The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 17fbyPAUL C©
The Paul & Jenny Stories Pt. 17f: The Batting Order Ch. 06
The Batting Order.
A Paul and Jenny story.
(Copyright 2002 by Paul C. All rights reserved)
As with all my stories all events and characters are fictitious.
I ducked under the first ball that Len bowled at me in the nets. He was very hostile. He walked back to his full run up, turned and came thundering in again. He gave his customary hop as he reached his delivery stride and his arm flashed over. The ball was well pitched up and thudded into my leg pad. He could have broken my leg if I hadn't been wearing it.
"Careful Len." Steve called from his position on the ground next to our cricket bags where he was strapping on his own pads. "Save something for them."
"What's got into him?" Steve asked as Len walked back to his starting point.
I bent to pick up some of the balls he'd used and threw them back to the other end of the wicket.
"Can't think." I replied.
Len was running in again. His leap. The arm flashing towards me. The ball pitching about five yards in front heading for my balls. I leapt in the air slightly as I played it down with my bat. Perhaps I should let Steve have a go.
"Do you want a go?" I called to him.
"Knock his head off Len."
I turned my head and saw Stephanie looking out of one of the windows of the main room in the Pavilion. She would be setting up the member's bar.
Len was coming in again. The ball was bouncing half way down the pitch and heading for my head. Right. Take a half a pace back, keep your eyes on the ball and give a full swing of the bat. You always know when you have made a good contact with a cricket ball because you hardly feel the impact. I watched as the netting to my left caught the ball and returned it to the ground to roll back and come to a stop a foot from where I was standing.
Len stood looking at me, breathing heavily.
"Nice shot." Steve said walking into the open end of the nets. "You would have been caught by square leg."
"Not a chance." I answered, passing him. "Six all the way."
I walked over to where our cricket bags lay aware of two pairs of eyes boring into my back. It was their own fault. If they were going to have a fuck on somebody else's property then they shouldn't complain if anybody watches them. Anyway, I'm sure that would have watched me if the positions had been reversed.
I reached inside my trousers and removed my box, the hard plastic prick and balls protector. Then I sat down and began unbuckling my pads. I looked up and watched as Len ran in to bowl. He'd slowed his run in and was bowling with a much smoother rhythm. Steve played the first ball back with a straight bat. I went back to unbuckling my pads.
I turned my head to where the voice had come from. It was Ron Watson the new curate. He'd been in the village since the previous Christmas with his wife and two daughters aged four and two. Behind him I could see Roger, Bill, Fred and Tony. Two, Roger and Bill were already wearing their pads; they must have changed in the pavilion changing rooms. From the team list on the notice board they would be opening the batting, I was down to follow Ron, at number four, followed by Jim Clarke, the team captain, Steve as wicket-keeper, Tony, Len, Arthur and Harry. There had been a space number eleven, the dreaded AN N Other. I wondered whom Jim had got. My father had used to play but hadn't for two years. I was sure he would have somebody in mind.
"I'm glad you could make it down." Ron said as he pulled on his batting gloves. "Jim has had an awful job getting a team what with people being away on holiday."
"He'll manage." I said, encouragingly. "He always does."
"He asked your father but he turned him down."
"Well, he's getting on a bit."
"He's only fifty-two." Ron didn't sound very charitable towards my father. "How is your wife."
He was remembering his pastoral duties.
"She's very well."
"We were all very concerned when we heard about your plane crash in Spain."
"She's fully recovered now."
"Will you be getting another plane?"
I wasn't sure. I didn't really feel much like flying anymore. I didn't know why it wasn't in my blood like it was with my father and grandfather. They would live in theirs but I seemed to take more after my great Uncle Alistair. He'd never flown a plane in his life. He had been a concert pianist before he lost a hand in the First World War.
"Probably." I replied. "One day."
Great Uncle Alistair. It had been nice of Jenny to lay her bouquet on his grave after our wedding. Mother always made sure that his plot in the Old Catholic graveyard was well tended.
"At least the weather should hold fine." Roger, our opening bat remarked.
