Dwayne arrived at the ballpark at precisely 11:00 p.m. He noticed Russ's Ferrari parked off in the corner of the lot, obscured by foliage. Parked beside it was an old dirt-track motorcycle with an expired, dangling license plate. Dwayne could only a.s.sume that this belonged to Dave the umpire. Dwayne pulled his truck beside them.

Dave and Russ were sitting inside the Ferrari having a clambake. The windows were up, and you could barely see either of them because of the thickness of the smoke. Both of them were wiping tears from their eyes, apparently from several minutes of intense laughter.

Dwayne walked to the front of Russ's car and held his hands in the air, as if to ask if they ever intended to get out of the vehicle. This just made Dave and Russ laugh harder. Dwayne frowned and headed toward the field.

Just as Dave the umpire had been instructed to do, he had dug a hole about six feet deep at the pitcher's mound. Dwayne peered over into it. Dave may not have been good for much, but he could sure dig a mighty fine hole. He headed over toward the scoring booth to a.s.sess the carnage.

Dave and Russ came stumbling up. They were slurring, wobbly, and high, yet full of energy.

"You've gotta try the c.o.ke, D-dog," Dave said to Dwayne. "This s.h.i.t is intense, bro."

"That's okay, man," he replied. "You go ahead and snort my portion. More for you."

Dave gave a smile and a nod, as if he'd somehow just come out ahead on doing lines of Russ's c.o.ke.

"Okay, bros, I finished digging early and had some time to kill, so I power-washed the scoring booth," Dave said proudly. He pulled the padlock from the stairwell door to show them.

The door swung open and came to a quick stop on the side of T-Bone Sprinkle's very dead head. T-Bone's body lay twisted at the bottom of the narrow stairs, hard in the grips of rigor mortis, with one leg sticking straight up in the air.

"Yeah, I didn't feel like carrying him down the steps, so, you know ..." Dave said sheepishly. "f.u.c.ker got down quick, though. He's hard as a rock, too. Check out that leg, man. That's f.u.c.kin' funny. I don't care who you are."

Dwayne eased around the corpse of T-Bone Sprinkle, looking down at him as he pa.s.sed. His head was caved in above the nose, and he was missing an eye. Portions of his skull pierced through his scalp. His hands were bent upward at the wrist, his fingers outstretched like he was about to play the piano. He didn't look good.

Dwayne eased around the corpse. Not a good way to go, he thought. T-Bone deserved it, though. He deserved to be whacked in the face and sacrificed to the baseball G.o.ds, with a pitcher's-mound burial. It was fitting.

Dwayne continued up into the scoring booth. He couldn't help but be impressed. The room was immaculate. There wasn't a drop of blood anywhere in sight. The carpet was still wet from the power washer, but everything else was perfect.

"What about T-Bone's car? What did he drive?" Dwayne yelled down the stairs to Dave.

"He lived a couple of miles from here," Dave responded. "T-Bone walked a few miles every day. This is where he turned around to go back. He always came in and f.u.c.ked with people before heading back. So no worries there. The cops will probably think he got jumped walking by the river. We're cool."

"Okay then," Dwayne a.s.serted. "Let's drag this sack of s.h.i.t to the hole. Russ, a.s.sume the lookout position."

"Aye aye, Captain." Russ moved toward the front entrance. He edged back into the shadow of a large redbrick column so as not to be seen in the moonlight.

The stadium lights were off, so Dave the umpire and Dwayne were able to drag T-Bone's body through the fence and across the third base line in the comfort of darkness. It proved to be an awkward endeavor due to the rigor mortis.

They realized that T-Bone's leg sticking up would make it impossible to get the body into the hole. It wouldn't fit. Dave struggled to push the leg down. Dwayne took a few turns as well. It wouldn't budge. Even hitting the leg full swing with a shovel proved futile. It just wasn't going down.

"Any ideas?" Dwayne asked the umpire.

"I've got a chainsaw."

"Too loud."

"I've got a hacksaw."

"Perfect."

Dwayne sat on the ground to catch his breath while Dave went to get the hacksaw. Dwayne loved being on the baseball field. Even if it were to bury a body, there was no place he would rather be. The bright green of the field was so striking in the moonlight. He hadn't ever seen the field this green. His lawn crew had done an amazing job since they'd gotten the contract, he thought to himself. He wondered if Pete Rearden's ground-up body had some kind of positive effect, producing the vibrant color of the gra.s.s. He would keep that in mind for the future.

