Chapter 2
The baseball diamond adjacent to the high school sat a block away from the Henderson's elm-shaded backyard, a convenience coveted by Ralph's teaching comrades. Instead of having to waste gas money driving to school, he could walk, and it provided Jean with a jogging track.
Now, with the sun shining on her T-shirted back, her breasts bounced happily, Addidas gently slapping on the warming cement, Jean jogged to the baseball diamond where the little league should be warming up in practice. This feeling of running, of pushing her body to its physical limits, always helped simmer down mental frustration and her mood lightened along with her sprint under the splash of shade to the field beyond.
Reaching the outskirts of the diamond, she stopped to catch her breath and survey the emerald green patch where the cry and laughter of small boys practicing their sport hit her ears. Often she would accompany Ralph for practice, just to see their devilish young faces when they were unaware of being eyed; and playing spectator somehow helped to relieve the growing empty feeling she had begun to feel more intensely these passing days. A cancer born woman astrologically influenced by the sensitive moodiness of the moon's pull, she guessed she'd been born to be a mother . . . and perhaps now, a baby was exactly what then marriage needed but there seemed to be no way of convincing Ralph of that.
Jean's silent Addidas slapped on the concrete sidewalk circling the old bandstand that had been resurrected by the town as a landmark. Actually it was a functional edifice, housing the popcorn stand and the men's and ladies' room to the side. The old structure held a certain charm, with its old porcelain drinking fountain that was perpetually wadded up with gum.
She stopped in mid-sprint now to take a long drink of the icy water when she noticed the familiar Yankees baseball cap and yellow T-shirt of Gordy standing in the dank interior of the men's room a glance away. From his shadowed profile she caught a glimpse of his naked little buttocks.
Now why would he have his pants down if he were urinating, wondered Jean, feeling her cheeks flush for entertaining such intimate thoughts. Out of curiosity, she tiptoed to the doorway and noticed with horror the action of his pumping fist. God, was her whole world turning upside down? What was happening to youth? First Terri (whom she could expect such indecencies of) and now little Gordy!
In stunned fascination, Jean suddenly felt immobile, momentarily unable to react except for standing there and gaping at the unbelievable sight of the eleven-year-old working at his naked, boyish loins. Though it could only have been a matter of seconds that she stood rooted, anger and repulsion were beginning to work on her brain and she sensed the same excited weeping beginning to dampen her panties under the coolness of her jogging shorts.
Swallowing tightly, the infused young wife swung wide the door, her confused mind emotionally racing in a combination of maternal anger and unrestrainable feminine arousal. Certainly this boy must be chided for his bad habits and must be made to understand that such perversities were best nipped in the bud. Perhaps if Terri had been reprimanded at an earlier age, she wouldn't have been displaying such lewdness at the onset of womanhood. Terri was beyond redemption, but maybe Gordy could be saved.
Her spinning brain was wildly advising, but she must do it with tact . . . not degradingly . . . mustn't frighten or shame him.
But Gordy was too engrossed with his lustful little hand and mind game to even hear her open the door, or stride up behind him.
"Gordy!" Jean throatily hissed, glaring with censuring eyes down at the shamefaced youth. "Stop doing that! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
In that instant Gordy's breakfast sausage erection went limp as the skin that encases it and he leapt back, his blonde head swiveling, his brilliant blue eyes gaping up in shocked astonishment at the set, stern features of the coach's wife.
"Ohhhhh . . . boy," he groaned, his freckle-splattered, stub-nosed face already beginning to flush into a tearful expression of horrified embarrassment. He stood sheepishly with the soft tube of flesh still clasped in his sweating palm. Instantly, he stuffed it into his shorts and pulled up his jeans in mortified desperation.
"I never would have expected such behavior out of you, Gordy. Really, of all the boys on the team I would never have expected-and in public, too." The curiously aroused and incensed coach's wife reproved, her eyes magnetically fixed on the vanishing length of his surprisingly thick boy-cock. "I don't know what to think. You know what Coach Henderson would think, though, don't you?" It was hardly an exaggerated statement coming from the thoroughly confused woman. God, just because it was spring time did all the young people have to act like animals?
The shamefaced boy groaned miserably, his eyes cast downward as he tugged at the obdurate zipper. "Man . . . I-I hope you won't tell the coach.. . . "
"Telling him isn't the solution to anything, Gordy. It's up to you to change your ways,"
Jean pressed, unable to shake the surge of almost obscene power and stimulation his lusty act was inciting within her. She had him in her power, this little boy, and it felt good to be in charge of a male for once. Ralph was always so darned strong-willed and unbendable. "Do you do this at home, too? My gosh, what if your mother or father would catch you? Do you know how that would hurt them?"
Gordy could do little more than groan in his humiliated discomfiture. What did she expect him to say? She'd caught him with his pants down, as it were. And the look in her eye-all flinty and deep. Her pupils were huge. He'd never seen the coach's wife looking like this before. The expression on her face was worse than Terri's when she'd caught him in the park the other day in the high weeds by the tennis courts where he'd been watching her bat the ball against the mesh fence, the panty line of her shorts doing wild things for his curious imagination. Still, he combated his guilt with the thought that he wasn't the only guy on the baseball team who played with himself.
