We had Friday off and then Saturday was the double header games that would decide who would play for the State Championship. We would travel to Corvallis to play on Coleman Field at Goss Stadium on the OSU campus. It was close enough to be a home game for us. Our opponent was LaGrange, who had to travel across the width of the state to get there. The winner of our game would take on the winner between Coos Bay and Roseburg. Jack Baldwin would be our starting pitcher and he was 8-2 and the ace of our staff. LaGrange was the least regarded of the final four teams. They had gotten hot late in the season and beat a top ranked team from Treasure Valley and then Pendleton, the only other good teams from eastern Oregon.

We were playing the early game, Coos Bay and Roseburg would play the second game. The two winners would play the next day for first and second, the two losers would play for third and fourth. As we warmed up, I started in center field. There was a chance I might get to pitch late in the game, but this was Jack Baldwin’s last high school start. If we won, I might start on Sunday. If I pitched a lot on Saturday, I might not even pitch on Sunday. I was pulling for Jack to have a great start and pitch a complete game.

The game was scoreless into the fourth inning. Then a LaGrange batter slapped a grapefruit flair that landed ten yards in front of me and I scooped it up and halted him at first. Jack had a rare lapse in concentration and walked the next batter. With no one out and two runners on, I didn’t dare look into the dugout. I would not give Coach Harris the opportunity to call me in for long relief. Jack got a strike out and then a fly out, putting us in good position to get out of the inning without damage. The very next batter put on a suicide bunt with both runners going and a bobbled throw from our catcher, James Baldwin, loaded the bases. The next batter in the LaGrange order was their best hitter, Rocky Richardson. With the initials “RR” someone got the bright idea to call him “Train”. Train had been smoking the stat sheets, batting close to .450 against the weak pitching in the eastern state league. I remember Richardson was bound for Boise State in the fall on a three sport scholarship.

“TIME OUT!” came the cry from our dugout. Coach Harris trotted out to the mound. He gave his right arm a pat and pointed to me. I trotted in, fearful that Jack was being sent to the shower.

“Tell me the truth Jack, are you gonna get Richardson?”

“Yes sir, I’m fixing to derail the Train.”

“If you don’t think you can get him, let me have Paul David pitch to him and you take his spot in centerfield.”

“Nah Coach, I got this. We need the kid to start tomorrow for the championship. I can get Richardson.”

I wish I could tell you Jack was right, but that would be a lie for that at-bat. Jack started the Train with an outside ball and then hung a curve in the middle of the plate as pretty as you please and Richardson hit it so hard I thought it might hit one of the high-rise dormitories down the street. 4-0, LaGrange. Their fans were going wild. I got the sick feeling we weren’t going to win.

Jack never bowed his head. He just stared at Train as he trotted around the bases and held his mitt out for the next ball. I glanced in at Coach Harris and he stood in the back of the dugout, arms folded across his chest. When the ump handed a new ball to James Baldwin, he looked into the dugout and Coach clapped twice and shouted, “Alright Baldwin. Let’s get to work.” James fired the ball out to his brother on the mound and Jack went to work.

In our half of the fourth, we managed to score three runs. We trailed 4-3 until our half of the eighth. Lagrange didn’t get another runner on but we did. We just couldn’t get a runner across the plate to tie the score. In the bottom of the eighth, I came to bat first. I looked down the line at Coach Harris and he gave me the sign to take. I watched the first pitch sail across for a strike. I glanced toward first and saw the take sign again. The second pitch nipped the corner for another called strike. I looked again, I saw the green light. I don’t know what coach was playing at but I did know that if I were pitching to me, I would throw anything near the plate. As the pitcher raised his leg in the windup, I squared around to bunt. It worked like a charm, I saw the hitch in the windup as the pitcher attempted to adjust and the ball sailed out of his hand right toward my shoulder. I waited until the last second, then turned my shoulder into it and bailed, getting tagged in the process. It stung like a bitch, but I got waived down to first.

Coach Harris smiled. “I gave you a green light.”

“I got here didn’t I?” I grinned back.

“Yep, you sure did. Don’t stick around too long.”

