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I wondered where it had gone. I actually knew but hated to admit I knew. I had tried hard to forget her name.I clacked carefully down the steps and behind the batting cage found Buzzy Harder again. "He hired me," I said carefully, "who do I see about a uniform?"He just shook his head and pointed toward the clubhouse"What do I call you?" I asked, being as pleasant as I could."Skip," he said after he spat to the side and made a sour face, "some call me Buzz but most of 'em call me Skip." He looked very tired with dark bags under his rheumy eyes. Thick blue veins criss-crossed his forearms and hands. His mouth seemed to flinch or squirm now and then and his left eye flickered steadily. I wouldn't have hired him to clean the men's room."Right," I said and headed for the pre-fab green building in the outfield. The white-haired equipment man was hard at work along with one of his sons, a man of fifty or so who was called a clubhouse "boy." I introduced myself, both men squinted at me,. She takes a quick shower before joining me in bed. I am lying on my belly, facing away from her; I have to concentrate to keep my heart and my breathing under control. I don't want her to know that I am actually awake; that would change the rules and spoil my pleasure, and probably hers as well.She slips under the comforter and lies down behind me. She grabs my hip and ever so gently pulls back to entice me to turn me on my side, still thinking I am asleep and obviously trying to keep me that way. Offering just the token resistance that I believe a sleeping man would exert, I obediently move with a little groan and resume my regular breathing. She has me where she wants me now and she slowly molds her body to mine, her big soft breasts crushed against my back. I can feel her breath on my neck, warm and irregular.Her hand comes around my middle caressing my chest and playing with my nipples. After a few seconds of that, her hand snakes down to my crotch and she moves her finger from.
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