I sat down allowing him to slowly slide into me. We both moaned with pleasure, I wrapped my hands around his neck as I began to move pushing him deepe... inside me until I had all I could take of him. He caressed my breasts as we moved together my nipples were hard from his teasing. For a moment I lost myself in my own pleasures then realizing he was still there I concentrated on his muscular body and how hard it felt to my touch. I could feel a bead of sweat run down between my breasts. My robe. The next morning the most annoying sound my mobile was capable of makingwoke me up. I had set the alarm to one hour before my mother would pick meup. I wnadered around the empty house, made myself a coffee, had acigarette in the backyard and started to feel alive again. A quater toeleven I remembered that my mum had made me bring a toothbrush and Idecided using it would be a good idea. Standing before the bathroom mirrorI suddenly heared the sound of feet coming down the stairs. Damn it! Nowthe. “It’s a big enough bed,” he told me. “I’m cool with sharing if you are.”I agreed. It was a queen-sized bed so he had a point. Not like I hadn’t shared a bed with another guy before without it being weird. I climbed in under the covers as he did the same, then closed my eyes. Before long, I was out.This time, when I woke up to something else. A touch, feeling something on my leg. I realized it was her brother, rolled onto his side facing me, asleep, his hand resting inside my thigh, fingers. Surhoff -- a former teammate of Paul Warren's when he had been an Oriole infielder, and now our new manager's choice as the club's batting coach. I didn't get too many chances to converse with Surhoff, he being stationed in the dugout and concerned with our offense, while I sat in my little corner of the bullpen for days on end, waiting for disaster to strike, so I could pitch.But I struck up a conversation with him that night. Ballplayers -- even callow rookies like me -- don't say such things.