The Pitcher

I could hear only his end of the conversation.

"Nah, I was tired. I showered and then came straight back to the hotel."

"Probably pretty late. We don't go until 7:05 tomorrow night, so we don't have to be at the park until 3:30."

Cal put his hand over the receiver and mouthed "take your clothes off" to me. I stood at the foot of the bed and slowly stripped for him as he continued with Kate.

"I'll probably order a martini, watch some TV, and then hit the sack," he said, smiling at me and grabbing his crotch to show the effect I had had on him.

I went risky. I climbed up between his legs and licked up his stomach. When he stopped me with his hand, I moved my mouth to his nipple and started sucking.

"You want to fool around?"

I froze and raised my eyes. He was talking to Kate, but looking at me.

"I could."

"Okay. Hold on. Let me take my shorts off." He put the phone to his chest and mouthed "you do it" to me.

When I had, he continued, "Alright, tell me what I'm doing to you. I'll just play along." His head nod toward his erection told me exactly what he wanted me to do. As Kate told him a sex story I couldn't hear, I took him in my mouth and slowly made love to his dick.

"Where are my hands?"

"You're really wet."

"You taste really good."

"I want to make you come with my dick."

"God, you feel better than you taste."

"Can you feel me against your back wall?"

"Are you ready for me to fuck you?"

"I'm going as slowly as I can, but you feel so good."

"I love being inside of you."

I looked up at him. He was smiling down at me. I added my hand to his shaft and went at him as hard as I could.

"Beg for my dick . . . . Beg for it."

He went silent, but I could feel his balls and legs clench.

"Beg me to come inside you," he said.

She must have. I could feel him heading home.

"Oh, Kate, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come."

He arched his back and filled my mouth. I gulped and gulped and kept at him. He groaned into the telephone. It was a base, gutteral groan. I kept my eyes on his as I swirled my tongue around the slick tip of his dick. Again, he smiled down at me.

"That was really hot," he said. He was talking to Kate but looking at me.

"All over my chest and stomach," he lied as I continued to lick his balls and his softening dick.

"Not as much as I love you."

"Sleep well."

He replaced the receiver. "Come up here."

I did. "I feel kind of dirty about that," I admitted.

"I don't. It was fucking awesome. Way better than jacking off."

"Do you two do that often?"

"No. It's a relatively new thing. It was her idea. I think she thinks it'll keep me from straying. Ballplayers are notorious for road sex."

"Has it worked?"

"Matthias, you just sucked my dick while I was pretending to masturbate. Isn't the load you swallowed a pretty clear answer to your question?"

"I meant with women?"

"No. Women throw themselves at us. If you never catch the throw, you're either a pussy whipped bitch, a banger, or a closet case."

"A banger?"

"A bible banger. Baseball's littered with religious nutjobs. A half dozen guys on my team have a nightly bible study. It's weird, letting a book written by a bunch of privileged white men thousands of years ago govern your life in the year 2000."

"So, you pick up women on the road?"

"I do. I make a public show of it. I tell them I like loud sex. I get them hootin' and hollerin' so everyone on the hall can hear them and know that I'm balls deep in some strange. When I'm finished, I make sure they make a very public walk of shame and then I lock myself in my room, try to resolve the revulsion at what I've just done, and usually wind up scrubbing myself raw in the shower. . . . But it works. I get my hound points. And none of my teammates suspect I'm imagining their ass or dick while I fuck some woman who's thrilled she's got a ballplayer's dick in her."

"Do you really think they'd care if they knew?"

"My friends wouldn't. Hell, they might even try to get me to blow them. But the rest of baseball? And its fans? They'd care. A lot. People fear what they don't know. Until people know gay people, they'll fear them."

"Wouldn't coming out help them know gay people?"

"Probably, but who wants to be the scout? I don't. I don't want to be the first one on the beach at Normandy. I want that beach safe and secure before I get in the water and swim ashore."

"Someone has to storm the beach."

"Sure, but it doesn't have to be me. I'd have been a terrible pioneer. I never would have tried to cross a river, much less a gorge or a mountain."

"When did you first figure out you were gay or, at least, mostly gay?"

"You mean, 'when did you you figure out you liked sucking dick more than you liked getting your dick sucked'?"

"Yes."

"Easy. 1983. The Outsiders. The whole cast was hot. I was ten. I had just learned to masturbate. When I did, it was Matt Dillon, C. Thomas Howell, and Rob Lowe. Sometimes it was all of them."

