The Rise of Family Fielding
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Left Field free porn video
Left Field
By Dee Eon
Stacey socked the baseball almost clear over the fence and by the time
her leggy frame bounced second base everyone knew she'd be scott-free
sliding home in a cloud of brown dust.
"Alright, Stacey!!!" I cried and with the rest of our Little League team
we all slapped high fives and I tossed her cap into the air. At that moment I
felt a rush to kiss her--I mean really kiss her like big kids do, right on the
lips, not the cheek. I'd been dreaming a lot worst and wet, but I saw that
happening in the far distant future, like in college. It'd die happy just
mashing her wide sly lips.
After congratulations and cheers and root beer spray, everyone broke
up to go to the lockers but I smiled off the envious looks the guys on our
team gave me as I held back with Stacey on the bleachers for a private chat.
They had a good reason being green because Stacey was almost a dead
ringer for Alyssa Manilo at the same age in her TV show "Who's The Boss",
except Stacey had dark gray eyes instead of brown and her lissome figure
was only lightly curved, not stacked; after all she was only twelve something,
but you could see the promise budding even through her lumpy team uniform.
"That was sure a squeaker, wasn't it??" Stacey chuckled in her soft
voice, brushing from her pixie face a rush of short chestnut hair that made
her look even more impish and comely. It was hard to believe she was such
a formidable tomboy in Little League or Pee Wee football. Most tomboys
were like butchy boys, but Stacey made aggressiveness and stamina look
like graces. She talked softly and never used dirty words. If she weren't so
good out on the field she'd be doing pageants. We met during try-outs last
year and been close buddies since even though we went to different schools
and she biked over from way across town. I hadn't even seen her house,
but then it was a given that boys didn't just 'visit' a chick's house anyway.
I nodded. "Sure was, especially how you surprised that guy at bat; I bet
he was expecting some lame underhand pitch outta you!"
"Well, that's my secret!" she coyly tinkered, and as she did I felt the
thump down in my jeans and hoped that it didn't budge my uniform pants'
zipper too hard. My eyes strayed--just slightly--at the mild mounds of her
dusty uniform shirt and I wondered what she'd be like in a swimsuit up
there.
"Er, Stacey, wanna play some Doom 5?"
"Sure!"
We walked home to my family's finished basement where we knocked
back several rounds of Doom and Donkey Kong to boot then plunked down
to do our homework like we usually did.
And that was my problem.
I didn't want to be just buddies with a tomboy, especially a lovely
tomboy who was gonna be a knockout by high school easy. I was already
her closest friend and I sure wanted to keep it that way. At thirteen I saw
high school knocking and the junior jock competition for fresh freshmen
babes ready to snatch Stacey from my grasp. Up to now I'd been
reluctant--okay, shy-- okay, okay, scared--about showing Stacey just how
deep I cared about her. We went to movies and strolls in the park and video
arcades, but she acted as though I were her big brother taking her out, but
she must've felt deeper than that. Lots of guys on the team played for her
but she'd shy off to stick with me, and often I caught looking at me
goo--goo eyed before she'd innocently look away, so I sensed she had
something in for me too.
It was long time to get it out in the open, and there was no better day
than now...
A little skittish, I went over to the bookcase and got the big red envelope
and for a insane moment skittishly shoved it back, but some nagging in
back of my mind whipped up some guts to retrieve it and go over to Stacey.
"What's that?" she asked and I stammered a little then passed it to her.
"Open it!" I gallantly said to her curious look and my wistful anxiety
was mounting as I watched her fine fingernails scratch the flap and open the
envelop, and she pulled out the lace rimmed red satin heart.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" I said, taking the plunge and pecking her
cheek then wondering how she'd take a mushy sentiment as a rough n'
ready pretty tomboy, but she was staring at my gift like she was startled and
somewhat nonplused.
"Er, like it?" I prodded.
"Er...sure...it's--pretty..." Stacey said, sliding the heart back in without
even facing me but looking oddly sheepish. "Uh, I...maybe I...I better go
home."
"Why? We got a whole hour left to burn."
"Vincent, I--I don't know if I should come any--anymore," she said and
suddenly my gut fell like a brick because I somehow blew it, shoving a
prissy lacy heart to a hardcore but lovely tomboy.
"Hey, wait, it--it was just a--a joke," my desperation lied. "Stacey!"
"Still..."
"Stacey, com'on!" I said, playfully punching her slim shoulder, but it
was the way she wouldn't meet my eyes that scared me. Desperate I
grabbed the Valentine.
"Just a stupid joke!" I blurted, about to rip it up.
"No--!" Stacey cried, snatching it away but then looking almost rueful
doing so. "No...don't."
"So what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong...I mean....look, I--I gotta go home."
