OK, so the honeymoon was over. That much was fairly obvious. I knew it would happen. I just didn't think it would happen quite so soon. We'd been married a little over a year—my second, Jake's first. I knew he loved me, and he was a wonderful father to my son, Michael. Jake just didn't seem that interested in sex anymore. No, strike that. He was interested in sex. He just wasn't interested in making love.
"Well, what do you think the problem is, Carly?"
My long-time client and friend, Lisa Quimby, looked up at me from the shampoo bowl.
She blinked as a fine spray of water misted her face. Ok, so it wasn't that fine. I grabbed a towel and blotted her face.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm not sure, but I have a pretty good idea. Baseball."
"Baseball?" Lisa looked at me quizzically.
"Yeah, he's coaching Mike's team."
I finished rinsing Lisa's hair, wrapped a towel around it, sat her up and told her to head back over to my station while I rinsed the bowl. A moment later, I removed the towel and began to comb out her hair.
"So, why is coaching a problem?" she asked.
"It's not the coaching, really. Jake's good at it, and I'm proud of him for doing it. The problem is that he's gone almost every night with practice and everything else, and then they have games on the weekends. He's also working full time. He comes home exhausted. He eats and has a shower and then passes out. When we do have sex, which isn't very often, it's usually quick and to the point. Before we got married, we couldn't keep our hands off each other, and it wasn't even all sexual, you know? I miss that. Now I get a little peck on the cheek or a slap on the ass in passing, and that's it."
"So, what are we doing with this?" I said, pointing the rattail comb at her head and meeting Lisa's gaze in the mirror.
"This." She held up a magazine open to a red carpet photo of Jessica Simpson in an evening gown, long blonde curls cascading over one shoulder. "Make me look like this."
"Oh, wait," I said to the short, round forty-something with chin-length hair. "Let me just get my magic wand." Reaching behind me, I pretended to pull the wand out of my ass.
Lisa threw her head back and laughed. "Bitch."
I grinned at her in the mirror. "So, what are we doing?"
"The usual. Just stack it a bit more in the back."
Grabbing my scissors, I set to work, sending little chunks of wet hair flying.
"So, what are you going to do about Jake?" Lisa asked.
"I don't know. Find some ways to spice things up, I guess. I mean, I'm only thirty-four. I'm not ready for a life of celibacy. I just want a little romance, you know? Some kind of emotional connection."
"Yeah. I can relate."
Our eyes met in the mirror. Shit. I sure as hell didn't want to end up like Lisa. She and her husband, Nick, hadn't had sex in years. I couldn't understand why she stayed with him.
Lisa thought for a moment and then said, "Maybe you could show more interest in stuff he likes."
"You mean like baseball? Because that seems to be pretty much the only thing he's interested in lately."
"Sure, why not? Don't you like it?"
"It's okay, I guess."
"Do you ever go to his games?" she asked.
"Yeah, I've been to a few. For Mike. Sometimes it's hard with work."
"Maybe you should go to practice sometimes during the week too. Maybe that's the only way you're going to be able to spend time with him. Mike too, you know?"
"Maybe." I was tired of talking about it. "So how's it going with Nick?"
Now it was Lisa's turn to sigh. "Oh, you know..."
My mind wandered as she continued to talk. I was good at that—keeping half my mind on what someone was saying while still being occupied with my own thoughts. Lisa stopped talking when I turned on the blow dryer. I supposed she was right. Maybe if I started making more of an effort to spend time with Jake, he'd take more interest in me.
Over the next couple weeks, I did just that. I started going to practices two or three times a week. Jake didn't comment on my presence but didn't seem displeased by it. Sometimes, I'd bring snacks or drinks. I'd sit on the bench and watch or sometimes chat with the boys. Mike always seemed happy to see me there, especially if I brought food.
