I told him I was not so available at all, since my beloved husband was at home that afternoon, waiting for me.My Black Master got angry, yelling on the phone that his slutty white bitch should be always available for him and I should obey.His friend wanted just a quickie; something nasty…So I said Jerome I would manage to fuck his buddie. I even suggested Ritchie could meet me at the same park where my Black Master had fucked me last time he had been in Savannah…Jerome agreed and said he would call me again for further orders.A while later my cell phone rang again. Jerome said his friend knew the place and he would wait for me at dawn, after I leave my office. My Master asked if his married white bitch was dressed sexy and I said today I looked a perfect business woman, wearing a tight black skirt, jacket and a white blouse.Stilettos? asked Jerome. Of course I was also wearing stilettos…My Black Master agreed and he was glad about my response.He finally said I should not disappoint. It was a cold, windy late October night, and, not for the first time, I cursed the Lords of Baseball who let the season run overtime into weather like this. It was 49 degrees at game time but, between innings 90 minutes into the game, Surhoff told me it was 40 degrees and still falling.It wasn't so bad in the dugout when we were at bat, but standing in centerfield, I felt like a character in that old movie, "Ethan Frome," standing out in the snow in that godforsaken farm field, wherever the hell it was... Northern Sweden, probably. Or Minnesota.OK, so it wasn't actually snowing at Shea, but you get the idea.But it was, apparently, even colder for the Mets than it was for us, and our starter, Rob Murray, was holding them down pretty good. Rob wasn't fast anymore, but he was canny as hell, and taking the weather into account, he pitched almost everybody tight and sawed the bats off in their cold, cold hands. Murray was still hanging in after six and we had a 4-3 lead.Leading off in our.
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