Assistant Softball Coach (Part #3)

In the final story of this trilogy, coach Mark is asked to please all 14 smitten girls on the softball team, one by one, according to a schedule they devised.

Author’s Note:

This is the third story in what was supposed to be a stand-alone fictional tale. Set in 1985, it is about a 20-year-old named Mark Patterson who volunteered to help a buddy, Wally Henderson, coach his little sister’s softball team of 14-year-olds. He quickly discovered the girls were seriously smitten with him.

Of course, you are encouraged to read the first two parts if you already haven’t.)

Part One

The season had ended for the Martini’s Pizzeria girls’ softball team two weeks earlier. They had compiled a 4-3 record to finish in the middle of the league standings. We had had our terrific wrap-up party at the sponsor’s restaurant, but this team seemed to be in no hurry to disband. Youth sports organizations like to claim that they help create lifelong friendships. It looked like that was a roaring success here. The 14 girls, all 14-year-olds, had certainly bonded as friends and teammates. Flatteringly, they had also bonded over me.

No one was more surprised over that development than I was. It began on the day of the first practice when I accidentally overheard Marie Henderson, my friend’s 14-year-old sister, and three of her schoolmates discussing me in very favorable and lusty terms. I was taken somewhat aback by what I heard. First, I never considered myself to be much of a prize. Second, I was shocked at how forward these tween girls were with their comments. Did all girls this age talk this way when they thought no adults were within earshot?

The girls—all 14 of them—next gathered three weeks after their final game for a Saturday afternoon birthday party. Jill Miller, the team’s third baseman, was turning 14. I got a late invitation to the shindig. Mrs. Miller called me on Thursday to ask if I could make a “personal appearance,” as she put it. “You may have noticed you are very popular with the softball girls, Mark. It’s not much of a secret,” she told me with a chuckle. “When I asked Jill if there was anyone beside her teammates that she wanted to attend her party, she blushed and blurted out, ‘Coach Mark’. Jill was too shy to invite you herself, so that’s why I’m calling you. Can you attend?”

I said I had to work that Saturday morning, but I could arrive around 1 p.m., if that was alright. It was. Mrs. Miller told me that the girls would be having lunch around 12 noon—sandwiches and hot dogs—but there ought to be plenty of food still left when I arrived. I said I’d love to attend, and she could count me in. As I was verifying the Millers’ address, it struck me: Mrs. Miller had said “the girls” would be having lunch. Before I hung up, I asked, “I’m just curious about something: Will I be the only male at the party?”

Mrs. Miller laughed and said, “Apart from Jill’s father…yes! The boys at Jill’s school can’t compete with you, Mark. Jill is actually having two parties. This one is just for her softball teammates to attend. Next Sunday Jill’s grandparents are hosting one for the family and some of her other school friends. There are no boys her age on that guest list, either. See you on Saturday!”

Within 15 minutes I got a phone call from Wally. “I hear you have a social engagement on Saturday afternoon, Mark.” Apparently, when it was confirmed that I would be at Jill’s party, she had swiftly gotten on the phone to happily inform her 13 teammates. Marie Henderson received the news via the grapevine—and then promptly told her brother.

“Not that I really want one, but I didn’t get an invitation to Jill Miller’s birthday party, Mark,” he said in a phony sad voice. “But you did. Why would that be?”

I quickly responded. “You have to realize that I’m a dreamy, studly beast—at least I am according to a bunch of 14-year-old girls. Do I sense a hint of jealousy, my friend?”

“It’s not jealousy, Mark. It’s just amazement,” he confessed. “It’s obviously a case of mass hysteria. Hey, don’t spill any purple Kool-Aid on your shirt at Jill’s party.”