There was one boy in particular whom I really enjoyed. Brian Nutter. God, he was adorable. Tall and muscular with blue eyes and blond hair and dimples—an angel child. He was usually sitting on the bench, so we talked quite a bit during my visits. Intelligent and personable, he'd always greet me with "Hey, Mrs. Peters," his cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. It had been a long time since a boy had had a crush on me, and I thought it was very sweet. At some point, Jake became aware of the situation with Brian and began calling him my "little boyfriend."
"He thinks you're a MILF," Jake, always the smart ass, said one night over dinner.
"Shut up!" I giggled, lobbing my pizza crust at him, hitting him on the shoulder.
He just laughed.
"Who?" Mike asked.
"Brian Nutter," replied Jake.
"I said shut up," I barked with a pointed glare in Jake's direction.
"Mom's got a crush on the Nutter?"
Now Mike was laughing too.
"Michael." I aimed the warning glare his way.
"Naw, Nutter Butter's got a crush on her. He likes older women, apparently." Jake grinned and winked at me.
"No shit? Oops." Mike blushed and looked down at his plate.
"Michael, do I need to get a bar of soap? It's been a while, but I'm sure I haven't lost my touch."
"Sorry, Mom. It slipped."
"Don't let it happen again."
I hoped this little digression would deter Jake from continuing with the Brian thing. No such luck.
"You love it, don't you honey? You're not fooling me."
"Love what, Jake?"
"All those young boys slobbering after you, staring at your boobs. All that."
Mike was laughing again, relieved, I'm sure, to have the attention deflected from his little faux pas.
"Yeah, Mom. They do think you're hot." He paused to roll his eyes. "Don't they know how old you are? Jeez."
Jake roared at this and slapped Mike on the back. Feigning annoyance, I stood and began to clear the table.
"Aw, c'mon, Carly." Jake made a grab for me, which I neatly sidestepped on my way to the sink. "We're just kidding." When I didn't reply, he said, "Hey, maybe Nutter will ask you to the prom when the time comes."
More laughter. Mike was practically rolling on the floor.
"That's fine," I declared. "You two just go ahead and yuk it up at my expense."
With that, I slammed the dishwasher shut and walked out of the room amidst more laughter.
"My mom, the cradle robber," I heard Mike say just before I was out of earshot.
I wasn't really mad, though I wished Jake hadn't said all that in front of my son. I decided to have a talk with Mike later about not repeating stuff he heard inside our home.
While the guys watched TV, I took a shower, shaved my legs, slathered on moisturizer, and styled my hair into soft brown curls. I slipped into one of Jake's white dress shirts and nothing else. The tails were long enough to hide my nakedness. When Mike came in to say good night, I was propped against some pillows in bed reading a book. As he leaned down to kiss my cheek, I grabbed his arm.
"Listen, you know better than to repeat any of that dinnertime conversation outside of this house, right?"
He rolled his eyes and pulled away.
He was on his way through the doorway and turned back.
"I'm not a baby, Mom. Stop treating me like one."
I checked myself from telling him to stop acting like one and sighed, returning to my book.
A half hour later, Jake came into the bedroom, fresh from the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. He grinned when he saw that I was wearing his shirt, a particular turn on for him, and flopped down next to me.
"I thought you were mad at me," he murmured, stroking his fingers up my leg toward my crotch.
Kicking his hand away, I said, "I am mad at you," and returned my eyes to my book, trying not to smile.
"Why? You know it's true."
"What's true, Jake?"
"That Nutter has the hots for you."
"Oh, stop it. He's just a kid, and it's just a little crush."
"So, you admit it."
"Why'd you have to bring it up in front of Mike?"
"I don't know. Because it's funny, I guess."
He pulled his towel off and tried to push my legs apart.
"I'm trying to read."
He grabbed the book and tossed it on the floor.
"You can read anytime."
"I want to read now," I said, leaning down and reaching for the book.
