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Author's Note: "Playing With My Sister" is a bisexual series. This chapter contains male-on-male sex scenes. If this bothers you, please go read something else, rather than sending me nasty anonymous emails.
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"Jesus, Paul," Angela sighed as we settled at a table at Nathan's Famous on the Coney Island boardwalk with our hot dogs and crinkle-cut fries. "It's wonderful to be doing something normal. I'm so freaked about Bernie."
"I'm sorry, Sis," I said, squeezing her hand.
"It's not your fault." She gave me a little air kiss. "Anyway, fuck Bernie!" She took a big bite of hot dog. "I don't want to think about him tonight. I just want to see some good baseball."
"We should get that," I answered. The Brooklyn Cyclones - our favorite team, especially Angela's - were playing the formidable Aberdeen IronBirds for the New York - Penn League championship.
Angela and I talked baseball through the meal. We had time to kill, so we walked along the boardwalk before going to Keyspan Park, stopping to look at the original Cyclone -- Coney Island's historic wooden roller coaster.
"We should ride it," Angela said, listening to the passengers scream as the train hurtled down the shaking wooden structure. "It's scary, but sometimes I like being scared."
"But not today," she continued, taking my hand. "It's too close to game time." She kissed me, hard. "Let's go."
"Oh shit!" Angela muttered as we were climbing the stairs into the stadium. "That's Bernie's big brother and he sees us!"
"Hi Jeff," Angela said when he intercepted us at the top of the stairs.
"What did you do to Bernie?" Jeff demanded. "He came to my apartment late last night, really upset. He said you betrayed him."
"I'll bet he didn't tell you what HE did," Angela countered. "Anyway, that's between him and me. You can just stay out of it."
Jeff caught Angela's arm as she tried to walk away, spinning her around to face him.
"Leave her alone!" I growled, grabbing Jeff's wrist. He looked down at me, glaring. He was six years older and had three inches and 20 pounds on me, but I didn't care.
"Little dogs ought to stay on the porch," he answered, releasing Angela and glaring at me. "Not try to run with the big dogs." There was a female security guard a few yards away, watching us. Jeff turned back to Angela. "Bernie's my little brother. If you hurt him, you're going to answer to me. Understand?"
"Just stay the fuck away from me!" Angela snarled, stalking away.
"I know I'm just a kid and you can probably kill me," I told Jeff. "But you'll still have to go through me to get to my sister!" Before he could answer, I turned away.
The security guard had moved closer. She was in her early 20s and a few inches shorter than me, with closely-trimmed brown hair. Her muscular body stretched her trim uniform. Her brown eyes twinkled and she smiled slightly. The nameplate over her breast read "D. Levetz." She grinned at the sudden stirring in my crotch as I stared at her.
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
"Sure," I said, throwing Jeff a hard glance. "Thanks." I fantasized about undressing D. Levetz as I hurried after Angela.
Angela sank into her seat with her head in her hands. "Oh God, oh Jesus . . ." she muttered. "Just give me a nice championship playoff game with no more shit from Bernie or his brother . . . Please! . . . I'll listen to the priest during mass, or try anyway . . . I'll stop crossing my legs and letting my short skirt ride up in the confessional to embarrass cute Father James . . . at least for a while . . ."
"Oh what the hell . . ." she continued. "And please God . . . let our guys win! . . . " Her eyes misted as she said something under her breath. I think it was "Help me with Bernie." She brightened as she whispered, "In Jesus name, Amen!" She giggled at my expression. "Well, a little prayer can't hurt!"
It was a great game!
The coach took Sam Jones, the Cyclones' star pitcher and Angela's favorite player, out of the game after the second inning. Jones' pitching arm appeared to be hurt and he was having trouble getting batters out. He'd given up three home runs, one a grand slam. At the end of two innings the IronBirds were leading 6-0. He walked off the field without speaking to anyone.
Without Jones, it was a hard fight. The Cyclones managed to score a few times, but the IronBirds were ahead 6-5 at the bottom of the ninth. With two out and nobody on base, Matt Anderson, the Cyclones' third baseman, blasted one out of the stadium for a home run, leaving the score tied 6-6. Angela hugged me in ecstasy.
It was still 6-6 going into the 12th. The IronBirds scored three runs in the top of the inning, to go ahead 9-6. Angela and I were finally able to breathe as relief pitcher Travis Hope finally struck the third batter out.
