The New Softballers

A college softball player strikes up an unlikely friendship with a driven star pitcher. Part 2 of five.

The story thus far: Carol Gibson, the daughter of Pat and Mike of "To Serve and Protect" fame, is enrolling in college when she meets a high school classmate who's playing on the college softball team. They're also organizing a late-summer intramural league to help the team's star pitcher, who's been bothered by a knee injury, rehabilitate. Carol agrees to come to tryouts, and actually meets the pitcher, a curt and abrasive woman trying to deal with pain on multiple levels. Later, the young woman who asked her to try out makes love with her older female lover, who enjoys the experience but wonders what the younger woman really gets out of it – and whether she is hot for Carol instead.

My sincerest thanks to patricia51 and all who have previewed this story.

*****

The following evening, Carol arrived early, signed in and was assigned a practice uniform and all the gear she needed. Her eyebrows, in fact, rose considerably at the selection of uniforms and equipment. This was no popcorn league.

Carol was one of the first out onto the field, but Beth was already on the mound. A catcher was squatting behind the plate. Carol found later that the catcher's name was Angela Richards, a senior-to-be who had worked with Beth exclusively. Beth was tossing easy pitches to get warmed up. She had a brace on the bad knee and a painful scowl on her face.

Carol said hello to Sarah and to Tracy, who gave her a hug. About a half-dozen current softball team members were in the summer league besides the ones already mentioned; the others, like Carol, were pickup players. Sarah started to name them all when a male voice boomed from the stands, directed at Beth.

"Get the arm down before you go into the windup! Remember about hanging the curve ball! Do a three-quarter if you put too much weight on the knee!" Beth stopped her motion and put her hands on her hips.

And then another male voice came from the dugout, as a guy in a team cap came up the steps. "Geez, bro, next you're gonna be telling her to wash the dishes counterclockwise with one hand and clockwise with the other. You must have watched your

Karate Kid

DVD again!" Then, more softly, to Beth: "Just listen to Coach T and work on the mechanics. And for heck sakes, make sure you give your fielders some practice."

Sarah explained. "The guy in the stands is Joey Wilson, her husband. He passed on a six-figure signing bonus from the Marlins to come back for his senior year, and the best offer he's gotten this year is four figures and a bus ticket from the Devil Rays. He's going to try the Arizona fall league in a couple months."

"What about 'Bro' over there?" Carol asked.

"That's Roger, Joey's brother. He's a football guy but he's volunteered with us for a couple of years. He's pretty good with the new kids. Guess it's because he can make you look good while telling you what you did wrong."

Carol smiled. The team assembled for a meeting with Coach Tawny Trindle, named "Coach T" for obvious reasons. Even Beth deferred to the woman in her late forties and a full foot shorter than she. Coach T had eyes in the back of her head, it seemed, and generally directed Coach Wilson quietly to shout out the words of encouragement or admonishment.

Some of the position players were already set. Sarah had played third base all her career, and it was obvious why when Coach Wilson tossed the ball up in the air a few times to hit squibbers down the line. Tracy played second base like a cat, ready to pounce on anything hit her way. Several young candidates were tried out at first base and at shortstop, with others sent to the outfield. Carol was a shortstop, but she thought she'd be a backup at best. From questions Coach T fired at several of the candidates, she had a good idea of whom to pick for the team and who would go home. Carol thought she was on the bubble.

Finally, Coach T set up a full compliment of fielders and sent everyone else to the plate one by one, with the hitters moving to the outfield after their turns at bat. Generally, the turns at bat didn't last long. Beth had her game face on – which made her look positively medieval – and she was topping 80 on another coach's radar gun. A few players lay off borderline pitches to extend their turns, and a couple of balls were fouled off, but the only times the ball was put into play were when Coach T ordered a sacrifice bunt. Even those seemed to irritate Beth.

Carol was the seventh batter up. She looked at Beth's face and cocked an ear. Beth seemed to do pretty much the opposite of what her husband wanted to do. She looked at Angela before settling into the batter's box and taking her stance.

Carol took a big swing and a miss for strike one. Beth looked satisfied. Then Carol refused to offer at two outside pitches. Beth looked irritated. Then she hesitated. Carol took the opportunity to move in closer to the plate, about as close as was legal.