Of course, Wally didn’t know that shortly after our team’s wrap-up party had concluded, our pretty left fielder, Cathy Sheppard, had coerced me into having a wonderful sexual romp with her at an empty public park near our houses. (Perhaps “coerced” is an inaccurate verb; I was very easy to persuade.) The following day, after hearing Cathy’s positive review of my lovemaking prowess, Marie, Wally’s darling little sister, had asked for a similar carnal encounter. Again, I was happy to oblige. We arranged a meeting place, and, a few hours later, we fucked passionately in a secluded section of her elementary school’s property. Thus, in the space of about 20 hours, I had screwed one-seventh of the Martini’s Pizzeria girls’ softball team. I suppose that gave me a batting average of .143.

After stopping to buy a gift certificate for a local shopping mall as a present for Jill, I drove to the Miller house for a 14-year-old girl’s birthday party. On my way there I wondered how many of the players knew about my romps with Cathy and Marie. Knowing that teenage girls are generally blabbermouths, I suspected it was the full roster.

The greeting I got when I stepped through the Millers’ front door was overwhelming and slightly embarrassing. First Jill hugged me, then Cathy hugged me…then the rest of the softball players came at me in waves. I was engulfed. None of them had ever so openly displayed this level of affection toward me. (My coital triumphs with both Cathy and Marie were sensibly done in private.) “For heaven’s sake, girls!” Mrs. Miller shouted, “Let poor Mark at least get into the kitchen before mauling him to death!”

I managed to inject some humor into the mob scene. “Obviously, I’m not welcome here!” I said, feigning disgust. “I think I’ll go home.”

Jill, apparently not getting my joke, shouted “No!” I laughed, then Jill figured out I was kidding and laughed, too. I hugged her affectionately, after which I gave her the gift certificate, a present she quite liked.

Mrs. Miller continued issuing instructions to control the passionate traffic surrounding me. “Girls, give Mark some breathing room. Go back into the living room and eat your sandwiches and hot dogs. I’m sure he’ll be joining you shortly—if he dares.”

Jill’s father witnessed what had happened with a bit of amazement. “That was one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen, Mark!” he informed me. “Which brand of after-shave lotion are you wearing?” He even gave me a congratulatory pat on the back and a knowing, thumbs-up sign. It was an envious “attaboy” gesture from one male to another.

I loaded up on hot dogs, sandwiches and cola and headed to a table where a space had been reserved for me—beside Jill, of course. (She insisted upon that, I was later told.) I actually had a lot of fun reconnecting with the girls and rehashing some of the events from our mediocre softball team’s 4-3 season. I couldn’t help but notice how pretty the majority of the players looked in party dresses and fancy blouses. By comparison, most of them had dressed rather casually for the team’s pizza party three weeks earlier. I strongly suspected that my presence had elevated the girls’ dress code. It was enough to inflate any male’s ego. It certainly inflated mine.

Once, when no adults besides me were in the room, Debbie Stanfield, one of Martini’s outfielders, rose from her chair, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. “I just had to do that,” she explained. Her teammates cheered her lack of self-control. However, the most remarkable incident came as the party was nearing its end. Again, it occurred when no adults—besides me—were in the room. Jill hurried to retrieve a clear plastic bag that she had hidden in a bookshelf. At a glance it contained about a dozen squares of note paper with messages scrawled on them. I could clearly see the word “fuck” written on one of them. “Put this in your pocket quickly, Coach Mark, before my mom and dad come back into the room. Read them when you are by yourself.” I followed Jill’s instructions, but I must say my curiosity was piqued. Half the girls were giggling. All of them were at least smiling.

As part of the party’s itinerary, the 14 girls played some age-appropriate games. I was happy just to spectate and make the occasional witty remark. A strawberry chiffon cake (with 14 birthday candles on it) was served with Neapolitan ice cream to cap the day’s fun. It was not a typical Saturday afternoon for me, but I’d had worse times at parties. Being the center of attention of teenage girls was absolutely flattering.

I was the last person to leave. I thanked the Millers for their hospitality and wished Jill a happy birthday and many more. Jill’s parents acknowledged the obvious: that my presence had been the undisputed hit of the party. “Next time we’ll hire a bodyguard for you, Mark!” Jill’s dad joked.

