Chapter 7

Things went better for me at Coolray Field on Wednesday night. I slapped two line-drive singles and a homer, and we won handlily, 8-3. After the game, I showered and dressed and headed straight for Peggy’s house, arriving around 11 p.m.

Sarah invited me in and we headed for the kitchen. She had a very attractive tuna casserole waiting, and I dug in, explaining that anything with pasta was on my list of favorite things. Sarah was easy to talk to and we got along great A little after midnight, she excused herself and, after showing me the way to the guest room, she was off to bed.

I poked around downstairs, reading the Atlanta Journal, and prepared for bed around 1 a.m. I dutifully went to sleep, hoping that somewhere in the middle of the night, I’d be awakened in the sweetest way possible by Peggy Gabriel, home from work and still feeling feisty.

She did wake me up, with her warm tongue gently massaging my already-wide-awake penis, but there was daylight showing through the edges of the windowshade.

“Oscar woke up long before you did,” Peggy told me.

“Oscar?”

“Your little friend, here. He seems to have a mind of his own.”

“Please don’t refer to Oscar as my ‘little’ friend.”

“Sorry. You’re quite right. Oscar is ... substantial.”

“What time is it?” I asked her. I could tell it was too light outside for it to be anywhere close to her anticipated 3 a.m. arrival time.

“It’s time to get up – as Oscar, here, already has realized. It’s after seven, I think. I’m not trying to start anything, by the way. This is just your friendly wakeup call. I’m really sorry, Marty, but when I got in last night from work, I was too whipped to come in and wake you. I slept in my own bed until just now.”

“Well, you warned me that could happen. But now you’ve gotten me all riled up under false pretenses. How am I going to hide this for breakfast?”

“Just think pure thoughts. Think about going three for five last night. Not too shabby, by the way!”

“You already got the word about the game?”

“Heard the recap in the car on my way home. It was kind of a turn-on, knowing our own local home run hero was at my house, sleeping.”

“But not enough of a turn-on to get you to join me in the guestroom.”

“Nope. I just didn’t have enough left in the tank. Maybe tonight, though.”

“You want me to come over again, tonight?”

“Why not? It’s nicer here than that place of yours. You and Mom can play gin rummy. Or Canasta. She likes Canasta. Do you play?”

“Mostly, I just play poker.”

“Of course. Manly game,” she said. “Tell Oscar to behave, now, and come on down for breakfast with Tad. He’s just getting started.”

After Tad and I had pancakes, bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs, all courtesy of Sarah, he kissed mom and grandma goodbye, shook my hand gravely, and went out to wait for the school bus. The three of us lingered in the kitchen with second cups of coffee.

“Mom, I’ve invited Marty to come over again tonight, if that’s okay,” Peggy said.

“No problem,” Sarah said. “But as soon as I finish my coffee, I’ve got to go run some errands. You don’t have any classes today, right? Maybe you could be here at 3:30 when Tad gets home?”

“Absolutely,” Peggy said. “I’ll probably go back to bed, catch a few more Zzzs, after Marty goes home.”

“Right,” Sarah said, getting up. “Marty, you’ll be gone before I get back, so I’ll see you tonight after your game.”

“Okay, Sarah. And thanks for breakfast – it was way better than I usually get at IHOP.”

Twenty minutes later, Sarah was out the door and going wherever she was going.

Peggy looked across the table at me. “She knows that I stood you up last night. She’s clearing out so that it won’t be awkward if we decide to have a little sunrise service.”

“Your mom’s a nice lady. And ... are we? Going to both go back to bed?”

“Remember what I said about not taking you back to bed after we’d had breakfast and Tad went off to school?”

“Yes, Ma’m,” I said.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “With Mom gone, what’s the harm, right?”

“Certainly makes sense to me,” I said.

“Can you get your ... substantial friend up again for the occasion?”

“I don’t anticipate any problems in that area at all. I think he’s waking back up, even as we speak.”

He was. And there wasn’t. Any problem.

