Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Sports, First, Safe Sex, .
Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is a coming-of-age story about two baseball players, Janet Jones and Tommy Craft. Janet is an outstanding knuckleball pitcher and Tommy is her catcher; he is also an outstanding hitter. This is their story through middle school and high school. They both want to play Major League baseball. This is how they begin their preparation for their dream. There is a lot of sex, but it is tied into the plot. The story is told in 10 chapters.
My Dad, Harold Jones, Hal to his friends, was a jock. There was just no other way to phrase it. I guess that was why it seemed so odd for him to be such a successful CPA. He had played the three popular male sports, baseball, basketball, and football almost from the time he could walk—well, let's say from the time he could get on a team. He even had hopes of becoming a pro athlete, but a football accident his senior year put an end to those thoughts. That was before the wonders of modern medicine, so he wound up with a permanently damaged left knee.
However, that did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm for sports or his plans for his son to do the things that he could not do. Then I came along as the first child. Something happened to Mom when I was born, and several doctors recommended that she not have any more children. That was devastating to both of my parents, but they learned to live with me as being their only progeny. Therefore, I was both pampered and pushed as each parent expressed her or his personality upon me.
Sure, Dad had wanted a son, but it only took a very little thought to realize that girls, too, could be athletes. We of my gender just had to specialize within our natural assets. Dad considered pushing me toward tennis or golf or something like that, but his heart was just not in it. He decided that I stood no chance of making it in football, so that was dropped immediately. For him, that left baseball or basketball.
As I grew, he had me shooting hoops to test and condition me for a possible career in basketball, but he decided that I was just too short to become a star basketball player. That may have been because he was looking at things from the NBA point of view and not considering the requirements of the WNBA. We both knew that he was the victim of gender bias, but we got over that, too.
In any case, the result was that Dad decided that I should pursue baseball. Softball was ruled out as not paying enough, and he thought that I could break into men's pro baseball if I was careful in choosing my specialty. Dad's rational was that the current social situation would force MLB to accept women players if we were good enough to beat men at their own game.
Further thought pushed him toward grooming me as a pitcher. I did not have the upper body strength to be a power hitter, so he rejected the idea of having me become an outfielder. He believed that I did not have the arm strength to become a catcher, third baseman, or shortstop, but I could be a second baseman without too much strain. He also concluded that I was not tall enough for a first baseman. Therefore, he concentrated on me becoming a pitcher or second baseman.
It turned out that I had above normal hand-eye coordination, so I could hit a baseball that was anywhere near the strike zone. Sure, I was not going to hit many homeruns, but I sure could hit singles and doubles, and I was fast enough on my feet to bunt like crazy. Therefore, I could do well as a leadoff hitter. That now became the family game plan. Mom was kind of submissive and went along with anything Dad wanted to do.
Dad found a local man who could teach me to pitch, and Dad hired him to be my personal coach. Mr. Johnson taught me how to throw a fastball, but he refused to allow me to throw a curve until I was older. His point was that throwing a curve before my arm was fully developed could damage it, and Dad was all for that idea. A good fastball was fine for kids' games, but it was death to a pro career if it was my only pitch.
It happened that Mr. Johnson was a master of the knuckleball which he liked to call the "flutterball." He asserted that the reason so many males had trouble throwing the flutterball was because they tried to throw it too hard. He insisted that a flutterball thrown too hard was just a lousy fastball. Fortunately, early on in my development, my hand was large enough to hold a baseball properly for the knuckleball. Thus, I concentrated on learning the proper techniques for throwing the flutterball and the fastball.
By the time I reached the age of 9 and was eligible for Little League, I had mastered the fastball and the flutterball. In fact, I was so good at throwing the flutterball that the fastball became my change-up pitch. Let me tell you, that confused the batters no end.
I was not the only girl to show up for tryouts for a Little League team, but the coaches were all men, and they didn't want to bother with girls. I was the exception. I could hit better than 90% of the boys who wanted to play, I was very good at second base, and I could pitch like none of the other candidates. Still, most of the coaches didn't want to bother with me and what they anticipated as the problems of having a girl on the team. Fortunately, one coach, Mr. Forbes, could see my potential as a winner, and that matched his personality. Mr. Forbes wanted to win the city championship, a feat he had never before had the team to do.
Fortunately, Mr. Forbes had a fair team to begin with, and he had some spots left to fill. Those spots were two pitchers, a catcher, a second baseman, and a right fielder. I was very lucky in that the catcher didn't know what a flutterball was, so he did not mind trying to catch it. Tommy Craft and I were the same age, so we would be eligible for the team for the same three years. That was going to make things easier for me in several ways.
