They were a ragtag group to put it mildly. I had my first clues when Ian introduced me to his best friend and teammate, Reggie. He was not the type of person I would peg instantly as an athlete, even a weekend one. He was attractive enough. His wiry, Brillo-pad hair framed a face that was almost angelic in its innocent appearance. I knew instantly that the truth was anything but innocence. His body was not horribly out of shape, but he was beginning to put on a few pounds around the middle. He wore hiking shoes instead of sneakers and was dressed in tight-fitting jeans instead of anything remotely athletic.

As Reggie shook my hand, he said, “So this is the imaginary guy that turned out to be real.”

I cocked my head at Ian. He said, “Oh, after I met you last fall, it was such a brief encounter that Reggie and I both wondered if you were truly real.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Somebody could have dialed the phone if they had questions.”

Ian shrugged and said, “I guess the same could be said of you.” As we piled into Ian’s car, he asked, “Have you ever played slow-pitch softball, Blake?”

I said, “In high school gym class. Since then it’s been baseball exclusively.”

Reggie said, “You might be just what we need. Ian warned you that we’re perennial basement dwellers in the city league?”

I pounded my right fist into the glove on my left hand saying, “Yes, he did mention that. I’ll have to admit that I don’t particularly like to lose. So it might be a long season.”

Ian pulled on to I-94 and Reggie leaned across the front seat whispering, “I think I like him, Ian.”

I smirked at Reggie’s assumptions that somehow I might not hear him. I asked, “Who’s your best player, Reggie?”

He said, “Well, Ian is pretty good. He corked a couple of balls over the fence last year.”

Ian interrupted and said, “Billy. He’s the best.”

“Billy?” I asked.

Reggie looked out the window on the passenger’s side of the car. “Yep, Billy Alvey. He’s the other straight guy on the team. You’re our second, and that’s the league’s rule. No more than two straight guys on a gay softball team.”

I let the comment go by. Sometimes I felt like the world’s most hopeless late bloomer. Baseball took up so much of my time that I wasn’t very experienced in bed. I wasn’t completely sure about my orientation, but I knew that it wasn’t straight. The accident that brought down my minor league career taught me that lesson. Still, I wasn’t ready to discuss it. I decided that, for now, I could be the team’s second straight man.

Ian said, “Yep, Billy is a good softball player, but let’s just say, he’s not your ordinary straight man.”

I heard Reggie giggle, and I slapped my fist into the glove once again. I couldn’t imagine what exactly I was getting myself into.

---

Five team members were already spread across the practice field as we arrived. They were tossing balls back and forth. Reggie said, “Oh good, Antonio is here.” He turned toward me and said, “Everybody loves Antonio. He could be a good player if he concentrated a little harder, but he’s more interested in being a cheerleader.”

Ian hauled two bags out of the trunk of the car with bats and a large collection of balls. As he handed me one of the bags to throw over my shoulder, he said, “I’m sort of de facto manager. Billy and Marshall help with consultation on lineups, but I take care of the equipment and necessary meetings with the managers of other teams.”

I glanced out to the field as we walked toward home plate. I saw a tall, skinny black man instantly point at me and then bounce twice into the air. Then he began jogging across the field toward me. I turned to Ian and asked, “Who’s that?”

Ian said, “Antonio. Get ready.”

Antonio’s smile was so bright and cheerful that it almost looked bigger than his face. He squealed as he approached and placed his right hand with impossibly long, thin fingers on Ian’s shoulder asking, “Who’s the new piece of prime…” He covered his mouth with his left hand and said, “Oops!” with his eyes sparkling. He started again saying, “Who’s our new player, Ian?”

Ian dropped his bag to the ground and wrapped Antonio in a big hug saying, “This is Blake. Go easy on him.”

Turning from Ian to me, Antonio offered a hand for a shake. While our hands clasped, he reached out to squeeze my bicep with his free hand. “Ooo, some real muscle there. I bet you can hit the ball over the fence just like Ian. Our new secret weapon.” Then he made a pointed glance down at my crotch. Antonio placed his hand over his mouth once again as he looked into my eyes and said, “Let me introduce you to the rest of the guys.”

I followed along behind Antonio. He was all arms and legs. I guessed that he was about six feet two like me, but his thin gangly body made him look taller. He was decked out in bright orange track pants and a deep purple tank top.

We walked up to a handsome man with salt and pepper grey hair. He was solidly built and about six feet tall. Even though the weather was on the cool side, he was wearing shorts. His T-Shirt fit just snugly enough that it advertised a broad, muscular chest. Antonio said, ‘This is Marshall Easterling. Isn’t he handsome? He’s the one that all of us with…” Antonio coughed, “Daddy interests lust after.”

Marshall blushed and reached out to shake my hand. I said, “I’m Blake. I’m friends with Ian and Reggie. This is my first practice.”