Beth came to get her all right. Carol jumped back as Beth released the ball, and took an "excuse me" swing with the bat at the space her rib cage had just occupied. She came down as the ball was coming up, and tomahawked it. The ball drove into the ground, came up nearly ten feet high, dropped like a rock and hit chalk, spinning toward the infield. Beth was closest to the ball and thought about chasing it down, but held up because of her knee. Sarah charged in and got it, but at an awkward angle. Sarah pulled the ball out of her glove and almost threw the ball into the dugout, realizing at the last instant that Carol had turned on the afterburners while running up the line. Sarah hung onto the ball, staggering like a drunk. It counted as an infield single.

"Okay, okay!" Coach Wilson said as he came into the first-base coach's box. "Good hustle, good hustle! Sarah, good read on the ball." He was only a step away from Carol as he settled in. Carol, focused on Beth and her reaction to Sarah's play – which wasn't good - sensed him rather than seeing him.

"

Ix

-nay on the fanny pat, please," Carol whispered. She dared to look back and saw Coach Wilson grinning.

"I wouldn't do that to a

guy

," Coach replied. Then, in lower tones, "She's gonna try to pick you off and she might try to plunk you in retaliation. Dive back to the inside of the base if you see her do a high kick. The third regular pitch, head for second and run like hell. Angela throws laser beams and if you can beat her, you've got a shot at sticking around."

Carol filed away in her head the question as to why the coach would be so sporting to a green rookie. But she was determined to obey instructions. She looked around and saw Tracy cheating toward second, meaning she'd take the throw. Tracy was particularly adept at evading a runner and putting on a swipe tag. Carol mulled it over.

Coach Wilson had been right. The first pickoff throw was an attempt to stick Carol in the hip. She dived inside and touched the base well before the first baseman could get the ball across. The second pickoff try was much truer to the target, and Carol beat the tag by a bare inch. Carol stayed close to the base for the next two pitches, a ball and a strike. She edged out and rocked back and forth on the next try. She could see Angela vigorously shaking her head and setting up on the outside of the plate.

Beth did a much-shorter-than-usual leg kick and deliberately threw the ball outside. Carol flew up the line. She saw Tracy move back and stick out her glove forward, obviously planning to jump out of Carol's way and put the tag high. But Carol didn't make Tracy jump. She slid to the inside. Tracy swung her glove down and then up. From behind the plate, Carol looked out by ten feet, but in fact Tracy had swiped

behind

her and gotten nothing but air. Tracy might have "sold" the tag to an umpire with a bad angle, but she was so fooled she turned her head to stare at her glove. Safe!

Beth, obviously ticked off, threw two more bad pitches to the next girl and walked her. The ninth batter hit a two-hopper to shortstop, but the unfortunate young lady dropped the ball and then couldn't find it behind her as Sarah and Tracy converged and skidded to avoid a collision. Carol raced home without a throw. Coach T immediately called time, moved the shortstop to the outfield, and put Carol in her place. Beth finished her assigned pitch count and went into the dugout, looking like Medusa on a bad day. When she came out to hit against another pitcher later in practice, she launched a liner that was still rising when it cleared the fence. The next batter, though, hit a fast skimmer Carol's way. Carol backhanded it and sidearmed to first base, just in time to get the runner. She saw Coach T write a note on her clipboard.

Every girl got at least three turns at bat and played every position except pitcher and catcher, which were already set. Mary Taylor was the catcher for the other pitcher, Camille Ryan. Camille and Mary both looked far younger than Beth, but then again

everybody

, Coach T included, looked younger than Beth when she had her game face on. Coach T never said a word, but Coach Wilson kept encouraging the girls and giving them bits of advice on batting and fielding.

Finally, the practice was over and the group filed into the locker room. Carol, after being detained by Coach T and questioned about her past softball-playing career, was one of the last to go.

The atmosphere in the locker room ranged from convivial to tense, as several players "on the bubble" worried about their chances of making the team now and the regular team in the spring. Carol stripped off her uniform and tossed all of the items into laundry baskets. She had kept herself well-hydrated, but it being Georgia in the summer, she felt sweatier and dirtier than she'd felt in years.

Beth, an ice pack on her knee, came into the shower shortly after Carol did and took a stall directly across from her. Carol was too preoccupied with soaping herself down and rinsing out her hair to notice for a while, but she realized Beth was looking at her. It wasn't so much ogling as trying to "place" her. Carol turned away a few times, trying to deal with the look.