Our league used the DH (Designated Hitter), and that became my position whenever I was not playing second base. Normally, the DH substituted as batter for the weakest hitter on the team so that I got to play in every game. With only two six-inning games a week, that was not too much of a load to put on me. I was anxious to play at every chance because I had inherited my Dad's compulsion to compete and excel. The League officials were not too happy with so much of a load being put on me, especially as I was a girl, but Mr. Forbes pointed out that other teams had been doing this for years, so he won the argument.
We didn't say anything to anybody about it, but Tommy and I met for a couple of hours every day for practice with the flutterball. The ball I threw did flutter unpredictably all over the place, so it was very difficult to catch. However, with practice, Tommy got very good and rarely surrendered a passed ball. Mr. Forbes did do a bit of gamesmanship and have the backstop moved as close to home plate as the rules would allow so that Tommy had less space to chase those few missed balls. His argument to the League was that the position of catcher was hard enough to play, and this should put less strain on young bodies. He won that argument, too.
Originally, I was going to be a relief pitcher, since that was the traditional job of a knuckleball pitcher. Our first game was a disaster for the first two innings. Our pitcher, a second-year boy just could not get the ball over the plate. He walked six batters in the first inning and gave up a double and a homerun. Only some outstanding infield play got us out of the inning. We were down 7-0 before we ever came to bat. The major problem was the "mercy rule" in which a game was called if one team managed to get a 10 run lead.
Well, we managed to get the bases loaded in our half of the inning and to hit a triple to push the score to 7-3. That took some of the pressure off, but our starting pitcher gave up three more runs to cancel out those that we had managed to get in our half of the first inning. It looked like we were doomed, but Mr. Forbes was not about to give up. He put me in to pitch with nobody out in the second inning and a runner on third base. Mr. Forbes ordered me to throw nothing but fastballs because he was afraid of a passed ball if I used the flutterball.
I did manage to strike out the side with my fastball because the batters were just not used to seeing a pitch moving that fast. I had been timed a 63 MPH (Miles Per Hour) during practice, and that was much faster than the common Little League pitch. My flutterball ran about 45 MPH, which was usual for our league. Okay, we got out of that inning with the opposition runner dying on third base.
I was congratulated by everyone on the team except the pulled pitcher. He was off by himself crying because of his terrible performance. He was sure that he was going to be thrown off the team. I tried to reassure him, but I didn't have much luck.
I was batting second in this inning because it was traditional for the pitcher to be the last batter. I was the DH for the pitcher, so nothing changed on that count. Our first batter hit a single so there was a base runner in front of me. Well, I figured that the other team was expecting a double play—the runner had to stay on the base until the batter actually hit the ball or until the ball crossed the plate.
I wanted to see what the pitcher had in his repertoire so I took the first pitch. It was a strike. Uh-oh, this kid was serious. I changed my outlook then and decided to swing if the next pitch was decent. It was a ball. I figured that the pitcher was going to aim the next pitch right down the middle of the strike zone because he wanted to strike out this girl. His machismo was going to be his undoing.
The ball, another fastball, came flying in at about 40-45 MPH and it was a setup for me. I swung with all of my power and got in a lucky hit. The ball went over the fence and we got two runs from my effort. That perked up the whole team and I was roundly congratulated. We failed to score any more runs before the inning was over. The score was now 10-5, and we had only four more innings to make up the deficit. It was doable, but we had to keep the other team in check.
I went out to pitch the third inning, and I used my fastball exclusively. That was my undoing! I gave up three runs, and they left a batter on first base. I was able to rest during much of our phase of the third inning, but I came up with two men on base and two out. I got a real surprise because the pitcher threw the first pitch directly at my hip. It must have been in retaliation for my homerun. The umpire agreed with me that the pitch had been a deliberate effort to hit me, so, by rule, he was thrown out of the game. The opposing coaches were warned about such flagrant disregard of the rules and good sportsmanship, and a new pitcher was called in to warm up.
He was starting out at a minor disadvantage with one ball already on the count, but this kid was made of sterner stuff. His first pitch was a strike which I took because I was not as alert as I should have been. However, the next pitch was hittable and I drove it over the second baseman's head into right-center field. The outfielders seemed to be asleep and were slow to chase the ball which rolled to the fence. I was on second base with a double, and the two runners already on base had scored. That made the score 13-7, but we were not finished.
We suddenly got hot in that dreaded two-out rally that all baseball players love and hate, depending on their point of view at the time. By the time the third out was made, we scored another three runs, and the score was 13-10. Oh, Man, we now had a chance! Three more runs in three innings if we could only hold the other team from scoring.