“No problem coach. “ I didn’t take much of a lead, not even pretending to get into position to steal. The Lagrange pitcher eyed me, brought his hands to his belt and strode toward the plate. For the entire game I had I studied the arm movement of the catcher. He had a hitch in his throw back. He’d false cast his arm movement and double clutch his throws. That was all I needed to see. As soon as the pitcher raised his foot on his next delivery, I took off. The yells of his teammates caused his adrenaline to pump and he fired a high one, causing his catcher to leap out of his crouch to stab it. A catcher in that position should have been in position to gun me down, but I was fast and that catcher had to false cast before firing. I slid in head first and the ball hit the second baseman’s glove well after. Now I was in scoring position with no outs.

The pick-off move from the mound to second is hard to make. Few pitchers do more than take their foot off the rubber to keep the runner at second anchored. But I wasn’t going to steal third unless there was a passed ball. I took two short steps off the bag and waited for the sound of ball meeting bat. I’d hold on a fly and go on a single. I knew I could score on nearly any legitimate single.

Now that he was rattled, the pitcher ended up walking the man behind me, bringing Jack Baldwin to the plate. A single would tie the game; a double would put us ahead. Jack fouled off nine pitches in a row, staying behind in the count 0 and 2 until the tenth pitch. The tenth pitch was a hard shot that lined passed the pitchers ear who had to duck to keep from being beaned. It went right over second about five feet off the ground and landed just in the grass behind the infield sizzling toward the centerfielder who was charging the ball. At the crack of the bat, I was off. The ball hit the ground and I hit third, rounding for home. The throw from centerfield was going to be late. Instead of cutting it off and trying to pick off the runner making for second, the centerfielder was trying to gun me down. The ball skipped once in the grass between the mound and the plate and the catcher charged forward to hold the runners at first and second. I crossed the plate before the ball reached the catcher. Tie game: runners on first and second.

The rest of the game went our way. We ended up winning by 5, 9-4. Jack held on for the complete game win. I would be pitching for the state championship against Roseburg who had won 1-0 over Coos Bay in one of the tightest pitching duels all season. Roseburg had a stable of great arms and Centerville had a bunch of slap happy bats, so the state championship was supposed to be a legendary battle between offense and defense.

At home that night, I climbed into bed and tried to let the butterflies settle so I could fall asleep. Becka came in but didn’t jump right into bed with me.

“Are you OK Paul?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah sure, Beck. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You are the first freshman to pitch in the state championship game. Ever. I heard Dad talking to some of the other dads tonight. I just wondered if you were nervous.”

“Yeah, a little I guess. I have some butterflies, but I’ll be alright.”

“Is it OK if I sleep with you tonight?” She hadn’t asked in so long, I was beginning to wonder if something should be wrong.

“Sure. Come on.” I slid over and rolled onto my side, facing her. She slipped into bed, her back to me, and settled against me. She grabbed my left arm and pulled it around her, keeping my hand in both of hers. The comfortable feel of her tiny, taught ass against my groin got the natural response. My erection pressed into her crevasse and enjoyed the warmth it found there.

I tried to go to sleep but couldn’t. I just inhaled the scent of Becka’s shampoo and listened to her breathing. I was surprised when she spoke again, nearly two hours later.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked quietly.

“I guess not.”
“Here, this should help.” She reached down and pulled her panties completely off, then reached back and pushed down my shorts to expose my cock. With the deftness of an expert, she slipped my erection into her moist, hot cunt.

“Stay still,” she instructed. She started moving her hips, slipping my cock in and out of her teen cunt. I could tell by her twitching and thrashing that she was enjoying this a great deal. She reached back and grabbed my hip for leverage, pulling herself deeper and deeper onto my cock. She started to get really slick as she reached orgasm, thrusting back onto my rod and tensing until the sensations passed. As hot as this was, I still didn’t cum. She started to slow grind again; her orgasm has made her loose and wet. It was starting to work its magic when she pulled off, grabbed my wet cock, and shoved its full length into her ass.

