With my arms tied over my head and my legs spraddled so vast that I nearly stood on tiptoes, I was entirely at your mercy. You saw how I closed my eyes and held my breath attentively, my body vibrating in anticipation of what you might do or ask of me next.At first, I couldn’t hear anything except for the pounding rain, but then I heard a metallic clink followed by a rustle behind me. You had opened your belt buckle and pulled your shirt out of your pants. I opened my eyes in a second as soon as it dawned on me that you started undressing.I wanted to see you ... enjoy your naked body. Of course, I had already seen you naked several times, but for me, it was every time as erotic and exciting as the first time. You opened the buttons on your shirt at a fast pace. However, when you noticed my lustful expression, you took your time. I enjoyed every second of your striptease. After taking off your shirt, you slid your pants down over your hips. No underwear! Damn, that was hot. I almost. Or something... Mix your own metaphor.But I couldn't help believing that a little something extra had happened -- something that went a little beyond just my getting laid.Emmy. Emmy was extra.No illusions on my part. Even Emmy wasn't going to make me hit .750, or even half of that. What is half of .750, anyway?... Let's see -- half of .700 would be .350. So then -- .375. No, no, I wasn't going to hit .375; or .350, either. Not even if Emmy Shreve was right there in the dugout, boffing me between plate appearances!But I felt a wonderful confidence that, now, I was going to hit. I was going to move up some in the batting order, when Stu Little eventually noticed that I was, reliably and consistently, pounding the be-Jesus out of the ball!And it was all Emmy Shreve's doing. Nobody was going to convince me otherwise!After the Sunday game, Eddie suddenly acquired a mystery neighborhood-kid friend who had asked him over for supper that night. So, by "coincidence," Emmy and I were left.
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