Men in Shorts: An Erotic Anthology (9 page)

"Chloe, I was wondering where you were," her manager replied, taking a second look at Chloe's appearance. "Were there any customers while I was gone?"

At that moment, Aidan stepped out of the dressing room, looking remarkably put together. He held up the pair of biking shorts that he had worn right before his moment with Chloe. "I'll take these," he said.

Chloe looked at her manager. "Just one," she answered.

"Oh," her manager responded, her eyes narrowing in light suspicion as she looked back and forth between Chloe and Aidan. "I take it you found everything you needed?"

"Yes," Aidan responded. "You can guarantee I'll be back for more."

He winked at Chloe before turning and walking away.

By Brandi Woodlawn

Joe tapped his bat against the bottom of each cleat before stepping into the batter's box. He held his right arm up, signaling for time, while he extended the bat in his left hand across home plate. I stood on the mound, amused by the ritual I'd seen hundreds of times in the years we'd been opponents.

"Are you ready yet?" I said.

"Almost," he said.

He took a few practice cuts. I couldn't help but notice that he looked less encumbered today. When he lifted his lead foot off the ground to step into the swing, his shorts rode up. The increased fluidity was explained by the absence of sliding shorts and…underwear. I averted my eyes, but felt my cheeks blush.

Joe always seemed to have trouble batting against me. I always thought it was because he was a power hitter. Guys who hit a lot of home runs tend to strike out more. Then I overheard one of his teammates razzing him about it once, telling Joe to stop looking at my tits and keep his eye on the ball. I have to admit, it was nice to know that my tits could throw off his game. But this method to level the playing field? The distraction seemed grossly unfair.

It's not often that a petite woman gets the chance to put a stud in his place. And I did enjoy getting him all flustered any chance I got. Maybe I deserved a little payback. When I started going braless to Joe's games, maybe I went a little too far.

It was too late to worry about that now.

"Batter up," the umpire called.

For the first time in years, I was the one who was nervous about the outcome of Joe's at bat.

"Let's go, slowpoke," Joe teased.

I put the ball in my glove and got into my stance. I tried to focus on home plate as I wound up, but somehow my eyes kept drifting back to his shorts. I shouldn't have been surprised by the fact that the pitch brushed him back from the plate, coming in belt-high and inside.

"Ball," the umpire called.

That was not the word I needed to hear. It caused another round of wandering thoughts. I looked at the plate, Joe's cleats, his ankle, his calf, his knee, his thigh…ugh! I wanted to throw down my mitt and tackle him right then and there. But there are some things that just aren't meant for public consumption and my love affair with Joe was one of them.

The next pitch was perfect. Too perfect. A real meatball lobbed right down the middle. I wiggled my hips, thoroughly disgusted with myself for giving him the perfect opportunity to send the ball sailing into left field.

My wiggling put a hitch in his stride. He sliced through nothing but air.

"Strike," the ump called.

"Come on, Joe," his teammates yelled. One threw his cap in the dirt. "We're down by one. Get your head in the game."

I took a deep breath. Don't let him get to you, I thought. A few more pitches and this will be over.

I decided to throw the next one with a little backspin. Maybe I could get him to pop up. I threw the ball outside. Any other day, he would have chased it. Instead, he watched it sail by and smirked when the umpire indicated I'd missed.

Bastard. Joe's smile doubled in size. I decided to take a moment and get my bearings. I called for time, took off my mitt and wiped my sweaty hand with my T-shirt. I put the mitt back and resettled myself on the mound.

There, that's better, I thought. I put all thoughts of Joe out of my mind. I had to throw a great pitch now. I'm more competitive than I'd like to admit and the thought of losing made me shudder.

I slowed down my delivery, a deliberate attempt to get confuse him with an off speed pitch. I knew as soon as I heard the crack of the ball meeting the bat, that I had made the wrong choice. The ball hung in the air longer than it should have, or maybe it just felt that way, as the dream of winning faded as Joe rounded the bases. He tipped his cap to me when he stepped on home plate. I frowned in disgust.

"Thanks," he said.

We lined up to shake hands. As I went through the line repeating "Good game!" to each member of Joe's team, I couldn't help feeling a bit of contempt building as Joe's turn approached.

"Thanks for making me look good out there," he said.

"You're not welcome," I said.

"Come on, don't be that way," he said.

"You know how much I hate to lose," I said. "Especially to you."

"Now, you know how I feel," he said. "You think it's easy getting razzed for letting you get the best of me?"

"It's not my fault you can't keep your eyes off my tits," I said. "And since when do you go commando to a game?"