Unfortunately, this also revealed that I wasn't wearing panties, lending credence to Jake's assertion that I did not, in fact, want to read. He laughed at me again, of course. Now I was really getting annoyed. His plan of attack, apparently, was to ignore my protestations, because he slid his hands down my legs and back up and pressed a wet kiss to my upper thigh.
"Mmmm, you smell good," he growled, and nipped my skin with his teeth.
"Ouch! Stop it."
After some ineffectual struggling on my part, Jake wrapped his big arms around me and nuzzled my neck. He knew he could get to me that way, but I gritted my teeth, determined not to respond. After a while, just as my resolve was about to crumble, he stopped and sat up.
"Maybe you'd be more interested in your little boyfriend, huh?"
That comment earned him an elbow in the ribs.
"Gross! Just stop it. He's a kid, for fuck's sake. But you know what? It really is nice to have someone pay attention to me once in a while. Someone who's not grabbing for my crotch first thing."
I thought maybe I'd gone too far until I looked up at his face and saw the amused grin, the twinkling blue eyes. No pussy for you tonight, mister, I thought. Looking pointedly down at his erect cock and back up to his face, I grinned myself. I had him.
"Ah, so you do like him," Jake said, nodding and making a play for my crotch again.
"He is awfully cute." I shrugged and slapped Jake's hand away. "Too bad you never let him play."
Never one to shrink from talking baseball, even in the grip of arousal, Jake said, "Brian's a great kid. Good attitude. He's always begging me, 'Put me in coach. Put me in.' But..."
"He gets to first base about as much as I do."
Jake thought this was a great joke and chuckled at his own wittiness. He leaned close again and flicked the tip of his tongue in my ear.
I rolled my eyes.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means he can't hit."
Crossing my arms, I said, "Maybe the problem's really with you."
Jake raised his eyebrows.
"Are we still talking about Nutter?"
"Yeah. Maybe he just needs better coaching. Maybe," I paused for emphasis. "Maybe he needs to learn to take his time and think about what he's doing."
"Mm-hmm," Jake hummed against my ear and sucked my earlobe into his mouth.
"He gets the same coaching everyone else does. I can't help it he can't hit."
Jake ran the tip of his tongue along my jaw line to my lips and kissed me long and hard, forcing his tongue between my lips. I sucked it hard while running my hands down his back and squeezing his ass, delighting in his moan of pleasure. Then, I pulled back.
"I'll tell you what, Jake. When Brian gets to first base, you'll get to first base. How's that? And if he hits really well, he could get to second base, or third base, or even home, right?"
"Honey, the kid's not going to be hitting for power," he whined. "He'll be lucky to hit singles."
He had surrendered. I decided to be magnanimous in victory.
"Well, you'll just have to make sure he gets into — what do you call it, scoring position?"
"You know that we're contending for the league title this year. It's not going to be fair to the other guys for me to just stick Brian in."
"If you teach him to hit, you might put him in more, right?"
"It's possible," he admitted. "Although he's kind of a liability in the field, too."
"Still," I said, "you're not about to rule it out."
He moved toward me again and I felt his breath in my ear.
"Oh no, fella," I said, slapping him on his thigh. "You just struck out. I hear it happens to the even the best hitters. Keep practicing, though."
I returned to my book, a smile dancing on my lips. I could already feel a tingle between my legs. This was going to be fun.
Poor Michael was caught in the middle. He came home exhausted from practice one day and while Jake went down to collect the empty trash cans at the end of the driveway, I quizzed him about the team's workouts.
"Man, it's like Jake is like, like..."
"Obsessed?" I asked.
"Yeah. Obsessed with the championship. Can't you talk to him?"
"Me? Talk to him about baseball? I don't think so, honey. What do the other guys think?"
He rolled his eyes and I laughed.
"Sweetie, you've won a title before but most of these guys haven't, have they?"
"So they're pretty pumped, aren't they? Maybe I need to talk to you. This might be their big chance. Jake doesn't want to let them down."
"I guess. But if he thinks he's gonna get Nutter to hit, he can think again. He couldn't even hit in T-ball."
