Sex Club for Nerds and Geeks Ch. 19

Next up was another right-hander. The outfielder played her straight away but this time the infield was in. She popped a soft fly into shallow right that the first basemen caught with her back to the infield. She spun and zipped a bullet to home, but it bounced about 10 feet short and, while the catcher smothered it, she couldn't reach the sliding runner. Now we had three runs, there were two outs, and we had a runner on third.

Fernandez struck out the next batter on three swings.

The All-Stars threatened in the top of the sixth, but nothing came across.

In the bottom of the sixth, after Fernandez struck out the first two batters, she issued a walk. Portia caught the first pitch, a flat riseball, and the outfielder didn't bother moving. Pandemonium broke out in the stands. I was out of position for the swing but I was where I needed to be for her triumphant jump onto home plate and caught the mass of ponytails that buried her.

The next batter went down on three pitches.

Top of the seventh, Fernandez was first up. On a 1-2 count she chopped the ball off the ground so hard that she was on first before it came down. Portia brought in a reliever, who got the next batter on a weak grounder to third, but Fernandez was on second with one out.

The next batter probably looked intimidating when she was asleep. The first pitch was way wide and Portia brought in a new pitcher. Fernandez was pumped and the All-Stars dugout was loud. The crowd was really into it and so was our team. The grandstand was rocking.

The reliever threw two balls, then a strike. On 3-and-1, a hitter's count, she fooled the batter with a slow riseball the centerfielder caught on the run, but she needed a couple of steps to set and throw. It was dead accurate to Carrie, who'd drifted out for the cutoff, but by then Fernandez had rounded third and was steaming for home.

I rapid-fired as Carrie spun and zinged the relay. It was ever-so-slightly up the third-base line, but Portia did a split and one-handed it while blocking the plate. The umpire was right on top of the play and hesitated only until she saw the ball in Portia's glove. I got the shot.

"OUUUUUT!"

The ponytails carried Portia around the field as the crowd went wild. I wanted a shot of what I expected would be an angry Fernandez. The TV reporter shoved his microphone in her face.

"That was a GREAT game!" she bellowed into the camera. "This is the first time we've been beaten this summer. We want a rematch, tonight, we'll play tomorrow's game as the best-two-outa-three."

"Assuming they can get a team together and assuming you win," goaded the reporter.

"They got the team, no problem there. And I'm not assuming anything, I know we'll win tonight. Under the lights, here, 7:30, free admission, we'll pass the hat."

I thought Fernandez was way out on a limb, but within ten minutes the university president had issued the necessary instructions. Possibly because his 11-year-old daughter in full uniform was with him and he had asked Lisa to have me take a photo of them together. She sweet-talked the ticket-takers into volunteering for crowd control and passing the hat. Carrie's food vendors were overjoyed, though they'd have to scramble for more sandwiches and drinks. The sports editor wanted to see what I had, so we went to his office and downloaded everything. I barely got back to the field in time for the game.

The stands were full — in fact, there were people behind the outfield fence. The buzz must have been phenomenal.

Portia started five new players and a pitcher who wasn't in the first game. Eventually she used five pitchers and substituted for herself after her second at-bat. Over the two games she had the entire squad, 20 players, bat at least once against Lisa Fernandez. Carrie hit into a force play and struck out but she fielded six chances cleanly and turned a double play. Portia lifted her after her strikeout.

It was an 8-1 drubbing. Fernandez pitched the whole game (apparently that's the way softball pitchers are, two-a-day doesn't bother them), went three-for-five, scored three times, and had two RBIs. Portia threw her out when she tried to steal third.

Afterwards both teams partied in one of the union's private rooms, with the staff photographer happily snapping away. By 9:30 they were done. Tom was invited but had other plans.

I asked Carrie to come home with me, but she declined. "I'm bushed and probably would fall asleep on you," she said, leaning into my ear to make herself heard over the din. "Besides, it's my period. Probably Wednesday, if you're free," she leered at me. "But I've got an idea — ask the tall one over there."

*

"So did all the cameras work?"

"God yeah. We got everything. The first pitch in the first game, the one Lisa destroyed? The camera got it perfectly! And it just got better. I've never done two games bangety-bang like that. My arms ache."

