October 1947

"Hmmm, so what else is there to know about Beatrice?"

"I would add that Lizbeth is about as horny these days as a woman can possibly get. Did you see her checking our packages out?"

I had to admit that I hadn't, and said so.

"Well, she did. Took a long hard look too, and I mean at both of us. Beatrice saw her do it and almost bit her lip off, she was really surprised by her sister's actions.

"But knowing women, they'll have had a long, detailed discussion about us before we meet them tonight."

"You think Beatrice will tell Lizbeth what we were doing to her?"

"I'd bet on it."

"But why? How?" I blurted, unable to conceive of the younger sister telling the older what had gone on in the Pullman car's powder room.

"She'll see how horny her sister is. She knows Lizbeth won't want to go out with us and will use her marriage as an excuse. But little Miss Beatrice wants to get laid. For that matter, so does her sister. They'll meet us and we'll wine and dine them."

"And then?" I asked like a love-sick teenager.

"We take them to our hotel room for a night-cap and fuck their brains out. I intend to screw each of them in turn. You can too if you want."

It had never occurred to me that we might share the sisters although I had fantasized about nailing each of them--only not on the same night.

Glancing out on the field while thinking of what to say in answer to his last remark, I saw the starting pitchers' ambling down to their respective bullpen's to warm up. A moment later the umpires began gathering at home plate. The managers strolled out a minute later and presented their respective lineup cards while the crack of a fastball landing in a catcher's mitt reverberated throughout the ball park.

Then the player's from each team were lining up along the foul lines, followed by the playing of the National Anthem, and then George Stirnweiss was stepping into the batter's box to face hard throwing, Joe Hatten.

Stirnweiss rapped a slow curve into right field, but Henrich promptly grounded into a double play and the Dodgers were out of the inning one batter later.

The Dodgers rocked the Yankees in the 2nd when catcher, Bruce Edwards doubled Hermanski home and scored when Reese singled to center. Then with two out, Hatten singled to left; and when Lollar allowed a passed ball, both runners advanced to 2nd and 3rd only to score on Stanky's double off the right field wall. That made it 4-0 and the beloved Bums weren't done.

Vic Raschi replaced Newsom only to give up a base hit to Jackie Robinson, moving Stanky to 3rd.

"Oh, look at this!" Dennis exclaimed. Out of the Dodger dugout came Carl Furillo swinging three bats. They were pinch-hitting for Reiser!

Moments later I thought it a stroke of genius, for Furillo promptly doubled scoring the two base runners. Dodgers 6 Yankees 0, after two innings.

But the Yankees weren't rolling over just yet. In the top of the third, the first two men got on base, and with two out, Johnny Lindell singled one run home; and DiMaggio drove in another with a single up the middle, before McQuinn struck out to retire the side.

In the bottom half of the inning, Spider Jorgensen single Hermanski home, making the score: Dodgers 7, Yankees 2.

"Looks like we've got a high scoring game today," I said to Dennis, who nodded his head in agreement.

"The pitchers don't have it today. You know, some days the ball won't move as much as it normally does. This seems like one of them."

"Does the wind have something to do with it?" I asked.

"You're from Chicago, what do you think?" He replied, and wasn't smiling.

I thought he might be testing me, but didn't know why, and so I said, "The wind certainly helps the ball leave Wrigley Field some days, that's for sure, but I don't see it affecting the game in any other way."

"What about the humidity, or even a windless, or almost windless afternoon, like we have today? I've seen those kinds of days when a good curve ball pitcher can or cannot snap his pitches off in the usual manner. Those days the pitcher sucks it up and throws the heater until his arm gives out."

I waited, knowing he'd have more to say on the subject.

"At the moment, the Dodgers have Hatten on the mound; he's a breaking ball pitcher. You watch the Yankees are going to score again in this inning."

And they did. Hatten couldn't find the plate and walked the third baseman, Billy Johnson. One out later, Lollar doubled off the right field wall, scoring Johnson. Hatten got the pinch hitter to fly to Hermanski in left, but hung a curve to Stirnweiss, who slapped it to center where Furillo bobbled it as Lollar scored and Stirnweiss took second. The Yankees had narrowed the Dodgers lead to 7 - 4.