“Oh God Paul! I can’t believe how good this feels after I cum. Get on top of me.” She struggled to get face down with me on her back, cock imbedded in her ass. She put both of her hands under her hips, fingering her groin while I began to thrust into the tight channel of her rectum. “Go as hard as you want. It feels SO good.” I pushed deep into her ass until I spread her cheeks wide with my abdomen. I reached under her chest and fingered her taut nipples. She buried her face in the pillow and fought back her screams of delight. I could feel her fingers in her cunt pressing against my cock through the thin membranes separating the two sources of pleasure.

I could take no more; I flooded her ass with my sticky cum. I didn’t stop. I ignored the sensitive protests of my post-coital cock and kept pounding. She was grunting with every thrust, the sound of my cock squishing in and out of her ass was so nasty and hot. She was so slick now I could just pound away with impunity. Becka tensed for the longest time, as wave after wave of pleasure emanated from her cunt and ass. Then she flopped, loose on the bed. Absolutely silent. I was worried, but I couldn’t stop. I kept pounding away until I blasted another load of spunk into her ass.

Now I was completely spent. I kissed my sister’s cheek and rolled us onto our sides, staying deep in her ass. I could hear breathing, so I knew she was fine. We slept like that all night. In the morning I awoke with a piss hard-on and I was still deep in her ass. I thought about waking her with a slow fuck, but it was a game day and I needed to get up and get around. With great regret, I slowly pulled out, letting her sphincter close without leaking all over my bed. Becka stirred but didn’t wake. I jumped in the bath and cleaned up. When I went downstairs, breakfast was underway.

“Big day, want a cup of coffee?” asked my mother from her position at the stove.

“Sure.” My dad was still at work for another hour and a half. My mother looked good. The last year had removed nearly all the stress from her life. Her worry lines had eased and she looked ten years younger. Her breasts swayed under the thin film of nightgown she wore. It was apparent she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Your father and I are really proud of you. You’ve accomplished a lot in just a year. Most boys don’t accomplish this much in all of high school. I hope you take time to appreciate everything, because before you know it, you are going to be grown with a family of your own.”

“Like Dad?”

“No. Well, yes. Maybe. He was quite an athlete back in high school as well. I know how pleased he is with your success.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled. My mom turned back to the stove a put the finishing touches on scrambled eggs with Tillamook cheddar cheese, fresh chives, smoked ham and diced Jalapeno peppers. When the toast popped up, she slathered it with real butter and fresh honey and set the feast before me. As my eyes drank in the feast, she grabbed the coffeepot to refill my half-empty cup. I wondered if this was the fuel used by the Oregon state baseball champion pitcher to win the state championship, or just another great breakfast.

When I finished, my mom was at the sink, washing the frying pan. I slipped up behind her, much like I had done many months before, and reached around her to put my dishes in the sink. I was much taller now; my chin was almost above her head. My groin was in the small of her back.

“Don’t you start anything, Pauly. You’ve got a game today. And from the sounds of it, you had plenty of work last night. What have you done to poor Becka? What have you created? I’m afraid you spoil her. She won’t ever have another man treat her like you do.” She sounded almost regretful. “Go on. Go upstairs and get dressed. Wake Becka up and send her down for some breakfast.”

I spent the morning splitting the last of the roof shakes for the barn raising. It was less than a month away. The action of splitting shakes took no concentration at all anymore. I could just drift along, Zen like, and let my thoughts drift wherever. But I had nowhere to focus on. I don’t even recall thinking about the game. When my forearms got good and warm, I lengthened the muscles by climbing the ladders in the barn using just my hands and arms. I dropped to the floor when my dad got home from work. I went inside and checked my baseball travel bag for the umpteenth time. After my dad got breakfast and a shower, I climbed into the car with my family for the ride to the high school. The team would travel by bus to Coleman Field at OSU. The rest of Centerville would travel in a caravan behind us. The bus ride was quiet except for the honking horns from our fans. When we got to the OSU campus, we made our way into the locker room to change. The Coos Bay vs. LaGrange game was underway. It was the second inning and Lagrange had a 4-0 lead again, thanks to the bat of the Train. We assembled on an adjacent practice field to go through our pregame warm-up routine. The pitchers all assembled in the training bullpen. We played catch for a while, just to loosen up and then we headed over to get some at-bats at batting practice. There wasn’t a lot of grab-ass going on. We were all business. Even Coach Harris was pretty subdued. The last thing I did was head to the outfield to get some sprints in, just to burn off the butterflies. I realized I could be observed from the practice field where Roseburg was getting ready. Half a dozen of their players had assembled along a mutual fence and were watching me run. I couldn’t hear them, but I could tell they were talking about me. I trotted over.