“Don’t you dare,” I quipped, “especially if its Jill’s 18th birthday party.”

When I got to my car, there was still plenty of daylight. This meant I could finally read the bag full of notes that Jill had sneakily handed to me. There were 14 notes in the bag—one from each player on the Martini’s Pizzeria softball team. The first one I read was from our pitcher. It was succinct. It simply said, “Coach Mark: I want to fuck you. Jasmine.” There were 11 other notes just like it, written by 11 different players. The only notes that had slightly different messages were penned by Cathy and Marie. Theirs both said, “Mark, I want to fuck you again.” Wow!

I happened to look back at the Miller house. I saw Jill standing by the living-room window. She saw that I was reading everyone’s notes. She was nodding her head at me. About 30 minutes later I got a phone call from Jill. She gave me an order: “Meet me at the public library when it opens tomorrow afternoon at 1 o’clock. I’ve got something for you. I’ve drafted a schedule so you can fuck us all!”

When I hung up the phone, I remembered that Mrs. Miller had told me that Jill was too timid to directly ask me to attend her birthday party. Whatever shyness she once had was now long gone.

Part Two

The next day Jill and I arrived almost simultaneously at the library’s front door at about two minutes to one o’clock. When we were permitted to go inside, Jill took me by the hand and walked me to a seldom-used table hidden behind the furthest bookshelves. We sat.

“Did you like the notes?” Jill asked me.

“Does a cat like fish?” I replied. It took a few seconds for Jill to understand the analogy, then she smiled sweetly.

Jill then verified my suspicions. “We all heard about you fucking Cathy and Marie—and the rest of us are jealous,” she said in a quiet, library-appropriate voice. “We all want you to fuck us!”

“Yeah, I gathered that from those notes!” I said with a grin.

“To avoid problems,” Jill continued, “we agreed to get your screwing sessions properly organized.”

I was tempted to tell Jill that she could look forward to a promising career as an efficiency expert, but I chose to keep my mouth shut and simply listen to her plan for my recreational activities.

“Here is a list of all of us. We figure you can fuck one of us a week for the next 14 weeks and everyone will be happy. Once you’ve finished fucking someone, I notify the next girl on the list and you can make arrangements to fuck her. We had a lottery to determine the order. Boy, was Jasmine Baker angry that her name was the last one drawn!”

I looked at the sheet and saw Jill’s name was at the top of the list. “Well, lucky you, Jill! Your name was drawn first!”

“Not exactly,” she confessed. “Since I came up with the lottery and schedule ideas, and everyone liked them, it was decided that my reward was to go first.” I took that as a great compliment and kissed Jill on the cheek.

I said, “According to your rules—which I strongly support—we’re supposed to make arrangements for you to be fucked. When is good for you?”

“There’s no time like the present!” Jill responded with excitement. “I told my mom to pick me up when the library closes at 5 p.m. She thinks I’m here for the free nature movies they are screening this afternoon in the library’s small theatre. Therefore, we have about four hours before I have to return here.”

I had screwed Cathy and Marie in outdoor locations, but it was a cool and drizzly Sunday—which would put a damper on our sexual tryst both figuratively and literally. I had an easy solution. “Let’s head to my place, Jill. No one is home this week but me. I guarantee it will be more fun than watching documentaries about hippos and water buffalos.”

As we drove the short distance to my house, Jill sat in the front seat beside me. She used her left hand to caress my thigh and then put it on a more sensitive part of my anatomy. “I love your enthusiasm, Jill,” I said when I pulled into the driveway.

My parents had a huge king-size bad that would be unoccupied for a week, so I took Jill by the hand and led her there. I suspected that Jill’s sexual history was nil, so I took charge. Jill was one of the taller girls on the softball team. She had shoulder-length auburn hair and a few freckles on her nose to add to her cuteness. I could tell she wore a bra, but it was probably unnecessary. Jill was clad in a simple rust-colored t-shirt, white shorts, reddish socks, and well-worn sneakers.

