by Croft, Rose
“What kind of role-playing?” I drew my brows together feeling like I was in a parallel universe or some other Sci-Fi shit that was too technical for me to understand. Was this really happening?
“Remember how you said you wished you could stay after school with me for tutoring?”
I didn’t exactly say that, but I got the gist of what she was saying. “Yes.”
“So, I thought I would act out your fantasies.” She leaned in and tilted her head to the side waiting for my approval.
Was she fucking serious? She was inebriated. I had to remind myself. At this point, I tried to justify it. Hey, just see where she was going with this. “Okay.” I heard myself say. “What did you have in mind?”
“Just sit back and relax,” she said with a confident smile.
I leaned back on my pillow. We were really gonna do this.
She pushed her glasses up on her nose. Then, stuck out her index finger and pointed at me in an authoritative way and said in a sexy voice, “Okay mister, that’s it. You’re staying after school with me to work on that paper you didn’t finish. And, you better work hard at pleasing me, or I’ll give you a failing grade. And you won’t be able to play in your softball game.”
I knew it was wrong, but she looked so hot playing the bad teacher. I couldn’t help myself when I corrected her, “You mean baseball, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, your baseball game. So, if you want to play, you need to convince me with that strong, hard body of yours.”
I was flattered she finally acknowledged that she found me attractive. “What do I need to do to convince you?”
“Take off your shirt and show me your chest.” Her voice was demanding, but her lips were slightly parted and the tip of her tongue darted over the bow of her lip.
I held the phone in one hand and yanked my shirt over my head tossing it on the floor. I made sure she had a full view of my chest through the phone.
She was staring at my body in a trance-like state. I heard her choppy breaths or maybe they were mine. Wouldn’t have been an impossibility. “Oh, God, I wish I could touch you right now. Your body is gorgeous. Just like you,” she gushed like a fan, which seemed completely out of the ordinary for her. But, I had to admit I liked drunk Rose because she was nice and complimentary. Jesus Christ, John, that sounded bad.
I tilted my head contemplating what I would say and the words ‘can I see your chest too?’ fell out of my mouth before I could stop myself. What the hell was wrong with me? I was bordering on loser asshole who took advantage of women.
She smiled like a tease and ran a hand over the material that covered her boobs. “Oh, I know you want to see my tits. Everyone wants to see them.”
I got a little jealous when she said that. “You better not show anyone else your tits. Just me.” I shook my head. I had to stop this before it got out of hand. “Rose, I’m teasing. You don’t need to show me. I think you need to sleep this off.”
Her mouth lifted in a sexy half smile. “I like how possessive you are. Okay, I’m only going to show you.” Apparently, she had selective hearing right now. She slipped one strap off of her shoulder and then the other.
“Rose, stop.” My voice was unsteady and I pulled the phone closer.
“No. It’s okay. I want to do this.” Her finger hooked under the other strap and slowly dragged it down her arm.
I should’ve insisted on ending this, instead I heard myself breathing heavy like fucking Darth Vader. My eyes were glued to the screen as if I’d never seen a naked woman before. And, I knew seeing her body would be as amazing as a Christmas miracle. Then, I had to remind myself she was drunk. I felt a little remorseful, but at this point my dick had my brain in a stranglehold.
Then, I saw nothing. She must have laid her phone down to take off her top. “Rose pick up your phone,” I groaned. I was behaving like some creeper on social media.
I thought she didn’t hear me, and I was about to speak louder. But, there was movement on the screen and suddenly I was face-to-face, or face-to-boobs, with the most beautiful chest I’d ever seen. Much better than mine. I saw her deep rosy nipples against pale skin and her generous tits were full and perky. I couldn’t think straight.
“Rose you are so beautiful.” I thought I was staring at Aphrodite. Wasn’t she some kind of goddess or something? I thought so. Rose was making me crazy. I swear to God my dick was about to saw through my underwear.
But, her next question drove me into hyperspace. “Do you want to fuck these tits, John?” She put her index finger in her mouth and sucked before dragging it down her collarbone straight to a nipple.
If I were a cartoon character, my eyes would have popped out of my head and my tongue would be on the floor. Did she really just ask me that? Was this a trick question? Of course I did. My eyes were glued to her chest, and my hand instinctively reached down and rubbed over my erection in my underwear. I noticed she had shifted too. I guess she was lying back on the bed because it appeared that I was looking overhead at her face and perfect tits.
“Yes,” I whispered-groaned. My logic had skipped town. Sliding my hand under my waistband, I grabbed myself and began jerking making sure she couldn’t see what I was doing. I was very horny at this point. No shit! I was so focused on getting off I didn’t realize she wasn’t talking anymore. All I could think of were her mind-blowing tits wrapped around my dick. I was lost. As if some sex demon possessed my body, I worked myself furiously like a teen who’d just seen porn for the first time.
It didn’t take long for me to capitulate. When I finished, I looked at my phone and didn’t see anything but darkness. However, I heard sounds—she was snoring. She had passed out. I inwardly cursed feeling like the biggest piece of shit. I had never done anything like this before, nor had I ever beat off so quickly either. Now, I just felt like a pervert with jizz on my stomach. I needed to reevaluate my life because I was one step away from being a sexual predator with her. It was fucking embarrassing how I reacted, but it didn’t stop me from thinking about how desperately I wanted to see her again.