Without realizing it, we had settled face to face on his bed. My left hand was on his cheek, and my left thumb was flicking at his ear as we talked.

"How old were you when you first kissed a boy?" I asked.

"Eighth grade. Bobby Muldrew had a boy-girl graduation party and then a boys only sleepover. The mixed party was the first one in our class. We played spin the bottle and two minutes in the closet. We were all riled up. Bobby and I slept on his bedroom floor. The other boys were in the spare room or the basement. It was dark and late. We were in sleeping bags, but facing each other, like this. He talked about how cool all the kissing had been. He asked if any of the girls had let me use my tongue. I said no. He asked if I wanted to see what it was like. My heart stopped beating. My mouth went arid. I said yes. He leaned over and kissed me. It was the first time I had ever french kissed anyone. I'm sure it wasn't, but I remember it as being the best kiss of my life."

"God, you were younger than I was. What happened with Bobby?"

"We french-kissed the summer away. We jerked off together a couple of times. We were headed toward more, but he moved away."

"That's too bad."

"It was. He had a really nice dick. I wanted to suck it."

I moved over him. I told him to roll a condom on me. When he frowned and started to protest, I ordered him to "Do it!"

He did. I licked and sucked his nipples as he guided me to his opening. I locked my eyes on his as I entered and then fucked him as deliberately as I could. He moved his hand to himself and matched my rhythm.

"I can't believe I'm letting you fuck me again."

"I told you you'd like it."

"I don't."

"You're lying."

"Maybe."

"Look at you. There's no maybe about it."

"I want to come when you do."

"I could come any time."

"Wait. I'm not there yet."

I slowed down while he sped up. His chest and face were slick with sweat.

"Okay," he said. "I'm almost there."

I started back up. The sound of skin slapping against skin and the sight of his left hand around himself was too much for me. I slammed into him with animal lust. I dripped sweat onto him.

"I'm there," he panted.

"Me, too."

"Let's go."

We did. I got lost in my orgasm. My whole body shook. I felt like I had to close my eyes to keep them from popping out.

I felt Cal's orgasm through the walls of his rectum. When I opened my eyes, he was coated from chin to navel with his sprays of cum.

My arms gave way. I collapsed onto him. He wrapped his arms and legs around me. I buried my face in the crook of his neck. I slid my arms and legs under him, balling us up. I was still inside him.

"That was unbelievable," I said.

"I need you to pull out. My ass is wrecked."

I pulled my dick out of him, but I slipped my tongue into him. We kissed and kissed and kissed. It was not the kiss of a booty call. It was the kiss of something more. We fell asleep covered in cum and sweat.

When we awoke, his chest was against my back, his right leg was between my legs, and his right arm was around me. His body radiated heat. I pulled his hand to my mouth and kissed the back of it.

"I have to get going soon," he whispered. "Today's game is at 1:15. I have to be at the park by 9:45."

"That's not what you told Kate," I reminded him.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," he said.

"Why did you?"

"Self-preservation . . . . I know I barely know you, but . . . . I really like what I know."

I knew what he meant. I decided to confirm it.

"I know what you mean. I've felt it from the moment we met. There's something there."

"There is."

"And you were trying to shut it down before it got too big."

"I was trying to shut it down before I couldn't."

"Well, I can go whenever you want, but I'd like to stay. And when I go, I'll go. Gently. Into that good night."

"I want you to stay until I have to go."

"What'll we do in meantime?"

He poked his erection into my backside. "Elmer has an idea."

"Elmer?"

"I named my dick Elmer."

"Why?"

"He looks like an Elmer."

I rolled over, rolled Cal onto his back, and looked intently at his dick. "I don't know," I said. "I think he looks more like a Bruce. Or a Dave."

"You should see what he tastes like."

"I know what he tastes like."

"Remind yourself."

I did. Figuring today was the last day for Matty Joe and Cal, I devoured Elmer with as much gusto as I could muster. I worked him like a professional, taking him to the edge, but refusing to let him fall. When he finally did, he was soaked with sweat, he arched his back, and he cried out. I gulped down all he unloaded and then moved my mouth to his. I wanted him to taste himself on my tongue.

I grabbed the headboard and slid myself into his mouth. I rode his face. I was so turned on by what I'd done to him, it took little time for me to convulse and fill his mouth.