He laughed. "I'm sorry. Maybe that was a bit unfair. But you're not easily distracted. I had to play to win."

"So, how are you going to make it up to me?"

"Beer? I'm buying."

"That's a good place to start."

"The bar or…"

He hesitated. If we went somewhere other than the bar, then he'd have to admit this was a date. We'd spent the last few years getting to know one another on the field or in the bar, but had never spent any time truly alone.

"…my place?" I offered. I liked the idea of being on my home turf. If things went south, I could come up with a reason to cut the evening short.

* * * *

Joe arrived with beer – good beer, not the dollar swill we would have been drinking had we gone to the bar. I invited him in and was happy that he didn't go home to shower first. I would've felt like a dope if he had because I hadn't showered yet, either. We both stank of dirt and sweat. But I didn't mind. There's something about that earthy scent that kind of turns me on. Maybe it reminds me of the game. Maybe it reminds me of another competition I've yet to win.

Joe set the six-pack on the coffee table. He pulled a beer out of the cardboard container and used the bottle opener on his keychain to pop the cap off. He handed me the bottle. He opened another and I motioned for him to join me on the couch.

"You want to watch the Sox game?"

"Sure," he said.

I grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. After a few minutes of feigning interest in the game, I decided now would be as good a time as any to lay my feelings on the line.

"How come it took you this long to find a reason to be alone with me?"

Joe smiled, "It's all your fault. How come it took you so long to let me win?"

I punched him in the arm. "You're a goof. I've really liked you for a long time. Couldn't you tell?"

"You could've asked me out."

"You're right. I could have. I guess I was afraid that you might say no."

"Me too."

"We've wasted a lot of time worrying about what the other would think, huh?"

"No reason we can't make up for that now." Joe leaned over and kissed me.

He was gentle at first. But each subsequent kiss came with a little more force. Bursts of pent up passion escaped and the next thing I knew, his hand was under my shirt. As he caressed my nipples, I ran my hand along his thigh. His shorts were smooth and silky and surprisingly dry despite all the sweating we'd done. They must have been made of quick drying fabric. My shorts were made of cotton and before he had the chance to feel the damp spot near the small of my back, I decided that now might be a good time to take that shower.

I tugged a little on his waistband. "Want to hit the shower?"

He nodded.

I tugged on his shorts again to get him up off the couch. "This way."

He followed me to the bathroom. We stripped each other of our clothing on the way. I turned the water on, waited a minute for it to heat up, and slid the door open so we could both step inside.

We soaped each other up. He scrubbed me with a poofy sponge drenched in floral scented shower gel. I decided to lather him up the old fashioned way, with bar soap rubbed between my hands, enjoying every moment, memorizing each muscle as my fingers explored his arms, chest and legs.

When I was done, I said, "Mind if I wash your hair? Or do you want to do it yourself?"

"Turn down an offer for my own personal shampoo girl? No way."

I squirted a small dab of shampoo into my palm. I set the bottle back on the ledge and began working my fingers through his thick, brown hair. He closed his eyes and sighed as I massaged his scalp.

"You're good," he said. "Can I hire you to come over and wash my hair every day?"

"We'll see. If you're nice to me, maybe I'll do it for free."

"Your turn," he said after he rinsed his hair.

We switched places. I felt a lot sexier after washing off the dust that had accumulated during the game. As the water cascaded through my hair and down my back, I felt Joe's hands slide down my rib cage. He kneeled down, steadying himself with his hands on my hips and said, "May I?"

I nodded and parted my legs. I held my breath in anticipation of the moment when I'd feel his tongue inside me. I exhaled, moaning as he probed my labia before focusing his attention on my clit. My knees got weak and I had to brace myself against the corner so I wouldn't fall.

"Are you ok?" he asked. "Should I stop?"

"No," I shook my head, certain that my response wasn't much louder than a whisper. I was having a hard time thinking about anything other than Joe's tongue and the places it had just been.

He went back to work. It wasn't long before my thighs began to shake and I knew if he didn't stop then, I was going to come. I didn't want to, not then, not without him.

"Stop," I said as I pushed his head away.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I helped him up. I kissed him again. "Just want to do something else is all."

He didn't protest when I slid my hand down and stroked his cock. He was already hard. I propped my foot on the ledge and guided him inside me. He grabbed my thigh with his right hand and put his left hand on the opposite hip, maximizing his leverage with each thrust.

I shivered as his upstroke blocked the warm shower spray. On the next round, his cock pressed hard against my clit and suddenly I didn't care anymore about being cold.

"Harder," I said.