I blocked her way. "Stacey, com'on, we're supposed to be best friends!
Ever since fifth grade! You can tell me."
"I can't tell you--this," she said a whispery way that really slipped out.
"Why not?"
"Vincent, let me out."
"Not till you tell me."
"There's--nothing to tell!"
"Yes there is, you're just holding it back!"
"No I'm not."
"What is it, Stacey? You already got one from another guy??" I blurted,
my greatest fear meaning to shake her up to spill the beans but really not
meaning it, but the funny thing was that I really didn't mean to say it.
Stacey looked up at me.
"No, there's no other guy, just--you! It's always been you! That's the
problem!" she blurted in a weird sadly rueful way.
"What's wrong, Stacey? What's going on? I'm not letting you out till
you tell me!"
Stacey looked me with a morose look and drifted back to flop on the
sofa. "I--I just knew it couldn't last!" she quietly bemoaned, staring at her
clasped hands upon her huddled thighs.
"What couldn't last?"
"Being--being just friends with you," she said, and I could sense that
her infamous rhino shell was cracking before my eyes. "I like you so
much, Vincent! So, so much!"
"I like you too, Stacey. That's why I wanna know what's the matter?"
She shook her head. "You'll hate me."
"No way!"
"You will."
"Never! Promise a thousand times each may."
She looked doubtful then resigned. "I...I wouldn't blame you if you
did."
"What kinda thing's that to say??"
"It's true. See...I--I liked you ever since try-outs last year."
"So?"
"I mean--I really, REALLY like you," she shyly asides said like pulling
teeth.
I blinked, surprised and flattered. "Oh. Well, er, cool! I--I kinda like
you that much too."
She whirled to me. "No, you mustn't! You're a macho jock. I'll ruin
you!"
"How?" I asked and she looked skittish and turned for the door but I
held her elbow. "How can liking you ruin me, Stacey? That makes no
sense!"
"I can," she glumly said with a sigh. "If --if someone finds out about
me, you'll be screwed."
"What do you mean?"
"You're a jock and hang around jocks, not--not other kinds of boys."
"What other kind of boys?" I asked and she paused as though gingerly
choosing her words.
"Weaker boys...smaller boys...boys who--who don't look as macho or
rough."
"Well, like you said I'm a jock, Stacey. Wimps can't hang rough sports.
That's a fact."
Her head snapped at me with flaring eyes, not in anger but
admonishment. "I hanged the team. I'm one of the top!"
"Yea, but you're a tomboy--kinda. You're tougher than any sissy
wimp!" I quipped and she seemed to bridle at that then looked at little sad at
me.
"I--I'm not really a tomboy, Vincent," she softly parried.
I chuckled. "Well, I kinda hoped that. I like girls best like Cinderella,
not Xena."
"No, you don't understand," she said, pausing to look at her lap's
fidgety hands. "I--I'm not only not a tomboy, I'm...I'm not...not even a
girl."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"I'm not a girl," she repeated a little less boldly.
"What do you mean, you're not a girl?"
"Because...because I'm really a...a boy."
"Wait, you mean tomboy."
"No, a boy...just like you," s/he said with steady eyes that hit me like a
brick.
"A--A Boy? Like a--a guy boy??"
"Sorry."
I scoffed at her tease. "Com'on, you could joke better than that, Stacey!"
"It's no joke, Vincent."
"Stacey!"
"I swear to God and everything."
"That's not funny, Stacey!"
"I know it's not! I just--just mean it!"
I scoffed even as a weird dizzy daze of confusion and apprehension
crept up my spine. "You're no guy, no way! Shit, even dressed like that
you're prettier than half the girls at school!"
"That's why I had to pass as one to join the team."
"Huh??"
"I love baseball and football--but in P.E. guys rolled their eyes and
laughed at the way I look in my gym uniforms and even...even pinched me
and stuff. I can't even join Pee Wee football or Little League as a boy
because coaches thought I looked too shrimp n' sissy to do anything, and
the guys would still--kid around with me. That's why I let people go on
thinking I'm a girl because then they'll let me play without giving me any
hassle or kidding me. Guys respect tomboys, not--not 'pretty boys'."
"Okay, maybe that's true, but not what else you're saying! You--a guy?
No way!"
"That's why I never took showers or went swimming with you all.
You'd be able to tell."
"No, that don't mean nothing! You girls had your own showers after a
game Yea, how about Estelle and Pam on the team? They'd sure know
you're no boy, right?"
"I go home to shower because they think my skin can't take hard water."
"No, you're yanking my chain, Stacey! Why you messing around like
this?"
"Vincent, I'm not messing around with you! Do I have to pull my zipper
to show you?"
I startled, and for a moment I nearly lunged to say "Yes!" but I couldn't.
