The Slump

Hello, friends!  I was recently asked to submit a sexy short story for an anthology.  The rules were simple: 2500 words, sexy, related to baseball.  This is what I came up with.  Hope you enjoy!

 

I watched Paul Decker walk up to the plate with that same swagger I first noticed eighteen years ago when he was a rookie. I was thirteen years old at the beginning of his career and I instantly developed a crush on the new Shark and became a diehard fan.

Paul Decker was “Mister All-American Ball Player”. Born in Iowa, he had blonde hair, blue eyes, a perfect smile, and the physique every athlete dreams of – six feet tall and one hundred ninety-eight pounds of pure muscle. He was dubbed the new Mickey Mantle when he started and he lived up to that standard, breaking many MLB records in his career.

His current status, however, was in great contrast to his previous seasons. A man whose all-time average was .322 was now hitting .158. The papers were calling him washed-up, old, and a bum. How sad that the same people who once referred to you as God’s gift to baseball could turn on you like that. Even fans booed him in the stadium at times. It broke my heart. I would always remain loyal to the great Paul Decker.

I sat in the stadium that day, the sun shining brightly, surrounded by the scent of domestic beer and hotdogs, wearing my number seventeen jersey and cheered him on each time he went up to bat. The umpire called strike two and while disappointment rang out from the crowd, I clapped my hands and shouted words of encouragement. Decker adjusted his grip and prepared for another pitch, his silver helmet gleaming from home plate.

His bat connected with this one and I stood, clasping my hands together, hoping it would travel just far enough to earn him a run. It sailed high in the air but I could see it was headed into foul territory, straight to where I was sitting.

Several patrons around me all rose, arms high above their heads, hoping to catch the errant ball. I don’t know how, but as I reached my own hands up I knew, I just knew, that I was going to catch it. I felt it smack the palm of my hand and I closed my fist around it, immediately hugging it to myself and jumping up and down with glee. I waved it in the air triumphantly for the big screen.

After the game, I waited patiently outside the stadium for the players to exit. There was no way I was going to pass up the chance to get the ball signed, even though Kyle, my date, wasn’t hiding the fact that he wanted to get out of there.

“You’re really going to make me wait out here with you?” Kyle said.

This was only our third date. I knew from our first one that we weren’t that compatible and it wasn’t going anywhere but I invited him to the game with me anyhow. I regretted it the second we took our seats and he pulled out his phone. He had spent most of the afternoon staring at it, ignoring both the game and me.

“Look, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” I told him, “but I’m getting this ball signed.”

He huffed and leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms and pouting like a child. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You should go,” I said.

“What?”

“You heard me. You should go. I’ll take a cab home.”

I will admit that I was expecting him to argue but I really wasn’t that surprised when he stared at me then simply said, “Fine,” and walked away.

“Asshole,” I said under my breath.

My annoyance with him dissipated quickly though because the doors opened and Sharks started pouring out. I smiled as the players quickly made their way through the small crowd; a few of the more friendly ones stopping for pictures and autographs for the other fans that had waited like me. Then I saw Paul. His blonde hair that now had specks of grey throughout was wet and slicked back and he wore only a t-shirt and blue jeans. He was still as handsome as ever and my stomach fluttered while I approached him.

“Mr. Decker,” I said, ball and pen held out in front of me, “would you mind signing my ball?”

He looked directly at me, those blue eyes striking, and half smiled.

“Sure.”

He took the ball and pen from me and I grinned like an idiot when our hands touched.

“So you caught my foul today huh?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ve been a huge fan of yours since you started and I’ve followed your career religiously and I’m so sorry that you’ve been in this slump and I don’t care what anyone says you’re still the greatest Shark to ever play and…”

I knew I sounded like an idiot but I couldn’t stop myself and he just smiled graciously and let me ramble.

“…I mean, you have 688 career home runs, for Christ’s sake, you broke the all time RBIs in a single season record.”

As I spoke he frowned and I realized I was probably depressing the hell out of the poor guy.

“Anyway,” I said, “I think you’re great.”

He thanked me quietly with a sad smile on his face and then turned away.

I don’t know where the courage came from but I blurted out, “Can I buy you a drink?”

I think I stopped breathing when he turned around, looked at me, and said,

“Sure.”

We ended up in the bar of his hotel. It was small and dark and offered much privacy. Despite playing for The Sharks for nineteen years his real home was in Iowa, he told me, and he lived out of the hotel during the season.

A few hours and several cocktails later, we were both a little tipsy and our conversation gradually turned from meaningless chitchat to blatant flirting. The liquid courage had me touching him every chance I got and while I couldn’t believe that I was actually sitting across from a man I idolized since I was a child, I wasn’t stupid enough to question it. I also wasn’t stupid enough to decline when he asked me to go up to his room with him.

The second we entered his suite I pushed him against the wall and crashed my lips to his, opening my mouth immediately to find his tongue with my own. While we kissed, his hands lay gently at my waist while mine started to explore his body. I ran them through his hair then down to his broad shoulders and over his chest that was hard beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, which I then pulled off of him. I ran my fingernails over the planes of his athletic body, eliciting a hiss from him and then a groan when I lightly grazed the bulge in his jeans.