“Hello. I’m Paul David. I just wanted to wish you guys luck. And if you aren’t in a hurry after the game, I think the parents and boosters are planning a big tailgate party, win or lose. You should stop by. Bring your family, your wives and your girlfriends. After all, it’s only a game.” They looked at me like I had three eyes. Maybe they were stunned by the series of events. I know I am not an imposing figure. It wasn’t like I was Bobby Wilson or Train Richardson. What it did for me was immense. Now I could see them as kids, just like me. They had freckles and zits and homework, just like I did. Now I could relax and play ball.

“Yeah, sure. We’ll be there. Does the offer still stand after we beat your asses?”

“You bet. And don’t be ashamed to show your faces if we beat yours, alright?” We all got a good laugh and headed back to our teams.

“What was that about?” grumbled Coach Billy Parsons. “Were you getting friendly with the opposition?”

“I invited them to the celebration after the game. I reckon they are gonna be hungry after the game, since I won’t be offering them anything during the game to bite on.”

“Thattaway kid! “ Coach Parsons clapped me on the back and we headed over to the main field, where we could hear that Lagrange managed to rout Coos Bay, 16-1. Train Robinson had four homeruns and set a state record. As they trotted off the field I shook his hand and congratulated him. He gave me a surly look and trotted on. I looked at Jack Baldwin and shrugged. I was glad I wasn’t facing the Train in the second game.

The State Championship game itself is hard to remember. I was so focused on what I was doing; I forgot to keep track of much else. The weather was beautiful. Sunny and dry with little breeze, eighty degrees. By virtue of our record we were the home team. So I began the game on the mound. I threw only three pitches that day, the fastball, the sinker fastball, and the change-up. That last pitch was an accident. The ball slipped in my hand and it came off strange. It had no zip. The batter swung well before the pitch even got to the plate. It made Billy Parsons sit up and Coach Harris call time.

“What the hell was that, Pauly?” Coach Harris asked at the mound in conference with my catcher, James Baldwin and I.

“Sorry Coach, the ball slipped. It was just dead when I let it go. I’m glad the batter swung early, because it went right over the middle of the plate.”

“That was a Change-Up. It does that to batters who are looking for the heat. Now that you’ve convinced Roseburg you’ve got three pitches, use it to your advantage. Just stick to the heat from here on out.”

“Yes sir.”

Coach Harris was mumbling and shaking his head when he walked back to the dugout. He patted his right arm twice and his left arm twice, getting four pitchers up in the bullpen. I didn’t know he was doing it for show. He was signaling to Roseburg that I was about done. It scared me so much to think I was going to get the hook, I really concentrated on my work. It was the top of the sixth inning and other than four or five balls, I’d thrown nothing but strikes. No one had reached base and no had gotten more than a tick of the bat on the ball. I was pitching from the stretch, even though no one was on or even likely to get on. I was in the middle of a perfect game and protecting a 3-0 lead. If I had known enough to get worried, I would have also known enough to know I was unhittable. What happened for me that afternoon was as rare as Haley’s Comet. Roseburg wasn’t going to win this game and Centerville wasn’t going to lose. There was still plenty of cheering going on as the game went on, but I was only focused on the hiss and thwack as the ball left my hand and found Baldwin’s glove. He stopped throwing down signs except to spot the pitches and flip me the bird. I don’t know when my team stopped speaking to me, but I didn’t notice. In the seventh inning, the Roseburg pitcher took dead aim at the small of my back and let it fly, intent on knocking me out of the game. I could see it coming and I was so angry I just turned on it and slapped it down the left field line staying fair by inches. I turned that into a double and stole third on the next pitch. I thought about stealing home, but Jack Baldwin looped a double of his own into right center and I was home and back in the dugout.

