9 comments/ 82941 views/ 14 favorites Never Make the Last Out at Third By: Penelope Street WARNING: This story contains graphic sexual descriptions. If you don’t like, or may be offended by, romantic stories augmented by explicit sex, read no farther. This story is intended for adults only. Minors should in no way read any of what follows. The following is entirely a work of fiction. The events and characters described are completely imaginary. * * * * * Frank looked at his watch; 15:30, local time. He turned his attention to the sliding glass door of the apartment immediately across the courtyard. As sure as the time on the clock itself, the smoke-colored glass pane slid and the girl appeared. The young lady was a classic beauty, a long and leggy blonde, with a body more athletic than trim. Every strand of her shoulder-length hair not only shimmered like gold, but also managed to somehow stay in place no matter how she maneuvered her muscular, yet limber, form. She was a woman really, Frank knew, but somehow he still thought of her as a girl. Everyday she came onto her balcony to tan. Everyday she wore the same thing: A light blue skirt and a similarly colored bikini-style top. Everyday she would peal that top off and spend half an hour under the natural sun, in spite of the fact that there were faster and safer methods of achieving the uniform bronze tone that graced the blonde's epidermis. Frank was a confirmed breast-man and he nearly drooled every time he observed her heavenly hooters under their thin veil of azure, especially since he knew that veil would be removed. Someday, if he maintained his vigilance, he was bound to catch a glimpse. Thus he gawked through his own smoked, single-direction, windows while she reclined out of view behind the similar glass that made up the railing of her balcony. As she did everyday, the girl flipped the skimpy blue garment so that one of the cups dangled tantalizingly over the outside of the glass. Frank sighed and closed his eyes, imagining what a beautiful bounty lay just out of sight. After half a minute of such daydreaming, he opened his eyes, stood, and retired to his study. Frank paused for a moment as he reached his computer. He wondered again why he so coveted the few minutes per day he got to view her partially clad form. He could see many more women easily from his computer screen. Most of them would be prettier too. "On," he commanded. The machine hummed instantly to life. "Yes, Master." Frank smiled. He imagined the blonde addressing him in the same manner. He felt his cock twitch in his trousers. "Stocks," he ordered. "Yes, master." Frank’s portfolio filled his three-by-two meter screen. Frank nodded as he perused his investments. "E-G-&-G," he said. "Buy all you can at eight or less within the next hour." "Yes, Master," the device replied. Instantly, the figures on the screen began to change, reflecting the machine’s compliance with the man’s instructions. Frank continued to analyze the display and issue additional instructions until the machine said, "Master, the time is fifteen-forty-three, local daylight time." "Complete existing instructions and then power down," Frank said, rising. "Yes, Master." As he had done for countless days this spring and summer, Frank moved to his recliner and faced his own balcony, and the balcony beyond. Two minutes later, a hand appeared briefly above the railing to retrieve the dangling blue garment. Frank smiled and leaned forward in his seat, anxious to not miss a glimpse of his dream girl. She rose slowly and faced Frank, apparently lacing the straps behind her. Then she smiled, tilted her head and issued a slight, yet seductive wave. Frank froze. His eyes widened. His scalp and the sides of his face tingled as if all the blood had suddenly been drained from the tissue. The girl smiled even more broadly before turning and disappearing into her abode. Frank sat back and clasped his nose between two sets of vertical fingers. Surely she could not really see him, he thought. "House," he demanded. "Yes, Master." "Check windows for opaqueness integrity." "The auditory and visual concealment features of all transparent surfaces are functioning within normal parameters." Frank leaned back in his chair and stretched. She must have guessed, he told himself- but how? Maybe she didn’t guess, he quickly ventured. He nodded as he considered the possibility. Perhaps she had waved in case he was watching. Frank scanned his own memories, wondering if, on the chance occasions he had seen her in the condominium’s compound, he had ever gazed at her too longingly; or for too long. Frank rose and returned to his study. "On," he demanded, taking his seat. "List of videos featuring the girl in the blue swimsuit." "The Girl in the Blue Swimsuit," the computer responded, as the identical words appeared on the screen, followed by a list of dates. "Play my favorite," Frank instructed. "Yes, Master." Frank sighed as the darling of his dreams appeared on his monitor. "Zoom," he ordered. "Focus on the breasts. Keep them full screen." He licked his lips as he involuntarily salivated. "Rating," Frank demanded. "Overall desirability of the girl in the blue swimsuit, within gender and apparent age categories." "Overall rating of the girl in the blue swimsuit, eighty-eighth percentile," the computer responded. "In this video, ninety-first percentile." Frank sighed. "And