My Sordid Life

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I continued to play softball in the bar league. It wasn’t like high school where even the girls played fast-pitch. The bar league was a fun co-ed slow-pitch league. Each team had to have an equal number of guys to girls in order to participate. Most everybody signed up as an excuse to drink more beer. I, however, took the game much too serious, so I was told.

Even though it was just for fun, they kept score and had standings. One of the girls on one of the other teams put out a newsletter with some funny writeups about each game and hung it in all the bars.

One year we made it to the championship game. Nobody got drunk that game and it ended up being about the only game all year that was really competitive. The score was tied going into the last inning. The other team was up to bat first. They managed to get runners on base but no one scored, so the game remained tied. If we could score in the bottom of the inning, we would be the champions and have bragging rights until the next season. Our first two batters made outs, I was next up and our last hope. I HAD to get a hit and get on base. The pitcher tossed the ball towards the plate, it looked as big as a melon. I put every ounce of everything that I had into my swing and launched the ball into centerfield. I took off on a dead run, as fast as my feet would move. The ball seemed to just hang up in the air. I rounded second base with my eyes on the fielder. He tried to make a fancy basket catch and dropped the ball. Our third base coach was waving me on home. I rounded third base and everything turned into slow motion. I got a few steps from the plate and could see the ball out of the corner of my eye heading for the catcher. My brain was telling me the only chance I had, was to slide, but I had shorts on and it was going to hurt. Like I said, everything was in slow motion. In a matter of maybe three seconds, the catcher had to leap up for the high throw, my legs went out from under me and I slid towards the plate on my ass, dirt flying in the air, with the other team’s catcher coming down and laying on top of me, tagging me with the ball. No call from the umpire. Was I safe or out? No one knew yet.

The catcher whispered in my ear, “Gotcha!”. To which I replied, “You drop that ball and let me score, and I’m all yours later.”

As the dust settled, the hush of the crowd was broken when the ump yelled, “Safe!”

I was mobbed by my teammates with a beer shower. That, mixed with the dirt from home plate made me look like I’d just crawled out of a pig sty. I not only scored the winning run, but I won the wet t-shirt contest too.

When things settled down I walked over to the other bench. The catcher, his name was Jackson, was packing up his equipment. I told him I meant what I said and asked him when he wanted later to be.

He eyed me up and down and started to laugh. Shaking his head, he said that from my appearance, most guys would walk away from me. Filthy and beer soaked was not a real turn-on, however, he was quite enthralled by my wet t-shirt. He said it was a good thing that I was cute and offered to take me home and clean me up.


“Shower’s in there.” He said, pointing to the door on the other side of the room. I peeled off my still wet shirt and dropped it in the middle of the floor. Jackson stopped dead in his tracks and made a comment about me not being bashful. I just smiled and lost my shorts too.

The hot water felt great but the slimy brown dirt running down my legs looked like shit. I couldn’t wait to wash my hair. Budweiser may be the king of beers but it sure isn’t the king of shampoos.

The shower door slid open and I had company. A cock between my ass cheeks, one hand on a boob and the other fingering me, just what every girl wants. I asked him if he was in a hurry. He didn’t say anything. He stroked himself into an erection, picked me up with his hands underneath my thighs and slammed my back against the shower wall. On about his third thrust he found his way inside me. He humped me hard and fast. I was just reaching my pleasure zone when he pulled out. He grabbed his cock and jerked himself off until he spurted. And just like that, we were done.

He exited the shower as quickly as he entered. I finished cleaning myself up and toweled off. I reminded him that my clothes were dirty and wet. He threw me and old t-shirt and a pair of track shorts and told me to keep them and gave me a bag for my stuff. There was no way his things were going to fit me. Thankfully the shorts had a draw string. He grabbed his keys and said, “Come on I’ll give you a ride.”

“Just like that? Quick fuck and it’s over?”

He said his girlfriend was coming over and I really needed to not be there. I told him to go fuck himself and that I’d walk home. It wasn’t until I got to the corner when I realized how far from my apartment I was.

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