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This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance to any person or organization is purely coincidental. Part one: I had no idea that the game I pitched against the Phillies would be the last game of my career. The Phillies game was my second start of the season. I had done okay in my first start, gave up seven hits scattered over seven innings and three runs while striking out four and only walking two. I lost, but I managed to keep us in the game. It wasn’t my fault that nobody was hitting that day. I had the stuff. I had spent the whole off season working on my control, and it had paid off. My second start against the Phillies, the game went a lot better. I struck out seven and pitched a complete game. My first and last complete game shutout. I was confident in my abilities and was sure that I’d have a long career as a pitcher for the Doves. Hell, I struck out Sherry Magee twice and he hit .331 that year. The fans gave me a standing ovation when I left the field, and the papers said that I was destined for greatness. It was my fourth season in the bigs, my second with the Doves. I’d been with the Cubs the two years before, until Frank Chase said they could win the Series without me. I had hopes that it would be my first full season as a big league starting pitcher. One of the papers said that I was the heir apparent to Cy Young. It was heady stuff for a farm boy who had spent the first part of his life in a corn field and the next going back and forth between the bigs and one scrub bush town after another. Of course, I took all that with a grain of sand. It was all said in my obituary. People tend to talk well of the dead. Oh well, the best laid schemes, as Robbie Burns said. The Doves finished in the cellar that year, proving that they could finish last without my help. A year or so later they changed their name to the Braves. My promising career Ankara bayan escort ended, but looking back, I probably wouldn’t have been much more than a footnote that year at best. Walter Johnson struck out 313 that season, turned out he was Young’s heir. Of course I might have done better if I’d had a chance. I haven’t played the game in a hundred years. For a long time I couldn’t even go to games. I was happy when they put the lights up and I could get out to the park again. Of course I always have to miss part of the game. I am a season ticket holder who never makes it to the day games, and is always late to the night games. I can’t make it before the sun has gone down. In the middle of summer I miss a lot of innings. I live in Philly now, home of the Phillies and the cheese steak. I’ve lived other places since my untimely death, but I keep being drawn back. It has something to do with her, of course. The woman who made me what I am today. I met her at a bar. A couple of the guys took me out after the game to celebrate my first win in the bigs. I think maybe there were five of us, but my memory is spotty. I have definite memories of Buster Brown and George Graham, the catcher who caught me that day being there. I had too much to drink, of course. I wasn’t used to drinking, and I was falling asleep at the table when she came over. She looked about six feet tall, and probably was in the heels she was wearing that day. Barefoot she’s about five eight or so, a good six inches shorter than me. She laid her hands palm down on the table and leaned forward enough for us to catch a glimpse down her dress at her beautiful breasts. She was an alabaster beauty. That term used to get thrown around a lot to describe women in my day, but she was looked like she’d been carved out of the stuff. She had perfect titties. I Escort bayan Ankara told her so. The guys at the table with me laughed. One of them told her that she’d have to overlook me because I’d just fallen off the turnip truck earlier that day. She smiled and said I was cute. We bantered back and forth a bit, and she asked if I’d walk her home. I wasn’t even sure I could walk, but I told her I was game if she was. The guys laughed at that too, and one of them, I think it was Brown, elbowed me in the ribs and told me that if I wasn’t up to it, he was more than willing to take my place. My experience with women had been limited. There had been a couple of farm girls who lived down the road from my family, and a few willing ladies in the towns I’d played ball, but I’d never gotten to do it enough to actually develop any talent at it. I’d spent too much of my time practicing my pitches. If I’d devoted as much time to learning sex as I’d spent learning to throw a baseball I’d have been heir apparent to Casanova. The thing was that I liked pussy just as much as I liked baseball. Maybe more. Baseball was just easier for me. I have no idea what bar we were in. I have memories of several places, all alike and all completely different, pretty much like people. Peaches had to get up and steady me on my feet, and he asked if maybe I wouldn’t rather just go get some sleep. I told him I was fine, and managed to get my arm around one of the beautiful women. She helped me out into the street and guided me along with her. She may have been actually holding me up, although it didn’t seem like it at the time. We got back to her place and I collapsed on her sofa. She stood in front of me and slowly started taking off her clothes. I felt myself stiffen as she undressed. “I don’t know your name,” I said. “Call me Celine,” she Bayan escort Ankara said. “I’m, uh…John Smith.” I was thinking clearly enough to give her a false name. I have no idea why I felt I needed to give her a name that wasn’t the one I pitched under. The papers were as trashy and vile as they are today, but I wasn’t important enough for any of them to care how I’d spent my evening. She had hair that shined like gold when the gas light hit it just right. It fell to just past her shoulders, and matched the beautiful patch between her legs. I leaned forward and kissed her on the belly. She felt cool to my lips. I gave her another kiss, and then she put her hands on top of my head, gently and asked if I wanted to get naked too. It took me only a minute to get my clothes off, and only another second to get her in my arms. Her lips were sweet as honey, her nipples hard and stiff against my chest. “Take me to bed,” she said. I lifted her in my arms. She told me where her bedroom was and I carried her there. She sat on the edge of the bed and took my cock in her mouth. An electric thrill ran through my entire body. I had never had a woman do that before. I’d heard about it, but never quite believed that there were actual girls who would do that for me. None of the girls I’d been with had ever sucked my dick, or even kissed it. She lay back on the bed and told me to get on my knees. I did, and it brought my face right next to her pussy. I could smell her. It was an inviting aroma, luring me to put out my tongue and taste her. I touched her pussy lips with my tongue, finding her clitoris. I may have found her clit in the complete ignorance of it’s existence. I’m not sure that I even knew what a clitoris was, or that it was a woman’s most sensitive spot, but I found it with my tongue as if I had been guided there by some force outside myself. I wanted to please her. She was wet with her own juices and growing wetter by the second. I opened the soft pink lips of her pussy and slid a finger inside her, then another. My cock ached for her, but I didn’t try to hurry her along. She moaned with pleasure at what I was doing to her, and I lived only to please her.