Backseat Baseball

No homerun but he’s an MVP

by Charles, 20, California

From the book, Laid edited by Shannon Boodram

(5 min read)

Shannon Boodram

“CHARLES, DID I EVERTELL YOU HOW HOT YOU ARE?” asked Joanne, while she was blowing cigarette smoke out of her mouth.

We were sitting outside of a party, both of us trying to get some fresh air after being enclosed in a room of sweaty bodies, loads of alcohol, and ear-popping music for a couple of hours.

I starred into the night sky, trying to regain my senses after having had too many shots of vodka and rum. I turned toward Joanne to better face her. She was wearing a gray tank top that displayed her cleavage and low-cut jeans, causing the straps of her G-string to spill over her pants. I let my eyes run over her body—I love summer.

Joanne, I know I told you that you’re hot because you look hot every time I see you;” I responded with a distinct slur of words, trying to make as much sense as possible.

She laughed after I made my remark, then kissed my cheek, holding her position, pressing her weight into me for a couple of seconds until she retracted. I noticed that she had been drinking as well. Her face was a little on the red side and there were tiny bags around her eyes.

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she said.

Out of one part instinct and two parts gratitude for her drunken flattery, I leaned in and kissed her on her cheek as well. My lips felt good when they made contact with her warm, soft skin, and as soon as my lips left her cheek, she quickly gave me a long kiss right on the lips. All of a sudden, a simple exchange of thank-yous turned into a full-on make-out session. With our tongues screaming for more, my mind began to race, trying to figure out where we should make our moment of lust a little more discreet. You see, I’m the type of person who isn’t into PDA, or watching other people’s PDA. I racked my brain for an after-party spot for Joanne and me; we couldn’t go back into the house party because every single room was occupied by at least ten people; the back yard was out of the question because rolling over a spot where someone threw up isn’t one of my favorite things to do. All of a sudden, after mulling the thought over for half a minute, my drunken brain came up with the obvious destination: We could go to my car.

I pulled back from her lips. “Hey, let’s go to my car.”

“Why, how come we can’t stay out here?” she asked me quietly, as if we were doing something wrong.

“I just don’t want people to notice and start pointing fingers at us or anything. Plus, we’re able to talk more in my car.” Of course, the last part was a lie—I wanted to use my mouth, all right, but not for talking, per se.

“Okay, that sounds like a good idea.”

And off we went to my car, which was parked a block away. Holding hands tightly, we quickly walked down the empty street as the rush of excitement grew between us. The thought of doing something sexual with her at that very moment filled my mind like air in a balloon, while the rest of the things—including my good old morals—were deflated.

The walk was shorter than I remembered, and just like in those old movies, Joanne slid neatly into the passenger seat while I got behind the wheel. Closing the doors, we instantly began to make out once again. I suppose both of us were feeling the same thing about each other at the time—the feeling of pure lust.

But shortly after the doors closed and the kissing began again, my mind started to plan what to do next. Kissing each other passionately was cool, but did she want to take this to the next level? That was when I decided to take my chances and find out. Foreplay was something I enjoyed because, to me, it was like getting the luxury of happily passing three of the four bases before hitting a home run. I was already on first, and now it was time for me to make my way to second. The position of my hand slowly and smoothly changed from holding the back of her head to exploring the area of her vagina. My fingers did all the work, by unbuckling her belt and unzipping her pants. I constantly checked to see if she didn’t want to go through with it, but she didn’t say a word or make a motion that she wanted me to stop.

Hearing her moan and say my name increased my excitement, and I knew I was ready to experience those feelings for myself. Lucky for me, Joanne quickly grabbed my leather belt and began to do the same thing I had done just a few minutes earlier to her. She did everything in such a hasty and somewhat violent fashion that it made me feel like I was in one of those movies where the two main characters are about to engage in an intense lovemaking session, violently tearing their clothes away from their bodies as fast as they can in order to get down to business. Once my privates were exposed, she began to do a little foreplay of her own while I made my way to third base.

With things moving in all the right directions, the only thing left was the predictable ending of sexual intercourse. I took it upon myself to lure Joanne to the back seat of my car. Sex was definitely the only thing that consumed my thoughts at that point.

Here’s a quick sexual education lesson for you folks: Now, typically, when guys are presented with a chance to engage in a sexual act with a good-looking member of the opposite sex, they will take the offer faster than a race car with a full tank of gas. I was just doing my job as a male to do whatever was necessary to accomplish the ultimate goal of getting laid. And it seemed Joanne was on the same page.

I stripped her of the clothing I’d admired in the beginning of our encounter, and in turn she assisted in taking off my clothes. Putting on a condom was an obstacle in itself, being that the amount of alcohol in me was a little above my limit. But once I was able to put it on properly—after a few fumbled attempts, I admit—our sexual activities ensued. And yes, home run.

Well, more like hitting the ball out of the park but being stopped before you run around the diamond. We were only a couple minutes into it before she told me to stop. At first I thought she realized it was time for her to go home—she was still living with her parents, since she was only eighteen—but that wasn’t the case at all.

“Charles,” she panted, trying to catch her breath, “we can’t do this, it’s not right.”

“Why not?” I asked in confusion. I thought it felt right to me.

“Because … I have a boyfriend,” she said with an irked expression on her face.

Although she looked beautiful in the nude, she was absolutely right. She did have a boyfriend, a commitment that I knew she took very seriously, because before our little incident she’d been talking about how great a guy he was and how he treated her well, something that she wasn’t used to. I let out a long, heavy breath and got ready to move, but then I noticed that she wasn’t budging.

“What?” I asked in response to her stare.

She paused for a brief moment. “Don’t you have a girlfriend, Charles?”

It was then I realized that I’d made a terrible mistake; I had honestly totally forgotten that I was committed to someone else. Even though my girlfriend and I had been going out for only a little less than a month, cheating was cheating, and I don’t think it is right to cheat on the person you’ve agreed to have an intimate, loving relationship with. But there I was, caught with my pants down in a moment of my own hypocrisy.

“Let’s just keep this between us, okay?” Joanne said meekly, a far cry from the sexual vixen I’d been humping moments before.

“Okay, will do.”

I went home that night feeling smaller than a dust mite. Months after our rendezvous, both of us were single. I didn’t know why Joanne broke up with her boyfriend, nor did I want to ask her. The reason why my relationship ended was because I lost interest. That, and I made out with another girl at a nightclub. I guess you could say my inability to keep my dick in my pants has been a problem in many of my past relationships. But I’m starting to see things for what they really are now, and in all honesty, even though I thought I got a home run on that night with Joanne, I have realized it was actually a strikeout. No one won and nothing was accomplished.