He pushed against my hip with the next stroke and my legs began to shake.

"Faster," I said. "I'm almost…"

He moaned before I could say anything else. A few more short thrusts and we collapsed against each other, just in time to notice the water had gone ice cold.

"Turn it off," I said, trying to use him for a shield.

He pulled the handle back to the right. The water stopped flowing. I slid the door open and grabbed Joe a towel before getting my own.

"Thanks," he said. "That was…refreshing." He wrapped the towel around his waist.

"You're welcome," I said. I grabbed a smaller towel from the rack and began to dry my hair. The towel I'd wrapped around my body kept coming undone.

While Joe was amused with my struggle, he finally grabbed the smaller towel and said, "Let me get that for you."

He gently squeezed the water from my hair. He picked up my comb and was about to comb my hair, when he said, "Or would you rather do it yourself?"

"Turn down my own personal hairstylist? No way."

He worked the comb through my tangled tresses with a skill that surprised me. I have a hard time not pulling my own hair.

"There you go," he said.

"You're good," I said. "Maybe I can hire you to come over and comb my hair every day."

"Maybe if you keep throwing those nice meatball pitches, I'll come over and do it for free."

"You going to stop going commando?"

"Only when you start wearing a sports bra."

"I can't give up my secret weapon. You know how much I hate losing to you."

Joe laughed. "Haven't you figured it out yet? No matter who loses, if it ends up like this, we both win."

As much as I hated to admit it, watching Joe slip back into his silky, black softball shorts made me realize that sometimes it's more fun
not
to win.

by Karen Sutow

The autumn breeze kicked in through the door, bringing with it two men and a woman. I glanced up from my cappuccino, foam peppering my top lip. The taller of the men brushed past me, his thin hips nearly caressing my shoulder as he squeezed between the tables. His blue jeans hugged his ass and his white t-shirt accentuated the muscles on his back. He carried something black in his hands, though what I could not see, my view now obstructed by his friends, who had joined him at the counter.

I turned to Lacy, noticed her eyes fixed on the men, and leaned into the table straining to see them. On the left stood the man in the jeans, his back still facing me. On his right was the woman, drink in hand, her eyes taking in the room. She was petite, not more than five-foot-two, maybe five-foot-three, with short, wavy black hair – sexy yet sleek. Deep brown eyes, sculpted face. Not a lick of make-up, yet attractive as hell.

The guy on her right smiled before resting his hand on her shoulder, then said something to the other man, the one who held the black object. He shifted the object to his left hand, then ran his fingers through his short brown hair and smiled before returning his attention to the barista.

"You ever see them before?" Lacy asked.

"No. Where you figure they're from?"

"How would I know? Probably just passing through on their way to somewhere."

"On the way to where?" I said. "This town's between here and nowhere."

Lacy laughed, and I laughed with her. Almedia, with its population of 1,683, was a blip on the map. It took a good two hours to drive through the rolling hills to the nearest town and four hours to Carlton City, if the weather was good and a landslide of rocks and mud hadn't wiped out the road down the mountain. Life was simple – folks lived off the land, neighbors helped each other out, not that gruff mind-your-own-business-and-I'll-mind-mine kind of thinking you get most everywhere else, especially in the big cities. Of course, young folks don't stick around long – rushing off to find something new and exciting – and the population keeps dwindling. Lacy and I are pretty much the exception, though I don't know how much longer that will last. I feel the city calling me and I'm desperate to experience adventure. Must be a mid-life crisis or something, although I don't know how much it's mid-life when you're just hitting thirty.

"What do you think they're doing?"

"How should I know?"

The two men and the woman had moved to the far wall and stood facing the room. The one with the black box stared, first at Mrs. O'Leary, with her coifed grey hair and wrinkled face, then at Mabel Osterburch, whose head was buried in a book. Mabel licked her bottom lip, oblivious to the man watching her. His attention shifted to Mabel's right and rested on Robin Koots, who sensed his gaze, looked up from her newspaper, and smiled so wide you'd have thought he offered her the world. He nodded ever so slightly, then looked at the box and gently ran his finger across the side, as if caressing a lover. I swallowed hard. Shifted my gaze from his finger to his face, locked my eyes on his piercing blues as he looked directly at me. Smiling. Teeth so white. I couldn't help but smile back, my lips opening so far it was almost embarrassing. Lacy kicked me under the table as the man strode toward me. The other man and the woman remained in place.