I collapsed next to him. He slipped his left hand into my right.

"That was intense," he offered, huskily.

"It was," I eked out.

"I liked it."

"I did, too."

I snuggled into his chest, his right forefinger slowly running up and down my side. Despite myself, I fell asleep. When I awoke, it was almost noon.

"Did you sleep?" I asked.

"No. I was thining."

"About what?"

"I want this to keep going. I don't know how to make that happen, but I want it to."

"Have you ever dated a guy before?"

"I had a boyfriend in single A," he reminded me. "He was on my team. We figured out a way to be road roomies."

"What happened?"

"It was awesome until people got suspicious. Or at least seemed to. I don't know. Maybe they were just being funny. But, they started referring to us as each other's girlfriends. You know, like 'Hey, Cal, your girlfriend's here.' I freaked out. I asked for another road roomie. He was crushed. He flamed out of baseball not long after. He may have flamed out anyway. He may not have. I'm worried I caused him to flame out."

"Have you heard from him?"

"No. I have no idea where he is. I wish I knew."

"Have you tried to find him?"

"No. I should. But, I haven't. I don't know what I'd say. I think I'd be too ashamed to talk to him."

"It can be cathartic to ask for forgiveness."

"What about you? Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"Yeah. A couple. I've kind of lived my life backward. I told you about Billy Jack. I didn't think we were boyfriends then, but it sure looks like we were in hindsight. And then, before my Senior year of high school, I fell in love with my cousin, John Mark. He's not really my cousin. We're not bloodies. But we were raised cousins. Anywho, I fell head over heels for him. He's five years older. I thought it would be forever. It wasn't. I was naive to think it would be."

"A cousin whose not a cousin?"

"It's an adoption thing. Like I said, we're not related by blood, just on paper."

"You haven't had a boyfriend since?"

"No. Like I told you the other night, I had a rough time in college. I got addicted to sex. And then to cocaine. Once I got clean, I got addicted to my studies and then to my work. I kind of have a one track mind. Anyway, I tried a girlfriend when I moved to Chicago. Maggie. She lived down the hall from me. We met the day I moved in. She was awesome. We laughed all time time, even while we were fucking."

"What happened?"

"We dated for about a year. She told me I was her one. She wanted to be my one. I could never say she was. She got tired of waiting and broke up with me. We had always been great in bed, so we booty called/drunk dialed each other for about a year after. She met someone else. She was his one. They got married and moved to Evanston. We talk every once in awhile. They are living the American deuce dream: two children, two cats, two dogs, two cars."

"Why wasn't she one of your ones?"

"I think my one is a boy. I never felt for her what I felt for John Mark. It was not even close."

"You know that's a fiction, right?"

"What is?"

"That there's only one one. There isn't. There's a collection of them."

I hoped so. In the sixty hours I had known Cal, I had started thinking of him as a possibility. It wasn't the sex. It was the in between. There was a comfort and ease, like we had known each other for far longer than we'd known each other.

I almost told him that, but I decided it was too soon. I could not expose myself like that. I also did not want to arm him with that power.

"I hope you're right."

"I am."

"How can you be so sure? Have you met one of yours?"

His answer thrilled me. "I don't know," he said, smiling broadly at me. "Maybe. . . . But, think about it. If there is only one one, then there's gobs of serendipity involved in ever meeting that one and, if you don't do it right, you miss out. So what? You settle for something less? I don't believe that. I don't believe that if I make a mistake or tragedy strikes one of the loves of my life that I'm left to a life of cold pizza."

We had talked the early afternoon away. The yellow of the clock radio warned me that our time together was almost over. I wanted my memory of him to be the sweetest kiss I could give. I cupped his left cheek in my hand, pressed my lips to his, and kissed him the way I imagined they kissed in the movies.

"I need to get in the shower."

"I know."

"I'd ask you to join me, but I don't have time."

"I understand."

"I'll only be a minute," he said, sliding out of bed and hustling to the bathroom.

I dressed quickly. Since Billy Jack, I had hated good-byes. I scribbled him a note. "Thank you for a great weekend. It reminded me." I placed the note on his pillow and slipped out as I heard the shower stop.

*****

About mid-day through the day on Monday, I received a voicemail from Cal. "Matthias, it's Calvin. I, too, had a great weekend. Call me. I'd like to know of what it reminded you. 816-419-1717."