When Dave the umpire made it back to the mound, he took a seat Indian-style beside T-Bone's leg and got to work. Without hesitation, Dave sawed his way across the upper thigh. Blood came pouring out.

Dave had no problems getting through the flesh, but the bone proved more of an issue. After getting halfway through the femur, he paused for a break. The intensity of the c.o.ke had worn off. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, streaking blood across it and into his hair.

"Here, man, take a break," Dwayne said. "I'll finish."

Several minutes later, Dwayne was able to finish the amputation. He had no idea it would be that difficult. He tossed the leg off to the side and looked at his hands, arms, and shirt. They were drenched in deep red blood. Dwayne wiped his hands on his pants and pulled a joint from his pocket, needing a break before the final stretch.

"Be back in a minute, bro," Dave growled. "I'm gonna get a beer and check on that hairy little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Russ. Plus, the acid he gave me earlier kicked in a few minutes ago."

"Jesus," Dwayne replied. He didn't know they'd dipped into the hardcore hallucinogens. They might need to hurry before things got out of hand.

Because of Russ and Dave's increasingly altered states, Dwayne knew he should keep working to get the dead a.s.shole under some dirt. He positioned himself on the ground perpendicular to the body, with his feet pressed firmly against T-Bone's hip. He pushed as hard as he could with his legs, inching the corpse slowly toward the edge of the hole. After a couple of minutes struggling to make progress, the one-legged body dropped head first into the freshly dug pit, landing awkwardly on its flattened head. Dwayne fell backward, relieved and exhausted but pleased with his progress.

Behind him, Dwayne heard Russ and Dave the umpire come giggling and running down the third base line toward home plate. Dwayne popped up and rolled over to check out what the commotion was about. He was decently startled at what he saw.

Russ rounded home plate in a full sprint and headed toward first base, completely naked with his arms waving in the air as he laughingly screamed. Dave was close behind, giving chase, swinging T-Bone's severed leg above his head.

Dwayne sat in the middle of the infield, at the pitcher's mound, and watched in silence as they ran all the way around the bases several times. Russ's small and ridiculously hairy package flopped side to side as he reached his full stride.

Russ grabbed an old baseball that was resting against the backstop, and then ran out beside Dwayne. Russ and Dave must have been on the same page because Dave stepped into the batter's box and loaded up, holding T-Bone's leg by the ankle like a baseball bat, with his arms c.o.c.ked back in a perfect stance. Russ held the ball to his chest. He checked his left shoulder, looking for a runner at first. He went into the windup and sent a perfect screaming fastball right toward home.

Dave made perfect contact with the ball just above T-Bone's kneecap, and drove the ball into right field. After a brief moment of enjoying the hallucinatory effects of watching a ball fly through the air in the moonlight, Dave the umpire took off for first base.

Instinct took over with Dwayne. He jumped up and took off toward the ball while Russ ran to cover home. Dave was rounding third as Dwayne s.n.a.t.c.hed the ball off the ground, spun, and whipped the ball to Russ. It was an immaculate throw.

Russ stood with one foot on each side of the third base line, just in from of home plate. He nabbed the ball from the air right above his head and swung his arm downward to tag out the runner. But Dave had already begun his feet-first slide precisely between Russ's legs. All at the exact same moment, Russ tagged Dave's shoulder with the ball, Dave's foot touched home base, and Dave's face went right into Russ's hairy, sweaty b.a.l.l.s.

"Safe!" Dave yelled with such determination that he didn't notice the p.e.n.i.s resting against his cheek.

"Are you f.u.c.king kidding me, Dave?!" Russ screamed. "I tagged you way before your foot hit the bag! There's no G.o.dd.a.m.n way you're safe! Another bad call from Dave the umpire!"

Dave started to yell something, and then suddenly became very aware that any time he moved his head ever so slightly, Russ's p.e.n.i.s touched his face. He hadn't taken into account that there was an actual, live s.c.r.o.t.u.m literally right there.

An awkward silence filled the baseball field. Russ slowly backed away from Dave's face, and the three men began to quietly walk toward the freshly dug grave at the pitcher's mound. Dave grabbed T-Bone's leg and brought it with them.