my ratings." "Forty-forth percentile within your gender and apparent age categories." "And within her apparent age category?" "Thirty-seventh percentile." Frank knew the numbers by heart already. Still, he tortured himself with them weekly, and always he wondered why. He scowled as he recalled her wave. "Factor net-worth into my tally," Frank instructed. "Seventy-eighth percentile." Frank smiled as he considered his score. At least it's up a point from last time I asked. With a sigh, his smile melted. She lives in the same condo as me, She probably has just as much money. That's ok, I don't really want to buy her anyway. He squinted at the floor. Do I? Frank looked once more to the stunningly rotund pair of breasts that graced his display. Yes, he decided, I would gladly buy her if I could. "Master, the time is fifteen-forty-three, local daylight time." Frank jerked from his nap. Shaking his head he made his way to his recliner. He smiled as he saw the dainty blue top still hanging over the balcony rail. Frank shifted forward again and rubbed his hands together. "House. Begin video recording now." If she waved again, he was determined to capture and analyze the event. As if on cue, the blonde reached to grasp her clothing, donning it in the same manner she always did, back to him. She rose and looked once again toward Frank’s apartment, but she did not wave. The woman walked slowly to her door, which slid open at her approach. She walked through the open portal. Frank frowned and emitted a massive sigh as the door closed, terminating his all too brief view of the woman he worshipped. "Cease recording," he instructed. As if by Frank’s command, the glass in the girl’s door suddenly changed from an opaque grey to nearly transparent. There she stood, on the far side of a well-illuminated room. She smiled and splayed her bra-like top, exposing the majority of her bosom. "Record! Record!" Frank demanded. The girl massaged her massive mammaries for mere seconds before covering them once again. Then, with her index and middle finger, she seductively beckoned. Then her lips moved and the glass went grey. "Cease recording," Frank demanded. He jumped from his seat and rushed up the corridor. "Begin playback!" Frank took his seat, but only examined the monitor briefly before he turned his gaze to the floor with a dejected sigh. By accident or design, the girl had chosen a spot where he could see her, but his camera could not. "How did she know?" he muttered absently to himself. "Unable to interpret command, Master," the computer replied. "Cease playback!" Frank snapped. He scrutinized his memory. How did she know? The man rubbed his face with both palms. "Mirror." He looked into the now reflective display, examining himself from various angles. Finished with the cursory inspection of himself, Frank scrutinized his memory a second time. I did see her beckon didn't I? Yes, I'm sure she did. Holding his fist before his face, Frank extended his index and center fingers. He locked his eyes on the digits as he flexed them. Frank looked back to the mirror. Does she have me confused with someone else? Or maybe she just didn't get a good look at me. Frank tilted his head, checking his scruffy beard that was already hinting of grey, though he was barely thirty. His nose he judged to be too long and his figure too gaunt, both entirely accurate assessments. Frank leaned back, arching his spine over the back of his chair. Running his hands through his hair as if massaging his brain, the man tried to discern what, if anything, he should do. "Computer. Yellow pages," Frank demanded as he snapped forward in his seat. "Harlots. Blonde. Mid-twenties. Big tits. Medium height and build. All night service." Frank examined the selections on his display. He shook his head as the first list of candidates appeared. "Female only!" he barked. Frank perused the updated advertisements for the better part of an hour, but found something wrong with every purveyor. With a prolonged sigh, he admitted that what was wrong with them was simply that they were not her. "Off," he demanded. Frank stared at the blank screen. What makes her so special, so different? Other girls have big tits; lots of girls really. Unable to answer his own question, he rose and returned to his parlor. "House, shift the video camera one and a half meters to my right. Maintain the orientation." He looked again across at the opaque panes that potentially concealed his beloved. "What else could she have meant?" Frank mumbled as he considered how she had moved her fingers. He looked back across the way. "She asked you over," he continued, trying to buoy his own courage. "This is your chance." With a grimace of determination, and anguish, Frank stomped toward the entry to his flat. "House. Unlock and open." He began the long walk around the horseshoe-shaped building in an increasingly nervous state. Several times he stopped, but managed to coax himself onward as he recalled how the woman had summoned him. Arriving at her door, Frank looked to the side of the threshold and the simple numerals 320. He had memorized her apartment number long ago, but once again he found cause to hesitate. He opened his mouth to order the door to announce his arrival, but stopped. Perhaps she didn't really invite me over after all, Frank decided. Maybe she was merely doing some strange hand exercise? That was all the