Beth came into the locker room as Carol finished drying herself, got her street clothes out of the locker and laid them out. Carol looked around and saw Beth's astonished look.

"Oh ... my ... God."

Carol instinctively covered as much of herself as she could with two hands. Beth hurried to the end of the bench and sat down. Gone was the tough-woman persona, replaced by a look of deep concern.

"I am SO sorry," Beth blurted out. "I didn't realize ..." she couldn't say any more.

Then it hit Carol. She was straddling the locker-room bench, her legs apart, her head turned toward the locker, her hands up, when Beth had walked in. Just the way she had been when ...

"You've seen me before, haven't you?" Carol said gently. "Going down on a donkey and holding or getting filled with four cocks?"

Beth went sick white. She said nothing for a minute before she found the words.

"My husband got that link to the ... 'site.' And so did his brother."

It was Carol's turn to go sick white.

"Coach Wilson saw me like this? Sitting on a locker-room bench with the bench edited out and those men's ... things edited in?"

"He saw it, my husband saw it, and I saw it too. I don't think they know that woman was you, at least not yet. It's true, the pictures were fake?"

"Yes," Carol said slowly. "A girl at school had it in for me because her boyfriend got killed in a drug sting, after I tipped off the cops that a friend had offered me Ecstasy. She and some of her buddies used the drug money to set up the site."

Beth shivered. "That's so creepy. Joey smarted off about what kind of girl he thought you were. He was kidding, but I think Roger wanted to smack him."

Carol thought for a minute. "Are you sure Coach Wilson didn't recognize me? He was telling me when to run on you. I mean, you tipped your move that you were gonna try to hit me, and I read Tracy's actions from experience so I knew how to evade her, but he was a bit too nice."

Beth shook her head no. "Roger's not half bad. He keeps telling me there's no "I" in team, so he probably wanted to test you to see what you'd do for the team. Plus, he likes to see me pissed off -- to a degree. I can't hit my weight or yours either, so it felt damn good to take that one deep. I want to be an all-around athlete and go on to coaching at a big university. There is an 'I' in cooperation, and he figured you'd help me out by playing up to me."

Beth had spun that speech out at much more than normal speed. Her nervousness was making Carol nervous, but she kind of understood why. She said, "I saw you pitch in the junior leagues, what, ten-eleven years ago? My Aunt Linda really admired you. She told me I should work as hard as you did and I'd feel good about myself."

Beth grimaced. "Hard work doesn't make you happy by itself. I learned that the hard way." She looked Carol over and went to change into her regular clothes.

Carol got dressed slowly, thinking about Beth – and especially the way Beth had looked at her. She had a pretty good idea that Beth had looked at those pictures too, and hadn't been disgusted by them. Sure, there had been genuine concern for Carol, but ... had Beth been turned on by the pics? Or by Carol herself?

Beth reappeared as Carol finished getting dressed. She looked years younger and much prettier in her street clothes. She had a warm smile and a handshake.

"Hope you make the team," Beth said.

"It's just for the summer," Carol said. "I'll have to study my ass off in the fall. I'm going to go to the Police Academy and I want all the basics out of the way."

Beth let her eyebrows rise. She started to say something but didn't, and Carol noticed. Still, Beth offered a bearish handshake, and seemed pleased when Carol didn't flinch. They said their goodbyes and went to their cars to drive home.

*****

That night, another female couple made love.

Melissa Madison was a designated hitter known for her powerful swing, and Ariel Black played right field, famed for her lunges after anything playable. Both were sure of making the team, and both were good players on the regular team as well. Both young ladies were education and sports science majors, and Melissa was student-teaching at a middle school while Ariel worked on a secondary certificate in mathematics. They had gone in on a small house off-campus, and considered themselves a couple – although neither had told her parents that.

Some people called the two "Mutt and Jeff," after a long-ago comic strip. The characters were different in personality, but the greatest difference was in their height. Melissa was five foot nine, Ariel five foot nothing. Maybe God had a sense of humor, because Ariel had the chest and the bottom suited for a far taller woman. She didn't DARE wear tight-fitting jeans, and her bras were pretty darn large. Fortunately, everything held up well. Melissa had less on top than most women, and sometimes sat on a cushion to protect her bottom. She had long, silky blonde hair; Ariel had brunette and very curly – sometimes frizzy – hair she wore at shoulder length.