He had been good in his day but the years were catching up with him. He must be in his late forties now. He had been opening the batting with Bill since I had been a child. I supposed that one day they would have to be told they weren't really up to it anymore, but I wouldn't want to be the captain who had to tell them. Usually you were dropped down the batting order until the penny dropped and you made it easier on the rest of the team and decided to retire from playing and take up umpiring.
People were starting to file through the main gates and start inspecting the stalls. I looked at my wristwatch. It was just after twelve. There was a honking of car horns and I stood as a procession of cars and a minibus came through the gate at the side of the pavilion. The opposition had arrived. I saw Jim Clarke our captain pointing out places for them to park. I had only played in this fixture once before. I had always been busy during the last few summers.
I studied the occupants of the various vehicles as they got out. I remembered one or two faces but the majority were strangers to me. The balance of the team looked much the same as ours. A couple of middle-aged stalwarts, some late twenties early thirties and some late teens early twenties. They had brought a couple of nice women. More than a couple. Steve appeared by my side and started unbuckling his pads.
"Nice." He observed, nodding to one particularly pretty girl.
"Do you know her?" I asked.
I would be surprised if he had said no. He seemed to have gone out with most of the girls of our age in the area and popped the cherries of a lot.
She was with a tall lad of about our age. He had wide shoulders and blond hair.
"I know him." Steve said, inclining his head in the man's direction.
"Jerry Thomson." He continued. "Been off to University. I hear he's on the counties books."
I'd heard of the name. He had played in the Combined Universities side. My handful of games in my Universities side paled into insignificance beside that. And for him to be on the books of a professional county team as well. We could have our work cut out today.
There was another car horn beeping at the gate. I turned my head and saw my mother's car. That looked like Jenny and Lynda with her. I hurried across to open it and stood aside as they drove past. My mother didn't look happy.
Paul's mother stood in the doorway looking down at our naked bodies. I turned away from her and dropped off the edge of the mattress onto the floor.
"Well." She said. "Excuse me."
I looked up over the edge of the bed. Lynda was sitting up on the bed appearing totally unconcerned.
She stretched and yawned. Her nipples were still hard and one still glistened with my saliva.
"Sorry." She said, covering her mouth with her hand, letting her fingers linger beneath her nose. "We were having a little sleep. Ian and I caught the three-thirty train from Newcastle this morning. It takes a lot out of you."
She was rubbing her upper lip, the tips of two of the fingers she'd had inside me a few moments before just touching her nostrils. I wished I'd had the courage to lift my own fingers to my nose.
"I'll wait for you to dress downstairs." Paul's mother said, starting to close the door. "Did Paul tell you about this afternoon?"
"No." I coughed to clear my throat, placing my hand in front of my mouth as I did so. I could smell Lynda's fanny. "What about this afternoon?"
"That you are all helping with the teas and bars."
The door was closed without her waiting for a reply.
So that was why Paul wanted to leave in a hurry. Wait until I get hold of him. He would have to wait.
"Do you think she saw anything?" I asked Lynda nervously as I stood up.
"Naw." Lynda replied. "You moved too quickly."
She swung her legs off the bed and stood up, moving to stand by my side me and, placing one arm around my back pulled me close to her.
She kissed me lightly on the lips, as first one then a second hand felt for my ass cheeks.
"I don't want to go to any cricket match." She breathed into my hair. "I was hoping we could spend a few hours alone together."
I could feel her pubic hairs pressing against my own. Oh yes. To lie back and open my legs for her and feel her tongue licking at the lips of my fanny.
One of us was going to have to be strong.
"We had best get dressed." I said.
Her fingertip was touching my anus. I threw back my head and sighed.
"We must." I tried to insist.
Her other finger was between our bodies, searching through my pubic hairs, finding my clit, rubbing it as her other finger was my anus.
I gasped out loud.
"No. No." I tried to protest but my body couldn't move.
She was licking at my ear. I'm anybody's when they do that. I turned my head to give her better access feeling the pressure mounting between my legs. The pressure building.
"Are you coming?" A voice from far away was asking.
Oh, yes. I was.