excuse his insecurity needed to seize the situation. He started to turn away. As Frank's head started to lean into his pivot, the door turned from grey too transparent. He inhaled quickly and stiffened as he saw the girl beyond, still in her tanning garb. The blonde smiled. Her mouth moved slightly and the door slid to one side. "Hello," she said. "Frances, isn’t it?" Frank gulped. He had zoomed in many times while replaying his videos, but seeing her so close was somehow much different. She was taller than he expected, his height if not a shade taller. Her build was a bit softer, less defined than it had seemed from a distance, but he was nonetheless enthralled. "Frank," he managed to mutter. "Ok, Frank," the woman smiled. "I’m Charlie. Charlie Forbes." "Charlie?" He queried, embarrassed that he had never bothered to learn her name. "Yes," she smiled. "Charlie. Did you want to come in or did you plan to just admire the door and then leave?" "I came to admire more than the door," Frank ventured, surprised by his own audacity. "Then please do." Charlie stood aside and motioned with one arm. Frank moved tentatively through the threshold. "Opaque. Close and lock," Charlie demanded. The door complied. Frank gave the apartment a once-over. It was somehow starker than he had envisioned. He had always pictured a goddess living in splendid luxury. Not that the home suggested squalor, but it was decorated no more elegantly than his residence. "Nice place," Frank offered politely. He sniffed twice quickly. "Lilac?" Charlie smiled. "Yes. Would you prefer a different scent?" "No," Frank replied. "Lilac is fine." "If you don’t want something to smell," Charlie began, "then perhaps I could offer you something to eat?" Frank shrugged. "Ok." "Did you have anything in mind?" Frank shook his head. "No." "House," Charlie said, glancing upward. "Pizza. Thirty centimeter. Type-two crust. Basil Alfredo sauce. Imitation ham. Real mushrooms. Real onions, half-portion. Extra cheese; half provolone, one quarter each mozzarella and pepper jack. Bake natural, at two-hundred degrees for fifteen minutes." "Yes, Milady," the house replied. "You a vegetarian?" Frank inquired. Charlie shook her head. "No, but I figured you might be." "I usually am," Frank admitted. "But more for health than ethical reasons. I’m a social carnivore." "Really?" Charlie asked excitedly. Frank nodded. "Yes." "House," Charlie said. "Substitute real ham for the imitation." She looked at Frank and smiled mischievously with a gleam in her eye. "And add bacon." "Yes, Milady." Charlie smiled at her guest. "Thanks." Frank responded with a grin of his own. "My pleasure." "So," Charlie began, "would you ever have come over if I hadn’t asked?" Frank paused to sigh before admitting, "Probably not." "Why?" "I guess I’m just shy." "How long have you been checking me out?" "Couple of weeks." Charlie issued a decidedly fake pout. "Not the whole six months I’ve lived here?" Frank’s eyes wavered. "Ok, maybe several months. How’d you know? Did my windows malfunction?" Charlie giggled. "No. They work fine. It was you going onto your balcony so often to check them from my side that tipped me off. Why didn't you trust your house to tell you if the windows were working?" "I have a hard time trusting technology." The blonde's head bobbed a solemn nod. "Me too. I figured you frequently inspecting your glass just before my afternoon ritual couldn’t be a complete coincidence. At least, I hoped it wasn’t." Franks eyebrows bounced upward. "Hoped?" "I hoped you’d eventually come over someday too," Charlie declared. Her face assumed a more sincere pout. "But you never did." "I just didn’t imagine you could see much in me," Frank admitted. "Why not?" Charlie asked. "What do you see in me?" Frank’s eyes fell to her breasts as if drawn by the gravity of a black hole. He quickly snapped the treasonous orbs back to the girl’s now smiling face, and her bright brown eyes. His gaze roamed higher, to the roots of her hair. "It's natural," Charlie insisted. "What?" "My hair," she replied. "I really do have blonde hair and brown eyes." "It doesn't matter." "Really? Then why'd you look." "I wasn't," Frank insisted. "Besides, with all the ways to change hair color permanently, how would I know?" Charlie shook her head. "I'd never mess with any of that internal stuff. I'm all natural and I intend to stay that way." Frank's eyes once again fell to her bosom. "Yes," Charlie giggled. "They're natural too." "Oh, I didn't mean to..." "It’s ok," Charlie said. "I like them too." "You do?" "Sure," Charlie replied. "Any reason I shouldn’t?" "No," Frank admitted. "I guess not." "So what were you thinking all those days when you watched me?" Frank sighed. "I was thinking how beautiful you were. I mean are." Charlie grinned. "You mean you never thought, ‘I hope she likes the Red Sox too.’ or ‘I sure hope she’s into scraggly guys and tit-fucking.’ You never thought any of that?" Frank creased his brow and tilted his head. "Red Sox?" "Sure," said Charlie. "You’re from Boston, right? And Boston fans are loyal to a fault, even if their team hasn’t won the Series for, what is it, two centuries now?" "One hundred and ninety-five years," Frank noted coldly. "One hundred and ninety-six," Charlie corrected, "If you count this one." "Yeah," Frank agreed. "I don’t see them making the playoffs this year either. So, what, have you been checking up on me?" "Hey," Charlie began. "You were checking me out. Any reason I shouldn’t do the same? You’re Frank Marshall. Thirty-four. Business Degree, University of Massachusetts. You play racquetball on Tuesday. You rabidly follow all five of the major sports franchises that are based in New England." Franks jaw dropped. "How did you find out all that?" Charlie shrugged. "It wasn’t hard. Not like you’re keeping your personal info a big secret or anything. You mean you never bothered to learn anything about me?" Frank swallowed. After a few seconds of staring at the floor, he dared to look the girl in the eye. "I guess I was checking out what mattered most to me. I’m sorry." Charlie twisted her lips and looked at the man sideways. "Why? "I feel so shallow," Frank said. "Honesty’s pretty important," Charlie noted. "More important than anything else maybe. At least you’re that." For a few seconds Frank pushed air through lips drawn thin, trying to conjure an appropriate response. Eventually, he settled for a simple, "Thanks." "So would you still want to date me if I was a Yankees fan?" Charlie asked. Frank nodded shallowly. "Sure." "So you do want to date me then?" Frank blinked a few times as he realized his loathing for the New York franchise had obscured the real question. "Do you like the Yankees?" "I asked first," Charlie countered, eyebrows raised. "And you said it didn’t matter." "Yes," Frank affirmed. "I would like to date you even if you like the Yankees." "That’s good," said Charlie. "Because I do like the Yankees. I’m a sucker for winners. Maybe that’s why I like you." "Me?" Frank queried. "Yes, you," Charlie insisted. "Any reason I shouldn’t? "It’s just your so pretty and I’m so…." "So what?" Charlie interrupted. "Grey and scraggly? Remember, I like natural and what could be more natural than grey and scraggly?" Frank shrugged in an embarrassed, rather than disinterested, fashion. "I guess I am natural, if nothing else." "Oh, I think you’re more," Charlie said. "A lot more. Care to make a friendly wager?" "What?" "I’ll bet that you end up dumping me," Charlie ventured. "Really?" "A thousand bucks says you do." "A thousand, eh?" Frank shrugged. "Ok." Charlie smiled. "What kind of beer do you like with your pizza?" Frank creased his brow again. "How’d you know I like beer with pizza?" "That one was easy," Charlie snickered through a broad grin. "What real man doesn’t like beer with his pizza?" Over the next week, Charlie proved everything Frank thought he could ever want in a girl, except she was a bona fide Yankee’s fan. But she knew the subtle game as well as he did, if not better. She could beat him at tennis and hold her own with a pool cue. Charlie enjoyed the cinema as much as anyone and she even preferred watching at home as much as going out, which was fine with Frank. Her knowledge of food, particularly beer, surpassed his own. She even seemed genuinely interested in stocks. And she was always in a good mood. The only thing Charlie didn’t seem to be, at least that Frank would have preferred, was fast. Though she often caught him ogling her bosom, and she always smiled when she did, she never gave him any inkling that she was willing to take the relationship physical. Not being willing to risk what seemed to be the perfect opportunity with the almost-perfect girl, he never seriously considered making the first move himself. Never Make the Last Out at Third Charlie was even more anxious about moving either too fast or too slow. She wanted nothing more that to escalate the relationship as well, but was more frightened than Frank to do so too soon, and with good reason. Yet, everyday she waited she felt as though a proverbial and ominous axe hovered higher over her neck. Thus it was more by accident than intent that what they both wanted, yet neither were willing to initiate, at last occurred; appropriately enough, during bottom of the third inning of the otherwise meaningless 3,708th meeting between the Yankees and Red Sox. As the couple cuddled together on the lady’s sofa, the lead runner tried unsuccessfully to go from first to third on a short single. "What the hell are you thinking?" Charlie yelled at the screen, as if the athlete could hear her. "Only an idiot makes the last out at third! Everybody knows that." She shook her head. "How do such stupid people make it to the bigs?" Charlie looked up the heavens and shook her head, and fist. Then she turned toward the beverage producer. "Ridgely’s Oatmeal Stout. Pint." Her eyes still on the game, Charlie leaned across to grab her beer, absentmindedly situating her breasts as close to Frank’s face as they had ever been. His focus shifted immediately from the screen to her left bosom. He almost whimpered as he beheld the treasure he coveted so near, even cloaked as it was in the home jersey of the enemy, a bulging trademark "NY" staring him right in the face. "There’s some bigs I’d like to make it into," Frank muttered. His eyes expanded and he inhaled briskly as he realized he had verbalized his thoughts. Charlie froze as well, her hand stopping before it had reached its target. She slowly turned her face to his. "Want to play ball, do ya?" she quipped, with a mischievous grin. Frank gulped, then nodded. Charlie sighed, her chest heaving invitingly. In a motion, she retracted her arm and extended her leg instead, straddling the man in a rolling motion. "Well, I