In the bottom of the 12th, the first three batters were able to hit the ball far enough to get on base, but the next two struck out. The crowd was hushed as Cyclones infielder Leivi Ventura stepped up to the plate with two outs and the bases loaded. Blake Owen, the IronBirds' pitcher, was tricky. Strike 1! Strike 2! Angela and I were riveted to our seats, praying for a miracle.
Ball 1 . . . Ball 2 . . . Owen wound up and released. Ventura's bat connected with a cannon-like "crack!" The ball flew over the roller coaster arch decorating the Keyspan Park scoreboard, heading for the real Cyclone a half-mile beyond the sign.
"A fucking grand slam home run!" Angela screamed, kissing me passionately. The Cyclones had won the league championship, 10-9!
Nobody noticed me making out with my sister. The Brooklyn crowd had gone completely wild. Total strangers were practically humping in the bleachers.
D. Levetz was near the sky booth stairs when we left. My cock twitched when I saw her grinning at me.
Angela and I passed a group of girls my age. One of them said, "Hey, there's the Italian Stallion!" and the others giggled.
"Hi Paul," the girl who had spoken said, stepping away from her companions and catching my arm. I recognized her from school. "I'm Shannon. Are you still dating Suzie?"
"Yeah. Of course." I was a little startled. I was tall, dark and reasonably good looking, but girls hadn't really noticed me, not until Angela took my cherry two weeks ago . . .
"A pity," Shannon answered, looking up and down my body and lingering on my crotch. "Call me if you want more excitement."
"Uh . . . thanks . . . uh . . . sorry, I've gotta go." I knew I was blushing bright red.
Angela was nowhere in sight. She must not have noticed that I'd stopped and been carried away by the crowd.
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As she approached the top of the exit stairs, Angela turned to take Paul's hand and realized he was gone. They'd passed a group of girls his age. He must have stopped to talk to them. She felt both proud and jealous as she waited for him to catch up.
Oh fuck! There was Jeff, coming directly toward her. "Angela, we gotta talk!" he cried.
She dashed along the railing, toward the women's restrooms. "Leave me the hell alone!" she shouted over her shoulder.
Jeff chased her, running into a tall middle-aged man with long gray hair and the sexy woman he was escorting. "Take it easy," the man said in a slow Texas drawl.
"Sorry!" Jeff muttered, looking around wildly. Angela was gone.
While Jeff was tangled with the Texan, Angela ran past the restrooms and darted through a door marked "Employees Only."
She was in a short hall with doors to concession stands on either side and a stairway descending to a maze of hallways beneath the stands.
Angela ducked into a janitor's closet when she heard a group of people approaching. Through the cracked door, she saw the Cyclones players march past in street clothes, obviously going out to celebrate.
Down the hall, Angela found a door with the Cyclones logo labeled "Locker Room - Players and staff only!" She was surprised when the handle turned.
"What the hell?" she thought as she stepped aside.
It was an ordinary locker room with benches set into the floor between double rows of metal lockers and a big communal shower at the far end. Angela's footsteps were silent on the all-weather carpet as she turned a corner into the central section.
A lone figure sat on the bench, still dressed in his Cyclones uniform.
"Sam . . ." she whispered. As soft as her voice was, Jones still heard her. His head jerked up and his eyes widened as he looked at the sexy woman standing ten feet away.
Angela's tight shorts emphasized her muscular legs and thighs, while her nipples were visible through her tightly-stretched Brooklyn Cyclones tank top.
"You're not supposed to be here," Sam said automatically, smiling as he took in her beautiful Italian features, framed by the thick black hair cascading down over her shoulders.
"Do you mind?" she asked. "I can go away. I just wanted to take a look at my favorite team's locker room. I didn't expect anyone to be here . . . especially not you!"
"Why 'especially' me?" Sam asked.
"You're my favorite player," Angela said. "I saw my first Cyclones game right after we moved to Brooklyn from Nebraska. You struck seven batters out in a row and hit two home runs."
"I remember that game," Sam said. He looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry I was so useless today."
Angela put her hands on his shoulders. "Everybody has bad days . . ." she began.
"This is my last season," Sam said. "I'm 35 and still in the minor leagues. Now, I'm losing my arm and I'm going to have to retire."