I daren't.
"Stop that, Stacey! I'm not foolin'!" I scolded with weird clammy alarm
that just maybe this daymare was really true. "You're a girl, Stacey! You're
no guy! Say it!"
"I'm not lying, Vincent," Stacey softly said, lifting dewy eyes. "I swear
to you."
My lips wanted to retort, to deny, but her huge liquid eyes were
brimming with sincerity and something deeper I didn't want to feel.
"Shit!!" I blurted, raking my head and marching back and forth. "Slug
me with a bat! Can't--Can't believe this!"
"I--I didn't know this would happen. I--I didn't think about it," Stacey
quietly said soft as a sigh. "I...I would've stopped so I wouldn't embarrass
you, but I...I couldn't."
"I--I can't believe this! It's like the Twilight Zone!" I blurted in a dizzy
daze. "You're really a guy?? A boy--guy?"
"As much a boy as you," Stacey said almost regrettably, but that
statement helped jar my ego and sting my macho dignity.
"No. NOT like you! If you're really a guy that means you're a faggot
and a fairy gay dude, right??" I lashed out and Stacey hung her head.
"Maybe...I--I don't know what I am. I know is that--that ever since I
saw you I had a crush on you. A whole whole lot."
"Yea, gay love shit, right??" I snapped to her taciturn look. "You
freakin' kept passing as a chick to hit on me, right?! Real slick trick!"
"I never meant to hurt you, I swore!"
"No, just trying rub all that faggot shit on me, right?"
"No--never!"
"You got the hots for me, right? Sayin' you never dreamed about me
too? About us- 'together', guy on guy??"
Stacey's head hung and I snorted. "Right! Gay love shit! Man, all this
time and I never guessed!!"
"I'm sorry--"
"Sorry, hang! You freakin' embarrassed me! Supposed your secret got
out? What cheerleader's gonna hang around a guy who's buddies with a
gay in girl drag? A guy I had in my bedroom all the time! Shit! Just be real
glad I'm not like my friends who think it's cool bashing sissies and pretty
boys lower than they are--but don't push it!" I snorted, trying to be bitterly
brutal as Stacey slowly rose for the outside door. "Goin' back down your
closet hole I hope, pretty sissy!"
Stacey paused on the steps. "I won't hurt you anymore," s/he quietly
said, pausing if deciding to look back one last time. "I...really love you,
Vincent."
Something in her forlorn look tweaked my chest and suddenly I lunged
up the steps to grab the back Stacey's shirt. "Wait, wait! Hold on, alright?"
I yanked again, too hard because s/he fell backward and the only way I
could've stopped Stacey from tumbling backward down the concrete steps
on her head and back was to catch her, causing me to stumble backwards
myself. As it was we both hit the hard floor, but I was only three steps up
so it wasn't that hard a smack on my back except s/he landed on me too. In
fact, during my fall back s/he even twisted enough to whip an arm around
my head to jerk it tight against her chest for her shoulder to take most of our
impact.
"Shit!" I groaned.
"Are you alright??" Stacey solicitously asked over my face.
"I--I guess. Heavier than you look."
"I've boy muscles too," Stacey innocently said and somehow I felt an
impulse to chuckle at that and despite my ache and ire I looked up at her
worried and beautiful Alyssa Manilo face and battled yearns and pines and
reality. Damn! If I weren't aching and s/he really a girl I'd reach up and--
Her lithe leggy weight groped off me but s/he grimaced and rubbed her
shoulder where s/he wrested my head instants before it'd hit the floor. S/he
started hobbling back to the steps.
"Hey, wait!" I crawled up and pulled her shoulder to the sofa and rubbed
her upper arms.
"It's alright, just a sprain," Stacey said, somber near tears and anxious
to leave.
"Look...thanks for--breaking that fall, okay?" I guilty said but s/he kept
somberly quiet. "So...you really are a boy?" I stupidly asked more like a
wonder making time to think than a real question and Stacey's hanging head
soberly nodded. "Look...I--I wasn't going to tell anyone, so you don't
have to worry about that."
"I know," s/he quietly said with implicit trust that really screwed in my
guilt.
"So, Stacey...er, that your real name?"
"Stacy--but without the 'e'," s/he vapidly enunciated.
"That's neat. Guy's name sounds a girl's name just like how you look!"
I quipped, my humor falling flat as contrition seeped in. "Huh, look,
I'm--I'm sorry for all those things I--"
"Forget it--"
"But I really am sorry--"
"I'm sorrier for fooling you so, Vincent. I'm used to being called names
in school when I didn't deserve it. Even when I worked and played hard to
be one of the guys."
Suddenly I felt a real heel for being one of 'those guys'. "Yea...that
must've been rough. Sorry. Er...do you pass for a girl in school too?"