"Now, be nice," I told him. "You know you don't want to let them down either, right?"
"I guess," he repeated.
"That's my boy," I said as I ruffled his hair. "Now go take a shower and I'll make your favorite for dinner."
"Cheese dogs? All right!"
"Cheese dogs?" Jake asked when he saw me preparing dinner a few minutes later. "What did I do now?"
I shook my head.
"Mike says you'll never get Brian to hit. I figured this is the last wiener I might get 'til the end of the summer. Practice must be pretty hard for you too, huh?"
I took one of the frozen hot dogs lying on the counter and pretended to deep throat it. Jake growled and headed for a shower of his own. It was all I could do not to break out laughing. But I was tingling again.
The season started the following week. Michael had a big smile after the first game. He had pitched the White Sox to an easy 10-2 win. He was smiling after the second game too. Jimmy Cox had pitched. Michael had played centerfield and had hit two home runs in a 9-1 win.
The week after that, though, both of my men were smiling when they came home after the game. Jake, in fact, had a very odd leer on his face.
"How'd it go?" I asked in all innocence.
"Easy-peasy," Mike said. "Eight to nothing."
"Take a look," Jake said. He tossed a book onto the kitchen counter.
I glanced down at it.
"This is gibberish," I pointed out.
"Mom!" You would think I had just asked my son to pose for a picture with his grandparents. "It's a scorecard."
"A scorecard?" I asked.
"It's got everything that happened in the game," Jake said. "Show her what happened in — oh, I don't know, the fifth inning, Mike."
"See, Mom?" Mike pointed to some of the gibberish. "Top of the fifth. I got the first guy, their third baseman, to ground out to the second baseman. That's scored four to three.
"Four to three?"
"The second baseman is 'four, ' and the first baseman is 'three.'"
He shook his head. Mothers were just so useless sometimes.
"So the second guy was their pitcher. He struck out. That goes as a 'K.' And then their shortstop struck out. Another 'K.' Three up, three down."
"And the bottom of the fifth?" Jake prompted.
Mike gave him a puzzled look. She couldn't possibly be interested in that. But he shrugged and turned the notebook over to another page filled with similar hieroglyphics.
"We batted in the bottom of the fifth. Andy struck out and Jimmy got to first on an error. Then Brian hit into a fielder's choice. And then —"
"Brian Nutter?" I asked.
"Yeah. A real slow roller to the shortstop. If Jimmy hadn't tripped, he would have been safe at second."
"So what's a fielder's choice?" I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
"Their shortstop had a play at second or first," Mike explained, "and he chooses to get the out at second. Six to four."
"So this symbol here means that..."
"Brian's on first," Mike said. "You know, if you're this interested, Mom, you should really come to the next game."
"The boys love having you there," Jake said.
"Don't remind me," Mike said. "'Wow, is that your mom?' I mean, it's not like you're twenty or anything."
Jake and I both stifled laughs as Mike returned his attention to the book.
"So anyway, Joey Bush pops out for the third out. And at the end of that inning the score was us six and them nothing. See? Right there."
"I see," I said.
I felt Jake's hand on my ass as he slid by me to head for the showers.
"First base, babe," he whispered into my ear.
Jake found me later sitting on the couch in the family room watching TV after Mike had gone to bed. Squeezing in beside me, he took the remote from my hand, clicked off the TV, and tossed it on the coffee table.
I closed my eyes, breathless and aching in anticipation, as Jake wrapped an arm around my shoulders and brushed his lips against mine. Then his lips claimed mine again, longer this time, pressing harder, sucking slightly. I remembered our first kiss and wondered if you can ever really go back there, back to that starting place, once you've gone so far beyond.
Our lips parted, tongues dancing, tasting, entwining. Jake kept his arm around my shoulders, his other hand cupping the side of my neck, the thumb stroking slowly up and down under my jaw. The kisses deepened even more, until it was hard to tell where my flesh ended and where Jake's began. My fingers curled in his hair as he kissed my neck.
