I sat down in my first period beginning Spanish class and every girl's eyes in the room were riveted on me until I caught their eyes. Then they averted them. And the same thing happened the rest of the day.

My history teacher was the school's varsity baseball coach and I went up to him after class to ask him about when tryouts would be held. This being September, it would still be six months before they would occur. I just wanted to make sure he knew about my interest.

After school, I got online and ordered tens of thousands of dollars of musical equipment, like I had to in previous transformations. Then I went out and bought a collection of 34 ounce, 34 inch wooden Louisville Slugger baseball bats, a couple of fielder's gloves and caps, some oil for them, gym shorts, a sweatshirt, several jerseys and a couple pairs of cleats.

After a couple of weeks, I got to know everybody's name who was in my various classes. I tried to recognize them so that they wouldn't think I was into  myself to an excessive degree. It was weird, though, being back at the same school I had been a big titted blonde at and now I was a guy with the same student body as when I was Dawn. I had also gotten my music gear and started bringing my Les Paul to school along with the Bad Monkey overdrive unit and the headphone amp I mentioned in a previous incarnation, though I didn't like leaving them in my hot trunk during gym class. Then the musical ideas just began to flow and I bought a 24 track machine to record them on to at home with an eye to putting a band together later.

The athletics coaches began to notice me, too. We were playing touch football in PE and I would dodge somebody after getting the ball and then it was off to the races. My PE coach pulled me aside and told me to run a 100 yard dash because he wanted to make sure the clock would show what he thought he was seeing. I ran a 9.13, just .06 seconds off the world record. The coach couldn't believe it, so he had me run another one. I was indeed slower, but not by much, 9.17. He asked me to come out for the football team, but I said no, that baseball was my sport. Then he suggested I run track. I responded in the negative again.

A couple days later, my history teacher wanted to talk to me. He couldn't work me out at that juncture because of CIF (that's the body that governs high school sports in California) rules, but he wanted to have a friend of his who ran a traveling club team look at me that Saturday. So on that appointed day, which was in the morning since the field, which often played host to a local college baseball squad, was going to be used for slow pitch softball games later in the day. I showed up in my improvised baseball uni of gym shorts, a baseball jersey, white socks and cleats plus I had a bag of wooden bats and my glove with me. I stretched and played some catch with coach Addison, including doing some longtossing. Then he hit fungoes and timed me going from home to first, home to second and home to home. Home to first I was at 3.2, which is insaney fast relative to the running speeds in MLB.

Next was batting practice. He  threw me some room service heaters at about 70 miles an hour and I hit them more than 500 feet even though I had to generate almost all the power myself since the velocity of those pitches wasn't much. His jaw hit the ground. "Jesus, that's a sweet swing you got there, son," he commented. Then he wanted to see if I could hit the breaking ball and he offered up some lollipop curveballs and cement mixer sliders (in other words, they didn't do anything other than just spin) and I crushed them into the great beyond. "With all due respect coach, you're breaking stuff has nothing on it," I observed correctly. "Son, can you come out here and work with my team tomorrow?" "Sure coach! Sounds like fun!" "Great. Jesus kid, you might have a nice future in this game." "Thanks sir!"

I was so excited when I got to the field the next day. "Boys, this is Clint. He's going to workout with us today. Pay attention, because you may be seeing something really special." I snarked to myself, "oh fuck, great, no pressure there!" Nonetheless, I kept repeating to myself to stay relaxed and not muscle up. After everybody did their stretching, we worked on relay plays. The first throw I uncorked, there was a murmur. "Fuck, nice hose, man," one of the other outfielders complimented. We did a first to third drill and then it was time for batting practice. I had to wait a while because I hit in the third group, but the first pitch the coach threw I hit on to the freeway about a hundred feet beyond the leftfield fence, which was 350 feet away. "Fuck, man, look at that stroke!" someone enthused. The second pitch I lined over the centerfield wall more than 400 feet away and it crashed into the hill another 30 feet in back of it.

What I didn't know, though, was that he had his best pitcher warming up on the side and, after those two shots, that hurler took the mound. He threw a heater down and away and I lined it off the top of the rightfield wall. He then ran a couple sliders up there that were off the plate. Next was a heater middle in and I torqued it just inside the leftfield foul pole about 390 feet away. "How the fuck did you keep that fair?" the pitcher asked. "It's called leading with your top hand," I offered. Then he threw me a change up that I was partially fooled on, but I stayed back and wacked it back through the middle. He tried a slider that had good downward action on it and I inside outed it into the gap. He came with a heater up above the zone that I let go by and then attempted to come back upstairs and I got it all, mashing it about 550 feet, again on to the freeway, in leftcenterfield. I was awarded high fives from everybody.

