Tomboy: Terri Hits a Homer
Millie Dynamite
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Tomboy: Terri Hits a Homer
A Lesbian Erotic tale of surrender and acceptance
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2017/2021/23 by Millie Dynamite
NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive lesbian scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, actual events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Tomboy
tomboy noun 1. an energetic, sometimes boisterous girl whose behavior and pursuits, especially in games and sports, are considered more typical of boys than of girls. 2. A tomboy is a girl who exhibits characteristics or behaviors considered typical of a boy, including wearing masculine clothing and engaging in games and activities that are physical in nature and are considered unfeminine or the domain of boys. 3. tomboy, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, “The term tomboy has been connected with connotations of rudeness and impropriety throughout its use.” 4. Tomboy = all of the above + Terri Bell.
Terri Hits a Homer
Her name is Harmony Hunter, late-thirties, divorced woman. No longer the happy couple, they drifted. Aaron Hunter found others to gratify his desires. Harmony sat home alone. The result, they grew apart. Being a generous and wealthy man, Aaron gave her an allowance. Not that she needs the help, but the gesture soothed his guilt-ridden conscience. They say the divorce was amicable if such a thing is possible. Abandoned and lonely, Harmony satisfied her own needs in a rich, detailed fantasy life.
Her interest turned not to men, but to women. So, seeking fodder for her fantasies, she discovered the local junior college, and one day Harmony stumbled upon the school’s fast-pitch softball team, The Lady Bees. The team became her obsession. Harmony went down to the stadium to watch the team play every home game. When they were out of town, she viewed them on TV. Her obsession centered on the girl wearing number seven. The first time Harmony spotted her playing, she leaned over and asked a man about her.
“Who’s number seven?”
“She’s an Oklahoma girl. Her name’s Terri, Terri Bell. She requested number seven—it was Mantle’s number,” he said, as though she should know who Mantle was.
She thanked him and returned to observing the game—well, the girl. Five weeks later, near the end of summer, Harmony Hunter sat in the stands watching the last game of the season. If she didn’t act now, the woman knew she’d have a long wait until the games returned in April.
The Lady Bees played a junior college from another county. The two teams battled eight and a half innings for a 3-3 tie. Harmony hoped the game would go into extra innings. She loved fast-pitch softball. To be more specific, she loved ogling the muscled-up girls who played fast-pitch softball.
“Now coming to bat, number 7, Terri Bell,” the announcer said.
Terri took her place in the batter’s box, batting left-handed. She took two practice swings, keeping her concentration on the pitcher. The other team chanted, “She can’t hit,” while her teammates yelled, “Knock the cover off the ball, Ter.”
The pitcher took her wind up and let go a blistering, chest-high, hardball. Terri swung, twisted her entire body into the effort she connected. The ball climbed higher and higher. Finally, without observing the ball sail over the fence, Terri dropped her bat and took off at a leisurely jog for first base.
“Oh goodness, folks, ‘at’s your game. Another four-bagger from Terri Bell, her 37th home run of the year, the ninth one left-handed,” the announcer said.
He rattled off other stats as Terri rounded the bases in a dead run. When she came to home plate, she jumped on home plate.
The game over, the crowd dispersed. This was Harmony’s last chance to talk to her until next season. Moving against the flow, Harmony rushed down the bleachers toward the playing field. Her high heels clicked and clanked on the aluminum stairs, and Harmony shouting.
“Please, give me a minute. Wait, please, Miss Bell. Hold on for a second.”
Hearing the commotion, several of the girls glowered at the older lady rushing toward them. Harmony waved her arm in the air, and her enormous breasts bounced under her clothing as she bounded down the stairs.
“Hey, Ter, some mad woman’s screaming your name,” one player called back to the dugout.
Terri climbed the dugout steps back to the field and twisted around to glance into the stands. Harmony collapsed against the chain-link fence, clutching her fingers in the holes, and realized, in a moment of clarity, she must appear insane.
“Wow, you must think me mad,” she said, struggling to catch her breath.
The other girls shrugged and ambled away, headed for the showers. Harmony was alone with Terri. “I wanted to tell you how marvelous you played today. Your home run was impressive.”
“Okay,” Terri said. “Um, yeah, well, thanks.” She turned and walked away.
“You’re attending summer classes?” Harmony said in a rush, desperate to keep her from leaving until her mind formulated something to say.
“No, ma’am. I’m only bumming around,” she said, again turning to leave.