am the home team," she declared. "So I guess you get to try and round the bases first." Without awaiting reply the girl quickly brought her mouth to his. Frank initially tensed, but then relaxed and began to return the caress. An entire inning passed unnoticed on the screen as their lips slid seductively across, over, and between one another. Charlie pulled away to demurely meet the man’s gaze. "Not bad. But you should always try to stretch a single to a double if you think you can make it." Frank swallowed meekly, though his mouth was decidedly dry. Slowly, he brought his shaking hands to the partition in the pinstripes. He paused a moment to determine if he had misunderstood the invitation, then began to work his way down the seam, patiently unfastening each button in turn. Charlie tilted her head, her blonde tresses falling partially across her smiling face. "You’re a bit slow on the base paths. You sure you don’t want to just play it safe and go back to first?" Frank’s lips formed a line as his hands moved with a new sense of urgency, uncoupling the bottom half of the fasteners in a quarter of the time he had required for the upper portion. With a sigh of anticipation, Frank separated the jersey with all the drama of the curtain parting on opening night. Beneath, hidden only by a token blue bra, Charlie’s magnificent mounds surged as she breathed, her own respiration irregular with excitement. "You like blue, huh?" Frank asked, trying to disguise his faint-heartedness. "What about you?" Charlie asked. "What do you like?" She brought both hands to the top straps and yanked upward. Her bust sprang free and undulated several times before the two titanic orbs settled in their natural, majestic splendor. Frank released a long breath that contained a low, uneven, moan. His gaze wandered over her breasts, worshipping with his eyes and heart their seemingly flawless combination of roundness, symmetry, texture, and tone. He sat mesmerized, unable to do more than admire the loveliness before him. Charlie stretched her torso. Arching her spine, she steered her left mound adjacent to his face. The girl’s bravado snapped Frank from his trance. Like a starving man seeking a banquet, his hands and mouth found their target simultaneously. She emitted a sharp gasp of pleasure as his lips met her flesh, his tongue exploring her dark and highly textured areola. "You like my titties?" Charlie whispered. "Um-hmmm," Frank managed to moan through his full lips. "Good," Charlie sighed. "I want you to like them. I want you to love them. I want you to suck them. Suck them hard." She aggressively moved her hands behind her lover’s head, clasping her palms before pulling his face farther into her supple, womanly flesh. The lass closed her eyes as her torso writhed, consumed by the passion of the moment. Frank continued to suckle tenderly, too tenderly for his lover’s tastes. "Harder!" Charlie demanded. "If you don't leave a hickey, you aren't sucking hard enough. See how much of my tit you can get in your mouth." Frank complied, opening his jaws wide and drawing in as much of her bosom as his mouth could hold, then drawing upon her flesh until his cheeks collapsed inward. "That’s right," Charlie said as she watched the man engulf her sensitive, malleable flesh. "Lick it! Suck it! Love me with your mouth." Buoyed by the damsel’s encouragement, Frank tossed his inhibitions aside and rolled her flesh roughly within his mouth, caressing it with both palette and tongue. His hands, momentarily free soon roamed her squirming torso, caressed first her back, then her ribs, then her lower abdomen. Charlie’s midsection retracted as she felt his touch. Frank’s hands strayed near her waist, and for a few tense seconds they remained anxiously on the brink of where they longed to go next. Then her recent words thundered across his mind, "Only an idiot makes the last out at third!" To Charlie’s relief, she felt the man's palms wander northward again as his mouth shifted to her right bosom. She tossed her arms backward and wiggled out of the jersey as her lover continued his suckling. Though the display behind Charlie erupted occasionally as the sporting contest progressed, neither of them even heard the telecast, much less cared about the result. The seventh inning stretch was long gone before Charlie felt sated enough to think of pleasing her partner. Putting her palms to either side of her lover’s face, she steered his face to look upon hers. "You know when you should always take third?" Frank did his best to shake his head within her firm grasp. Charlie smiled. "When you know you can make it." Without pausing for a reply or even waiting to see any change in his expression, she released his head and slid nimbly down his frame to rest on her knees before him. Confidently, Charlie grasped the seam of his trousers and loosened the snap-rings with a single jerk. She looked up at Frank, pleased to see his face suffused with astonished anticipation. She smiled wickedly. "I always like to go into third head first, how about you?" Charlie turned her attention to the man’s loins, quickly splaying the trousers and then freeing his manhood from the briefs within. "I love the sight of a nice stiff cock," she purred. "Especially when I know it’s hard for me." Frank wondered what dick wouldn’t be hard for the sultry vixen as she cradled his balls gently, each in one palm, and