"Did you get any dinner?" I hadn't, and I was hungry.

"Nope. There's all this post-game stuff we needed to do, and usually I have all night for it. Michelle and I had to rush, so all I got was the yogurt from the fridge — drat, I've got to restock that. Nope, I'm famished. What's open around here?"

It's almost 10. Other than Lit and SOL, which will be zoos with all the new kids, there's nothing you know of. It'd be embarrassing to take her to the union. Wait. We passed a place coming back from the food fetch last Saturday. Looked okay. You really should make an effort to enlarge your eating horizons beyond places where you know someone who works there.

Squires was a 12-table steak and burger place. We had to wait ten minutes for a table, but there was no din, just a low buzz.

"How'd you get into this?" The server had brought our over-stuffed burgers and beer and we were digging in.

"I was a junior at Arizona State. We were in the quarter-finals of the College World Series when I ripped up my left knee. The orthopedist said it was like a war wound and my athletic career was over. After three operations they got me to where I can walk straight, but I have this limp.

"Lisa was doing color for ESPN and heard about what happened. She came to the hospital and sat with me. 'There is life after softball,' she said,

"I was majoring in computer science and decided I'd teach high school. ASU let me keep my scholarship and made me an assistant coach. I took an extra year for my masters in teaching. This suburban school district had decided to become a statewide softball powerhouse and recruited me. I told them I had to teach computer science, not gym, and after they got over the shock, I got the job. I've been there five years.

"The second year I was there, Lisa called. Would I manage this barnstorming tour she was putting together next summer for her charity? I missed the camaraderie of playing on the road, so I signed up.

"We played 23 games in eight states that summer, driving around in five cars and more often than not sleeping in them. That winter we came up with the business plan. The charity hired an agency to book us dates. A board member bought the bus from a rock group that needed a bigger one and donated it. I worked with the guys who refitted the bus to install the tech stuff. Between me and a college student assistant, everything runs smoothly.

"Enough about me. How'd you get into photo journalism?"

I gave her an abbreviated story of my life, omitting the failures, and by the time we were done she'd equaled the dozen shots I'd taken inside the tavern. It was after 11 but I invited her to review the day's photos and she didn't bat an eye. She settled into my desk chair and flipped through the 300+ images from both cameras in about 15 minutes, making insightful remarks as she went. We agreed on almost everything, including one I'd taken of her at dinner.

I licked her ear from behind and she leaned back for me to reach her throat. I turned the chair around and she stood, ground into my crotch and shoved her tongue into my mouth. Her t-shirt came off easily, her bra was no problem, and her sandals were gone by the time I got her shorts and panties to the floor. She pulled my shirt off, then my cargoes and sandals. When she flopped onto the bed and gave me this come-hither look while licking her lips, I was gone.

She was wet, willing, and verbal when I moved my face between her legs. Her bush was neatly trimmed, her pussy lips were dark red invitations, and her clit was out when I reached it. She orgasmed twice and I lifted her ass off the bed so she wouldn't crush me with what were the firmest set of thigh muscles I'd ever seen up close.

"Okay, now," she commanded.

"You on top."

"Can't. Knee. C'mon, baby, do me."

I scrambled for the condom and was inside in two strokes. Brenda moaned deeply as I bottomed out. She had me skip the slow deep strokes and hooked her heels on my ass to pull me in, wanting a fast pace. After days of unfocused masturbation I was more than ready to cooperate. Her final orgasm arrived sooner mine but I bellowed louder. It was almost one when we fell asleep.

I ate her to a satisfying orgasm in the morning and she blew me after we showered. She inspected my scar and pronounced my explanation bullshit but admired the true story. I made a bad version of fried eggs and buttered muffins and she called me a culinary work in progress. We were at the bus in plenty of time for the 10:30 game and she introduced me to Andy, her "roadie."

Sandy, our center fielder who had started both games, was in the colorcaster's seat, replacing Michelle, who she said was starting and batting first. Portia was holding herself, Carrie, and one other starter out until their substitutes had batted twice.

The All-Star's outfielder pitched and Lisa played first base. She hit a solo home run, a single, and a double in six at-bats. In the top of the fifth we got them 1-2-3, the first time we'd done that, but the All-Stars were ahead 4-2 and Lisa came in to pitch.