"Oh, God, I've missed this," I murmured, eyes closed, head lying against the back of the sofa.
"Mmmm. Kissing?" Jake asked against my throat.
He lifted his head and looked at me.
"I kiss you."
"Not like this," I whispered.
Jake gazed into my eyes a moment longer. What was that look I saw? Sadness? Regret? I didn't have time to dwell on it because he dipped his head and captured my bottom lip between his own, holding it there, stroking the tip of his tongue over it. Releasing it with a delicious little pinch of his own lips, he caught it again, this time in a full kiss, sliding his tongue over my tingling and swollen lower lip and into the wet cavern of my mouth.
We must've kissed for hours, with Jake showing admirable restraint, the likes of which I'd never seen before. It reminded me of being in high school, when I'd had marathon make-out sessions with my boyfriends, never crossing that invisible line between bases. Afterward, I'd stare at myself in the mirror, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, red lips looking raw and engorged, the surrounding skin pink with beard burn, wondering when I'd let him go further. Wanting to but being afraid.
When Jake reached for my breasts, I pulled away slightly.
"Hey, I thought first base was French kissing," I murmured, my voice thick with desire.
Jake smiled. "Things have changed, love. First base is now kissing and fondling over clothes."
When I looked doubtful, he said, "What? You don't trust me? I Wiki'd it. I swear." He laughed. "I knew you'd question me, so I wanted to be sure. Second base is hand jobs, third is oral, and home is ... well, home."
"You've got it all figured out then." I grinned.
"Mm-hmmm," he hummed against my lips.
I found myself unable to stay away from the games from then on. For the most part, Brian didn't get in, but not for lack of coaching. Mike reported that even with the season halfway over, Jake was still drilling the team in hitting and fielding.
Brian did make it into the late innings of a rout of the Cardinals and hit a long fly to right field that had Jake screaming, "Get out of here, ball!" It settled into the right fielder's glove, but Jake turned to me afterward and gave me a thumbs up. I felt myself squirming in my seat.
The game after that was the first one we lost. Brian once again got to play in the late innings because the Tigers were ahead by eight. With two outs in the sixth, he hit a rocket over the first baseman's head. The boys were all on their feet. It was his first true hit of the year. I found myself disappointed when he stopped at first. It looked to me like it wouldn't have even been close at second. Damn that first base coach.
But the very next pitch bounced in the dirt in front of the catcher and skipped past him to the backstop.
"Go!" the first base coach screamed. Brian didn't need any encouragement, though. He was already headed toward second. I was standing on my feet in the bleachers screaming my head off.
"Go, go, go! Way to go, Bri! Way to take that extra base! Scoring position, baby!"
I sat down and recognized Brian's parents staring at me.
"Hi," I said, holding out my hand. "I'm Carly Peters. My husband Jake is the coach and my son Michael is the pitcher. All the boys are really excited to see Brian doing so well."
His mother smiled.
"He's like a whole new kid this year," she said. "Your husband is doing a fantastic job with him."
"He does love the game," I agreed, not needing to hide my smile.
It was probably fortunate for any future relationship I was going to have with Mr. and Mrs. Nutter that Alex Poke grounded out to the pitcher for the third out. That evening, we let Michael go off to the movies with some of his friends. It was the least that we could do to help with the pain of their first loss.
Jake seemed a little subdued during dinner. After straightening up the kitchen, I found him sitting in the family room reading the newspaper.
"Hmm?" He looked up absently.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
He grinned and folded the paper, letting it slide to the floor.
Straddling his legs, I sunk down on his lap, resting my hands on his shoulders.
"You okay?" I asked.
"You just seem kind of quiet."
"About the game?"
"Yeah." He sighed. "Wondering what I could've done better. I don't like losing either."
"Oh, honey." I leaned forward and kissed him. "You did your best. You can't win every time."