then ran her velvety tongue slowly along the underside of his shaft. Charlie retraced the route from scrotum to crown several times, feeling the rod grow even larger and more rigid with each pass. With a single index finger, she deftly guided his shaft perpendicular to his frame, rolling her tongue around the head as if bathing it. Frank’s body shuddered as he found direct sensation to his most sensitive region almost overwhelming. His eyes quivered in their sockets as the girl began to nurture his shaft in much the same loving manner as he had suckled her bosom. Frank closed his eyes and let his head fall back as he savored the sensations. As if on cue, Charlie grasped his shaft firmly with one fist and began to draw more vigorously, her lips moving over the man's rod with wanton abandon. Soon Charlie began to emit an odd whimpering sound that was clearly audible even over her own slurping and the continuing telecast. Frank brought his head upright and his gaze down to see her eyes closed, her face awash with bliss as her lips continued to work their magic. The sight of such a captivating siren not only sucking his cock, but so obviously enjoying herself as she did so, was too much for Frank’s underused libido. His balls began to tingle. The sensation quickly worked its way up the shaft. "You have me so close," Frank moaned as he felt his climax begin to inexorably build. Charlie needed no such warning, though she silently thanked him for being a gentleman. Rising from her haunches to her knees, she let his cock slip from her lips. She stroked his cock even more vigorously, aiming his stem at her breast. Frank gasped as his manhood erupted, glazing Charlie’s right bosom with its milky discharge. She adroitly shifted her aim as she continued to pump, alternately coating both breasts with the remainder of his substantial load. Charlie released his softening cock only when Frank whimpered. She settled back on her haunches, her gaze locked on her lovers face. She brought her hands to her mammaries and began to massage them, rubbing the sticky coating over her glistening bronze skin. Tilting her head forward, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the unique, pungent scent of her man's seed. The screen behind the girl erupted. Charlie opened her eyes and turned to see a ball sailing over the right field fence. "That’s a different game," she noted absently. "Yeah," Frank agreed. "That's Pillsbury Field. Lions and Dodgers. I wonder who won the other one?" Charlie turned and bounced her eyebrows. "The home team, of course." "Miss Forbes, Master." Frank shook his head and sat up in bed. "Door or phone?" "Phone?" "I’ll take it, audio only," Frank directed. "Very well, Master," the house replied. "Connection established." Frank waited a moment before answering, "Hello?" "Frank?" Charlie queried. "Yes." Frank's eyes wandered as a few seconds of silence passed. "I really need to talk to you," Charlie announced meekly. "It’s important." "Go ahead," Frank replied. "Please come over," Charlie said. "I want to tell you in person." Frank looked at his clock. 9:02. "Is now alright?" "Sure," Charlie replied. "Now is as good a time as any." Frank nodded, though she could not see. "Alright. Give me five minutes." "Ok," said Charlie. "I’ll instruct my door to let you in." "Ok," Frank replied. "See you then." "See you then," Charlie concurred. "Bye." "Call terminated, Milady" her house advised. "Thanks," Charlie muttered absently as she sank into her seat. "You’re welcome, Milady," the house responded. "Shut up!" Charlie barked. "When Frank arrives, let him in." The ensuing five minutes were among the longest of Charlie’s life. Her chest felt hollow by the time the house announced her guest’s arrival. "Mr. Marshall, Milady, as expected." Charlie stood on wobbly legs as the door opened. "Hi," she said softly. "Hi," Frank replied. He looked at the woman curiously. She wore a simple housecoat and her tresses hung uncombed beside her face. He could tell from her bloodshot eyes that she had been crying. Still, he found her nothing short of lovely. "Are you ok?" "Probably not," Charlie said. "But that’s more for you to decide." "What do you mean?" The woman looked to the floor and sighed. "I really don’t need to tell you something, so much as show you." Charlie abruptly opened her robe and let it fall to the floor, completely exposing her form. Frank’s eyes fell with the garment, settling on her starkly untanned pubic region. He expected to see a classic feminine crease beneath a lightly furred patch. The appendage he saw proudly protruding from beneath a thick, dark matte was anything but feminine. Frank's recoil was slight, but noticeable, in spite of his own best intentions. Charlie stood, her knees shaking as they touched. Her head bowed in a submissive manner, she awaited his response. Her eyes all but begged him not to hate her on the spot. "You’re a...." Frank muttered. "Ladyboy?" Charlie answered. "Transgender? Hermaphrodite?" Frank sat stunned, unsure how to reply. "Technically, I’m only the last one," Charlie said. "I’m not sure I know the difference," Frank admitted. "Since I don’t have any female genitalia," Charlie explained. "You could argue I’m not a true hermaphrodite either. But I believe I fit the spirit of the definition because I didn’t choose to be this way." "You mean," Frank started, "someone did this too you?" "In