I called immediately. "Hello?"

"Hi."

"Hi. I was worried you wouldn't call."

"No reason to worry. I called as soon as I got the message. Hey, what's with all the seventeens?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your room was 1717. Your telephone number is 1717."

"Seventeen is my lucky number. I got drafted 17th in the 17th round. I've kept it since. If they have it, I always request room 17 or 117 or 217. The Drake is huge, so I got 1717. I requested the telephone number too."

"So, you're superstitious?"

"Incredibly. Not in a crippling way. But close. I always sit in the same place in the bullpen. I always receive the ball from the shortstop to start an inning. If someone else tosses it to me, I let it fly right by. I don't take it until it comes from the shortstop."

"I wasn't sure I'd hear from you. You know, what with your 'I never do this' and all."

"I was surprised you left while I was in the shower, without saying good-bye."

"I try to avoid good-byes."

"I told you I didn't want it to be good-bye."

I smiled widely to myself, rocking back in my chair and putting my feet up on my desk. I let his words soak in before I answered "I didn't want it to be a good-bye, either."

"Well, then it's settled. It won't be. Do you have a cell phone?"

"I'm getting one this week. We're switching to them from pagers."

"Okay. Feel free to call me whenever. If you don't get me, feel free to leave a message. It's private. No one can get into it but me."

"Cool."

"Hey, your note said 'it reminded me.' Reminded you of what?"

"Of what it's like to be thrilled again."

"Well, I'm glad I thrilled you."

"Me, too."

"You thrilled me, too."

"Well, I'm glad about that."

When I had my cell phone, I gave him the digits. We talked most nights when the games were over. Immaturely, we often played "you hang up first."

The distance forced us to learn about each. We couldn't build around sex only.

I learned Kate wanted to marry him, and he was putting her off. I learned Kate wanted to move in with him, and he was putting her off on that, too. I learned his best friend on the Royals was Carlos Beltran, a good-looking Puerto Rican kid who had been the 1999 rookie of the year. Cal and Carlos had been in the minor leagues together, and Carlos and his wife had become a big part of Cal's life. Cal referred to Carlos as his "Puerto Rican brother from another mother." Carlos referred to Cal as "Blanco" or "mi Blanco."

I learned Cal's Catholicism was hereditary, but not meaningful. He went to church on Christmas and Easter and for weddings and funerals. Otherwise, he was a bit of an agnostic.

I learned Cal was paranoid about MLB drug tests and maniacal about what he put in his body. He scrutinized every label.

I learned Cal was a voracious reader. He devoured every genre, but especially liked historical fiction like "The March," "Pillars of the Earth," and "The Name of the Rose."

I told Cal all there was to know about me. I laid myself bare to him as we talked into the night, and he kept coming back for more.

The first time we had phone sex, he told me about a time a guy blew him while he was having phone sex with his girlfriend. It was hotter to hear about it than it had been to do it.

I met him in New York for a series with the Yankees. I went to all three games. I saw him pitch for the first time. He was not a fireballer, but he had a sweeping curve that killed lefties and righties alike.

I was thrilled watching him. As I did, I couldn't help but think "he's mine."

I was more thrilled knowing what would occur when we met up in his hotel room. He tied me up each night. He toyed with me after he did. The toying stopped only when I begged him to fuck me and let me come.

He introduced a little roughness, which I didn't mind at all. We pulled hair. We bit. Every once and again, we spanked.

We started talking every day. Some days, we talked multiple times, if only to say "hello."

About a month after the New York trip, we were planning another visit when Cal shocked me and announced we needed to "break up." It came from out of the blue, and it knocked the wind out of me.

"Why?" I asked.

"The more I talk to you, the less I want to talk to Kate," he said.

"But she's just a disguise."

"Right, but she's an important disguise. She's essential to my future."

I blanched. He may not have said it, but I heard that I was not.

I didn't try to talk him out of it. I didn't figure there was any use, and I hated the idea of demonstrating that much vulnerability.

"Suit yourself," I said, hanging up. I didn't answer when the phone immediately rang.

I retreated to life without Cal. The actuality of it depressed me. I had grown accustomed to his voice and the amount of time I listened to it. I had also finally allowed some of my walls to come down, and it had resulted in the pain that I had tried to avoid by putting them up in the first place.

My nurse noticed immediately. She asked why I had gone from joyful to joyless. I couldn't tell her.