"Shit dude, you're awesome. You should join our team so some scouts can check you out." "Nah, man, I don't want to take somebody else's position. Plus I got kind of a music thing to do, too. But thanks for letting me workout with you guys." Coach Addison, though, wanted to bring me back a couple days later. So I show up after school Tuesday and there he is with former Angels pitcher Don Driscoll. Driscoll was a hard throwing righthander whose command was erratic, which is why he was no longer a professional ballplayer. He used to play for coach Addison back when he was still an amateur. After I got there, Driscoll warmed up and then I stepped in against him. The first pitch was at probably 95mph and I fouled it off. I wasn't really loose yet, though. So he came with another one and I popped it up, which really pissed me off. He threw a slider and I drilled it off the rightfield wall. So here comes another number one and this time I scalded it over the centerfield wall. He bounced a couple more sliders that I didn't offer at and then he came in with a two seamer. I whipped it down the leftfield line and into the corner. His next pitch was another hard heater and I pounded it on to the freeway. So he tried a cutter, but left it out over the plate, and I lashed it off the centerfield wall. I fouled a slider off and he came in with a fastball on the inner half of the plate and I creamed it , rebounding it off the chain link fence that fronted the freeway. "Dude, can I be your agent?" Driscoll joked. "Well, at least I could hang with a mediocre AAA pitcher," I laughed inside.

When I went home, I was writing songs and recording the ideas I had, so I didn't ruminate much on what I just did at the workout. The next day in history class, though, my teacher wanted to talk to me after it was over. He more or less promised me a spot on the team and I told him I wanted to play centerfield. He was fine with that. I also added that by no means will I pitch. If he was pondering having me do that, I said, I would go play for a club team instead. He swore that he would only have me play outfield.

The girls started to happen, too. This chunky but cute blonde chick, Desiree Kowalcik, in my physiology class, took a shine to me. I made it clear to her, though, that I wasn't really into having a girlfriend, just having girls. She may have figured that letting me sleep with her would make me want her exclusively, but she was wrong.

We went back to my place after school and started making out on my couch. It's always fun cuddling a soft body and it was no different with her. I opened her blouse and popped the clasp on her bra  before pulling the lot off to reveal her milky round B cups with pinkish aureolae and nipples. I vacuumed the latter with my mouth, distending those milk ducts and making her moan as my righthand separated the opening of her pants and then slipped into her panties, where I insinuated two fingers into her wet, meaty cunt. I found her g spot and she was attempting to hump them, too, grinding down on my fingers while I continued to pull on her tits with my lips.. I kept this up until she convulsed and panted in the throes of orgasm. I pulled her pants off and then her panties. She had beautiful white skin and I nibbled and kissed up her thick legs until I landed on her pink, moist pussy, where I lapped up the wetness that was pooling inside of that gorgeous slit. There was a slightly musky taste and odor to her vulva, but that didn't stop me from flipping my tongue against her clit and yanking on it with suction while my cock strained against my jeans wanting to get in on this deal.

I swirled and rolled my tongue and added more suction. Her huffing and puffing told me she was digging it and not much further from that point in time, her hips suddenly bucked as the piercing pricks of pleasure swarmed inside of her, her chubby little hand pulling my head against her crotch. I acceeded to her wish and made her cum several more times before I suggested we go to bed. I pulled her up off the couch and off we went upstairs to my bedroom, her boobs bouncing slightly. I shed my clothes and my erect dick said "hi" to her. She remarked at how huge I was, at least to her, and we both reclined on my mattress, where I rotated her over on to her back and cleaved her slit with my prong. "Oh fuckkkkk," she sighed as I buried it inside of her. ":Clint, put a condom on, I don't want to get pregnant," she desperately begged. "Don't worry babe, I'm shooting blanks," I reassured her and I started thrusting, my brain noting the softness of her vaginal walls, her breasts heaving back and forth with every crash of my pubic bone against her body. "Oh my God, so good," she moaned as I drilled her slippery slot with gusto. Her gasps increased in frequency and volume until she produced a choked scream and then a guttural shudder while her brain rode the tide of pleasure coursing through her.

"Oh shit, oh fuck!" she profaned as she got her voice back when the orgasm subsided. I pounded my full length into her over and over and she wrapped my neck in the warmth of her arms while I did so,  her legs half pulled against her body accepting my constant penetration and yearning for another climax, which she was soon rewarded with. "Ah ah ah ah oh God (gasp) oh God (gasp) ahhhhhhhhagggghhhh!" she cried when she felt the impact of her ecstasy inside of her. She clutched my ass cheeks, urging me to keep bringing the tubular freight to her. She bucked against me when she had another orgasm and then I unleashed my magma inside of her. I withdrew and made her clean my johnson off with her mouth. "Oh my God, I've never experienced sex like THAT before!" she celebrated. "I aim to please baby!" I smiled. "By the way, you have a great body!" I complimented. She was happy when I said that. I cuddled her for a while before she had to go home. She was part of the popular crowd and so that became my in to that group.