Softball Tryouts: Strike One

Welcome to my new 3 part series about two 18-year-old girls in high school fighting for the starting shortstop position on their softball team.

A fan gave me this idea, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. I even had to spread my legs and cum a few times as I wrote it.

If you notice any errors, don't hesitate to contact me and let me know.

If you have ideas and would love to see CUM alive, please don't hesitate to ask me; I always take suggestions!

Please note* This is based on two 18yr old girls in high school, and has no reference to underage activities.

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"Bye, mom!!" I yelled through the house as I grabbed my duffle bag and bat off the ground and slung it over my shoulder. I grabbed my car keys off the hook by the front door and began to head outside.

"BYE, HONEY!! GOOD LUCK TODAY!" My mom yelled back.

Today was the first day of softball tryouts for my new school. I had just moved to Frisco, TX, from Wayside, FL. My mom and dad had gotten a divorce; he was caught cheating on her with his secretary, and she wasted no time in moving back home to Texas.

While I do miss my dad, we were never really that close. He was a Financial Planner and often worked 60 to 70-hour weeks, meaning he was never home, and when he was, he was sleeping, drinking, or preparing for more work.

Mom and I were two peas in a pod, however. We were super close, with a solid relationship. We liked the same music, taste in clothes, movies, and sports. She was a dynamic shortstop for all her softball teams growing up and even won a national title in college at Clemson University.

People often called me her little "mini-me," and I never hated hearing that. She was my hero. So naturally, I picked up the sport at an early age and excelled, to no one's surprise. I was a starter at my last school in my freshman year and never had to relinquish my spot.

My strengths were always my reflexes, reaction times, speed on the diamond, and batting average. I was never the power hitter who always seemed to get the attention, but you must recognize my.412 batting average. I got on base 3 or 4 times a game and rarely struck out. I was shorter, so I walked a lot and averaged two steals a game, minimum. I was a force on offense and managed to convert most of the double play ground outs that came my way and could snag a shallow pop-up in the outfield.

I've been an All-Star since 3rd grade and have four university scouting offers. Tennessee, Oklahoma (fingers crossed - this is the one I hope makes an offer), University of Texas at Austin, and Florida University.

Frisco High School is wealthy, with many opportunities to advance my game. There are a lot of good players, which means I would not need to be guaranteed to be a starter or even make the team. But I love a good challenge, and I thrive on it. And with this being my senior year, I truthfully needed to make a splash. Oklahoma is the nation's best team by a longshot, so I needed a State Championship, an MVP-esque season, and, most importantly, to stay healthy. Although! None of that matters if I can't make the team.

Tryouts were a three-day process and started at 4 PM today.

I opened the door to my Toyota Corolla, which I've named Em - short for Eminem, threw in my bag, put the bat in the back seat, and sat in the driver's seat. Like most things in Texas, my mom tells me the school was a 15-minute drive away.

I was leaving at 3 PM to be 15 minutes early. This allowed me to get changed, warm up, and be the first on the field. If there was one thing I've learned from my mom, it is that coaches love a hard worker, and nothing demonstrates that quite like being there before the coaches.

A little more about me, though I don't know why it matters. My name is Becky Sullivan, though everyone calls me Beck, and I am 18, turning 19 in February. I am 5' 5 and weigh about 120 lbs of straight muscle! I have dirty blonde hair and hazel-colored eyes. I'm relatively busty and have the typical incredible SOFTBALL ASS, as my mom calls it, with legs to match.

I'm a pretty intense person, but I make friends quickly. I'm not the funniest person in the group, but I get along well with people even if I am often the most serious person.

I was pretty popular in my last school but had my haters. I was often called DYKE, LESBIAN, BUTCH, or TWAT by the jocks that I wouldn't fuck simply because they were the stars of the football team. Jesse was my last boyfriend during my sophomore year, and we broke up due to my insane commitment to softball dreams and responsibilities.

I don't date much as most of these boys are super needy and can't handle a girl who's got her head on her shoulders and doesn't 100% depend on them for everything. Don't get me wrong, I love sex, attention, and feeling loved and appreciated, but I just loved softball...more.