The game ended with the first perfect game ever pitched in the Oregon State Championships. The Roseburg team joined us in the parking lot for the celebration and so did most of their fans. I even signed a few autographs on the game programs. People wanted my signature in case I ever became something. I even dated them to make them worth more I guess. Even as I look back now, I can only recall pieces of the game. I mostly remember staring in at James’ glove and pointing my toe at him and firing. The papers made a big deal out of it and I got my picture in Sports Illustrated, Faces in the Crowd. I was famous for about as long as it took to finish the postgame barbecue.

“You don’t look like much, David,” admitted one of the players from the fence conversation a couple hours earlier. “But you are the Real Deal. No doubt about it.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. I was so dumb I didn’t even know what I had accomplished as a freshman just didn’t happen. I thought then that it was a combination of dumb luck, good team mates and great coaches with a healthy dollop of loving support from my family.

The next day was back to work.

“Good game, Pauly,” said Mister with his only indication that he had paid attention to our baseball success. “Now let’s get to work. We are two weeks behind getting the pipe in the field; the time for dilly-dallying is over.”

With that, the Pipe Crew was back in business. We all spent the morning working with two trailers and two pickups to string mainline. Then we’d string the laterals and start the water. The next day, Rusty & I moved pipe alone in the morning while the rest of the crew strung more mainlines and laterals. It was hard work but we didn’t mind. We knew we were faster than the rest of the guys and we could almost keep up, even though it was the two of us against the six of them. Sandy wasn’t back this year. Jack Baldwin was pipe boss now. In Sandy’s place was a skinny 14 year old boy name Kesey Curry. He was the grandson of Merle Franklin, one of the farmers Mister Loeschen leased ground from. He was from the California coast, somewhere north of Santa Cruz. He smiled a lot and nothing rattled him. He was as laid back as a guy his age could be. Everyone liked him immediately.

When the rest of the crew finished laying out the water on two more fields, they helped us move the pipe on the last field then we all went to lunch. Sitting around, listening to Paul Harvey and eating lunch, we got around to getting Kesey’s story out of him. His dad was a vice-president of an audio company from San Francisco and his mother was the farmer’s daughter who had met him during a wild concert, fell in love, and got swept off her feet and into a whirlwind that landed her on the California Coast, pregnant, freshly married and thrust into a life she was ill prepared for. They had named him after writer Ken Kesey who his mother had a great affinity for.

“It could have been worse,” laughed Kesey while explaining his name’s origin. “She was a bigger fan of Alan Ginsberg.” We all laughed. The kid was all right.

“It looks like my folks are going Splitsville. They parked me and Summer with Gram and Gramps for the summer so they could work out the custody. It’s been coming for a while. I think they only stayed together because of me and my sister. Mom wants to move us to a commune in the San Gabriel’s and Dad wants to move into the city. He never really dug the coast. I am going to miss the surf. And the girls,” Kesey explained. He was so nonchalant about the whole situation it took me a minute to realize when they got home after the summer, their parent’s would be divorced and they would be living in someplace completely different from the one they left. He was also the first person I’d ever met whose parents were getting a divorce. It was like he grew a horn in the middle of his head.

“Ah man, that’s tough,” said Jack Baldwin.

“Nah, it’s not so bad. Lots of my friend’s folks are splitting up. The kids usually end up getting all kinds of cool stuff because their parents feel so guilty.”

“Tell me about your sister.” Rusty, God bless him, always thinking with his dick.

The summer fell into a familiar routine. The only new things were Kesey and twin sister, Summer. We got to meet her one afternoon when the girls stopped by the field to tell me they were going swimming. With just two weeks before the barn raising, there weren’t many free afternoons for swimming. Katie was driving one of the old farm pickups and Becka, Kim and Summer were squeezed into the cab with her. They were all wearing bikinis, but these weren’t the string and patch kind the girls wear today. They were considerably more modest, but to our standards the girls could have been nude. Summer was the female equivalent of her brother. Long, lean, blonde, athletic and completely laid back. She wore tiny little blue jean shorts over her yellow bikini. Rusty was completely smitten. Oh this was going to be good.

