This story is based on actual events. Only the names and facts have been changed to protect the guilty. As always, comments & feedback is highly sought after...
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My best friend at work is Jodie- a dynamic, energetic, highly creative girl with a great sense of humor and sense of fun. She's also a stone-cold fox, and, unfortunately for me, an inveterate lesbian.
On rare occasions we would go on business travel to the same conventions or meetings, and would always hang out together, sometimes posing as boyfriend/girlfriend or even a married couple- which surprisingly enough often got her hooked up with a babe. A much rarer occurrence for me, unfortunately, but we'd always laugh about it.
Anyway, Jodie has played with the same group of women for years in both women's and co-ed softball leagues, and at the beginning of this last season she asked me to fill in on one of the co-ed teams that had lost their shortstop. She knew that I had played college ball and pursued a minor league career for longer than I probably should have, but I was reluctant: I had played a little softball during my stint in the military, but had always viewed it as sort of boring, and more of a game for less... serious ball players.
But Jodie can be pretty persuasive, so I ended up playing with her and her buddies, the female component of which was laughingly referred to as 'dykes on spikes'- although I later learned that not all were lesbian. We played every Thursday night in a league, and I also committed to a couple of tournaments- some out of state, and one as far away as Las Vegas.
This team played at the highest classification level, and was ultra-competitive. I found it hard to take it that seriously, but was surprised to find that I had a pretty good time. Because of my own kind of unique sensibilities about playing against women, I would usually just tap the ball out of the infield or spray soft line drives around- I never wanted to hit the ball hard because I didn't want to be the one who hurt one of the girls, although it didn't seem to bother the other men on the team much.
Not that the girls wanted- or even probably needed- protection: they could really play some ball at this level.
We played at a four-plex of fields, and whenever we were scheduled for the last game of the night we would usually sit around the dugout and share a cooler of beer: one of the girls on the team worked for the city parks department, and we could leave the lights on as long as we wanted.
After the last game of the season, we were sitting there celebrating the fact that we had just won the championship, when the league president walked up with some paperwork for our coach- a big, husky blonde woman named Pam.
One of the things he brought her was a certificate for League Batting Champion, and she came over to the dugout and gave it to me. "Hey- says here you went 46 for 52, for a .900 batting average," She said, handing me the certificate. "That's as high as I've ever heard of- nice job!"
There was congratulations and laughter from up and down the bench, and some good-natured ribbing too, which was the norm on this team. One of the women stood up and yelled "I bet you bucks to blow-jobs he couldn't do that off of Becky. He wouldn't even touch her stuff!"
I laughed along with the rest- Dana was a short, muscular little gal with easily the fiercest competitive streak of anyone on the team- she was the spark-plug that made the team go, and I liked her a lot. Her fiery personality reminded me of my best buddy from college, who also played second base and made the whole team better just by the way they approached the game.
"Blow jobs to bucks? What the hell kind of bet is that?" One of the guys said.
"My uncle used to use that line," said another player. "I haven't heard it for years."
But for some reason Jodie got fired up on my behalf. "Say what? You think your little girlfriend there could strike out Todd? And you'd bet blow jobs? I have fifty dollars that says he knocks her all around the park."
Dana bristled. Becky was her girlfriend, a tall, quiet girl with a shy smile, who rarely said anything at all. She was tall and lanky, and I'd heard she had pitched at LSU or Mississippi State or somewhere. "I've got catching gear in the truck," she said. "I say Becky can throw five strikes by him- only at fifty bucks per strike." She said.
Jodie shrugged. "Or a blow-job for each one he hits then, right? And who gives the bj- you or Becky?"
Dana nearly jumped at her. "Nobody's going to have to- he aint gonna hit any. Look at how he swings, like he's a big pansy!"
Pam stepped in, and I could see by the red flush on her face that for some reason she was really mad. "You're the one talking all the shit, Dana." She said. "So either back down or go get your gear on- but if you lose, you're the one on your knees, right there at home plate."
Dana glared for a minute, then looked at Becky and got a shrug and a nod. "OK- fuck it. I'm getting the gear on".
Jodie came over to stand by me. "Um, you're OK with all this, right?".
I laughed. "You wait till now to ask? But yeah, sure- I'm game."
"Good. 'Cause if you don't win I'm going to need to borrow some money off you..."
I watched Becky warm up- she was good. The team was sort of crowding around the plate, ooh-ing and aah-ing as she threw rises, drops and change-ups.
"Wow- are you sure about this?" Jodie whispered.
I grinned confidently and whispered as I stepped towards the batters box. "I used to play for a Tournament team. No sweat."