"She's no Louisville Slugger," Dave said firmly, tossing T-Bone's leg into the hole, "but she came through when I needed her."

The three of them took turns shoveling dirt onto the body. When they finished, Dave and Dwayne artfully rounded the top of the pitcher's mound to sheer perfection and placed the rectangular white plate on top.

Russ was laying down on his back, still totally nude, in the darkness of center field.

"Well, that should just about do it, men," Dwayne said loudly enough to stir Russ from his psychedelic state. "I'm sure I don't need to mention that we tell no one about this, we were never here tonight, and we haven't seen T-Bone recently."

Dave the umpire nodded. Dwayne looked over to Russ, who was walking toward them. Russ gave a thumbs-up as his b.a.l.l.s flopped side to side.

"Okeydokey, then, boys," Dwayne announced. "I've seen just about enough p.e.n.i.s this fine evening. Therefore, I'm going to go home and try to see a v.a.g.i.n.a. You boys have fun."

Dwayne walked to his truck, looking in all directions to make sure he wasn't seen. He pulled himself up into the front seat, groaning from the soreness of his increased activity the previous few days. He backed out from behind the trees and glanced back toward the field. He could barely make out the shapes of a naked little chunky man being chased full speed around the bases by a much larger clothed man.

"Jesus," Dwayne whispered to himself.

He picked up his phone before departing and sent a quick text to Estelle. It said simply, "On my way."

Dwayne turned up the radio. "Sail On," by The Commodores, was playing. He cranked it up loud and sparked a joint.

A second later, his phone quacked. Estelle had replied to his text.

"I want you to wear me out like you've never done before. I want you to make me hurt."

He popped the vehicle into drive, slid the truck sideways exiting the parking lot, and headed home.

Dwayne enjoyed coming home now. He never knew what to expect from Estelle. He only knew that good things awaited him.

These days, their marriage was so different. He used to dread walking through the door. In the past, at any given point in time, there would have been Bible study, prayer group, party planning, or whatever kind of socialite gossip circle activities that you could think of. He had to be careful about which vehicle he drove home and what he was wearing. And he'd had no desire to see or speak to his wife. But that wasn't the case anymore. Now, he couldn't wait to see her.

Estelle lay nude on her stomach atop the blankets on the bed, facing away from the entrance to the room. She was looking back over her shoulder at Dwayne playfully. She knew this was her best angle, with her gorgeous a.s.s on display.

Two large boxes with big red bows rested at the end of the bed.

"Oh, baby," Estelle whispered in a sultry tone to Dwayne. "That's a lot of blood. We need to get you cleaned up."

She rolled off the bed and grabbed Dwayne by the belt buckle, leading him into the bathroom. She stood behind him as they both faced the mirror. Dwayne was surprised by the amount of blood he had on his arms and shirt.

"Rough day, Sweetie?"

"Oh, you know how it is, babe," he replied. "Little league can be a b.i.t.c.h sometimes."

Estelle walked around in front of him and pulled his shirt up over his head. He couldn't stop staring at her a.s.s in the mirror. He loved the way it jiggled when she moved. She motioned toward his shoes, which he promptly kicked off using his feet to pry the backs down. She undid his belt buckle and slowly pulled his pants down, never losing eye contact. Jesus she was awesome, he thought to himself.

Dwayne was led to the shower, being pulled by his johnson. He didn't have to do a thing while he was in there. Estelle lathered up every inch of his body for several heavenly minutes. She spent more time on some areas than others. He enjoyed it that she seemed to like his body as much as he liked hers. He wasn't conceited, but he knew he'd held up well over the years. He was strong as h.e.l.l, had a low body-fat percentage, and a pretty decent-sized package.

"Now, you take a few minutes to rinse off while I get your surprise ready," Estelle said as she stepped out of the shower to dry off.

Dwayne let the piping-hot water run down his face and body. He could feel the soap sliding down his torso and legs. He watched as it circled down the drain. Tinges of orange from the dirt and red from the blood became less and less visible. The ridiculously expensive showerhead was worth every penny, he thought. He turned the water off and began to pat himself dry. Although he was well beyond tired, he knew he smelled amazing, and he was very much looking forward to terrorizing some booty. Dwayne walked through the steam from the shower and emerged on the other side in the bedroom, like a naked hero walking through artillery smoke in battle.

