Free Baseball Blues by Cecilia Tan Page B

just stood there.
    He just looked back at me.
    Then my mouth opened. “Eat that up, honey, and I'll be back to check on you later."
    "All right,” he said, cocking his head to look at me, then picking up his fork.
    I went back and totted up the other checks I had open, brought coffee to the cute couple in the front window, and told Charlie I was punching out.
    When I got back to Donny's table, he had eaten about half of everything, and drained both his water glass and the club soda.
    "Finished?” I asked.
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "Then it's time to get out of here.” I draped my apron over the back of the empty chair.
    He raised an eyebrow. “What about my check?"
    "I lost it. Come on.” I held out my hand.
    He cracked a small smile and then took it.
    I dragged him straight back to my apartment. He was quiet the whole walk there, but he held on to my hand. As I opened the deadbolt, a bunch of apologies about how small the place was and what a mess it was came to my mind. But I kept them to myself.
    Once I had shut the door, I hung my purse on the knob as always—harder to forget it that way. When I turned around, he was looking curiously at the framed photos on the shelf above the TV.
    There was one of me and my Dad decked out in fan paraphernalia, in authentic jerseys and caps, taken on a spring training trip to Florida. “That was two years ago,” I said. “Your first year.” I came up behind him and hugged him around the waist. “Me and my Dad."
    "Is he a big fan?"
    "He was. He passed on a little after that."
    "I'm sorry."
    "It's all right. He lived to see the World Series win.” I meant to say it more jokingly, but it just came out quietly. “But it's time to stop thinking about baseball now."
    I turned him around to face me. He put his arms around my shoulders, a serious look on his face.
    "You said I'm the boss,” I reminded him. And kissed him. He kissed back.
    "Take off your clothes,” I said into his ear. I took a step back. “Don't dawdle, now."
    He looked left and then right before undoing his fly—as I had guessed, too self-conscious. I unbuttoned my own shirt to distract him. When we got down to underwear, he hesitated until I slipped my panties off. Then he followed suit.
    "Lie down.” When I said my apartment was small, I meant it. We were standing in the “living room” but the bedroom was really just an alcove, the window overlooking the street. He lay back on the bed looking at me, curiously.
    I sat on the edge of the bed and rummaged in the night stand a bit. “My name's Melanie,” I told him. “You can call me Mel.” I pulled the blindfold out of the drawer. “Sit up a minute."
    I tied it on him and he didn't protest. That's why I told him my name—guys will use your name when they are having a problem with something. He didn't say a word as I tightened the blindfold behind his head. I almost told him about that Dodgers second baseman—what was his name?—who had throwing problems. They blindfolded him and fed him balls and he was able to nail first base every time, even with the blindfold on, yet he kept blowing the throw in games. I decided against telling him. It was time to forget baseball, remember?
    I lowered him back onto the bed and climbed over him. I took a scrap of rabbit fur from under the pillow and started to rub his shoulders with it, then his pecs and stomach. I polished his nipples and ran it down the sides of his legs. He was half erect already when I started and as I worked my way slowly up the insides of his thighs, he came to attention. I dragged the soft fur over the protrusion and he moaned. I let the fur wash back and forth over him a few times, then left it tented on his pole while I tickled him under the balls.
    He pulled his legs in reflexively and I slapped him on the inside of his thigh. “Ow!” he said, more surprised than hurt.
    "You okay, Donny?” I asked.
    "Yeah,” he replied, clearing his throat.
    "It's okay,” I told him. “Sometimes you just