"No, never! I'm not a girl or wanna be one. I'm a boy!"
"Well, sure would've been easier..." I murmured aloud and Stacy's eyes
crimped.
"Why easier?"
"Huh? Er, I just figured that since you had a--a crush on me that--"
"That I have to be like a girl or want to be one to feel this way? You
don't know much about gay stuff, Vincent."
"Look, this is new to me! I never had a pretty girl--er, guy saying he's
gotta crush on me! I mean, I had a friggin' crush on you too!" I admitted to
her startled look of suspended joy. "I mean, that's when I thought you were
only a pretty girl, like. I guess that's history now."
A shy flattered smile tugged Stacey's face. "Do you...really think...I'm
pretty?"
"Sure! Er, yeah...I think you're very pretty for a girl--as a guy I mean,"
I stumbled and s/he smiled unoffended, encouraging me. "I mean, I bet
you'd look better than most the girls at a party or going out if you weren't
looking a tomboy all the time, you know?"
"I think so," Stacey said, looking quietly away as though mulling
something, and suddenly I felt aware that I was still massaging her slim
shoulders and guiltily stopped. "If...if you want, I...I can be that pretty for
you, Vincent," s/he quietly, gently said, rolling those lushly lashed gray
eyes up at my quizzical blink.
"Huh? What do you mean?" I asked and s/he suddenly looked both shy
and determined.
"I mean...I--I've never dragged like a girl before because I never
thought about ever being one...but if you'd like to see me dressed up like a
pretty girl, I--I'll try."
"You--dressed up like a girl?" I tried to sound nonchalant even though
the vision was intriguing and curiosity piqued. "Er, sure," I said, trying to
sound light as though playing along, "That sounds nice and stuff, but
where'll you get the clothes?"
"My sister's got lots of gift dresses from mom and grandmom in her
closet she's never worn. I'm sure I can fit at least one of them. I can learn
makeup and how to be a girl real hard and make you forget what I really
am."
"But you said gays aren't into being girls!"
"Yes...but I will if it makes you feel more comfortable around me.
If--you still want to."
Like the wide dewy pools of her eyes, Stacy's voice was edged with
unabashed guile, hope and desperation, yet I didn't feel intimidated by her
sugared ploy. With stunning realization I sensed that it would be just as
difficult for Stacy to climb into a dress as it would for me, but he felt that
deeply about accommodating me, feting my favor, charming my fantasies.
Despite Stacey's startling truth, I found myself envisioning her in pretty
party dresses and all dolled up for strolls in the park and cruising malls.
Not goose-stepping in scruffy sneakers for Denim Nazis like most girls
were, but expressing her full comely looks and femininity.
I was enchanted by what I saw.
Man, if she--'he'--could doll-up girl just half as good as that, all the
guys at the video arcade will be drooling green at the babe on my arm!
Oh, what the hey! Why blow it?
What people don't know won't care.
"Er, sure...why not?" I tried to nonchalantly shrug, but I was too
fascinated to fake non-interest. Ironically, whether Stacey was a guy or not
didn't figure as much as seeing her looks out of jeans and sweatshirts and
gracing something far more appropriate and flattering. "Yea...like, maybe
it'd be kinda neat seeing just how nice you are out of uniform on the sly.
Er, look, the team doesn't have to know about this, okay? Last thing I want
is for the guys to start hitting on you."
"You don't have to worry about that, Vincent!" s/he fondly asserted,
bubbly as a kid as s/he cranked her legs under her just like girls do on sofas.
Even sissies don't do that.
"Yea, in fact, just in case we better ease off being buddies out front so
no one gets any more funny ideas about us, okay?"
"Yes, Vincent!" s/he tinkered, looking never more Alyssa Milano than
s/he did now with her puppy thrill and soft sweet dreamy look which
compelled me to pick up the Valentine s/he dropped during the fall and
passed it to her to happily clutch to her mildly mounded uniform shirt.
Yes, I can believe she's a chick.
Really a chick!
A warm tickle of excitement and intrigue rushed me and I wanted to be
very gallant and suave when something way in back of my forgotten male
ego reached out and rapped the back of my head and jarred me back to
remember something else I overlooked, and the very fact I did troubled me.
"Er, look, Stacey..." I awkwardly admonished, my jest trying to sound
polite and reaffirmingly macho even though I felt a weird ominous qualm
at following my wonder and whimsy. "I don't mind cruising malls and
doing arcades with you all dressed up way better than any tomboy buddy,
but just don't expect me to hang any ankle bracelets on your foot, alright?"
But Stacey's coy curving lips and sparkling dewy eyes peeking over her
valentine seemed to take my hint a little less seriously.
FIN
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