"Well it looks like you were right," I said and waved a vendor over to buy two Schaefer beers. "Drinks on me," I said.

"Good and thanks. Now watch, Chandler's coming in for the Yanks, and he's a breaking ball pitcher. If the wind doesn't pick up the Dodgers will rip him for a few more runs."

Dennis was right again. Chandler couldn't buy a strike. He walked Eddie Stanky, got Robinson when he sacrificed Stanky to second; and I would add he bunted a pitch that was well outside the plate. Chandler proceeded to walk the next batter and it seemed he was almost forced to throw the ball over the heart of the plate enabling Walker and Hermanski to single up the middle, scoring Stanky and Furillo in turn. So the Dodgers matched the Yankees with two runs in the 4th inning, making it 9 - 4 Dodgers.

The Yankees almost came back after "Joe D" hit a two-run blast in the fifth, Tommy Henrich doubled home a Yankee run in the sixth and Yogi Berra added his own homer in the seventh. Unfortunately, it was too little - too late and the Dodgers held on for a 9 - 8 victory.

It's worth adding that the breeze picked up in the fifth inning after Hatten gave up DiMaggio's home run and Branca, a fastball pitcher came on. And as if proving Dennis' point, following Berra's two-run homer in the seventh, Hugh Casey replaced Branca, and Casey, whose slider was his best pitch, effectively shut down the Yankees the rest of the way. Final score: Dodgers, 9 - 8.

We made our way out of Ebbets Field along with thousands of happy Dodger fans, boarded the subway and thirty minutes later were back in our hotel in Manhattan. It was ten minutes to five.

Dennis excused himself for a moment, saying he had to make a couple phone calls. I bought an afternoon paper and caught up on the latest news, comforted by the fact that I had borne witness to the real latest news wherein the Dodgers had beaten the Yankees. I didn't even wonder what Dennis was up to.

At any rate, I found out soon enough. Some ten minutes later, Dennis strode into the hotel's bar where I sat nursing a scotch and soda.

"We're set for tonight," he said smugly.

"Oh...?" I said my pulse was already racing now that Beatrice and Lizbeth were actually going to meet with us that evening.

"We've got tickets for A Streetcar Named Desire and Lizbeth and Beatrice couldn't be more thrilled."

"You got tickets ... for Streetcar?" I couldn't believe my ears. It was the smash hit of the season; tickets were absolutely unavailable to all but the 'In Crowd' and biggest celebrities about town. I had just finished reading in the Daily News the night before that Walter Winchell was having trouble getting tickets for the show, and here was Dennis coming up with four for tonight, with a phone call or two. And the girls were joining us! The guy was incredible!

Dennis was taking a sip from his martini when I asked my next question. "I won't ask how you managed to get those tickets, but how did the girls sound when you invited them?"

He laughed, paused to light up a Camel, and I realized he seldom had the same brand of cigarettes on him.

"They're going to put out for us, Roy. I guarantee it."

I started to say, "How can you..." But stopped, if he said so they could and they would. Hell, he already had seduced Beatrice, except for taking her virginity, and that would fall later tonight.

I came out of the shower drying my hair. On the radio Martin Block was signing off with his signature recording of Glenn Miller & the Modernaires, Make Believe Ballroom Time.

Dennis inhaled deeply from his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly, watching it spiral upward.

"Hurry it up, the girls are in the lobby," Dennis said calmly, and then stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray at his side as he rose up from the chair he was sitting in and shot his cuffs as he checked his image in the mirror.

I tossed the towel aside and got dressed. Dennis, of course was already dressed and ready to go.

The Modernaires stylistic rendition filled the room as I hurriedly buttoned my shirt and slipped on my jacket.

It's make believe ballroom time,

the hour of sweet romance.

It's make believe ballroom time,

come on children, let's dance.