Melissa was very assertive in the classroom. Ariel had a mischievous sense of humor and loved to tease or even sass Melissa. She was the only one who could make Melissa blush. They didn't consider themselves "butch and femme," though. Although Melissa usually initiated sex and liked telling Ariel what to do, Ariel had a mind of her own and could make Melissa squirm with anticipation.

The huge similarity was in their finger strength. Both women had sore muscles a lot, and both were expert at working out each other's kinks. They liked to tune into a classical radio station and hear the piano playing.

Thus, it was no big deal when Ariel got out of the shower, dried her legs and shoulders and wrapped the towel around her torso, and lay face down on the double bed. Melissa, still dressed in a shirt and shorts, knelt over Ariel and began massaging her neck.

"Damn, girl, you're tight tonight," Melissa whispered over the Rachmaninoff piece. "Are you tight everywhere?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Ariel chuckled. "Are you going to stretch me out?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," Melissa sassed back.

Melissa massaged Ariel's neck and shoulders vigorously, at first barehanded, then with massage oil she poured into her hands. Every three minutes or so she would stop and get up. This was deliberate. Ariel loved being teased and left hanging. Melissa came down and gave Ariel a deep, lingering soul kiss. Then she let her fingertips caress Ariel's neck and cheeks. Once, Ariel grabbed Melissa's hand and sucked on her fingers, massage oil and all, but Melissa withdrew it.

Mostly, Ariel lay prone with her head facing the outside of the bed and her arms lying flat. Through a prior arrangement, she didn't touch herself until Melissa gave her specific permission. She did move her torso somewhat whenever Melissa touched a particularly sore spot and made it feel better. She also moved her torso as Melissa rubbed further and further down it, dislodging the towel.

When Melissa was about at the base of Ariel's spine, she moved so her pubis was sitting on Ariel's bottom, with the towel and some layers of clothing between them. She started at the base of the spine and moved back up. Although Melissa was tall enough that she didn't really need to lean, she did anyway and brought more of her body in contact with Ariel's as she got to the neck. She kissed Ariel's ear and whispered into it.

"How ready are you for more?"

"I would love a good hamstring massage, to start with," Ariel said. "Please."

This was another part of the ritual. The young women practiced "charm school" during lovemaking. Only if politely asked would they give out sexual favors. So Melissa held up.

"Please, ma'am? I promise to make it up to you later," Ariel said sweetly.

"I know your idea of 'making it up,'" Melissa snorted. She thought. "I'll do those other things, but after the hamstring massage you have to wait until I finish my shower. That means don't move from this spot. And I hope to hell you didn't drink tea tonight, because I don't want you barging in to pee while I'm soaping up. You know what happened last time."

"I'm sorry," Ariel said, and she truly meant it.

Melissa sat up again and began touching Ariel more softly. By this time, Ariel's bottom was wiggling against Melissa's crotch. Melissa let her fingers trail down the base of Ariel's spine.

"Open your legs, please," Melissa said.

"Yes, ma'am," Ariel softly replied.

Ariel spread her ankles. Melissa sat down between them and moved the towel up until it only covered Ariel's bottom. She bent around and massaged Ariel's left foot and ankle, working on it pretty carefully. She repeated the process with Ariel's right foot and ankle. She moved up to Ariel's calf and worked out any possibility of a charley horse. Same on the other side.

Up to this point, despite Ariel's pussy peeking out from beneath the towel, Melissa's massage had been thoroughly professional. But now she trailed the fingers of both hands behind Ariel's knees. Ariel rotated her hips. Melissa, professional again, worked Ariel's thigh muscles up almost to the pelvis, then down again. The next time she went up, it was a lot more tenderly. And finally, Melissa moved the towel aside and laid her hands on Ariel's bottom.

At first she just rubbed it. Then she tenderly caressed it downward, pulling the cheeks apart. Neither girl was into anal sex; the motion was to pull Ariel's pussy lips apart just a little. Melissa kneaded the cheeks open and shut, open and shut, with her palms and four fingers, while her thumbs strayed down lower and massaged the pussy directly, carefully avoiding the clitoris, pulling the pussy lips open and shut. Ariel moaned.