Base Ball Dads

by Matthew Hiley

  “Be back in a minute, bro,” Dave growled. “I’m gonna get a beer and check on that hairy little bastard, Russ. Plus, the acid he gave me earlier kicked in a few minutes ago.”

  “Jesus,” Dwayne replied. He didn’t know they’d dipped into the hardcore hallucinogens. They might need to hurry before things got out of hand.

  Because of Russ and Dave’s increasingly altered states, Dwayne knew he should keep working to get the dead asshole under some dirt. He positioned himself on the ground perpendicular to the body, with his feet pressed firmly against T-Bone’s hip. He pushed as hard as he could with his legs, inching the corpse slowly toward the edge of the hole. After a couple of minutes struggling to make progress, the one-legged body dropped head first into the freshly dug pit, landing awkwardly on its flattened head. Dwayne fell backward, relieved and exhausted but pleased with his progress.

  Behind him, Dwayne heard Russ and Dave the umpire come giggling and running down the third base line toward home plate. Dwayne popped up and rolled over to check out what the commotion was about. He was decently startled at what he saw.

  Russ rounded home plate in a full sprint and headed toward first base, completely naked with his arms waving in the air as he laughingly screamed. Dave was close behind, giving chase, swinging T-Bone’s severed leg above his head.

  Dwayne sat in the middle of the infield, at the pitcher’s mound, and watched in silence as they ran all the way around the bases several times. Russ’s small and ridiculously hairy package flopped side to side as he reached his full stride.

  Russ grabbed an old baseball that was resting against the backstop, and then ran out beside Dwayne. Russ and Dave must have been on the same page because Dave stepped into the batter’s box and loaded up, holding T-Bone’s leg by the ankle like a baseball bat, with his arms cocked back in a perfect stance. Russ held the ball to his chest. He checked his left shoulder, looking for a runner at first. He went into the windup and sent a perfect screaming fastball right toward home.

  Dave made perfect contact with the ball just above T-Bone’s kneecap, and drove the ball into right field. After a brief moment of enjoying the hallucinatory effects of watching a ball fly through the air in the moonlight, Dave the umpire took off for first base.

  Instinct took over with Dwayne. He jumped up and took off toward the ball while Russ ran to cover home. Dave was rounding third as Dwayne snatched the ball off the ground, spun, and whipped the ball to Russ. It was an immaculate throw.

  Russ stood with one foot on each side of the third base line, just in from of home plate. He nabbed the ball from the air right above his head and swung his arm downward to tag out the runner. But Dave had already begun his feet-first slide precisely between Russ’s legs. All at the exact same moment, Russ tagged Dave’s shoulder with the ball, Dave’s foot touched home base, and Dave’s face went right into Russ’s hairy, sweaty balls.

  “Safe!” Dave yelled with such determination that he didn’t notice the penis resting against his cheek.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Dave?!” Russ screamed. “I tagged you way before your foot hit the bag! There’s no goddamn way you’re safe! Another bad call from Dave the umpire!”

  Dave started to yell something, and then suddenly became very aware that any time he moved his head ever so slightly, Russ’s penis touched his face. He hadn’t taken into account that there was an actual, live scrotum literally right there.

  An awkward silence filled the baseball field. Russ slowly backed away from Dave’s face, and the three men began to quietly walk toward the freshly dug grave at the pitcher’s mound. Dave grabbed T-Bone’s leg and brought it with them.

  “She’s no Louisville Slugger,” Dave said firmly, tossing T-Bone’s leg into the hole, “but she came through when I needed her.”

  The three of them took turns shoveling dirt onto the body. When they finished, Dave and Dwayne artfully rounded the top of the pitcher’s mound to sheer perfection and placed the rectangular white plate on top.

  Russ was laying down on his back, still totally nude, in the darkness of center field.

  “Well, that should just about do it, men,” Dwayne said loudly enough to stir Russ from his psychedelic state. “I’m sure I don’t need to mention that we tell no one about this, we were never here tonight, and we haven’t seen T-Bone recently.”

  Dave the umpire nodded. Dwayne looked over to Russ, who was walking toward them. Russ gave a thumbs-up as his balls flopped side to side.