Suddenly I was the one pressed against the wall and his lips blazed across my chest, my own shirt having been torn over my head and discarded. Both of his hands grabbed my breasts, squeezing and pressing before he pulled the cup of my bra down and attached his lips to my right nipple. Moaning shamelessly, I held him to me with both hands while he helped me out of my jeans.

His lips were back on mine and I felt his hand tickle my belly, moving down, and then sliding inside my panties. A low growl came from the back of his throat when he felt how wet I was. His tongue swirled slowly around mine while his finger mimicked the action between my legs, making short, gentle circuits around my clit. All I could do was grip his wrist and whimper into his kisses.

He moved his mouth over my cheek and down to my neck, biting and kissing while I was driven further and further towards insanity. His fingers moved more urgently now, stroking me harder, bringing me closer, until I began moving my hips against him, the ache and need to come unbearable now. I gripped his wrist and guided his hand back. He slid two of his fingers inside of me and, still gripping his wrist, I writhed against his palm. My head thrown back against the wall I rode his hand until I came loudly.

“God damn,” he swore and I opened my eyes to see him staring down at me with amusement. I grinned back at him and resumed my role as the aggressor.

We were all hands as I pushed him towards the bed, groping and pulling at each other’s remaining clothes. He was fully naked now and lying on the bed and I let my eyes wander over his athletic form. Every inch of him was toned muscle, especially his arms, but his cock? Long, thick, and hard. I bit my lip and felt a tremor run through me.

“You’re killing me,” he said, staring up at me and with a raise of an eyebrow I climbed onto him. Straddling his thighs, I gripped him in my hand and stroked, watching his eyes roll back and his lips part as he moaned softly. Moving up his body just a bit more, I ran him through the slick slit of my pussy, teasing us both, rocking a little so the head of his cock rubbed my swollen clit.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“Yes,” I said.

I took him inside of me, not slowly or patiently, but sinking all the way down on his thick erection, a slight whimper escaping my lips as he stretched me with a glorious sting.

I moved right away, keeping him all the way inside and thrusting my hips. Leaning back, my fingers digging into his thighs, my breasts were on full display for him. He filled his hands with them, squeezing and rolling my nipples. Each time I moved he reciprocated by lifting his hips, going impossibly deeper each time. My cries were loud, too loud probably, but I didn’t care.

He lifted himself up and then we were face to face. I stopped moving only long enough to position my legs around him and then began to move again, aided by his hands that were now digging into my ass. His mouth found mine and I opened, swirling my tongue with his, slowly in contrast with how I was riding him. I was fucking him furiously, without shame or inhibition.

Our position was changed again; Paul flipped us over so I was on my back and he was the one doing the fucking now. He moved with less urgency than I had, in long, smooth strokes, sliding all the way in and then all the way out. The air was punctuated by his gravelly voice each time he entered me. It was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever heard.

He lifted himself to his knees and hooked my leg over his arm, actually lifting my hips from the bed. He fucked me harder now, fully intent on making me come again which I was so very close to doing. His cock going so deep, I continued to moan while my hands clawed at the bed sheets. When he found my clit with his thumb and pressed I came absolutely undone.

My spine bowed, my eyes closed, and I screamed, the orgasm tearing through me, making me pulse and quiver. It didn’t end right away, as neither did his movements, and it kept circuiting through me, each one a little less intense than the previous until I was just humming with euphoric energy. I was too far gone to even notice when he came, but he did, and then collapsed on top of me, panting and sweaty.

We didn’t say anything when he rolled off of me and draped his arm across my belly. We just lay there, entirely spent and sated, an intoxicated look upon both our faces. All I could think was Oh my god, I just fucked Paul Decker.

After a while I felt like I should leave him. He was totally silent and his eyes were closed, I thought maybe he had fallen asleep. When I moved to leave the bed he flexed, though, gripping my hip and keeping me in place.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“I thought maybe I should,” I said.

“I’d like for you to stay. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Here’s the thing about athletes, they have stamina that is unmatched by any. We fucked in that hotel room all night: in the bed, on the floor, against the wall. He set me down on a dresser, spread my legs and went down on me. He bent me over the mini bar and then the bathroom vanity. I sucked his cock as he reclined on a chaise in the sitting room of the suite.

At some point we both finally passed out in the bed and I awoke the next morning to find him freshly showered and dressed. He smiled and the embarrassment of my behavior finally hit me. I blushed.

“Now you’re gonna get shy on me?” he said. He sat on the bed and touched my cheek. “I really enjoyed last night.”

“I did too,” I said.

“I have to head over to the field. Stay as long as you’d like, order room service.”

I only nodded.

He kissed me goodbye and then he was gone. He didn’t ask for my number or tell me he’d like to see me again, which was a little disappointing. What did I expect, though? He was Paul fucking Decker. I’d chalk up the experience as one of the best of my life and something I’d always remember.

The following evening I watched him play against San Francisco on television. Each time his face flashed on the screen my body tingled at the memory of what he did to me. That night, he hit two home runs. It looked like his slump was over.

I like to think I had something to do with that.

 

 

So?  What do you think?  Good enough to be featured in a collection of sexy stories?