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I have a new life goal: I want to be Eskimo brothers with someone whose rookie card I have. That’s right, I want to swim in the wake of a major leaguer.
I first got this idea after I fucked my first MILF. I was fresh out of college; she was fresh out of her first marriage. I met a 51-year-old woman named Kim at a country bar. I fucking hate country, but beers were a dollar and it was the only bar within walking distance of my buddy’s place.
During my pick-up attempts, I must have said something smooth like, “Oh my God, you have great tits.” In which she assured me that they were fake, and she had them implanted around the same time my dad was implanting me into my mother.
She continued on her life story, much to my chagrin, informing me how she was going through a rough divorce and how hard it was on her son (who was only a few years younger than me). I feigned interest in her plight, I mean, I was trying to sleep with her after all.
Finally her story became more interesting. She told me how she lived in Vegas during the 80s making a living as a musician. She told me all about how prevalent coke was to the Vegas, hell, all of America’s culture in that decade. Then she told me something that really caught my attention: she used to fuck major league baseball players.
Now I could stop pretending to be interested. Of course, I wanted her to name names. She claimed I wouldn’t know any of them because I was too young. I insisted, but she refused to give up the goods.
Long story short, we hooked up. I didn’t own a bed yet, so the couch sufficed. My first MILF experience was quite enjoyable. She gave good dome, and her manufactured breasts were great to titty-fuck. The only thing that struck me as odd was that she wanted me to take the rubber off before we had sex. She rationally explained that it was unlikely someone at her age would get pregnant. And who am I to question a divorcee? So, I obliged and raw-dogged her.
But it got me thinking, what if she fucked an MLB alum that I’ve heard of? She could have been taken advantage of by a perennial All Star. And, what if I used to have his baseball card back in the day?
Like most (normal) American males, I stopped collecting baseball cards at 10 or 11 years old. But imagine being able to brag about laying pipe in the same vaginal canal as Ken Griffey Jr. or Wade Boggs. Someone straight out of the Fleer ’87 pack, like Dennis Eckersly. Hell, I’ve even settle for taking down the same broad as Fred “The Crime Dog” McGriff.
It would be hard to prove, but imagine the bragging rights of being able to tell your friends that you shared a slam with someone who you pestered your parents to stay after the game for his autograph.
I’m going to get it done, or die defeated.