After another once over from head to toe, I was finally getting used to it. Marshall said, “Welcome to the team. Looks like you have solid biceps. We could use a power hitter in the lineup.”

Then I met perhaps the most distinctive member of the team. He was dressed in Milwaukee Brewers gear from head to foot including a backwards baseball cap on his head, but he looked nothing like a baseball player. His hair was long, black, and hung to the middle of his back. He wore rings in ears, eyebrows and septum. The intense red of his lips appeared to be enhanced by makeup and he wore two gold chains around his neck. Antonio said, “This is Billy Alvey. He’s our token straight man.”

Billy grunted, “Nice colors today, Antonio. Who’s the new guy?”

He didn’t look my body up and down. Instead, Billy stared directly into my face. I said, “I’m Blake.” I paused and finished, “Powell,” as he held out a hand decorated with three heavily ornamented rings. His shake was strong and firm.

Billy said, “Welcome to the zoo,” and then he turned his attention back to tossing a ball back and forth with Marshall.

Antonio strode back toward home plate and said, “Let’s find us a ball.” He picked up Ian’s bag and gingerly reached one long arm deep inside. He asked, “So did Blondie recruit you? He just needs to bat those eyelashes and show you those blue eyes, and you’re sunk.”

I laughed and asked, “Do you mean Ian?”

Antonio said, “Oh, right. He does have a name. Yes, Ian. Are you sure you’re still straight after hanging out with him?” He pulled a neon-colored softball from the bag.

I had noticed Ian’s good looks, but I tried not to focus on it. Instead, he was just a nice guy, and he was great to have as a neighbor. I made an effort to sound like I was answering Antonio’s question without telling a lie. I said, “Yeah, he is a good-looking guy.”

Antonio gingerly placed the ball into his glove and then he actually skipped toward the outfield. He called out to no one in particular, “I love softball season! All of the hot MEN!” He made a sharp turn to swat Marshall on the ass with his glove and then headed for dead center field. I broke into a jog and stared straight ahead as I followed him.

It felt good to get my arm moving again. I threw a few balls in physical therapy, but, for the most part, my arm had only been used for weight machines to try and keep my overall strength up.

Antonio grinned and said, “Damn, you throw hard, Blake! I bet it’s not the only thing about you that’s hard.”

He finally pulled a small blush out of me. I threw the ball back and said, “I have a little experience with baseball.”

Even from thirty feet away I could see Antonio’s eyebrow raise. He asked, “You’re a baseball player, Blake?”

I called back, “I was in the minor leagues.”

His long arm wound up and tossed the ball back. He said, “Oh, now I’m nervous. We probably look like amateurs.”

I laughed and said, “I think that’s what you are.”

Ian jogged up to me, and for once, I focused on his appearance. He was handsome, and he had a perpetually friendly look on his face. Those blue eyes flashed when he asked, “Are you getting to meet some of the team?”

I held up a hand toward Antonio to stop him from tossing the ball back. I said, “Yeah, they seem like good guys. I’m thinking this could be fun, Ian.”

Ian said, “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Let’s do a little batting practice. I’ll pitch, and Reggie has volunteered to catch.” He called out to Antonio, “Round up the guys! We’re going to do a little batting.”

With everyone lined up near the first base line, I counted a dozen players on the team. That would mean only two reserves, but it also meant everyone was likely to get plenty of time on the field.

I liked how Ian took control. He pointed to three of the guys and said, “Miller, Bascomb, and Jenkins out in the field. We’ll rotate in and out. The first go-round every batter gets three pitches.”

I was standing behind Antonio, and he gestured for me to move ahead. He said, “The new guy gets to go first.”

Stepping up to the plate, I felt a little bit cocky. I watched Ian make his warm-up pitches with that incredibly slow ball making the big looping arc before it crossed the plate. Surely it wouldn’t be difficult to hit it. I just needed to be patient, and then plunk the ball deep into the outfield.

While Ian began his windup, Antonio started to cheer and much of the rest of the team joined in. I crouched just like I would for baseball, and then I waited seemingly an eternity before swinging the bat. I took that first powerful swing…and missed the ball entirely.

Reggie called from behind the plate, “You’re gonna strike this one out, Ian! He can hit a baseball, but he can’t hit a watermelon!”

The team switched allegiance as they saw my position weakened. They cheered for Ian instead of me. I crouched back down for the second swing, and this time I connected, but the ball dribbled off the end of the bat and landed at Marshall’s feet. I saw him grin before he picked the ball up and tossed it back to Ian.

I didn’t have much better luck with the third pitch. This time I popped it up high in the air. Ian took three steps back from the pitcher’s mound and easily hauled it in. He stared in at me and said, “It’s gonna take a little work.”