I said, “Allow me the great pleasure of undressing you, Jill.” I instructed her to sit on the edge of the bed. I pulled off Jill’s shoes and rolled down her socks until they fell to the floor. I grabbed the bottom of Jill’s t-shirt. She raised her arms, and I lifted it from her torso. Her bra was barely more than a training model. That mattered little to me. The mere sight of it aroused me very quickly. I wanted it to conceal her breasts for a while longer, so I removed Jill’s shorts next, exposing her plain white panties. I undressed myself, stopping when I got to my briefs. My penis was almost fully erect by that time. Jill helped it along by squeezing it playfully. “Nice touch,” I told her. We both smiled.

I sat beside her, just inches away from her. We embraced for a minute or so, concluding with a romantic kiss. I then removed her bra. She had pointy breast buds which surprised me a bit. “Oh, lovely!” I told her as I began to fondle them gently while I kissed her neck and cheek. I slowly pushed her downward, so she was lying on the bed. “Let me suck those beautiful titties, Jill. They were made for this.” I tried to be subtle, but the developing breasts of girls were always a major turn-on for me. I sucked and licked them with gusto, alternating from left to right as Jill giggled with delight. I slid my briefs off, showing Jill I had a full erection. She grabbed my shaft and began to stroke it, tapping her fingers on it as if she were playing the flute! That was something new—and I enjoyed the odd sensation. I made sure I rubbed my penis on, around and between Jill’s buds—a favorite sexual fetish of mine. “I might just come all over your goodies,” I said to Jill with affection, “but not yet!”

I pulled Jill’s white panties off slowly. Her 14-year-old pussy was virtually hairless. I began to passionately lick it, but Jill stopped me after just a few seconds. She asked with all sincerity, “Isn’t this the time when you do me and I do you?”

“It certainly can be if you want it to be!” I said with delight. I was tempted to tell Jill that neither Cathy nor Marie had given me a blowjob while I licked her pussy, but I thought that would be crass. I put my head on a pillow and let Jill sprawl across me, spreading her legs. Jill was the perfect height for this particular sex act. Her face was directly over my crotch. We both began to lick and suck to our hearts’ content. Jill had an orgasm. I used my powers of self-control not to have one myself. I think Jill’s goal was to make me come because I had made her come, but I was saving my load for her pussy, just as I had for Cathy and Marie.

I told Jill, “I want to fuck you now, you beautiful young thing.” She obeyed and spun around. My intention was to fuck her in a missionary position, but Jill stayed on top of me and guided my dick into her private part. I did not object to this change in my plans. Jill had a contented expression on her face as she began to bounce on my throbbing dick. “You are good at this, Jill,” I congratulated her, “Very, very good!”

We got into an excellent fucking rhythm. I placed my hands on Jill’s hips to keep us in synch. I thrusted upward as she thrusted downward. This coital dance went on for several minutes. Eventually the erotic sight of looking at her sweaty breast buds then at my hard dick inside her pussy was simply too much to handle. I let out a pleasurable moan and ejaculated. It was a good one. There was no doubt that naked teenage girls had an effect on me. I wished I was 14 years old again. I knew that was plainly impossible, so I did the next best thing: I had sex with girls whom the local 14-year-old boys desperately wanted to fuck.

We still had oodles of time before the library closed, so Jill and I sensually explored each other’s bodies for the next two hours. I was revived to the point where I was able to cum again—this time on Jill’s little titties. “Ah, yes!” I declared as the jism splattered on her hard nipples.

Jill and I both washed up in separate bathrooms and headed to the library at 4:30 p.m. I noticed Jill had something in her hand that she was busily studying.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s the list of the nature films that were screened at the library today,” she replied. “I need to know their titles and what they are about—just in case my mother asks me questions about the content of the movies I was supposed to watch.” Clever girl!