Plus, I am gorgeous; thus, I have high standards. I'm not full of myself, but I REALLY take after my mom - which makes my dad an IDIOT. Most mid-Floridian boys are fake-country, have mullets, drive big trucks their daddy bought for them, and only care about hookin' up and getting drunk. Eck... that's not my style. I want an athletic, tall gentleman who can hold a conversation, has goals he is dedicated to, is respectful, and knows how to treat a woman. I know - I'm asking a lot, but a girl can dream, right?

I showed up at the high school at 3:16 and made my way back to the athletic building. The school wasn't empty, as many after-school programs were still in full effect, but the athletic building was vacant, just like I liked it.

I navigated through the building to the girl's locker room, found an open locker, put my bag and bat down, and started to undress. I unzipped my bag and grabbed my typical practice gear. I slipped my loose Van Halen concert tee that I stole from my mom off my head, unhooked my bra, and began to put on my sports bra when a loud *BANG* came from behind.

"JESUS!" I yelled as I turned toward the noise. Standing in the room with me was another girl about my age; she looked mixed (maybe Mexican and white) and was clearly about to change.

"Calm down there, newbie," the girl scoffed. "You're going to need bigger balls than that if you're going to make this team."

"Don't worry about my balls; I'll be fine. I'm Becky, Beck for short." I introduced myself, pulling the sports bra over my tits and bending down to find my pants.

"Riley..." the girl said, returning to me and getting ready.

"Nice to meet you. What position do you play?" I asked, pulling the pants up my legs and buttoning them up.

"I'm the starting Shortstop; what about you?" She asked.

I looked back in shock, FUCK, I thought, she's my direct competition, and she's instantly going to hate me. I can't lie to her because if this tryout goes how I think it will, I'll end up lining up with her anyway, and then she'll know me as a liar. "Looksss like I'm your competition today... I'm also a Shortstop. Just moved from Florida."

Riley had her back to me, so I could only see her now naked back. She has a tattoo, but I couldn't make out what it was from here.

"Good luck, newbie; you're not going to take my spot...so you might as well try for a different position." She scoffed, sounding super annoyed with me.

I'm not one to back down from any challenge, and I have this arrogance about softball. I know I'm the best, I act the best, and I will be the best. So, of course, I had to open my mouth and say, "It's not me who needs the luck, Ms. Yesterday. You'll be grateful to be my backup at the end of the day." I said, now facing her, sitting on the bench in my locker. I was putting my socks and cleats on.

Riley whipped her head back in my direction and then charged over to me like she wanted a fight. I stood up instantly, knowing that a seated position surely meant I'd get a knee to the face, let alone struggle to defend myself.

Riley was still topless, and her light brown breasts were swinging as she hurried to my locker. She stopped 6 inches from my face, "If you think I'm going to let some hick white girl steal my spot, you're fucking stupid. Good luck turning the coach in your favor. She's been coaching me since I was 8. Pinche guera." She shoved my shoulder, and I pushed her back instantly.

"HEY, HEY, HEY! What's going on here?" An older voice from across the room yelled out.

I fell back on my bench and sat down. Riley stood there, her panty-covered crotch now in my face, for another 3 seconds before turning away and walking back to her locker. I caught the scent of roses when she moved away. That was hella distracting before the older woman approached the space between her locker and mine.

"I'm not going to ask again, what's going on here?" The older lady was now staring in Riley's direction.

"Nothing, coach, just some friendly banter for my new competition." The Latina said, turning her back to us and grabbing her sports bra.

"Ah, so you must be Ms. Sullivan? The sensation from the East Coast?" The older woman reached a hand out to me.

I reached up and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. Are you Coach Spitz?" I asked, making eye contact with her.

The older woman has piercing blue eyes and extremely tan skin. She was my mom's age and build but a little more toned.

"The one and only," Coach Spitz replied.

"I see you met your Texas equivalent in Riley. Like you, she's nationally ranked with offers from SMU, UT, USC, and Oklahoma. I know you both want the same position, but I will give the starting position to one of you, and the other will have to fight for 2nd or 3rd. BUT IF I CATCH YOU FIGHTING, YOU'RE BOTH ON THE BENCH OR OFF THE TEAM, AM I CLEAR?" The coach said, sounding more stern than ever as she turned to face Riley.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, pulling my hand back and tying my cleats.

"Yes, coach," Riley said from the other side of the locker room.