I thought I was going to die if I opened my eyes. I kept them closed a little longer, trying to stay alive. Unfortunately, my head was pounding either way.
I rolled on my back; my lids slowly, tentatively rose as I stared at the ceiling, trying to get my bearings. Although the blinds were closed, it was still too bright for my taste as the sunlight seeped through. I gingerly pushed up, steadying myself as I brought my hands to my head.
I felt a little drafty and soon found out as I looked down that I had slept in my dress with the top folded down to my waist. Why did I do that?
Then, I saw my phone next to my hand.
Please, tell me I didn’t do something irresponsible.
I vaguely remembered finishing that last glass of champagne. I grabbed my cell and checked my recent history. His name was at the top. I groaned like a wounded animal noticing the video icon next to his name. I knew what I did. And, it was insanely irresponsible. Unfortunately, the events of last night were passing through my head in snippets like previews of a movie that just kept rolling on repeat.
I had behaved like a groupie. Probably, like most girls that had his number. Why did I do that? Because you were drunk, idiot! Stupid question.
After acting like a demented person and instigating some cheesy role-play, I’d told him to take off his shirt. I’m pretty sure I said he was gorgeous. And, that was the truth. Even with a hangover, I felt heat flood through me as I thought of his muscular naked chest.
I couldn’t believe I showed him my boobs. Again, embarrassing, disgraceful warmth pulsed through me this time, and that action made my head hurt more. Good grief, my phone should have an app that I have to breathe into to measure the alcohol level to determine whether I can use my phone.
As soon as my headache stopped kicking my ass, I was going to give myself hell about my decisions. I’d never done anything like that before. I’d never been with anyone in my life except Carlos.
However, with John, I acted like a crazy ass teacher who craved sex all of the time. Blame it on the a-a-alcohol. Because if I had been sober, there’s no way I would have even sent him a text in the first place, much less a dirty video chat.
I shamefully remembered another detail. I asked him if he wanted to titty-fuck me. Oh my gosh. What was wrong with me? I’d never even done that, but I’d read about it in a few romance books. Role-playing and acting out romance book fantasies mixed with alcohol equaled horrible mistake. You’re a teacher, Rose. What if John screenshotted your boobs and the photo leaked somehow? I groaned again at my careless stupidity.
As if he could tell I was thinking about him, a text popped up.
John: Hey beautiful! Can I stop by and see you this morning?
Did he think we would go all the way this time? I was certain that’s what he had in mind after the way I behaved last night.
Me: Don’t bother. Last night was a mistake. I was very drunk. Bye Felicia!
There. The message should be clear now. I waited to see if he would respond. He didn’t. I should’ve been relieved, but I wasn’t.
I pulled my top up and slipped my arms through the straps. I stood up and went to the bathroom. Later, I walked to the kitchen, and saw Loren. “Wait. What are you doing here? I thought you had to work today?”
“Usually I do, but I called in sick.”
“Do you feel bad too? I feel horrible.” As I spoke, a wave of dizziness rolled through me, so I made my way over to the couch to lie down. I took off my glasses, moaned and threw my hand over my head. “Loren, why did you make me drink all of that champagne? It’s your fault.”
“I’m sorry you feel so bad, Rose. Let me make you something to eat.”
“Thanks.” I drifted off on the couch while she made me food. The next thing I remembered was Loren tapping me on the shoulder, alerting me that there was toast, water, and aspirin for me. She even had the TV on Lifetime, my favorite channel. She was the best.
I lifted my arm and opened my eyes. Standing a few feet away was a tall dark-haired man. Why was John here? My heart beat a little faster. “What’s he doing here? I told him I didn’t want to see him.”
Loren snickered behind her hand. “It’s Andrew, and he’s taking me out for brunch.”
Of course, seeing things from a distance without my glasses was challenging, and being hungover enhanced the blurriness. “Sorry. I can’t see very well without my glasses.” I reached around on the table to find them. Loren quickly handed them to me.
“You’re the reason my brother almost destroyed his phone this morning.” I slipped my glasses on and saw his wide grin. Why would John want to destroy his phone? And, why did Andrew find that funny?
“I did?” I lifted the toast from the plate and took a bite.
“He’s very upset with you. Keep it up. You’re doing a great job.” He liked the way I was handling his brother. I felt all smug, but then remembered—there’s not going to be a next time.
Regardless, I forced a smile and shrugged. “Thanks.”
Two weeks later I was at my apartment, mindlessly flipping through the channels. I still couldn’t stop thinking about John. As I clicked through the cable guide reading the titles of shows on each channel, I noticed a baseball game was on one of the sports channels. When I looked at the information blurb, it said one of the teams was Chicago. That’s where he was during baseball season, right?
My curiosity got the better of me and I clicked ok on the guide and watched. I noticed him immediately because the camera had just shown a replay of him catching a ball in his glove standing on a white square. The announcers were praising the play he made. I was staring at his butt. He looked ridiculously hot in his uniform.