Our batter bunted the first pitch and was on. Next up also bunted and was out, but the runner was on second. Third up bunted up the third base line and beat it out. First-and-third, one out. A conference was held in the circle.

In the previous two games Allison, the batter, hadn't even gotten a foul ball, but Portia was on deck. Lisa's first pitch was flat, medium-speed, and down the middle. Allison crushed it —directly to the shortstop, who zoomed it to first for the double play.

The All-Stars got a run in the sixth and we got it back in our half. They got a two-run homer in the top of the seventh and we went down 1-2-3.

I was probably the only person who thought losing 7-3 was a downer. The traditional two lines of high-fives were all smiles and everyone mixed around home plate afterwards. All 20 of our players had batted at least twice against Lisa Fernandez, the greatest American women's softball player of all time! As the PA system blared the reminder about the clinics starting at 2, I ran into Andy, who had assembled all the players' gear and was humping it to the bus.

"Oh there you are. Good. Could you do us a favor?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Well, Brenda says you take good pictures. The kids will want photos with Lisa. Could you do that?" As opposed to getting a nice lunch, cooling off, and having the afternoon to myself? Dumbass, she's good looking even in that green-and-gold uniform shirt.

She slathered me with SPF40 and for the next three hours I shot over 200 pictures of Lisa Fernandez and an endless stream of girls. Andy stuck close, taking down their names on her clipboard. Every 20 shots she had me take a closeup of it so she could match the photos with the girls. Brenda had every aspect of the clinic highly choreographed.

It was over by five and I asked Andy to dinner. "Let me check," she said, and a few minutes later came back. "I'm good, but I've got to stow everything in the bus." She smiled. "Extra hands make light work,"

The cameras and an amazing amount of clinic equipment fit into built-in compartments. In a half hour she locked up and I stated the obvious: "we both need a shower and a change of clothes." We agreed to meet at her dorm at 6:30. I took a quick shower and downloaded everything from both cameras. I found a nice picture of her, cropped it, and set it up at the end.

Anna had once mentioned a place in what she described as a "challenged" part of town. They didn't do reservations but said 7 o'clock would likely be fine.

Andy cleaned up pretty good. Her green-and-gold uniform was replaced with a pink polo shirt and linen pants.

"So how'd you get this job?" I wondered as we settled into our table.

"I am an all-sports junkie. Played lacrosse in prep school but I'm not varsity material, so now I play intramural everything. I TiVO SportsCenter and watch it before breakfast. I'd like to go into sports management, which is not exactly something you can major in at Smith. Nineteenth-century English lit, yes. International Studies, sure. Even fucking. But not sports management.

"Last winter SportsCenter's website had this announcement about Lisa looking for a summer intern. They wanted female, college junior, all summer on the road, expenses only. It said 'reply with resume to peaches@gmail.com.' Peaches was the name of the team in League of Their Own, so I addressed my cover letter to Dottie Hinson, who was their catcher and leader. I got a phone interview, then did a video interview, and they hired me."

"Is it what you expected?" The food arrived and we dug in.

"My cousin was a roadie on John McCain's press plane in 2008. He made sure their bags didn't get lost, tucked them into bed when they got drunk, even slipped them rubbers when they got lucky with the interns. It was all about a job in the White House, but McCain lost. Brenda says everyone who's had this job has gotten hired by some major-league franchise or another. So it's fun and a great opportunity."

Like Brenda, Andy quizzed me about photo journalism and it dawned on me that either I'm good at this or they have a wildly skewed idea of who I am. I had her take some shots of the kitchen and the owner as we left.

At the apartment we titled each photo with the girl's name and the clinic date and Andy uploaded everything to their Flickr account. She praised my game photos and was blown away by hers. "It's great! May I have a copy? I'll use it on my Facebook page."

She kissed me back eagerly and ground herself into my erection. Her pink bra was a front-loader and her nipples were hard. The pink panties smelled nice and her sandals were gone when I got there. I kissed up her thigh and flicked her clit. She "mmmmm"-ed encouragement as I stood and slipped out of my sandals. She had my pants off in one motion and said "nice" as she inhaled the first three inches of my cock while I shucked my shirt. When she flopped onto the bed and spread her legs, I scrambled for her pussy.

