Crossing 45th Street with Eva. We’re friends. Close friends. Like me, Eva bats from both sides of the plate. Her words. Not mine. 

Eva’s a baseball nut.

Unlike me, she’s hot. Early 20s. Looks younger. Pert and pixie. Eyes follow her tight little ass wherever we go. Tonight it's our favorite hangout. 

“Oh, my, God!” Eva stops in her tracks.

I see what she means. A beautiful man. Six feet four. Probably more. Sculpted. Fine features. Oh. So. Fine.

“Hank Martin,” she says as if “Hank” and “Martin” are the most precious words in the universe.

I’m not a complete dolt. I sorta know who Hank is. TV. Tabloids.

“Baseball god,” she gasps.

“He is beautiful. But a god?”

“$23 million a year?”

“See your point?”

“Hey, you!” Eva shouts. Jumping up and down to get Hank's attention. “You up there!”

Hanks slows. So does the guy with him. A normal 6’ good-looking hunk. Hank smiles when he finally sees Eva.

“You guys know how to find Don’t Tell Daddy?” she asks. Voice sultry and confident. Our hangout, but Hank doesn't know that.

“Um... I’ve heard of it,” Hank says looking to his friend.

“The speakeasy thing,” the friend says. He looks familiar too.

“Oh, yeah,” Hank pulls out his phone. “I’ll look for you.”

Before Hank can find the address, Eva turns on her baseball speak. Slider this. Sinker that. Pauli, DeeDee, Charlie Hustle, Donnie Baseball. AL East. NL West. Wildcard.  A surprised smile passes between Hank and his friend. A chick who knows the score.

“I’m Eva,” she says. Hank and Harry introduce themselves. "You guys wanna join us?” Eva adds offhandedly while I’m shaking Hank’s hand, which is larger than my neighbor’s pit bull. Can't help but wonder. How big is the rest?

“Tempting,” Harry says. 

“What about the interview?” Hank asks.

“I’ve got an idea,” Eva cuts in, always the quick thinker. “My place is around the corner. Have the interview there while Mari and I make a home cooked dinner."

The guys glance at each other. Big smiles. “What’s your address?”

Dinner goes great, even if Hank and Harry are giants in a Hobbit house. Eva ends up on Hank’s lap, pouring wine from the fourth bottle. Harry moves his chair next to mine, then asks out of the blue if Eva and I are lovers.

“Good call," I say, amazed. "How’d you know?” He nods to the couch where two pairs of panties peek out from behind a pillow. One very tiny. The other. Well never mind.

"I always check the dugout for signals," he says.

"Since you're stepping up to the plate," I tell him. "You should know Eva and I are both switch hitters."

Across the table, Eva is making her pitch to Hank. "Ever play strip RBI?"

“All the time,” he says. “But never strip RBI.”

RBI is a PlayStation baseball game. Eva's pretty good. But not good enough. Ten minutes later, Eva and I are naked. They guys haven’t even lost their shirts. 

You can cut the sexual tension with a scalpel. Eva’s stiff nipples are almost as long as her little tits. My nips are rigid and tingling. Eva’s inner labia are swollen and opening like a Georgia O’Keefe painting. 

Hank and Harry are still dressed, but that can't hide their erections. Harry wins again.

"Take a card," Eva says, holding out her Yankee hat.

Eva's made half-a-dozen Dare cards. They all say the same thing: “Pick any player in the room to perform oral sex on any naked player until satisfied!”

“Geeze!” Harry says. “Can I pick myself?”

“Why not,” Eva grins.

“Mari and me,” Harry says.

My knees go rubbery. Shaking like a rookie. Harry extends his hand and helps me to my feet. Blood roars in my ears like Yankee Stadium in October. And I'm wetter than a rain delay. Eva tosses a towel onto her couch, which lands just before my butt. 

Harry slides between my outstretched legs. "Time for a mound visit," he announces. 

No foreplay. Who needs any? I’m shaved with a little ginger landing strip. Harry manages to wrap his lips around everything but the runway. I squeal with joy.

“Safe at third with a headfirst slide,” Eva quips.

Harry's tongue glides between my pussy lips. Then he swings for my clit. I squirm. I moan. I scream. My pussy explodes.

"Harry launches a line drive into the lower deck," Hank says from somewhere far away, imitating of a certain goofy radio broadcaster. "Harry, he's scary!"

Eva giggles, then says, "Go ahead, Hank. Pick a Dare card." An instant later, Eva is tossed onto the couch next to me. Hank's mouth is on her cunt in less time than it takes for a four seamer to cross the plate

"Should I steal home?" Harry whispers.

"Not until the pitcher steps on the rubber," I tell him.

"Oh, God!" Harry moans. "Rubber. Don't have one."

"Strike one," Eva whimpers, glancing at Harry through heavy-lidded eyes. "Look next to my bed. And bring two." Harry's pants hit the floor before he reaches Eva's bedroom door.

He returns with Trojans. "Time out," Harry calls, passing one to me and the other to Eva. 

"Double play," says Eva as we unroll the condoms on the boys' hard wood.

"Two balls and a strike," Hank cries.

"Swinging for the fences," Harry shouts, barreling up his big bat.

The crowd roars. Tension mounts. Cries of agony and ecstasy. Runners race home. Forty-thousand screaming fans cheer us on.

Harry's cock stretches me so far I see stars with every thrust. I can't even imagine how Eva can take Hank's oversized stick. 

Eva cums first. Within seconds, we are all twitching and convulsing. Screaming in pleasure. 

I peek through half closed eyes. Hank and Harry are grinning like they both just hit a walk off.

"Grand slam!" Eva cries, pumping her fist. "Who wants a double header?"