Rounding the Bases

THE BUNT

In the VIP room, I said the wrong thing to her, as is always my fatal flaw in all of my come-ons. But she misunderstood me. Thank God! I mean, I don't know what she thought she heard, but I wasn't into diagramming sentences. And what she thought she had heard was the right thing, apparently.

She told me I was a great kisser.

I thought about baseball. She was a great pitcher, with never a wrong thing said, especially that compliment. Compliments come few and far between, so when a pitcher throws one, I swing, I connect, and I scramble. So there I was, safe at first base.

STEALING SECOND BASE

This distraction allowed me to cop an outside feel. I surveyed the bases, and I assessed the weak links in the field. I kneaded her breasts like a hungry baker with dough. She liked it. She allowed the steal.

THIRD BASE

Emboldened, I wondered if I was moving too fast. But then, after all, she was a sex-worker. Her bust was full, and so were her lips. I synchronized my "great" kissing with my handwork. It was great teamwork.

My fingerprints were all over her skin, everywhere—so much that if there were any foul play (foul balls?), I'd be a person-of-interest, for sure.

Ten fingers. One tongue. The rest of my team was playing ball like a well-oiled machine. Ten fingerprints, ten simultaneous moans. She had been in control, but somewhere she dropped the ball. Her error, my opportunity. I didn't want just a popup, so I thought about baseball. Guys, you know what I mean. Just baseball.

I dropped my pants.

HOME

It was a great line drive, but she rejected my play. I had gotten greedy and dared too much. But then another man peaked in. It was my wingman. He wanted in. He would catch the ball for her, to throw me out. I should have traded him when I had the chance!

He had heard what I had told her to get her out into her bullpen, so he repeated it. The very thing she had misunderstood.

This time, she heard it right.

She became enraged. She threw him out. And as if to seal the rejection, she dropped her pants, too. I scored!

While I knew what she had heard—correctly—from my wingman, which was his unintended sacrifice, I must figure out what she thought she had heard from me—incorrectly. No team motto is worth its salt if it doesn't drive the runs home.