"Please, no, let's fuck first." I pulled a condom from the drawer and was tearing it open when she took it. "Lemme do that." Then she laid back, spread her legs, licked her lips, and sighed deeply as I entered her.

"Just like I remember. C'mon, let's get sweaty." Her lust pulled me in and we fucked fast and furious. My orgasm built quickly but when she stiffened and grunted her orgasm, I wasn't quite there. Then she spasmed her pussy around my cock. "Andy, that's too much." She did it again. "God I'm gonna cum! Cumming, now, oh goddddd!"

I took her in my arms and rolled her on top, so her heaving chest was pumping her breasts into me. Soon I felt my cock sliding out.

"God I needed that," she perked. I nabbed the condom and dropped it in the basket. "Can you stay?" I wanted more of this.

"ETD at 9:30. I need to be back by 7:30 to roust them out. And change! If they catch me in this outfit I'll never hear the end of it."

"Good. Are you really majoring in fucking, like you said?"

She tittered. "We Smithies have a reputation to uphold. 'Smith to bed, Holyoke to wed.' I do my part." Then she blushed.

"I mean, we're a women's college," she stammered. "The place is under siege from men — Williams, Amherst, UMass, Dartmouth, Trinity, WPI, Yale, god knows what else."

I kissed her. "We have a similar problem here. More than 55 percent of the students are female," and I wiggled my eyebrows. She laughed, then rolled off and shifted to clean my cock.

"Horny?"

"You know it! It's like having seven older sisters. There's no weekend without one of them having a conjugal visit, so they're full of advice. I'm not complaining," she said, stroking me, "but it gets kinda lonely."

We made out and I got hard again. I started to eat her but she wanted a modified 69, on our sides. Her sparse bush made it easy and soon she was thrusting into my face. Problem with this is, you can't talk. Is she as excited as you are? Her clit's out. Concentrate. Oh god, gonna cummm!

I set the alarm for 6:30 and we fell asleep.

It was 3:30 when I woke. She was on her belly and snoring softly. By the moonlight I could see the tuft between her legs. I was tonguing her pussy from behind when she stirred.

"Horny?" she said, groggily.

"For you. Got enough energy to ride me to heaven?"

"Uh, yeah, but you'll hafta feed me protein or I'll crash."

"Deal." Eggs and muffins, this you can do.

Andy's mouth took control of getting me hard. She rolled the condom on, then mounted up. "You know how good you feel?" I husked as she began to rock.

"Just like you." I got her nipples hard and we built slowly, moving together.

"Back please, your clit." Her feline grin enlarged as she leaned onto her hands and spread her thighs. Her clit was, like her breasts, small, just pushing out from the folds when my wet thumb found it.

"Good?"

"Mmmmm" she hummed, and her hips began gyrating. Soon she picked up the pace. "Now we're goin' " and she sat forward and begin the rise-and-fall of her fucking. Her hair, short of shoulder length, bounced gently back and forth and her breasts jiggled as she rode my pole.

"Deeper! Harder! Harder!" She was in full cowgirl now, her hair flying and her breasts flailing. If it wasn't her pussy working my cock, it was the determination I had to make her cum that took away my control.

"YESSSSS!" I shrieked ecstatically, shooting into her.

"Oh god oh god ohgodddddd!" and she stiffened even as she churned on me, and orgasmed. Then she fell, sweaty breasts collapsing against my matted chest. We kissed and drifted off.

*

"This is too big," she smiled, spinning the shower cap around as she stepped into the tub while I was adjusting the water temperature.

"Wanna stuff toilet paper in it?"

"What?"

I cupped my breasts and hefted them, grinning lasciviously. She got it and swatted me. "I like my hair this way, no need to puff it up." I washed her all over and she took a suck on my partial erection but otherwise ignored it. She thought the reason for my notched ear and scar was romantic.

In the kitchen she caught on that I wasn't very good and suggested I learn how to poach eggs for serving on English muffins. Her muffin-toasting and -buttering skills were excellent.

"Thank you for staying, Andy. I hope you had a good time," I said as we arrived at her dorm.

She blushed.

"No, really. I learned a lot, had fun taking the pictures, and the games were great."

"And the sex?"

"That was better than great." We kissed and she was gone.