It took him only moments to cross the room, but it felt like forever. When he spoke, it was as if his deep voice broke the silence, yet noise surrounded us. "For you," he said, holding out the box. It was velvet, approximately five inches by three inches. No markings. Just pure black velvet contrasting his deeply tanned hand. Strong fingers. No ring. Small scar across the knuckle on his thumb.

"What…what is it?"

"Just take it. You won't be sorry."

I hesitated, then reached for the box, felt his warm skin against mine. Lingered to savor the moment. He touched his free hand to my cheek – it felt like fire branded my skin – then he left the coffeehouse without saying another word and his friends followed. I tracked them through the window until they passed out of sight.

"Hurry up. Open it," Lacy said.

"What do you think's inside?"

"How the hell should I know? Just open it."

"What if it's a bomb or something?"

"You got to be kidding me, right? Besides, it's too small. If you don't open it, Samantha, I will."

Gently, I flipped up the small metal latch on the side then eased off the lid to find red silk lining the inside of the box. A shiny piece of paper sat on top of the silk. It resembled a theater ticket and said: "For you – our special customer – one extraordinary night only – this Saturday – eight p.m. – Be prepared for the experience of a lifetime. Free admission to the Mystery Theater with this ticket. Good only for the bearer. No exceptions. Go to the clearing in the middle of Grouse Woods and be on time. No late entry permitted. Park at the Conestoga Spring."

"Let me see that," Lacy said as she grabbed the ticket from my hand. "I don't believe it. You're so lucky."

"What do you mean?"

"He gave you a ticket to the Mystery Theater."

"I never heard of it."

"You got to be kidding me, right?"

I shook my head.

Lacy leaned forward and whispered. "It's this secret traveling theater that goes all over the country. No one knows where it's going or what exactly it's about, but it's supposed to be the most incredible experience you'll ever have in your life."

I took the ticket back from Lacy. "If it's so secret, how do you know about it? And if no one knows what it's about, then how do you know it's so incredible?"

"I read about it on the Internet, but they swear you to secrecy when you leave the theater."

"You mean to tell me no one's ever broken their promise? I find that hard to believe."

Lacy took a sip of coffee. "Believe what you want, but I'm telling you that everyone who has gone says it's absolutely fantastic…if you don't want to go, I'd be happy to take the ticket off your hands."

I considered the idea for a moment and then remembered the man's touch. Even if I could just get a glimpse of him again, it would be worth it. "No…I'll go. What do I have to lose?"

"You're so lucky," Lacy said, smiling. "You do realize that, don't you?"

I shook my head.

* * * *

The hike into the woods took a good fifteen minutes from where I was parked with three other cars. The evening air smelled of pine and that clean water smell I love. Electric lanterns lined a path into the woods. Near silence greeted me, broken only by scattered twigs and leaves crunching underfoot.

For an instant, I considered climbing back into my car and heading home, but a nagging feeling ate at my gut and told me to risk it. I figured I had nothing to lose. Hell, here I 'd been complaining I wanted adventure, and when it stared me in the face, I hesitated. No, that wasn't the way I wanted to live my life, and I'd be damned if my fear would get the best of me. I took a step forward, followed by another, until I found myself in the middle of a clearing facing a towering black tent. No sign. No people. No lights. Nothing.

I heard music from inside, soothing but with an upbeat undertone to it – the melody inviting, yet erotic in some way I couldn't quite figure out. I pushed aside the tent flap and stepped inside. A soft female voice spoke in my ear. "May I see your ticket please?"

I turned and looked at her but was unable to see anything in the pitch black. I handed her my ticket. She flicked on a penlight; the minute amount of light revealed nothing more than the tight-fitting one-piece black outfit the woman wore.

"This way, please." She turned off the penlight, took hold of my hand, and led me through the tent. I could not imagine how she found her way without anything to guide her. I heard breathing and the rustling of clothes as we passed someone on my left. "Here you are," the woman said as she turned my shoulders and helped me into a plush recliner. "We'll be starting shortly. Just relax and enjoy the music."

It was five minutes, maybe ten or twenty. It was difficult to tell with nothing to guide me but unending music. The notes increased in tempo and volume until they vibrated and danced off the walls of the tent, encasing me in a cocoon of joy. Drums joined the fervor as did a guitar, then a soft voice eased in under the music singing a melody that drew the notes to an ever-increasing quiet and steady beat until they were no more, leaving only the woman's voice to gently fill the air. It felt as if she were singing to me and no other, the darkness my only companion.