  “Okeydokey, then, boys,” Dwayne announced. “I’ve seen just about enough penis this fine evening. Therefore, I’m going to go home and try to see a vagina. You boys have fun.”

  Dwayne walked to his truck, looking in all directions to make sure he wasn’t seen. He pulled himself up into the front seat, groaning from the soreness of his increased activity the previous few days. He backed out from behind the trees and glanced back toward the field. He could barely make out the shapes of a naked little chunky man being chased full speed around the bases by a much larger clothed man.

  “Jesus,” Dwayne whispered to himself.

  He picked up his phone before departing and sent a quick text to Estelle. It said simply, “On my way.”

  Dwayne turned up the radio. “Sail On,” by The Commodores, was playing. He cranked it up loud and sparked a joint.

  A second later, his phone quacked. Estelle had replied to his text.

  “I want you to wear me out like you’ve never done before. I want you to make me hurt.”

  He popped the vehicle into drive, slid the truck sideways exiting the parking lot, and headed home.

  34.

  Dwayne enjoyed coming home now. He never knew what to expect from Estelle. He only knew that good things awaited him.

  These days, their marriage was so different. He used to dread walking through the door. In the past, at any given point in time, there would have been Bible study, prayer group, party planning, or whatever kind of socialite gossip circle activities that you could think of. He had to be careful about which vehicle he drove home and what he was wearing. And he’d had no desire to see or speak to his wife. But that wasn’t the case anymore. Now, he couldn’t wait to see her.

  Estelle lay nude on her stomach atop the blankets on the bed, facing away from the entrance to the room. She was looking back over her shoulder at Dwayne playfully. She knew this was her best angle, with her gorgeous ass on display.

  Two large boxes with big red bows rested at the end of the bed.

  “Oh, baby,” Estelle whispered in a sultry tone to Dwayne. “That’s a lot of blood. We need to get you cleaned up.”

  She rolled off the bed and grabbed Dwayne by the belt buckle, leading him into the bathroom. She stood behind him as they both faced the mirror. Dwayne was surprised by the amount of blood he had on his arms and shirt.

  “Rough day, Sweetie?”

  “Oh, you know how it is, babe,” he replied. “Little league can be a bitch sometimes.”

  Estelle walked around in front of him and pulled his shirt up over his head. He couldn’t stop staring at her ass in the mirror. He loved the way it jiggled when she moved. She motioned toward his shoes, which he promptly kicked off using his feet to pry the backs down. She undid his belt buckle and slowly pulled his pants down, never losing eye contact. Jesus she was awesome, he thought to himself.

  Dwayne was led to the shower, being pulled by his johnson. He didn’t have to do a thing while he was in there. Estelle lathered up every inch of his body for several heavenly minutes. She spent more time on some areas than others. He enjoyed it that she seemed to like his body as much as he liked hers. He wasn’t conceited, but he knew he’d held up well over the years. He was strong as hell, had a low body-fat percentage, and a pretty decent-sized package.

  “Now, you take a few minutes to rinse off while I get your surprise ready,” Estelle said as she stepped out of the shower to dry off.

  Dwayne let the piping-hot water run down his face and body. He cou
ld feel the soap sliding down his torso and legs. He watched as it circled down the drain. Tinges of orange from the dirt and red from the blood became less and less visible. The ridiculously expensive showerhead was worth every penny, he thought. He turned the water off and began to pat himself dry. Although he was well beyond tired, he knew he smelled amazing, and he was very much looking forward to terrorizing some booty. Dwayne walked through the steam from the shower and emerged on the other side in the bedroom, like a naked hero walking through artillery smoke in battle.

  “Open the box and put your costume on,” a voice called out from the closet.

  The two boxes were no longer side by side. One now sat empty on the floor. Dwayne lifted the lid to the remaining box and found an official movie-quality Batman costume inside. “This is so fucking sweet,” he said, admiring the craftsmanship. “I may wear this to work tomorrow.”

  It took several minutes for Dwayne to get the bodysuit, codpiece, gadget belt, boots, gloves, cape, and mask on. Once the costume was all in its proper place, he walked back into the bathroom to check himself out.

  “Oh, fuck yeah,” he said to himself, putting his hands on his hips.

  “If you’ll look at your yellow gadget belt, you’ll notice I added two pairs of handcuffs,” Estelle softly stated with a sexy snarl as she emerged from the closet, where she’d been hiding.

  Estelle looked stunning in a black leather skin-tight Catwoman costume. He loved the sound her footsteps made in her high heel boots as she walked across the hardwood floors. She was absolutely the most sexy and ravishing woman he’d ever seen.

  “You wanna handcuff me to the bedrails and fight some crime in my pants, big fella?” she whispered softly in his ear. “I’ve been a really bad kitty.”

  Dwayne spun Estelle around and pinned her to the wall, kissing her passionately. He reached around behind her and picked her up under her butt cheeks. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, thrusting her pelvis hard on his codpiece. He spun, walking toward the bed. When he got a few feet away, he reached his hands under her arms, lifting her in the air above him, where he held her for a moment as they stared at each other. “Punish me,” she said.

  He threw her onto the bed, assuming the role of a sex-crazed crime fighter, reaching to his side to grab his handcuffs as if he’d done it a thousand times before. He forcefully cuffed her wrists out wide across the wrought-iron headboard.

  Estelle was writhing on the bed in anticipation as Dwayne slowly pulled the zipper down on her leather pants. He peeled them down slowly to her knees and then paused.

  “Holy shaved vagina, Catwoman!” Dwayne exclaimed, admiring her freshly manicured nether regions. “Don’t stop! Take me now!” Estelle yelled back at him.

  Dwayne unzipped each of Estelle’s long boots and flung them across the room, sending them crashing into the walls. He pulled her pants the rest of the way off, tossing those as well, and placed her feet on his shoulders. He kissed down her ankles, down her calves, and then down her inner thighs, until he made it to his favorite place. Estelle squeezed her legs together hard as Dwayne put a lifetime of knowledge he had concerning technique into his efforts. Estelle squealed as she gripped firmly on the ears of the Batman mask. Her toes were curled under completely as she kicked at the air.

  “Oh God!” she yelled. “Fuck me like a Democrat, Batman!”

  While it may have taken Dwayne several minutes to put the costume on, it took him less than ten seconds to get almost the entire thing off upon hearing Estelle’s command. He decided to keep the mask on to keep things interesting.

  “Unhook me now so I can grab your ass, Batman,” Estelle demanded.

  “No,” he responded in his gruff Batman voice. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.” Dwayne picked Estelle up by the waist as she held onto the rails she was cuffed to behind her head. He edged his body up closely and went in for the attack, shaking and slamming the headboard against the wall, giving Estelle two consecutive eye-popping orgasms.

  Estelle pulled hard with her arms while moaning loudly in ecstasy, causing the rails the handcuffs were latched onto to pop out of place, freeing her hands. She thrust her body forward, now sitting in Dwayne’s lap facing him, and ripped the top of her costume off.

  The two of them rolled over in a wild motion, leaving Dwayne on top with Estelle underneath. She gripped one of his butt cheeks with one hand while clawing her fingernails across his back with the other. “Finish the job, Batman,” she said forcefully as she gripped his ass as hard as she could. “Fight that fucking crime.”

  Estelle couldn’t keep up the act any more. She started to giggle after thinking about what she’d said. They both began to laugh until Estelle snorted, something she did rarely that Dwayne found irresistible.

  “Let’s smoke a joint,” she said.

  “God, I fucking love you,” he replied.

  35.

  Dwayne popped out of bed the next morning at 5:00 a.m. sharp. He’d had maybe two hours of sleep. He didn’t care. His bike had been calling his name lately, and he wanted to get a twenty-mile ride in before the sun came up. This was going to be a big day, and he knew he had to start it off kicking ass.

  The big game was at 6:00 p.m. that evening. Dwayne had taken a little time away from work the previous couple of days, and he needed to get to the office and muscle some more past-due accounts. At some point, possibly two or three times, he would need to make sweet love to Catwoman as well.

  As he was walking out of the bedroom after throwing on a pair of wind shorts, Dwayne noticed a hole in the wall from where he’d thrown one of his Batman boots across the room. He chuckled all the way to the kitchen, where he filled up his water bottles for the ride.

  After topping his bicycle tires off with air, Dwayne popped in his earbud headphones and cranked up the Original Motion Picture Soundtrack for Eddie and the Cruisers on his iPod. He headed down the driveway and off into the darkness of the early morning. He decided to hop on the bike trail that ran parallel to the Trinity River and take it by the ballpark to make sure everything was cool after burying the rival coach under the pitcher’s mound.

  When Dwayne arrived near the parking lot, he noticed that Russ’s car and Dave the umpire’s motorcycle were still parked behind the trees. It didn’t take him long to find the guys. Dave was passed out, face down and snoring, on the top row of the bleachers near the entrance. One of his arms and one of his legs hung over the back side. He was about a half an inch from falling off.

  Russ was passed out also, on the third baseline by home plate. He was lying face up, still totally nude, and covered in mud. He was completely stretched out with one hand touching the base, as if he’d slid headfirst into home and then fallen asleep. His other hand was firmly cupping his unfortunately sized genitals. Dwayne pulled out his phone and took a picture, as was customary in the modern age, and then decided to wake them up so they’d be gone before sunrise.

  “Dave!” Dwayne yelled up to the bleachers.

  Dave popped his head up quickly, startled. He went to prop himself up with his arm, misjudged the width of the bench he was on, and disappeared over the back side. Dwayne couldn’t see him fall the ten or so feet, but he heard him land.

  “Oh, Jesus, what happened? Where the fuck am I?” Dwayne heard from behind the bleachers.

  Dwayne was happy that Dave the umpire had survived the fall. He had a busy day ahead. There wasn’t time to dig another hole. He turned to where Russ was lying.

  “Russ! Wake the fuck up!” Dwayne shouted from behind the backstop.

  Russ took his hand off his package, arched his back, and extended both arms out behind him in a yawn. He had contracted a bad case of “morning wood,” and his little buddy stood up straight as Russ rubbed his eyes, rolled over, and pulled himself to his feet.

  With a full erection, he stood up facing Dwayne.

  “What’s up, bro?” Russ said to Dwayne as he stretched again.

  “Dude, I’ve seen your penis w
ay too much in the last twenty-four hours,” Dwayne stated.

  “Pretty nice, huh?” Russ replied proudly. “I mean, sure, it’s not that big, but the shape of it is phenomenal. It’s straight as an arrow. No bend at all. And my man muff is top-notch too. Not right now, of course, because it’s full of dirt and debris, but it’s normally really shiny and soft, not all bristly like we’ve come to expect from thick pubes. I even have special conditioner for it.”

  “Sweet Jesus, just put it away,” Dwayne said, turning away.

  “No way, bro. I drive my Ferrari naked all the time. It rules. Sometimes I’ll wear a shirt so people think I have clothes on, but really it’s just a shirt. A lot of the time, when I’m leaving work, I’ll just whip my pants off real quick. I’ve probably talked to you a thousand times through my window with no pants on, and you didn’t have a clue. Don’t be so judgmental.”

  “I’m not listening anymore,” Dwayne said dismissively.

  “I love the feel of perforated leather on my bare ass,” Russ continued, oblivious to the fact that no one was paying attention. “Plus, it’s easier when I see somebody cruising around with an Obama bumper sticker. I just raise my ass right up to the window.”

  Just then, Dave came crawling around from behind the bleachers on his hands and knees, groaning with every bit of movement. “Dudes,” he struggled to speak, grabbing on to a bleacher rail beside him and pulling himself up. “I wouldn’t go back there. I just hurled all over the place, and … OH MY GOD, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOUR PENIS, RUSS? OH JESUS! MY EYES! IS THAT THING ERECT? WHAT HAPPENED TO IT?”

  “What do you mean, Dave?” Russ asked, brushing dirt out of his chest hair.

  “WHY IS IT SO SMALL?” Dave screamed, pointing at it with both hands.

  “Don’t pay attention to the size, just look at how perfect it is. It’s a masterpiece,” Russ stated proudly.