According to Jill’s schedule, 14-year-old Barbara McCallum, our team’s catcher, was the next girl to be serviced. I used my parents’ bedroom again five days later for the sensuous task. Barbara giggled through our entire encounter. Because of her odd reaction, she was the girl I was the roughest with—which isn’t saying much; I was deliberately gentle with all the ballplayers. The more she giggled, the harder I thrusted my manhood into her young vagina. Barbara laughed loudly when I ejaculated on her face. I knew I had unintentionally amused her, but I was concerned I hadn’t pleased her. I need not have worried. With my goo sticking to her face, she enthusiastically informed me that was the most fun she had had in her life. I was relieved to hear that! Barbara returned to giggling while I rode her to orgasm for a second time.

I took our shortstop, Liz McCain, who followed Barbara on the schedule, to the same schoolyard where I’d fucked Marie Henderson the day after the team party. The old man and his beagle were nowhere to be seen this time. Amusingly, Liz had an unusual, post-coital request: She wanted my underwear as a souvenir of our encounter—and she cheerfully offered me her panties in exchange. I agreed. (I likened the suggestion to opposing soccer players trading jerseys at the end of an international match.) Forty years later, I still have Liz’s frilly prink drawers stored in a cardboard box in a corner of a closet.

I eventually screwed my way through the entire roster of the Martini’s Pizzeria girls’ softball team in just 11 weeks. Somehow none of the girls got pregnant and I didn’t end up in jail. The highlight of the schedule was when Marie and Cathy asked if they could “share me” on the two dates they each chose. Of course, I said yes. Both times I registered by myself at a cheap, local motel and quietly brought them in an hour later for our three-way fun. My testicles ached after both those fucking sessions.

The sexually wildest girl on the team turned out to be Jasmine Baker, our red-haired pitcher—the one whose name was the last on Jill’s list. Despite her tween status, Jasmine was obviously quite experienced in carnal activities. Her lovemaking instructions to me were blunt: “Coach Mark, spank me while you fuck me from behind.” I complied, of course. Jasmine also enjoyed giving me a hand job while licking my testicles. That brought the results she clearly desired—a powerful blast of cum shooting onto her face and hair. (Jasmine herself aimed my “soldier” just before he fired his volley! What an efficient little girl!)

I thoroughly enjoyed my romp with Jasmine—and vice-versa—at the same small park where I’d had fabulous intercourse with Cathy Sheppard following the team’s pizza party. It also occurred as dusk was approaching. Thus, my screwing youthful softball players came full circle, appropriately ending where it all began. (Okay, I invited Jasmine to my empty house for a repeat performance one afternoon a few weeks later when I was lonely and exceptionally horny. She wasn’t my favorite girl of the 14 nor the prettiest of the bunch, but I figured she was the one who was most likely to say yes. I was right. She happily agreed to a second tryst and did not disappoint. At her insistence, we concluded our horizontal adventure with anal intercourse. That was a first for me; I really didn’t care for it. According to Jasmine, it was her second time “taking it up the bum”. If I were to believe her story, the first time occurred four years earlier. Do the arithmetic.

However, the most memorable and meaningful fuck date I had with one of the softball girls involved no fucking at all. I brought the smallest and quietest girl on the team, Janet Kramer, to my house on another weekend when I had the place all to myself. Janet was barely 14, had no womanly figure yet, and was almost painfully shy at times. Being on the Martini’s Pizza softball team had brought her out of her shell a little bit, according to her happy parents, but her writing that note for me to fuck her was hard to believe. She was the eighth name on Jill’s list.

I led her to the bedroom where I planned to be exceedingly gentle with this cute little sweetheart. She sat on the bed with a scared look on her face as I started to disrobe. I didn’t get far; I stopped after I removed my shirt. I sensed I had a reluctant girl on the bed—a very reluctant girl—so I slowly sat down beside Janet and put my arm around her.