Five minutes and a little dab of Brylcreem later, I was ready too. We took the elevator down and met Beatrice and Lizbeth in the hotel bar where they were waiting for us. It was difficult to tell that Lizbeth was pregnant even though she was wearing a fairly snug skirt and jacket over a white blouse, but it was evident that the blouse did little to conceal her rather large breasts. I had, of course, sampled her sister Beatrice's breasts the day before, and while they were sizable enough, Lizbeth's pregnant state had obviously enhanced hers a great deal.

Dennis greeted each girl with a kiss on the cheek, and then said, "I hope you'll allow us to pay for those drinks, after all we made you take a cab over here and then added insult to injury by having you wait while we got ready. It's the least we can do to make up for it."

Lizbeth looked at her almost empty martini and Dennis immediately ordered another for her and Beatrice and then after the bartender placed their drinks in front of them, ordered martini's for us as well, throwing a twenty on the bar in payment.

In my heart I knew that had I been left to offer an apology to them I would have stumbled and probably fouled everything up. The man was damn near incredible.

I should add that with Dennis between me and the girls, I didn't get to kiss ether of them. All I could do was smile and nod hello. But there was a discernible flush to Beatrice's cheeks, and a sly, knowing glint in Lizbeth's eye when we looked at each other. Things certainly looked promising.

We hailed a cab and were whisked over to Toot's Shor's Restaurant on West 51st Street and found ourselves seated at a table between DiMaggio and several other Yankee players along with the inimitable Toots himself on one side, and Ernest Hemmingway and two gorgeous women on the other.

The girls and I were agog and almost speechless when Toots patted DiMaggio on the shoulder and came over to us to greet Dennis as if he'd known him from childhood.

"So how's the food tonight, Toots?" Dennis asked genially.

"Nuttin' fancy, have the shrimp cocktail, steak and a baked potato," Toots said as he slapped Dennis on the back and checked out Lizbeth's breasts when she wasn't looking. A moment later he was leaning over one of the beauties seated with Hemmingway, joking with the famous author about a fish they had let get away off the shores of Havana some years earlier.

As our Steaks were being served, Dennis regaled us with a typical story on Toots.

"What a guy, what a guy," Dennis laughed. One day, the head of MGM, Louis B. Mayer complained to Toots about waiting twenty minutes for a table. He said something like: "I trust the food will be worth all that waiting." There was a gleam in Dennis' eye as he leaned closer to the girls and whispered the punch line: "Shor replied: 'It'll be better'n some of your crummy pictures I stood in line for.'"

Lizbeth shrieked with laughter. Beatrice followed a split second later. I think she was just following her sister's lead, and really didn't get the point, but I never found out it that was so.

Twenty minutes later our cab pulled up in front of the Ethel Barrymore Theatre, where 'Street Car' was being performed. The girls held back briefly to study the picture of a shirtless Marlon Brando just outside the lobby doors.

With his hand on Beatrice's waist, Dennis escorted her into the lobby. I followed suite with Lizbeth, only to find that somehow she managed to press her breast against my arm in what had to be a deliberate act on her part. I started thinking about whether she was lactating and if I would have an opportunity to sample some breast milk that evening. I was sporting an erection in no time at all, and not having had any release after the previous day's session with Beatrice, I knew that blue balls were not all that far off.

"Are you a fan of Brando's?" I inquired, hoping to spark a longer conversation with her then I had thus far, and keep any curious looks at my groin to a minimum.

Lizbeth pressed her breast harder against me as she responded. "Oh, yes. He's a man's man. I was lucky to see him in Truckline Café, which although it bombed, earned him Broadway's Most Promising Actor Award for his role as an anguished veteran."

Her breast was hard and firm, although it also was pliant as breasts tend to be; I felt the first twinge of tension in my testes. Discomfort was not far off.

I told her I had first heard of him when he appeared on Broadway as the young hero in the political drama A Flag is Born, and made headlines by refusing to accept wages above the Actor's Equity rate because of his commitment to the cause of Israeli independence.

Lizbeth countered by telling me how Brando got the role of Stanley Kowalski. "He ... he had the audacity to drive up to Provincetown where Tennessee Williams was spending the summer, to audition for the part."

"I didn't know that," I said,

"Oh yes," she replied keeping her breast firmly lodged against my arm. "Williams has said repeatedly that the moment he opened the screen door and saw Brando, he knew he had his Kowalski."