I had asked for permission to use my flutterball, and Mr. Forbes was so elated at my results, he agreed to allow it. I talked to Tommy and arranged a signal for when I was going to throw it so that he would not be crossed up. My first couple of pitches were my fastball since I'd had a little time to rest, and the batter fouled them off. Uh-oh, were they catching up to me? I signaled Tommy to look for a flutterball and threw it. The batter saw the ball coming in, but he was frozen in place because this was the first such pitch that he had ever seen. The umpire called it a strike, and the batter was out. One down and two to go. I decided to save the flutterball for when it was really needed and threw nothing but fastballs to the next batter. He struck out swinging on four pitches, and things were looking up.
The next batter was their best at getting hits, though he was not much for power. I worked him to two balls and two strikes, and it was time for my flutterball. He got very lucky and hit the ball, but it went nearly straight up behind home plate. Tommy managed to catch the ball, and we were out of the inning with no change in the score.
We needed three runs to tie the game, and I was hoping that this would be the inning for it. Darn it, the third inning for us was a great disappointment for me. So, this was now the fourth inning, and my arm was starting to feel tired. I was going to have to concentrate on flutterballs if I were going to keep my edge. I called time and gestured for Tommy to join me at the pitcher's rubber. (There is no mound in Little League.) I told him my problem, and he agreed that now was the time to go for 100% flutterballs.
The first batter went down on three pitches. He just could not cope with the erratic way the ball was moving. The second batter managed to hit the ball to third base, but he was thrown out at first. The third batter struck out on five pitches because the umpire missed a couple. Oh, well, at least he was out.
It was now our turn at bat, and we still needed only three runs to tie the game, four runs to win. This time, the bases were loaded with one out when I came to bat. Okay, I admit it, I was trying too hard. I swung at a pitch that should have been a homerun ball, but I only hit a long fly to center field. It was caught for the out, but two runs scored; the last one because the kid running the bases ignored the third base coach and did not stop when told to. He would have been out at home if the catcher had not dropped the ball in his excitement. That was two of the three runs we needed for the tie, but the next batter struck out, so we had to settle for a score of 13-12.
The fifth inning came up and I went back in to pitch. I was forced to stick to flutterballs because of my tired arm. Darn it, I would not be in trouble if I had been pitching flutterballs from the first. I had to remember to tell that to Mr. Forbes. Anyway, we got through the fifth inning with no runs scored by either side.
The sixth inning was to be the last unless we could tie the game or win it. A tie would call for a seventh inning, but that would be the last one by rule, no matter what the score. A pitcher was nominally limited to pitching six innings in a week, but there was no problem for me, since I had not pitched the first inning.
I could tell that my arm was giving out because I was having trouble throwing the flutterball for strikes. These outs were made by our infield because of weak hits, but they were hits. I was just not getting the movement from the ball that I had during the first inning that I had used it. We did get by with no runs scored, so it was up to us to score at least one run in our turn at bat, and one more if we could manage it.
Here we go again. There was one out and a runner on third base when it came my turn to bat. I got the sign from Mr. Forbes to bunt. He knew that my arm was tired, and he was trying to get one more inning from it if he could. Thus, he called for the bunt. Well, I knew we had to have this potential run, so I took it upon myself to try a drag bunt toward first base. If I worked it right, the runner would score, and I would safely make it to first. That would tie the game, and maybe one of the next batters could drive me home for the winning score.
Anyway, the other team was kind of expecting a bunt, and the third baseman was playing in to field it. I knew that if I hit the ball to him, the runner was dead meat at home, and we would probably lose the game. Therefore, my original idea of a drag bunt seemed to be the best choice. The first pitch was so far out of reach that it came close to a passed ball. That was how excited the pitcher was.
The next pitch was in a good place, and all of my practice with bunts paid off. I managed to drag it down the first base line just fair, and the pitcher ran for it. Again, he was so excited that he not only dropped the ball when he tried to pick it up, but he ran into me while I was in the baseline. That meant the run scored to tie the game, and I was awarded first base by the umpire.
The next man up, our lead-off hitter managed to hit a double that allowed me to score. We won by a score of 14-13!
Hey, everybody, I just realized that I was the winner of the first baseball game I ever pitched! Mom and Dad were at the game, and so was Mr. Johnson. All of the team was very excited, and so was Mr. Forbes. After congratulations all around, Dad suggested that we go for ice cream. He even included the other team in the invitation, and there was a mass migration to the nearest mall with an ice cream stand. Every male and I went for a triple dip, but the women settled for the smaller double dip. Anyway, a grand time was had by all, and the sting from losing the game was muted in the other team.