“Janet, you don’t want to have sex today, do you?” I asked.

She looked up at me and shook her head. “No, not really,” she said in a soft, slightly pitiful voice. “I love you as much as the other girls on the team, Coach Mark. I really do. But I’m just not ready for this sort of thing. I only wrote that note to you at Jill’s birthday party because all the other girls eagerly wrote them. I just did what all the other girls did. That was kind of a stupid thing for me to do, wasn’t it?”

“Janet, you are wonderful!” I told her sincerely before kissing her gently on her lips. That brought a tiny and confused smile to her concerned face. I commended her by noting, “It takes courage to not go along with the crowd, especially at your age. You just found your courage a little bit late.”

Janet smiled fully at the praise I was giving her. After a slight pause, I continued, “Hey, instead of fucking, let’s get ourselves a treat. There’s a popular ice cream place not far from here that has some really interesting flavors.”

Janet nodded her approval and said, “Okay!” She was about to get up from the bed but abruptly changed her mind. She announced, “Coach Mark, I really liked it when you kissed me just then. Maybe we can just hug and kiss for an hour or so instead of fucking—then we can go for ice cream. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds like great fun to me, Janet,” I replied honestly.

That’s exactly what we did. We went into a warm, loving embrace—filled with kisses—that didn’t end for nearly an hour. I must admit I let my hands wander freely across her 14-year-old torso from time to time to feel her tiny nipples. Janet was no fool; she knew exactly what was on my mind. She commented, “There’s not very much to feel there, Coach Mark, but you are more than welcome to keep touching me as you please.” I eagerly did!

After about 60 minutes of this romantic activity, Janet asked. “Is that bulge in your pants an erection?”

I gave her an affirmative answer and said she was responsible for my having it, of course.

“You were so understanding about everything,” Janet said, “maybe I can change my mind just a little bit more and give you a release. I think that’s what it’s called, right?”

“Only if you really want to do that, Janet,” I insisted. She said she did.

I slid my trousers and shorts off and freed my boner. It was something new for Janet—almost. She told me, “I’ve never seen a boy’s penis up close before—only my older brother’s dick from a distance when he gets out of the shower and walks to his bedroom naked.”

I laughed at the remark and said she was free to study and touch my dick as much as she pleased. I discovered Janet’s absolute innocence to be a huge turn-on. “I think I’ll remove my shirt, too, as a bonus,” she added. The mere sight of her very small and nearly flat chest remarkably made me extremely horny. Although the temptation was great, I was content to just look at it rather than touch it. Strangely, Janet’s novice hand job, done while seminude, made me come quicker and stronger than I had with any of her 13 sexually charged teammates. Great globs of thick white goo splashed on Janet’s torso when I ejaculated.

“I hope you liked that, Coach Mark,” she said as she coaxed a final little spurt of jism from my firm erection. I told her it was a totally wonderful, sensual experience. I truly meant it.

After I put my pants back on, we hugged for a little while more before we headed for the ice cream parlor. On the way back, Janet informed me, “Coach Mark, when I’m ready to fuck, I promise you will be my first sex partner.” Amusingly, Janet and I shook hands on it as if we had concluded a business arrangement.

Young Janet Kramer kept that promise nine years later on our wedding night. Earlier that day, all 13 of her softball teammates from 1985 attended the civil ceremony, along with Wally Henderson. Today, Janet and I are the proud parents of three terrific children.

It doesn’t happen often, but on those rare days when Janet is not in the mood for intimacy, I like to gently kid her about our odd, shared past. I once said to her, “So you’re not in the right frame of mind to have sex with me tonight, huh? Maybe I should track down Cathy Sheppard, wherever she is, and give her a call. That hot 14-year-old left fielder was the best fuck I ever had in my life. My dick gets hard just thinking about her. Maybe she’s in the mood for a pounding!”