Switch Hitter

Before swinging a bat in a lesbian softball league, pick a side. Gay or straight? Or something else?

Well, they still kicked our butts.

A few of my teammates are engrossed in conversation at a nearby table. One of them, Theresa, leans over to me and says: "Amy, we've gotta know. Are you gay or straight?"

I'm eager to continue my conversation with the silver-haired ladies, but I'm also floored that word hasn't gotten around to the whole team by now. I relate my "coming out" tale about being married to a man, and my teammates double over with laughter. Theresa says she pegged me as straight from the start, whereas her girlfriend, Mirna, had guessed that I was gay. Denise too figured I was gay since I had joined a gay sports league.

Young-Min Yoon
Mirna and Theresa were the only couple on the team; they invited the author to pile her glove on top of theirs inside the dugout during the Law Dawgs' short-lived stints at bat.
Michael McElroy
Mirna and Theresa were the only couple on the team; they invited the author to pile her glove on top of theirs inside the dugout during the Law Dawgs' short-lived stints at bat.

"Man, good thing you didn't tell us earlier," Mirna says. "We would have given you shit all season, like we did with Krystal."

Apparently, Krystal, a barely legal 20-year-old, had professed her straightness repeatedly during warm-ups. Liz joked a few weeks back that the straight gals on the team should perform a strip tease at her graduation party. Tonight, Krystal is a no-show. Nobody asks me to flash my goods. But I'm prepared for the task: There are lace turquoise panties and a matching push-up bra (a Valentine's present from the hubby) under my clothes.

Fortunately, nobody remembers the strip-tease assignment. My macho husband would be none-too-pleased if I performed like that. And on deeper introspection, I don't think I'd want my teammates to objectify me. Besides, nobody likes a tease.

For a few bucks, Howl at the Moon lets patrons scrawl phrases above the dueling pianos. Our pitcher, Lucy, points proudly toward her prose. "Pussy is a beautiful thing," she wrote. Someone outbids her by a dollar and replaces the phrase with: "Two pussies are better than one."

As I swig Budweisers and sing along to piano tunes, I realize that my discomfort early in the season stemmed from a fear that my teammates wouldn't accept me. I felt the need to "pass" as gay. Now, I'm talking freely about my relationship with my husband. And I'm having a damned good time with my new lesbian friends.

"Will you be back?" several of the ladies ask me. Sure. If they'll have me.

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