"Open the box and put your costume on," a voice called out from the closet.

The two boxes were no longer side by side. One now sat empty on the floor. Dwayne lifted the lid to the remaining box and found an official movie-quality Batman costume inside. "This is so f.u.c.king sweet," he said, admiring the craftsmanship. "I may wear this to work tomorrow."

It took several minutes for Dwayne to get the bodysuit, codpiece, gadget belt, boots, gloves, cape, and mask on. Once the costume was all in its proper place, he walked back into the bathroom to check himself out.

"Oh, f.u.c.k yeah," he said to himself, putting his hands on his hips.

"If you'll look at your yellow gadget belt, you'll notice I added two pairs of handcuffs," Estelle softly stated with a s.e.xy snarl as she emerged from the closet, where she'd been hiding.

Estelle looked stunning in a black leather skin-tight Catwoman costume. He loved the sound her footsteps made in her high heel boots as she walked across the hardwood floors. She was absolutely the most s.e.xy and ravishing woman he'd ever seen.

"You wanna handcuff me to the bedrails and fight some crime in my pants, big fella?" she whispered softly in his ear. "I've been a really bad kitty."

Dwayne spun Estelle around and pinned her to the wall, kissing her pa.s.sionately. He reached around behind her and picked her up under her b.u.t.t cheeks. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, thrusting her pelvis hard on his codpiece. He spun, walking toward the bed. When he got a few feet away, he reached his hands under her arms, lifting her in the air above him, where he held her for a moment as they stared at each other. "Punish me," she said.

He threw her onto the bed, a.s.suming the role of a s.e.x-crazed crime fighter, reaching to his side to grab his handcuffs as if he'd done it a thousand times before. He forcefully cuffed her wrists out wide across the wrought-iron headboard.

Estelle was writhing on the bed in antic.i.p.ation as Dwayne slowly pulled the zipper down on her leather pants. He peeled them down slowly to her knees and then paused.

"Holy shaved v.a.g.i.n.a, Catwoman!" Dwayne exclaimed, admiring her freshly manicured nether regions. "Don't stop! Take me now!" Estelle yelled back at him.

Dwayne unzipped each of Estelle's long boots and flung them across the room, sending them crashing into the walls. He pulled her pants the rest of the way off, tossing those as well, and placed her feet on his shoulders. He kissed down her ankles, down her calves, and then down her inner thighs, until he made it to his favorite place. Estelle squeezed her legs together hard as Dwayne put a lifetime of knowledge he had concerning technique into his efforts. Estelle squealed as she gripped firmly on the ears of the Batman mask. Her toes were curled under completely as she kicked at the air.

"Oh G.o.d!" she yelled. "f.u.c.k me like a Democrat, Batman!"

While it may have taken Dwayne several minutes to put the costume on, it took him less than ten seconds to get almost the entire thing off upon hearing Estelle's command. He decided to keep the mask on to keep things interesting.

"Unhook me now so I can grab your a.s.s, Batman," Estelle demanded.

"No," he responded in his gruff Batman voice. "I don't think you've learned your lesson yet." Dwayne picked Estelle up by the waist as she held onto the rails she was cuffed to behind her head. He edged his body up closely and went in for the attack, shaking and slamming the headboard against the wall, giving Estelle two consecutive eye-popping o.r.g.a.s.ms.

Estelle pulled hard with her arms while moaning loudly in ecstasy, causing the rails the handcuffs were latched onto to pop out of place, freeing her hands. She thrust her body forward, now sitting in Dwayne's lap facing him, and ripped the top of her costume off.

The two of them rolled over in a wild motion, leaving Dwayne on top with Estelle underneath. She gripped one of his b.u.t.t cheeks with one hand while clawing her fingernails across his back with the other. "Finish the job, Batman," she said forcefully as she gripped his a.s.s as hard as she could. "Fight that f.u.c.king crime."

Estelle couldn't keep up the act any more. She started to giggle after thinking about what she'd said. They both began to laugh until Estelle snorted, something she did rarely that Dwayne found irresistible.

"Let's smoke a joint," she said.

"G.o.d, I f.u.c.king love you," he replied.