Early in the second semester of her second year of college, when she had fully recovered from her injuries, at least physically, Vixen decided to get out more and meet some new people. On this sunny March afternoon she was sitting behind home plate and watching the school's softball team practice and enjoying the day. Three members of the volleyball team she had been part of were trying out for the squad, females she knew and liked.
The white-haired coach left the batting practice and came to sit beside her, smiling. "Somebody told me you could pitch." He lifted an eyebrow. "That so?"
"Long time ago, at this private school when I was twelve, maybe thirteen. Everybody had to do sports, all the team sports, three a year." She wondered how he had found out, but knew people talked about her and her many lovers. There were rumors of lurid videos and deviant sexual practices that she studiously ignored. And there might even be a girl here from that expensive school.
"And you pitched?"
"Some." She nodded and remembered telling one of the guy's from the men's baseball team about her rising fast ball when she was a freshman. She smiled and wiggled recalling him in bed. He was hard to satisfy.
"We need a pitcher. The girl we had last year quit, claims her parents don't want her to play. She's a senior now, pre-med. She was good, a lefty." He rubbed his chin. "As you can see, that one throws just lollypops." He nodded toward the field.
Vixen nodded. "Is she throwing hard?"
"Hard as she can, and she doesn't want to do it."
"OK," Vixen said, "but I've got a part-time job, day-care, almost every afternoon." She licked her lips, thinking of the dean and skinny Jim, her other part-time chores. She was, she decided, going to throw Jim out pretty soon. He was ready to find his own lovers.
"We can work something out. Don't have any scholarships, but we've job some jobs. Tutoring, that kind of thing, ten an hour. A few bucks anyhow."
Vixen sighed and thought about it, leaning back, mouth pursed. "OK, I'll try, but it's been two or three years, maybe more."
"Come on," he said. "Get out there. I'll lend you my glove."
The young woman throwing batting practice tossed Vixen the ball and said, "Thanks," and then trotted away.
She bounced the ball on the rubber, wondered why she was doing this, took a deep breath and put her feet in position beside each other and held the ball and gloved hand out before her. It all came back, muscle memory, and she smiled. She could do it without thinking.
Vixen touched the ball to her borrowed glove, fixed her eyes on the catcher's mitt, took a long stride, rotated her arm high above her head, pushed off on her toes and fired a fastball from beside her knee finishing up in fielding position as she had been taught. The sound it made pleased her, a solid smack. The batter had jumped away.
"Ease up, it's batting practice," yelled the coach.
She smiled at him and nodded.
An hour or so later she sat in the coach's office and filled out some forms, still falsifying her age. He found her a uniform including some sliders and socks and asked about shoes.
"I've got some old soccer shoes and some beat up trainers."
"They'll do, either one, but you ought to get some cleats and get a toe guard when you do. Bring me the receipt, and we'll reimburse you."
"You use drugs?"
"Not much, not often." She smiled, glad it was true.
She nodded as a tall young man entered the office. The coach introduced him as Ralph Miller, his assistant, a new hire. Vixen smiled at him, and he shook her hand and grinned, feeling his prick quiver.
"Take her out and get her a glove and some shoes, with a toe guard. Use your card, get the discount and a receipt." The coach smiled at Vixen. "Go on with him; he's harmless."
"Harmless?" Vixen asked as she belted herself into the man's old Ford Escort.
"He means he's given me the lecture. Don't hump the students; that's the rule, but there sure are some pretty girls around." He grinned at her. "Lot's a'temptation."
Vixen smiled thinking about her randy art teacher and the dean. "Guess it depends," she said. "You married?"
"Nope. This is my first real job. Been drawing unemployment for a couple of months. Got out of Rutgers last year. Linebacker for a couple of years."
They talked sports and Vixen said all she could throw was a fastball. "It rises most of the time, but I never learned to throw a curve."
"Maybe I can help. My sister pitched." He smiled at her and felt excited, aroused.
At the sporting goods store, with the young coach's advice, she bought a pair of New Balance softball cleats instead of the metal spikes most players wore. Then she found a small Cal Ripken fielder's glove and a small can of neatsfoot oil and a cheap rubber-clad softball. The store installed a Tuff Toe guard without charge.
He drove her back to her dorm and followed her up to her room at her suggestion. "Want you to meet Cal. She's on the swim team, and she can tell you how things work, who to watch out for."