"I'm talking to you, little man!" snapped Jean harshly down at him, perplexed by the sudden twinge of near-sadistic pleasure she was experiencing at the boy's tearful helplessness.
Gordy offered the woman a half-hearted, tense smile. "Wh-what do you want me to say, Mrs. Henderson? I'm sorry . . . and I won't do it again."
"Especially if you want to play in the big league, pitching," she droned on. "Do you think Vida Blue plays with himself before a game . . . or . . . or Reggie Jackson?" she tormented him, uncontrollable mental flashes of the stud-bodied professional baseball players pulling their pants down in the locker room to pull at their loins like the male glossy in Playgirl magazine had intimated he was about to, flickering excitedly in her brain. "You, of all Ralph's boys. Have you done this before?"
"N-No more than the other guys," he exclaimed defensively, hardly realizing that he was implicating his baseball team.
Jean's inner reaction to his incriminating confession sent tiny sensations of sensual excitation to burst within her roused belly like kernels of fried popcorn popping into savory morsels of fiery delight, feeding a hunger she never realized was part of her psyche! Suddenly a bridge between a boy and a man was being erected before her eyes. This was no helpless child standing before her. "You mean they all do it?"
"Oh gosh . . . I don't know. . . " he half-whined in tormented confusion, "I'm not feelin' so good right now."
"Is that so? Well, maybe I should take you home to your mother!" she threatened coldly, her irrepressible emotions causing her to blindly ignore that portion of her which had always been so compassionate. These new lust-infusing imps cavorting deep in her belly were getting the upper hand, and like a game of cards, she was ready to play them on the table. "And what do you think your mother would say?"
"Oh, Gosh, my mother would kill me!" he pleaded. "Please, Mrs. Henderson . . . I'll do anything, just don't tell my mother . . . please? Terri didn't. . . "
Again a foreign thrill charged over the rounded curves of the lovely blonde wife's shapely, well-trimmed body at the unquestionable slip of the tongue the flustered boy before her had just made. "Terri didn't what, Gordy?" she pressed, her throat suddenly tight. "Go on. . . " His eyes fell to the ground. "Are you telling me that Terri . . . Terri Henderson caught you doing this same thing? Oh God. . . " her voice went soft.
The tension of threatened exposure sent tears to pool in the boy's blue eyes, glistening in the darkness of the dank men's room. His eyes shot to the door, and Jean grabbed him by the arm to prevent that. There was a confession to be made, and if it involved Terri, it involved her, Jean. "Now tell me about what Terri has to do with this or I'll be forced to call your mother at work and-"
"No. . . . "
"Tell me . . . did you give Terri something to keep your secret?"
"S-sort of," he whimpered, his young voice barely audible.
"What? I want to know what she's been up to." Those devils cavorting in her loins again.. .
"I.. . I did something for her. . . but that's all there was to it," he tearfully implored. "It's our secret."
Suspicion ran rampant in Jean's brain. If Terri was involved in something it had to smack of indecency and black secrets. Subconsciously, she sensed the increased warm wetness seeping from the soft heated flesh of her sheer panties saturated with cuntal moisture. She could feel the snugly hugging wisp of nylon damply brushing between her smooth, full thighs and against the curl-fringed lips of her curiously incited pussy. God . . . what was happening to her? But no . . . she didn't want to know the basis for these strange fluttering in her female body.
She released a long, methodical sigh, as if making some grave, judicial decision. Finally she said in an even voice, despite the sheen of perspiration on her forehead and the tingling between her legs: "I don't want to hurt you, Gordy. But after what you've said about the other boys and Terri.. . " She shook her head accusingly and tutted. "At least you could have been more discreet . . . I guess maybe that bothers me more than anything about this." She paused there, hoping her softened tone and compassionate words would have an effect on the shaking eleven year old, the shocked expression on his boyish features advising her of the agony of hope boiling in his taut, little body. "I want you to know that I am your friend, Gordy . . . far more so than Terri could ever be and that we, too, can share secrets between us. Does that sound good to you?"
"Yeah!" He nodded in relief.
She offered him an crooked grin. Then, lowering her voice, she said: "All right.. . I promise to keep your promise.. . "
Gordy broke into a slow grin, rubbing at his freckled, sniffling nose with the back of a shaking hand. "If you do . . . I'll do anything you say. Honest . . . Scouts honor!"
"Sounds good," she warmly whispered, squeezing his arm in an affectionate gesture. God, how she wanted to grab that sweet boy body and press it to her bosom! "Now let's go practice and afterwards you can come back to the shop with me and tell me about what happened between you and Terri. You know the coach has his secret sauna back there by the store room and we can sit there and talk."
For a long moment, she stared into frightened rabbit eyes indicating he was experiencing a powerful inner struggle. Sensing it, Jean ran her respectably polished fingers through his sandy hair. He looked up at her, his dark eyes reflecting the conflicting emotions roiling within. "Okay . . . but it is a secret."