"Why not?" The grin was back.
"It doesn't work that way. I think I can make you forget all about it though." I kissed him again, deeper this time, fluttering the tip of my tongue across his lips. "For a little while, anyway."
"I bet you can," he whispered, wrapping his arms around my waist, drawing me closer.
"I know I can." I giggled, settling myself against that hard package in his pants.
The kisses quickly became hot and passionate, searing a path straight to my pussy, where the liquid warmth melted and ran out of me. I reached for the hem of Jake's t-shirt and jerked it up and over his head, while he fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, finally tearing it. A button shot across the room and hit the wall.
"Jake," I gasped.
His mouth was on my neck, open and hungry, the ruined blouse all but forgotten on the floor. I loved the rasp of his razor stubble over my skin as he kissed and licked and sucked his way down my chest to the cleft between my breasts. His tongue pushed into it, and a low growl erupted from his throat. He slid his hands up my sides to push my abundant mounds together, rubbing his face against my flesh before pressing his hot mouth to a turgid nipple, wetting the lace of my bra with his tongue. Sharp teeth clamped tight around the aching bud and pulled.
Reaching behind me, I released the hooks on my bra and shrugged out of it, tossing it aside. Jake's mouth was on me again in a flash, his mouth open wide, sucking in a considerable amount of flesh, and then scraping his teeth over it as he released it. I held his head with both hands—held on for dear life, rocking and grinding against his hardness, my orgasm imminent. He switched to the other nipple, suckling like a hungry baby, then clamped down on it hard and shook his head back and forth, pushing me over the edge. My back arched, and my body quivered as waves of intense pleasure overtook me.
When I opened my eyes, Jake was gazing at me, his breath shallow and quick, eyelids heavy, as his head rested against the back of the chair.
"Wow," I whispered and kissed his lips.
Jake's hands clasped my ass and squeezed as my hands slipped down his chest, and my mouth devoured his neck. I slipped off his lap to kneel on the floor between his legs. My lips and tongue and teeth worked over his skin all the while, my hands squeezing and rubbing his crotch.
"Oh, yeah, baby," he groaned as I opened his pants, and his stiff cock sprang out, thick and heavy in my hand.
A bead of precum sat poised on the head, and I dipped the tip of my finger into it and rubbed it around the soft skin. Jake slouched further in his chair and watched me as I touched the tip of my tongue to his essence on my finger, swirled it around, and then sucked my finger into my mouth.
"Carly," he murmured and closed his eyes.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a sample packet of strawberry-flavored lube that I'd been saving and tore it open with my teeth. Squeezing a generous amount into my palm, I rubbed my hands together to warm it. Jake's cock lay curved up against his belly, and I wrapped both hands around the base with a gentle squeeze and pulled out to the tip, coating it with the viscous fluid.
The lube packet claimed to be water soluble and non-staining, which I sincerely hoped was true. I squeezed more out onto my palm, rubbed my hands together again, and slipped them under Jake's balls, squeezing and massaging his sac. My gooey fingers slid back further to rub his taint, while the other hand began to stroke his shaft. His hips jerked, and he moaned and gasped. I felt his balls tighten against my hand and draw up, the skin shriveling, and I knew he was close.
"Come on, baby. Come for me. I want it. It's mine. Give it to me," I urged, continuing to pump my hand up and down his shaft.
After a final squeeze to his testicles, I pulled my hand out from underneath, and stroked his cock with both hands. Jake arched his back, and wrapped both his hands around my slick ones on his cock. With a loud cry, he erupted, stream after stream of semen flying into the air and showering us both.
Just as Jake was recovering, and I was attempting to dab up some spatters of cum with my ruined blouse, we heard the front door opening and Mike calling his thanks and good night.
"Fuck!" Jake whispered, frantically pulling his pants up while I grabbed for our clothes. We both made a run for our bedroom, reaching it just in time and closing the door. I leaned against it, panting for breath.