Much later, but long before Tad was due home from school, I was gone.

Late that night, Sarah and I had another snack, drank Sleepytime Herbal Tea, and retired early to our respective beds.

As promised, Peggy woke me in the wee hours with some skillful tongue work and a sufficiency of warm moistness that, before I was fully awakened, brought almost immediate – too immediate -- gratification.

Wow! If there had been more time to contemplate the immediate future, I would have saved that orgasm for a location that would have done my lovely partner more good. Peggy, however, didn’t seem disappointed; she swallowed it all down as if it was ambrosia.

Which, I knew, it wasn’t. Not for the first time, I wondered why God couldn’t have made semen taste a little better. If it’s so damned important to us that we men have expected timeless generations of women to smile bravely and choke it down, the least Mother Nature could have done was to make it taste like apricot nectar!

But, no.

Knowing that I wouldn’t be ready for a rematch for at least a little while, I flipped Peggy over on her back and dived down to return the favor. Jesus! She was wet, ready and delicious! So why couldn’t my semen be this tasty?

By the time my ministrations began to really reach her where she lived, Peggy was pushing me away from her pulsating pussy and reaching out for a handhold on “Oscar” to consummate the transaction. Happily, by now both of us (Oscar and I) were ready to oblige.

While I was still hollering like a fool and pounding home with my desperate load, the terrible thought crossed my mind that our nine-day road trip was less than forty hours away. It wasn’t going to be practicable for me to spend another night -- Thursday night -- at Peggy’s place, even if I were invited, because the Gwinnett Braves had an early flight out of the Atlanta Airport on Friday.

I got up, wrapped a towel around my waist just in case Sarah came back early, and went down to the kitchen for cold drinks for both of us. After some pillow talk in the guestroom bed, Peggy got up, told me she was going to her own bedroom to sleep some more, and suggested that I head home and do the same.

“I have to sleep at home tonight,” I told her. “But would it be okay if I came to your bar after tonight’s game? Just to say hello before we leave town on Friday?”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Yeah, I guess it’ll be all right. I shouldn’t be too busy to talk to you a little.”

“Great! Now go get some more sleep, Gorgeous. God knows you’ve earned it!”

“You sure you want to come to the club tonight? It’s a 35-minute drive, It’ll be late, and we won’t have much time to talk.”

“I’m sure. Is it okay if I bring my friend along? Our catcher, Rollie Perkins?”

“As long as he’s over 21. Oh, and by the way, there’s a $30 cover at the door.”

“Thirty! Holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever paid a cover – even five bucks -- to go to a topless bar before!”

“It’s not quite as bad as it sounds. They give you back twenty ‘Dolly Dollars” when you come in. The catch is, the Dolly Dollars are only good for sticking into the garters of the dancers, or for tipping the bartenders. But the system helps to assure that the patrons reward the girls pretty freely for their performances, since the house money isn’t any good for anything else, and there aren’t any refunds when you leave.”

“So, do the dancers get real cash for the Dolly Dollars?”

“Yep. Dollar for Dolly Dollar. Like I said, the owners of this place treat us pretty damned good.”

“Well, I’ll treat Rollie on the cover charge, and any Dolly Dollars he’s still got when we leave, we’ll give to you. And you’ll get all twenty of mine.”

“You both might want to hang onto a few and tuck them into the dancers’ garters. There are some really foxy ladies dancing at our place.”

“What do they call this place, anyway?” I asked.

Peggy opened a drawer and extracted a handsomely printed brochure. “There’s a map. Everything you’ll need to find us is in here,” she said, handing me the document.

On the cover, it said, “WELCOME TO THE NAKED TRUTH.”

Not surprisingly, Rollie was quick to accept my first-time-ever invitation to go to a titty bar after the game.

We got lucky when our pitcher performed way over his head and blanked the visitors two-zip. I only went one-for-four and Rollie, as usual, spent the game in the bullpen with the relievers, but the game was a quickie and we were driving west in my CR-V by 10:30.