Upon the last note, a cool breeze swept my skin, raising goose bumps across my arms, the sensation again magnified. Then, the chair began to warm, ever so slightly, and I felt something soft caress my skin – feathers maybe or cotton. My breath caught in my throat as the object moved across my cheeks and down my arms, stopping at my fingers before making its way back up to my face. I struggled between my desire to experience the sensation and my need to see who provided it, although I knew I wouldn't be able to see a thing. Another cool breeze followed, then nothing.

All I could do was anticipate what would come next – my senses were on fire.

Again, it felt like a long time until something happened, but the wait only increased my pleasure. Five soft pink spotlights now bathed five gorgeous men, each dressed in nothing but identical shorts, cut high and tight. Bare, muscular chests glistening in the light, smiles plastering their faces, hands planted on hips. I could see the shadows of lounge chairs near each man and assumed a sixth man stood near me. I wondered what he looked like. How he felt. How he smelled. How he tasted. I turned my head to look, but the lights extinguished before I had a chance.

Something soft pushed against my lips and juice ran down my chin. I opened my mouth to take it in, the strawberry so sweet and exhilarating, as if I were tasting one for the first time. His breath warmed my skin and then his tongue licked the juice clean in one full, drawn-out stroke. I ached. Every bit of me. And I craved more and more of these wonderful sensations. I didn't know it could feel so good…that I could feel so good.

Fingers found the buttons on my shirt, opened them, and gently spread the fabric to my sides. Again, I felt warm breath on my skin, then hands swept across my nipples, not stopping to satisfy the aching buds on the way down to my thighs and to my ankles and back up again. But this time, fingers pushed aside my bra strap and freed my breasts. A short beat, then ice on my nipples. I moaned. The cold was delicious against my heat. I reached out for him in the dark, barely able to stay still, but he pushed my arms against the chair and held them there for a moment. I dared not move again, not wanting to give him reason to stop.

A soft, high-pitched bell clanged once, twice, followed by a warm shower from above. The water drizzled against my skin, each drop like needles yet so invigorating. After about a minute, the bell clanged again and the water stopped, leaving my saturated clothes plastered against my skin. The pink spotlights turned back on, this time casting a wider swath of light that illuminated each chair in addition to the men standing next to them, the men's bodies now glistening from the water, their shorts clinging to their skin. I turned my head again, but the man ducked behind my chair and pushed my face forward. "Watch them and enjoy," he said into my ear, his voice creamy and smooth.

I recognized his voice from the coffee shop – the man who gave me the ticket – and my stomach felt like it rushed into my throat but then quickly settled. "But…what?"

"Life is not to question why, but to enjoy." With those words, he pushed me upright, removed my shirt, and unhooked my bra, all the time caressing the back of my neck with his lips. I knew the other women in the room watched me. I felt their eyes, their stares, didn't care – only focused on the men in shorts attending to them and on the man attending to me.

His mouth found my waiting nipple and sucked, then he bit it gently with his teeth as his hand teased my other nipple. His tongue trailed down my stomach, paused at my waist, then made its way back to my breast. I watched another man do the same thing to a woman directly across from me, turned my attention to the side and saw the same thing again. It only served to increase my excitement. I wanted him to take me right then and there. I didn't care who watched. All I could focus on was the burning ache and wetness between my legs.

The tent went dark again. I shivered, but not because I was cold. I felt hands on my hips pushing my pants to my ankles and over my feet. A finger pushed under my panties, teased me for a second, then disappeared. Ice again on my breasts. Warm mouth on mine. Fingers in my hair. I reached out to him. Felt the rock hard muscles of his chest. Ran my hands down to his waist, across his shorts, over the bulge, lingering for a long moment.

He pushed aside my hand. I heard his zipper. Only wanted to reach for him. Hold him. Take him inside me. But I knew the rules.

Again, the lights. This time a little dimmer, mixed with purple. Soft music and a cool breeze blowing directly on my skin. He moved into view. Naked. Sculpted like one of those famous statues I'd seen in museum pictures somewhere. "Please," I said.

He smiled and drew a vibrator out from behind his back, turned it on. The buzzing alone almost made me orgasm. I glanced across the way, saw another man holding a vibrator against a woman, joy plastered across her face. My man pressed the vibrator against my clit, sending ecstatic bolts of electricity through my body. I arched my back and spread my legs, desperately wanting it inside me, wanting him inside me. He knew it too. He smiled a wicked grin and stopped just because he could, right when I was on the brink of orgasm.

He reached behind him, and I felt cold water hitting my skin again followed by that cool breeze and then his mouth on my neck. His oh-so-warm mouth. He straddled me with his thick muscular legs and leaned toward my chest and kissed me. Hard. Hands clamping my head. Fingers nearly digging into my scalp.

Lights out.