“We are headed down to the lake. Can you come check on us later? Four lonely girls who need protection…..” Katie was giving me the ‘come-fuck-me’ eyes. “You’d better bring help. Kesey, Rusty and James will be fine.”

“Yes ma’am.”

After we got the rest of the pipe moved and had lunch, the four of us slipped down to the lake. I was a little uncomfortable knowing that my sister was going to end up paired up with either Kesey or James, but there was no guarantee they’d do anything more than flirt or kiss a little. Rusty was going to be all over Summer and his style, well, isn’t smooth.

“James, if it’s you and Becka,” I nudged him as we drove down. “Just be nice. I don’t want her hurt, alright?”

“No problem Paul. I’ll treat her like she’s my little sister.”

I was afraid of that, but I didn’t tell him.

We had a great time down at the lake. It didn’t take long for Katie to cut me out of the herd and sneak off to a cliff nearby where she already had a blanket laying in the sun. We didn’t talk much, just kissed and groped and tore each other’s clothes off. Then she lay on her back in the sun with her legs open and her arms reaching for me. I slipped in between her legs and my rigid cock found its natural home. We made love until the heat was too much and we both came. Then she licked the cum off my shaft and I ate the cum from her quim and we lay back to dry our sweat in the beating heat.

I slipped my shorts back on and walked to the edge of the cliff. I could see Summer and Rusty swimming together, intertwined. Good for him. At least he got to first base. Kesey and Kim Schultz were nowhere to be seen. Right beneath us, in the tall grass at the base of the cliff, my sister was on the lap of James Baldwin and riding him like a rented mule. I probably should have warned him differently. It was interesting watching Becka have sex with someone else. She clearly loved sex. James was a good guy, but I don’t think she was that into him, just into having him into her. She threw her head back and shook her hair out of her face. She was buck naked and bucking wildly. She looked up at me and stuck out her tongue. I just smiled and turned away, content to let her have her fun.

I turned back to see Katie bent over, preparing to pick up our blanket. Maybe it was that sun drenched ass in her bikini, maybe it was the sight of my sister taking a hard cock from James Baldwin, probably it was my natural teen horniness, but I couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

“Don’t move.” She giggled and looked back over her shoulder as I approached, lowering my swim shorts to half way down my thighs. I eased her bikini bottoms down until just her puffy pink slit was exposed. I gave it a few sloppy licks to get it wet and then stood up and pointed my erection at her willing sex. I buried the length in one long firm stroke. Katie stood up and reached behind her head to encircle my neck. We stood and fucked, her on her tiptoes, me thrusting and lifting her off of her feet altogether. The pressure of her taut ass cheeks against my groin drove me crazy. Still does. My cock was forced against the inside of her abdomen, drilling her g-spot and causing her to melt in my arms. The more we fucked, the less able she was to balance on her toes. I gripped her waist, my fingers pressing against her pussy. Her moans were guttural and constant. They grew as her pleasure increased. She raised her legs off the ground entirely, supported only by her arms around my neck, my cock in her cunt, and my hands around her waist gripping her groin.
“OH. MY. GOD! OH. MY. GOD! OOOHHHH! MMMMMMYYYYYYY! GGGGODDDDDDDD!” We both released on her third plea to the Lord. I could feel her cunt spasm and milk my teen boner for all the juice it had. Not a bad way to finish the lunch break.

“Come on guys, time to get back to work,” I yelled over my shoulder toward the lake.

“We are waiting on you QB.” It was true, they were all dressed and waiting. And standing twenty five feet away, watching. “We heard yelling and thought you might need assistance,” laughed Rusty.

“You are lying, Rusty! You wanted to sneak up here and watch them fuck, just like the rest of us,” corrected Becka. I adjusted my swim trunks, shrugged my shoulders and joined my crew mates as we headed back to work.

When we got back with the rest of the crew, Mister gave us the news. “There’s only two weeks until the barn raising. We are going to give the Schultz’s a hand with pouring the foundations and setting the sills. Expect to work a little longer beginning tomorrow.”

We didn’t grumble. We were all kind of looking forward to this. It would be a once in a lifetime experience we didn’t want to miss.