a manner of speaking, yes," Charlie began. "I was genetically engineered in a lab." "So," Frank began. "Someone made you, uh, this way; on purpose?" The blonde nodded. "Probably." Frank brought his eyes to hers. "I thought that was illegal, at least in this country." "It is," Charlie affirmed. "And it should be, but in my case it wasn’t intentional- at least it wasn’t my parent’s intent. You see, my mother and father were fairly conservative, but they wanted a girl. After having six boys letting nature take its course, they decided to use more modern methods than soaking in hot water before sex." "So they went to one of the major labs," Charlie continued. "All they wanted was to select a female embryo, the simplest thing really, but that’s not what they got." Frank twisted his lips to match his similarly contorted expression. "Didn’t the I.C.S. detect the problem?" "It detected I had a penis," Charlie related. "My parents didn’t do any tests after that. They just figured God was teaching them not to meddle in his business. Who knows, maybe he was. "Mom and dad didn’t know there was any serious problem until after I was born and they decided to register my DNA. That’s when they found out my genes were not only altered, but configured in an unnatural way so that I’d eventually be endowed with female attributes in addition to the male ones I already possessed." Well endowed, Frank thought. Very well endowed. Charlie looked into her guest’s still-blank face. "My parents sued the lab and settled out of court. I got to read the report when I became an adult. The investigation suggested it was most likely some disgruntled employee trying to get even with the company. Guess it worked too, I’m pretty much set for life as a result of the settlement." "If your parents wanted a girl," Frank began tentatively, "then why didn’t they just correct the mistake afterward? With modern medicine and surgery, no one would ever have known, maybe not even you." "They didn’t think that was their decision to make," Charlie related. "And they were right. It should be my choice; much like infant circumcision used to be common, though no one would even consider doing such a thing today." Charlie paused to sigh, and give Frank a chance to reply, but he did not take it. "I’ve often thought that I should go ahead and make that choice," she continued. "You know, become all female. It’s all fairly routine and, you are correct, no one could ever know without actually examining my sequencing. The only thing I’d never be able to do is bear a child normally, not that I’ve ever really wanted one." "The thing is," Charlie looked up pleadingly. "This is who I am. And I like who I am, even if I am a freak. I like my breasts and my dick. Remember a few weeks ago when I said honesty was important?" Frank nodded. "Yes." "Well," Charlie continued. "I’m being honest. I don’t want to lead you along and drop this on you six months from now. That would be wrong. I was wrong to even wait this long. You seem like a great guy, better than any I've known before and I just couldn’t bear to have you loath me. "I really want to see you again after tonight, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to. And I don’t want the thousand bucks we bet either. You can dump me for free. "On the other hand, if you do want to see me again, well, I’m willing to be realistic to your needs in the long term." Charlie paused and looked at the floor, exuding a long breath through tightly pressed lips. "I guess what I’m saying is, that for the right guy I’d go ahead and become a real girl for him. But I have to know it’s the right guy first." Frank spread the forefinger and thumb of his right hand across his mouth, nibbling on the flab of skin as he contemplated the situation. "I’d like to sleep on it, at least" he concluded. "I don’t think I can give you a fair answer so quickly." Charlie smiled and fell to her knees, hugging him about the waist. "Oh, thank you!" Frank creased his brow and looked down into her suddenly innocent face. "I didn’t say ‘Yes.’" "I know," Charlie said. "But you didn’t say ‘No.’ either. That’s a better answer than I’ve ever gotten before." Frank licked his lips, and then pressed them together, massaging each with the other for several seconds. "How many answers have you gotten before?" "A handful," Charlie replied. "I should think you’d be some bi-guy’s dream come true," Frank noted. "That’s what I used to think too," Charlie said. "But I guess it’s not that simple. Even though there’s much less social stigma these days, there really aren’t that many bisexual men. And most of them, at least the one’s I’ve met, want a man and a woman, not both in the same person. "I even tried advertising my special characteristics on the net, but I’m afraid I found those that responded more desperate than desirable. But at least they gave me a chance." "So you weren’t counting them in the handful?" "What," Charlie sighed. "Do you want statistics?" "No." Frank combed her hair with his fingers. "I hope they weren’t mean to you." "None of them beat me or anything," Charlie recalled. "But I can’t say any of them were ever kind." "Did you blow them first too?" Charlie dropped her mouth in shock. "Yes," she admitted as she recovered. "But only the ones I really liked. What’s wrong with that?" Frank crossed his arms. "I just think you should have told me before we were intimate." Charlie’s