The camera drew closer to his face. He wore a cap, and his moss green eyes were intense, zeroed in on the player at bat. Then, the camera zoomed out as a guy smacked a ball and started running. The ball hit the ground and bounced, John charged up and caught it in his glove off the bounce. He sprinted to the white thingy again, touching it with his foot before the other guy got there.
The fans cheered as the players started walking off. Again, the camera moved in on him as teammates were approaching and patting him on the back. He smiled and said something as he trotted with them. He seemed so confident like a hunter in his natural habitat. Typical.
Then, there was a commercial. Normally, I would have already changed the channel if it were on sports. However, I couldn’t stop watching.
I grabbed my phone because I had some questions about the game.
Me: Loren, what are the white squares called in baseball that the players run to?
Loren: Bases, Rose. What are you watching?
Me: I happened to be passing through the channels and noticed that Chicago was playing.
Loren: Oh, ok, girlie ;-). I’m watching it too with Andrew. John is having a good game, right?
Me: He is? I just turned it on. What position does he play?
Loren: First base.
When the game was back on, there was some guy on John’s team with a bat, and he hit the ball and ran past first base to the next base and stopped. Then, I saw a tall, muscular guy with McKeon on the back of his shirt stroll leisurely up to the base. John. He was tapping the base with his bat and would stop and adjust the fitted gloves on his hand. Then, he brought the bat behind his head as he stared at the guy on the mound.
The guy on the other team threw the ball, and John let the ball whiz by him. Hit it! He didn’t swing. Why didn’t he swing? The announcers praised him for not. Okay. Make a note of that and ask Loren later for an explanation.
I watched as he rolled the bat a few times and stood with it drawn back, and his fine ass sticking out a bit. This time when the ball approached him, he swung. I heard the pop sound as he connected his bat with the ball.
The fans roared as he casually tossed the bat and trotted off. The ball went into the stands. I saw the words home run on the screen as the announcers were raving about his hit. They said that was the second homer for him tonight. He continued jogging around the bases with that damn smirk on his face. I had to admit, the smirk didn’t bother me too much.
After he touched the final base, teammates were there to greet him. He slapped high fives and did some kind of weird celebration with one of the guys like a secret handshake. He descended into the area where other players were sitting and lounging.
He took off his hard hat, ran his arm over his face, and dropped down. His inky hair was still perfectly styled even after wearing a hat. How does that happen? He stared out at the field and spat. Some other guy joined him, and they began chatting. He was grinning and nodding his head about something. The camera cut away.
I sent a text to Loren.
Me: Why didn’t John swing at the first throw.
Loren: Because it was a bad pitch. The pitcher threw it too low. That’s called a ball. The object is to hit the ball and not strike out. Did you not see him hit a home run?
Me: Yes. I saw that.
Duh, I’m not a complete baseball idiot.
Loren: Have you spoken to him lately?
Me: No.
Loren: Why not?
Me: I don’t think it’s a good idea.
Thinking back to the last text I sent him wasn’t the perfect segue way into a friendly conversation.
The camera would occasionally cut back to him sitting next to a teammate. He was bobbing his head, eyes on the game, and would intermittently talk and spit. What’s up with all the spitting? Gross.
Then, there was another commercial. They showed the score. John’s team was up 5–0.
When the game resumed, John was back on the field with his baseball cap. The batter on the other team connected the ball and ran to first. John stood next to him, and it seemed they were engaged in conversation. John casually reached down and gripped his own crotch.
Moments later, the pitcher threw it to first, but the other guy ran back to the base before John touc
hed him with his glove. And, they stood. Again, John seemed to be grabbing himself. What the hell was up with that?
The next batter hit the ball, hard, and John caught it and touched the base. Again, the fans went crazy and the announcers raved about his fielding. Was there nothing he couldn’t do?
As the game wore on, he was up to bat again. The pitcher reared back and slung the ball. It whizzed through the air and…oh no…John dropped to the ground. Jesus, he just got pegged in the face. My ears buzzed, every vital organ from neck down felt lodged in my throat. I was fighting off the overwhelming nausea passing through me.
Please be okay. Get up, John. Please get up. Oh, dear God, please get up. I realized I was chanting out loud. The words bounced off my fingers that covered my mouth. I felt wetness on my cheeks from the silent tears that slipped out.
There was a crowd around him as they knelt tending to him. He still wasn’t moving. The tears continued to fall. Please let him be okay. Finally, with support, he slowly rose, holding a towel over his mouth. Blood was drenched on the stark white cotton.
He walked off the field with a trainer. I was finally aware that I took a breath. I continued watching the game waiting for updates on John. He never returned. When the game ended an hour later, the announcers said he’d been taken to a local hospital.
Me: Loren, have you heard from him?
Loren: No, but I’m sure he’s ok. Oh wait. Andrew just received a text. He had to get stitches on his mouth, and they are now taking him to get a scan to make sure nothing is broken.
Me: I’m scared for him. That looked horrible.
Loren: Text him Rose. He’d probably loved to hear from you.
I set the phone down, contemplating contacting him. I hoped the CT scan went well. What if something terrible would have happened to him? I didn’t want my mind to go there.