I presented out tickets to the ticket taker and whisked Lizbeth into the orchestra, where we joined Beatrice and Dennis.

Beatrice took her seat and Dennis sat beside her and patted the seat next to him and Lizbeth sat there and fussed with her skirt as I sat down next to her.

People were still streaming into the theater. I checked my watch and found we had about ten minutes before the curtain was scheduled to go up. Lizbeth broke the silence. "I understand that you were raised in Missouri, Mr. Shannon, would it have been St. Louis? I ask because I visited there when I was twelve. I liked it and found the people there to be very outgoing and friendly."

"Actually, I was born and raised in Columbia, the state capital, and home of Missouri University."

Her hand was suddenly on mine. "Really?" she said. "And did you attend the university?"

"I did. I majored in journalism. After the war I was hired by the Chicago Tribune."

"Oh, you're sort of a celebrity then."

"Not at all, I'm just a working stiff."

"How is it that you're here in New York and not in Chicago?"

"Mr. Dennis was kind enough to invite me to see the World Series, and I could hardly refuse."

I heard Beatrice remark to Dennis that the other patrons were watching each other as avidly as they would the stage when the play began. Dennis laughed and told her they were people watching; a sport that New Yorkers loved to take part in, hoping that they would spot a celebrity.

I caught a glimpse of Dennis' hand on Beatrice's thigh, and glanced at her face. It was aflame with guilt and possibly lust. I thought of placing my hand on Lizbeth's thigh as well, but the lights dimmed and went out a moment later. And as Streetcar of Desire began to unfold before us, I was caught up in the brilliance of Jessica Tandy's, Blanche and Brando's, Kowalski. The spell remained unbroken until the curtain came down at intermission. Then I blinked owlishly around as the audience streamed past me on their way to the lobby to discuss the performance thus far, and to quench their thirsts with a glass of wine or Champagne.

I turned to Lizbeth and saw that Dennis had his right hand on her upper thigh. I was stunned for his left hand was similarly placed on Beatrice's thigh, only that hand was moving into the area of her crotch while she stared straight ahead at the stage.

I distinctly heard him ask Beatrice, "You don't hate me, do you?" And her answer left me dumbfounded. "Of course not," she gasped, "How could you think that?"

His hand was rubbing her cunt through the dress and she was actually squirming around in her seat. Anyone bothering to look could see what he was doing, but apparently no one could be bothered.

I put my arm around Lizbeth's shoulder and received a sheepish smile from her. Dennis promptly removed his hand from her thigh and motioned for me to take its place.

But my arm was around her shoulder, and so I did what I presumed Dennis would have done in my stead, reaching across my body with my right hand and laying it directly on her belly swollen with child. I couldn't believe my ears. Lizbeth actually purred and covered my hand with her own, squeezing it gently.

"I was beginning to wonder about you, Roy," she told me in a whisper.

"There's nothing to worry about," I said as my hand swept lower and lower and her hand went with mine.

"Did you really do all those things in the ladies room on the train?"

"Beatrice told you?"

"Of course, we're sisters. She told me everything. I can't believe she let you insert a finger in her heinie. It's unlike her."

As she uttered those words my middle finger dug through the folds of her dress and into her vagina. Of course it had been Dennis who had the finger up her ass, but why would I quibble at this point?

"YES!" she moaned softly.

"Like it, Lizbeth?"

"It's been so long since anyone's touched me. I've begun to feel like a pariah."

"After the show I'll do more than touch you," I said breathing heavily.

"Will you?" she gasped and gave my hardon a quick squeeze as the house lights blinked twice, signaling the end of the intermission.

I glanced over at Beatrice and Dennis. His hand was clearly under her skirt, and unless I misjudged him, he was already fingering her to a climax. Beatrice's eyes were tightly closed and her lips were compressed as if she were in pain. But I knew she felt no pain, she was feeling intense pleasure as he strove to bring her to a fast orgasm before the audience returned to their seats.

"OH!" Beatrice drew in her breath with a short audible moan. "S ... