Fast Baller

by Lulu Pratt

  “What about that, huh?” said Clay, as he soaped himself up.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gimme a break. You got eyes. Did you see how Scarlet was helping me? How she dressed? It’s obvious, man. The chick digs me. Do I have to spell it out to ya?”

  “I guess you do, cuz I never noticed any of that.”

  “Seriously? Well, I did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need some privacy.” He walked, naked, his white skinny ass on show for everyone, to the private shower stalls and, God forgive me, but I swear he was jerking off in there. The sounds coming from that stall were not the sort of things any man should have to hear from a co-worker, and I tried to drown out the sound by putting my head under the showerhead. And kept it there until he got out. Or finished.

  “See you at the diamond,” he said, with a leer.

  “I’ll be there,” I said. And the truth was, I was in pain. This class had helped loosen up some of my muscles, and this shower was doing wonders restoring my lost fluids. I had been an idiot, I knew, and now I was paying for it. Another game, part of the triple header with the Steel Hogs. And I didn’t do my homework of studying their weaknesses. What I knew so far was that they could hit — at least some of them could. And their defense was weak and their pitching horrible. So, pretty much no matter what, I was going to look like a fool.

  I decided to have a nap in the rest area, instead of warming up or preparing in any way. I just needed a little shut eye, and hoped it would work.

  Predictably, I stunk the place up again. I couldn’t throw after I was pulled onto the field in the seventh inning. We were behind 4-3, and by the time I was done with the seventh inning, it was 9-3. Horrifying, and proof to me that this stupid yoga thing was not working.

  “Okay, looks like you’re done for the night,” said Oscar to me as I went over to talk to him about my pitching.

  “Seriously?” I was going to add something but nothing would come out to justify my brutal game.

  “Come on, Harrison,” he said. “What would you do in my place?”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said. Somebody from the stands threw a piece of paper at me.

  “Loser!” he shouted. I looked up to see who it was, and noticed it was a massively fat guy, with a huge paper plate of cheesy nachos, several half-eaten hot dogs and a huge vat of beer, half drunk, like him.

  I was going to respond, but truthfully, there was no response to that kind of action. I just moved off the field. It makes you feel bad though, if the truth were to be known. Of course, I knew in my heart that no matter what his criticism was, I was a thousand times better ballplayer than he could ever be, so his criticism was a little pathetic.

  I felt a little silly, standing there when the game still had two innings to go. There were a bunch of stragglers who had seen enough of the game.

  “Nice game, pretty boy!” said some guy in a baseball cap with his two little children. I just nodded. “I thought you played in the Majors!” he added. I nodded again. “Then how come you can’t pitch?”

  “Rotator cuff surgery,” I said.

  The guy backed off. “Oh. Sh— sorry.” He paused, looking at his kids. “How come they’re making you play? You aren’t healed. It’s obvious.”

  “Tell it to management,” I said.

  “I might just do that,” he said, and tipped his cap, trudging off to his behemoth SUV. The two little kids looked shocked that their father had talked to me, but I couldn’t tell if they were impressed or not. I remembered meeting players with my dad after games in Detroit, and I was always starstruck. These kids just looked stunned.

  At home, I opened the fridge to see what was there. It was almost entirely booze. Beer, Jack, Old Grand-Dad, tequila. It was a bit of a kick in the nuts, to be honest, to see what I had become. I needed to do something. I dialed up YouTube, and there were about ten thousand videos on yoga. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I was missing something about it. I started watching to see if I could learn a little more about it, and maybe impress Scarlet Ravenwood.

  Ravenwood. That name rung a bell, a distant bell, a bit like hearing a song playing on the radio for the first time since the ‘90s. I needed to talk to Chris Steen. I FaceTimed him. “Hey Chris,” I said, as his face appeared.

  “Yeah, hi there, Harrison. What’s the good news? How was the game?”

  “Don’t ask. Hey, listen, do you know anything about yoga?” I asked.

  “I know it’s very good exercise. Ever see those chicks at the gym? That’s the yoga body.”

  “I meant for me.”

  “What do you mean? It gets my heart rate up when I see them.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “No, you’re not. I need a serious conversation. You’re a sports reporter. What can I learn about it? I need something.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it.”

  For the next ten minutes, Chris went on about yoga. Apparently, his wife did it and he’d learned a lot through being around it indirectly.

  “Now tell me why you care about yoga,” Chris asked after his little lecture.

  “Because there is this physical therapist who is making me do it, and I am trying to understand it so I can actually do it properly.”

  “I see,” said Chris, and I could see he was smiling. “Looks like somebody has something else on his mind. Am I right?”

  “To be perfectly honest, I think about her all the time, and I am trying my best to do what she says and learn what she is suggesting I learn. I just seem to be screwing it up like crazy.”

  “That’s not as good,” said Chris. “Listen, I’ll send you a few things about yoga so you can figure out what, exactly, she’s up to, because I guarantee you she is up to something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, she has a plan for you. I’m just not sure what it is.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “It’ll take me about twenty minutes, and then you’ll have it. Okay?”

  “Thanks, buddy. I owe you.”

  “Just an interview when you get back to the Majors. That’s all I ask.”

  “You got it. Talk soon.”

  “Bye.”

  I sat there in my bedroom, thinking about Scarlet Ravenwood. I regretted blowing her off for so long, for leaving her feeling she was not helping when I knew she was trying and I wasn’t. But Scarlet was something else. Something wonderful. She was beautiful, she was kind, smart, and caring.

  As I thought about her, something started happening to me. I found myself getting turned on. I mention this because, so far, I’d had a really hard time getting it up, to use an old term. After my divorce, I’d been knocked on my heels. I know this was actually pretty common, but the other truth was that sex has absolutely nothing to do with a rotator cuff. And everything to do with desire. And I was desiring her. I thought back to the yoga class and those tights she was wearing. Her legs were magnificent — perfectly shaped and muscled, and her body in that tank top was something I would normally be a total sucker for. And so, I imagined her taking off the top. I imagined her here, in my room, smiling at me, taking care of me, helping me by moving my body around, and touching me in places she had never touched before. It was very erotic. That black mane of beautiful, shining hair was flowing around her, like a sort of veil, and her perfect breasts were firm and beautifully formed.

  I reached down and began to touch my erect cock. It was a strange feeling, and I barely had to touch myself to get incredibly turned on. But I stroked slowly and firmly, imagining her on my bed, leaning over to adjust my arm. Her touch was soft and yet firm, and her beautiful large brown eyes, looking at me, gave me the feeling of being a man again.

  I could feel the passion rising inside me, and I closed my eyes, the better to imagine her touching me down there. It jolted my libido and I felt the orgasm inside me wanting to come out. It was amazing. She was touching me and smiling. She leaned over to kiss me on the lips as I felt myself coming. I
t was like a dam broke — things in my body began to liquefy as I lost all power inside. I relaxed into the feeling of total heaven. She was beside me, and her soft skin was touching mine.

  I lay there for a few moments, feeling a peace that I hadn’t enjoyed in what seemed like years.

  I almost fell asleep, but there was a notification on my phone. It was the email about yoga sent from Chris Steen. He was almost exactly on time.

  I opened the attachment, and there were explanations on all the moves, all the movement between moves, and even a long discussion of something called a chakra.

  I read the document. I had to admit, my eyelids were heavy after that stunning and long-awaited orgasm. But I forced myself to read and absorb this information. Tomorrow, I really wanted to impress Scarlet with what I was learning.

  Chapter 15

  SCARLET

  I WAS HOPING to see Harrison in the yoga class again. But failing that, I would see him for our appointment, so things would be moving forward, I hoped. I skipped the game last night, but heard that Harrison was not really giving it all he could. And while it wasn’t my job to criticize his efforts, I knew he would know I knew how he played. And I had sympathy for him — nobody found it easy to heal. Especially men. They were so resistant to all this healing stuff. And I was not totally sure why, but I felt like there was a flicker of hope for him, more than for most players.

  Again, I did my best to look good. Something a little peculiar happened to me last night thought, that made seeing Harrison a little difficult — I had a strange dream about him.

  It was at my office and I was working late. He came in unannounced, and sat down on the couch beside my chair. I looked up and noticed he was looking at me with a smile — that crooked smile — that made me have to smile back. “I had a feeling you’d come to my side,” he said.

  “What side is that?” I asked.

  “The side that wants to take this to the next step.”

  “I see,” I said. “And what is the next step?”

  Dream Harrison rose, came around the desk, and put his hands on my shoulders. His strong hands began kneading the muscles. I never knew how tense I was until this moment — funny, too, because I was always focused on other people and how they were, but taking care of myself, that was a different story. Like the mechanic’s car — always falling apart.

  “Does that feel good?” he asked me. I nodded, and his hands moved to my back. He began massaging, and I was transported to another world. I flipped over, reached up and ran my fingers down his suddenly bare chest. It was magic as he leaned farther over me and kissed the side of my neck.

  I got goosebumps and felt my desire awakening. It was a moment I wanted to go on forever. Truly amazing. He found all the parts of my body that needed taking care of, almost as though he were aware of each chakra and its purpose.

  I moaned — I couldn’t help myself, and as I made the noise, I felt him somehow receive the message. His body changed, and he pulled me to him. His strong arms wrapped around me and held me tightly.

  I moved to put my arms around him, but he held my arms at my side, and began to kiss me on the neck. I admit I was a sucker for kisses on the neck. There was something so primal about it, but his lips were better than I could have hoped. I let him touch me, and felt his hands exploring my body.

  When I reached my hand out directly in front of me, I touched Dream Harrison’s cock, which was very much ready for me. I could feel his hard masculinity inside the pair of thin shorts, and massaged it as he rubbed against me.

  His body rubbed against my breasts, and he slowly unbuttoned the top button of his shorts, allowing him to make his way out the way a snake sheds a skin.

  As his manhood popped out, I was surprised by how large and how well-formed it was. I took it into my mouth and felt it in all its powerful glory.

  I closed my eyes, and as I did, I felt him taking himself out of my mouth, and I could feel him as he slid down my torso. He had removed my panties, although my skirt was still on, and he seemed undeterred by all of this. He slowly came even with my excited center, and before I could even think, he had plunged deep inside me, in an almost rough way. It was one of those times when I was taken, not a feeling I was used to. I gasped, trying to regain the upper hand, but felt my will waning and my desire to feel him inside me take over for all the fear or weakness I had experienced before.

  He was moving powerfully inside me, and at the same time, kissing me so tenderly it almost felt like butterflies hovering around me. I began breathing harder and harder, just trying to keep myself together, and before long, the orgasm building inside me exploded, leaving me drained and drifting to consciousness.

  I was wide awake suddenly and wondering what on earth made that dream happen. I looked at the time and saw that my alarm was set to go off in five minutes anyway. I quickly dressed and made my way to the studio.

  I walked into the room, and it was full. As usual. Yoga was very popular in this place. I wasn’t sure why. I saw Heidi there in the second row.

  And directly in front of her was Harrison Brett. This time, he did not look exhausted. He had a look of defeat, or perhaps determination. It was hard to tell the difference. He had his concentration turned on full, that was for sure. And Heidi was clearly admiring his frame from behind.

  Clay was there, acting the fool and kibitzing for the ladies of the office, who had found themselves alternately amused by his antics and put off by his bizarre body and face and personality.

  “Namaste,” I began. “I welcome you to this class, and want to remind you that simply being here is a victory. Yoga is not a competitive sport. It is designed to be used by you for your betterment. I hope you can use it in that way.”

  I looked around. “Please join me on the floor in the Shivasana Pose.”

  “The corpse!” I heard Clay hiss.

  I decided to ignore it. It just wasn’t worth it. What I did notice through this class was that Harrison was working hard. He was clearly not hung over, and he was dressed much better. He had, it seemed, gone to the right store and bought the right yoga outfit — a long-sleeved black T-shirt that fit him perfectly, and a pair of very attractive shorts with an elastic waistband. It not only was appropriate, showing that he was making an effort, it looked really sexy.

  Or perhaps, it was simply the fact that I had just had a very powerful sexual fantasy about him, which was not something I was used to. So powerful, in fact, that I actually had an orgasm. The feeling was still there, pulsating within me, and it made me happy to know the subject of my fantasy was actually working with me, rather than against me.

  Something I have learned from the psychological side of being a physical therapist was not to overdo the recognition that a person, a client, was trying hard to make things work. It tended to ring hollow, and so, as the class was winding down, and Harrison had obviously read up on and probably even practiced some of the flows, I just let him experience these things on his own. And these things were best for him to acknowledge to himself.

  I ended the class in the usual way, but I avoided his gaze, knowing I would see him in an hour.

  Chapter 16

  HARRISON

  BY NO MEANS was I the most observant man in the world, I grant you, but I could see when someone was avoiding my gaze. And that definitely was happening in that yoga class. I was, against my better judgment, trying my hardest — I had gone to the stupid store and bought a couple of yoga outfits, and I had read a little about the various poses and the purpose of the yoga from what Chris sent me, but any time I looked up to see if Scarlet was looking at me, she was clearly not. Almost pointedly not paying attention to me. Which was fine, except that she had expressed a sort of interest in me, and I guessed my resistance had made her give up on me.

  And so, with her resistance very front and center in my mind, I considered skipping the appointment, knowing it was pointless, and knowing that we had to get on the bus and go to Columbus to play a triple header. I’d n
ever been a big fan of the away game — the crowd was against you, and a good mood was hard to maintain.

  Nevertheless, I got my ass in gear and got over to her office, expecting the worst. And so, it was a pleasant surprise to find Scarlet in her office with a massage table set up and her outfit similar to the one she wore for yoga.

  “Good morning, Mr. Brett,” she said. “How are you today?”

  “I’m okay. I was at the yoga class today, and I feel it went pretty well. How do you feel?”

  “Well, thanks,” she said.

  Once again, I was thrown off. Did she say ‘well thanks!’ or ‘well comma thanks?’ I caught myself before I went off the rails. I was clearly being oversensitive. And so, I decided I needed — needed — to regroup, and calm down. One thing I had realized recently was that you needed to have a positive attitude and the one thing that experience taught me was that I was not having a positive attitude.

  “So,” I said, smiling. “What’s with the table and the get-up?”

  “Oh that?” she said innocently. “I have this idea to help you. Let me explain.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I have some training in various kinds of massage. This is one that I think may help you recover faster. I saw you play the other day, and if I can be frank—”

  “Please do,” I said.

  “Well, I could see you were trying your hardest, but I could also tell you were playing through the pain. And my theory — and it’s just a working theory at this point — is that, while you can work through pain, it actually takes a lot of energy to circumvent the pain.”

  “You mean because it hurts?”

  “No, not exactly. But in a way, yes. Let me explain. The thing is, under normal, pain-free circumstances, a baseball pitcher puts his shoulder and elbow, wrist, and fingers under an inordinate amount of pressure. Normal, day-to-day wear-and-tear don’t do this, and so most people don’t need any further treatment. However, you are not a normal person, and you need to not only recover your normal use of your joints, you also need to make it stronger than ever.”