commentary for the game, since I don't know anybody on your team." I must have looked blank.

"The two of us will watch the game here and record a very rough play-by-play. Afterwards we'll write a synopsis of the game's highlights, then we'll ship it and the feeds from the cameras back to our studio for editing." I probably looked as befuddled as I felt.

"Tom didn't clue you in, eh? You're the sports photographer, right?" That was a stretch.

"Uh, yes, but he didn't explain all this."

"Okay, let me give you the big picture." She took a deep breath. "The Lisa Fernandez Touring All-Stars barnstorm around the country raising money for charity every summer. 12 week season. Three, sometimes four, games a week, plus two on weekends. The charity supports the production of drugs for 'orphan diseases' that the big companies either can't make a profit on or have dropped production of."

"I thought you just played a bunch of exhibition games, like The King and His Court." They'd played a couple of games near us one summer.

"Ha! We're League of Their Own meets Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars and Motor Kings. We're twenty-first century technology and marketing. We raise big bucks and have fun doing it."

"But doesn't this bus, the video gear, salaries, cost a lot?"

"The local sponsor commits to feed and house us and we keep the first $2,000 of the gate and half of anything over that. Last year we averaged $2,500 per game. You do the math."

I pulled out my smartphone and began punching numbers. "Okay. 5½ games a week, 12 weeks, $2,500 per game is — wow, $165,000, that's amazing! Still, the costs have to cut into this."

"Lisa's an Olympic hero, an international star player who's now a megastar coach. She knows tons of retired pros, a lot of whom think it'd be a blast to re-live their youth road-tripping around the countryside all summer, playing ball. Nobody gets paid, only expenses. A member of the charity's board bought the bus cheap, as a donation, from a rock group that needed something bigger. Another board member is an officer of a national motor freight company, so we have one of their credit cards and get a really good deal on diesel."

She flipped on the lights and walked me into the bus's interior, limping slightly. "We've got seats like a first-class airplane, we can sleep in them if we have to. It's air-conditioned and there's wi-fi, a bathroom, and a small kitchen."

"What's in for the hosts? Certainly not the money."

"You mean beside the fact that a local team gets to play against Lisa Fernandez? Well, maybe it's that we also give free clinics for girls ages 8 to 18, taught by Lisa and at least one other name pro.

"Since Lisa and usually one or two of the players coach at the college level, they're scouting new talent for their schools. Lisa's a good speaker, so she does Rotary clubs, stuff like that. If we're in a part of the country we've never seen before, we get to be tourists. It's like Thelma and Louise and playing ball all summer."

My head was swimming as I headed to the field. Our team was warming up while Fernandez was signing autographs for kids, parents, fans, and (surprising to me) a good many men. The other players were putting on a batting show, daring a rotating group of pitchers to stop them from hitting their pitches wherever they wanted to. The announcer was having a ball.

"You guys ready?" I asked Carrie when I found her.

"Like lambs to the slaughter, but we don't care. I'm gonna get three at-bats against Lisa Fernandez! Portia's got me up second." Portia was the catcher I'd met when I'd invited myself to Carrie's morning pickup game after the first time we'd fucked. She had a cannon for an arm so I couldn't imagine the All-Stars stealing many bases.

The grandstand was almost full and the bleachers were filling. At $4 a pop, it looked like the All-Stars would hit their target.

The announcer mentioned the charity three times as she introduced the players. I assembled the teams for a group photo and had Fernandez and Portia pose separately. The sports editor for the student paper was there and the TV station sent a crew.

Fernandez led off and drilled the first pitch over the fence. Unfortunately it hooked foul, but it was a monster. The next pitch was a brush-back, and she glared at our pitcher, who winked at her as the crowd roared. Fernandez bunted the third pitch along the first base line and zipped past the pitcher fielding it. On the first pitch to the second batter, she made such a good feint to steal that Portia rifled the ball to second. Fernandez winked at our pitcher.

This cat-and-mousing went on for four innings. The All-Stars scored four runs while we were three-up-three-down except for a walk and Carrie's bloop single on her second at-bat. I caught her huge grin as she composed herself on first base. Both runners were erased on double plays.

Things improved in our half of the fifth. The heat seemed to get to Fernandez and she walked two batters before getting a strikeout. She bounced the ball in front of the plate to the next batter and the runners advanced. With the count at 3-and-1, prudence dictated a walk and, even though it filled the bases, she did it.

Our next batter, a right-hander, had struck out swinging on her first at bat. The outfielder was shaded to right and the infield was back, conceding the run if she got a bat on the ball. She dinged the third pitch into right field, just out of reach of the first baseman. The outfielder streaked after it and fired it in, but two runs scored and we had runners on first and third with only one out.