Chapter 1: Introduction
The scent of freshly cut grass and sunscreen filled every breath I took, the ballpark heat beating against my skin. A kaleidoscope of uniforms scattered across the field, a flutter of motion against the afternoon sun. The clamor of my teammates shouting their pre-game chants only shoved my unease farther down my throat.
"Batter up! Batter up! Batter up!"
Jacob Whitmore. Outfielder for Franklin College.
Fast. Strong. Driven. Yet as I adjusted my cap and tucked my sweaty locks underneath – locks destined to be cropped short and bristly next week – I couldn't escape the sense of confinement.
Tight pants clung to me like a second skin, rough and restrictive compared to the silky garments I'd grown fond of in solitude. The rough scratch of the jockstrap made me long for the dainty lace I'd stolen from my mom's drawer.
Whispers of taffeta, flowing skirts, and blouses with feminine curves intoxicated my mind. They made the lingering sweat, mud, and testosterone seeping from this concrete battlefield repulsive.
Coach Walters' voice boomed as he motioned to me. "Whitmore! Get your head in the fucking game!"
I forced a nod and trotted to home plate, gripping my bat just as I would any opponent.
But the rough texture of the pine on my calloused palms couldn't suppress my fervent craving for lace, for touch so much gentler than this.
In the dugout, scuffed metal cleats shuffled as my teammates paced in anticipation. Still, that same gnawing disquiet chewed at me. Like a secret gnashing away at the foundations of who I was supposed to be: Jacob, the jock; the unstoppable force in the outfield.