"Good! I'm fortunate to have two top 15 ranked young women on my team, and what a shame it would be to have to cut either or both of you," Coach said, walking away and into the coach's office.

I finished getting ready, grabbed my bat, hat, and glove, and went to the locker room exit. I made sure to stop at Riley's locker to try and apologize. "Look, I'll say it. I'm sorry. I was a bitch back there. I'd love to get to know you, seeing how we are both as good as we are." I offered my hand in forgiveness.

Riley looked up at me, laughed, and knocked my hand out of her face. "Look... I'll be nice 'cause this is my way out of this bullshit town, but I'm not gonna be your 'bestie,'" she said sarcastically. "You are an obstacle in my way, and I will do whatever it takes to move or break you. Understand, guera?"

I made a smug look, retreated my hand, and nodded. "Loud and clear, puta," and walked out.

I don't know much Spanish, but I know enough to piss you off. And that was my full intention when I called her a "bitch".

I made it out to the field and got my warmups and stretches in before Riley or anyone else came out. Frisco has an excellent practice facility. The grass was natural and not soaked from rain; the dirt wasn't dry or wet.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and took it all in. I loved the diamond more than anything: the look, the feel, and even the smell.

"HEADS UP!" I heard the sound of a bat connecting to a ball from a distance. I opened my eyes and caught the quickly moving object right before it hit me in the head.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I saw Riley standing beside an orange bucket of balls and a bat in her hand. "NO FUCKING WARNING?" I yelled.

"Wanted to test your reflexes, PUTA," Riley mocked me. "And I said heads up!"

"Just let it go," I said to myself as I kept the ball in my glove and went to the dugout where my water was.

I drank from my green Gatorade bottle and watched as Riley belted ball after ball over the fence.

"Holy shit, this girl has power," I thought as I watched 5 out of 10 balls she hit go over the left-center fence.

*WHISTLE*

The coach blew her whistle as she and the remaining 20-something girls came onto the field.

Coach had us all introduce ourselves, our preferred positions, strengths, and weaknesses. It's no surprise that neither Riley nor I listed any weaknesses. I'm sure to everyone at this practice, we had apparent tension between us.

This practice was more focused on physical abilities than anything else. The coach was timing how fast we were around the bases, how quickly we could go from one side of the outfield to another, arm strength, accuracy, reflexes, jump height, and endurance.

I can not lie and say I wasn't impressed with Riley. She was pound for pound my equal. She had better arm strength, but I had better accuracy. I had more speed, but she had more endurance. We were neck and neck, and by the end of the practice, I'm sure the coach was sitting there scratching her head.

She had us do a three-inning scrimmage at the end of practice to see where everyone fit in. She had Riley and me on opposite teams so that we could both be at shortstop. Riley was batting clean-up, and I opted to be lead off for my team. Her team was batting first.

Michelle, the starting first baseman, hit first. She got a nasty change-up thrown by Emily and hit a line drive right at me. I had to dive to catch it, but I made the play and instantly got a cheer from my team. BOOM, a highlight play right out of the gate.

The next batter hit a small dinky blooper into right field for a single. The next batter struck out swinging on three pitches. Riley was on deck. She made eye contact with me when she stepped up to the plate. The first pitch was a fastball, and I knew it the second her bat made a connection, Homerun.

I eyed her as she circled the bases, and she stared me down as she rounded second.

2 to 0.

The next batter popped up, and the catcher made the play. Now, it was our turn.

Almost as if coordinated, I eyed Riley when I approached the plate. The first pitch was outside; I let it be--ball 1.

The next pitch was low at the knees, so I laid off--ball 2. The 3rd pitch was high and inside, my weakness, but again I laid off--ball 3. This was a situation I found myself in a lot. Again, I wasn't very tall, so I get walked a lot. The next pitch would be right down the middle to prevent me from walking. I knew it. Especially in a tryout, the last thing this girl wanted to do was throw a four-pitch walk, on day one, to the first batter.

The pitch came, and I hooked it into left field. It would be a guaranteed double, but I wanted to showcase my speed. I rounded first and sprinted to second. The outfielder was still picking the ball up, so I turned on the jets and slid into third.

My teammates were cheering for me from the dugout. I stood up, dirt down my shirt, face, and pants, wiped it clean, and looked back at Riley. She was receiving the throw from the cut-off girl in the outfield.