eyes wandered. "You’re right," she conceded as she returned her gaze to his face. "You’re the only one I ever did before he knew the real me. It was selfish of me, I know. I didn’t really mean for that to happen. I’m afraid I let my passions get the better of my judgement. I’m sorry." "Would you please stand up," Frank said. "I wasn’t trying to imply anything," Charlie explained as she rose. "Other than my sincere thanks for at least not being angry." "You didn’t. And I’m not," Frank assured her. "It just felt awkward." Charlie nodded. "Awkward is a good word for it." "Yes," Frank agreed, "It is." "Well," Charlie sighed. "Thanks for a couple of good evenings, regardless of what you decide." "Great evenings," Frank insisted. "They were great evenings." Frank lay awake late into the night, his gaze directed absently upward. Although he had stared intently at his ceiling for hours, neither it nor his dilemma seemed to have changed. "Your perfect girl isn’t even a real girl," he muttered. "But she’s willing to become one," he replied quickly. "What more could you ever want from her than that? That would be good enough, wouldn't it?" Dawn found the man in his recliner, staring at her balcony as the first rays of the morning sun played across the opaque panes. He stayed there throughout the morning, turning the predicament over in his head, trying to find any angle where the decision he wanted to make and the one he knew he ought to make were one and the same. Never Make the Last Out at Third Finally, his house snapped him from his trance. "Master, the time is fifteen-thirteen, local daylight time." Frank sighed. "Cease the verbal alerts regarding fifteen-thirteen and fifteen-forty-three." "Yes, Master." "And contact Miss Forbes," Frank demanded. "If she’s home." He cycled three substantial breaths as he awaited the structure’s reply. "She is home, Master," the house said. "Establish connection?" "Yes," Frank barked impatiently. "Connection established." The distinctly feminine voice the man had come to cherish followed the mechanical voice of the computer. "Hello?" Frank’s eyes fell as he heard the anguish in her tone. "Hello. Can I come see you?" "Now?" "Now is as good a time as any." "Ok," said Charlie. "Bye." "Call terminated, Master." "Really?" Frank questioned sarcastically. "Yes, Master." the house replied. "The other party distinctly said ‘Bye.’" "Shut up!" Frank snapped. Across the courtyard that other party's eyes roamed the boxes containing her few belongings. Charlie had spent the night working off her nervous energy packing. She considered how she had moved following every past rejection. Before she had told herself it was for the sake of her next beau; so that no one would likely be in town to spread rumors about her. Now, she realized it was for her own sake as well. Charlie still had some hope she had packed for naught when the house startled her, "Mr. Marshall, Milady." Charlie sighed. "Let him in." She walked out of her guest room and down the corridor. "Hi," Frank said, his face cloaked in a laconic expression. "Hi," Charlie replied. She paused to lick her lips, and then tilted her head a bit to one side. "So...?" she prompted cautiously. "It’s a Catch-22." Frank announced. Charlie twisted her left cheek. "What?" "An old book," Frank explained. "From the 1900’s I think. The phrase refers to a theoretical situation that is impossible in practical terms due to an inherent dichotomy." Charlie shook her head slowly. "Please don’t play games." Frank stood and walked to the woman, running his fingers gently through her golden locks. "What I’m saying is, you can’t ever become fully female for the right man, because the right man would never ask you to do such a thing. Your parents were absolutely correct; it should be your choice, and yours alone. And you really don’t want to, do you?" Charlie pressed her lips together and nibbled at the seam. She shook her head side to side, trying not to cry. "No." "Ok, then," Frank said. "I’ll never ask you to." Charlie’s mouth gaped. "You mean..." "Did you really expect," Frank began, "that after you admitted to the cardinal sin of being a Yankees fan, that a little thing like a dick was going to scare me away?" Charlie’s features wilted. "Little?!" Frank smiled. "I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it this way." He reached out and grasped the girl, moving her body to his and his mouth to hers. Although far shorter than their first kiss, both knew instantly this second exchange was by far the more important of the two. Charlie looked apprehensively into his eyes as they parted. "What now?" Frank put his palms on the girl’s shoulder and held her at arm’s length. "That depends. Do you really like who you are?" Charlie nodded. "Yes, I do." "I like who your are too." Frank smiled. "I can’t promise any more just now, but I am willing start there and see what happens." Charlie blinked back a tear. "I knew you were the right man. I just hope I’m the right girl." She paused to sigh. "You can always change your mind, you know. I’ll still become a real girl, if that’s what you want." Frank pulled the woman's to head to his shoulder, initiating a firm, yet gentle embrace. "No," he whispered. "Part of loving someone is accepting them for who they are. No matter what else happens, never imagine that you aren’t good enough for me or anyone else; just the way you are."