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Over the winter, I got stronger. When Spring Training came, I was as surprised as anyone when I was promoted to AAA and even more when I found out I'd been traded. I'd be playing in Jacksonville, Florida this year. At least I wouldn't be freezing my ass off in Erie. And I was just one step below the Major Leagues.

But you want to know about the sex part.

Like everywhere, the team contributed to charities. This year, one of Florida's leading fashion designers agreed to have a showing of her latest men's designs. We, the players, would walk the runway, just like you see those models doing, wearing her latest creations.

Everyone was more than pleasant. We could not have been treated any nicer. All the volunteers, all the patrons, treated us like we were rock stars; that is except for one woman. Her name was Starling Mendon. She was the fashion designer and was known professionally as Star. Just Star, and she was a grumpy, old witch. She never smiled and was critical of everything. Even the people she worked with thought so.

She got in my face over something trivial; maybe my shirt wasn't button right or I didn't walk the way she wanted, and I called her Grumpy Face to her face. She might have been sixty and looked it. "What do you know about anything, you're just a boy?" She shouted back.

"I know someone who needs a good fucking?" I responded. Yeah, I said it. Thankfully, no one else was around.

I think that stunned her. First, what I said, and second, no one ever talked back to Star. "What do you know about sex? I'm sure, jerking off is the only sex you know."

For a moment I hesitated. Mrs. Lansing flashed through my mind. Mrs. Lansing, sitting in a chair with her legs spread and me on my knees with my tongue in her pussy flashed through my mind. I couldn't help myself, "I know that there's nothing better than eating pussy."

The look on her face. I got to her; she stormed away.

The fashion show was a success and raised lots of money for charity.

I thought that was the end of it with Star, but at one of our first games, she sat near the dugout and at the end of the game called me over. "Remember me, Grumpy Face?"

"Of course. Your fashion show was a hit." She still wasn't smiling.

"Thank you, Mr. McGregor . . ."

"Austin."

"Yes, well Austin, care to join me for a drink after you shower and all."

This was a surprise, and I assure you thoughts of Mrs. Lansing did not flash through my mind. It was a hotter than hot and humid Florida night. I could go for a cold beer.

I met her at a restaurant that was far too fancy for my tastes, and I wasn't dressed for it: cut-off jeans, flip flops and a tee shirt. I'd worked out all winter, and I was ripped. My arms and pecs were big, and speaking of beer, yeah, my stomach was like a six pack. The tee shirt showed off all of it.

I joined her in a booth. Star didn't waste any time, after I ordered. "About what you said at the fashion show?"

"I'm sorry. I'm known for my bluntness, and I don't have much of a filter."

"No, no, you were right. Over the past decade, I've been so absorbed in my work that I've had no time for men." In the booth, she slid closer to me, and put her hand on my thigh, "or boys."

I looked at her like she was crazy.

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