She gave me a "good try" look as if my hit wasn't worthy of her approval. This pissed me off.

The next batter came up and grounded out straight to first--no chance of me scoring, so I retreated to my base.

The next batter came up, and I started with a strong lead off of third. This pitcher has a slow wind-up, and if I time it well, I may be able to steal home. I've only stolen home once, and it was on a wild pitch.

I watched to see if A.) the catcher was watching me and if B.) the pitcher's slow wind-up was true for each pitch. After three pitches, I was confident I could time it perfectly.

The pitcher got the call from the catcher on what pitch she was going to throw. She glanced over her shoulder at me, now 8 ft off the bag, then to the batter, and began her throw. Right as she wound up her arm, I took off down the line, heading for home. I got to the plate right as the pitch did. I had to slide head first with my arms extended out in front of me. I attempted to turn my body at a 35-degree angle mid-air to avoid the tag, then hit the ground.

As the dust settled, you could see my arm on the plate, and the catcher's mitt pressed against my belly. "SAFE!" The coach, acting umpire, said aloud, waving her arms left and right to indicate to those who couldn't see her that I was safe.

I stood up and began going wild. "That's right! THAT'S FUCKING RIGHT! I'M HER! THAT'S ME!"

My teammates rushed out of the dugout and treated me like I had just won the game. Covered in dirt, I headed back to the dugout with my team. I looked back at Riley, who had this look of "OH SHIT" on her face, and then I looked back into the dugout.

The rest of the game didn't matter, as neither batted again. I was grounded to a couple of times, turned a double play, and didn't receive any action.

Riley also converted her own double play, but their pitcher was able to strike out the side, so she didn't get much action either. Their team ended up winning 2 to 1. But again, it didn't matter, and I made my case, as did she.

The coach had us run sprints before dismissing us to the locker room to change and leave.

"DAMN GIRL, YOU'RE REALLY FUCKING FAST!" Tara, one of the players on my scrimmage team, mentioned to me as we walked into the locker room.

"Thanks! You're not bad yourself." I complimented her, though, to be honest, I paid her no attention during the entire practice. All, if not most, of my attention was diverted to Riley.

I got to my locker, sat on the bench, and took off my shoes. The chatter in the room was crazy loud, and I was determined to get out of there and get home. I decided I was going to change my top, my bra, and my shoes. I could take my pants off at home.

I wasn't a fan of showering at school. Not that I cared about other girls seeing me naked. I have nothing to hide as I've got a fantastic body. I just liked my privacy. During my first year, a student got caught peeping in the girls' room. Since then, I decided I'd never do that in school. I'd wait til I was at home.

I got undressed and then redressed before packing my duffle bag again. "Not bad, guera," I heard Riley say from behind me.

"You can call me Beck. I don't appreciate being identified by my skin color." I responded. I wasn't being bitchy as much as I was being stern.

"Oh! You got spice...I like that. What's your rank...BECK?" Riley asked, saying my name sarcastically.

"Fuck if I know, I could care less about the rankings. My play speaks for itself." I answered her as I stood up, grabbing my belongings.

Then, I realized that Riley was again standing before me topless.

"Put on a shirt; no one wants to see that." I scoffed.

"Shit...I bet your boyfriend would love to see my chee-chees." Riley laughed as she grabbed her boobs and bounced them in her hands.

"I don't have a boyfriend; if I did, mine are bigger and perkier." I smiled and headed for the door.

"You truly think you are better than me, right?" She asked, sounding genuinely offended.

I turned right before exiting and looked at her. "It doesn't matter what I think; what matters is what the coaches and scouts think. Have a good night, puta."

"FUCK YOU GUERA!" That is all I heard as I left the locker room.

I hurried home. Having built up a decent appetite, I was starving and looking to replenish my electrolytes and carbs. I walked through the front door and dropped my duffle bag by the hall tree, where we kept our shoes.

"HEY HONEY!!" My mom called out from the kitchen. "How were tryouts today?"

I kicked off my shoes next to my bag, hung my keys on the key hook, and entered the kitchen. Walking up behind my mom, I hugged her, snuck some cooked chicken from the plate by the oven, and then sat at the dining table. "It went very well. I almost got into a fight with my competition 30 minutes before practice started...so it didn't start on the right foot."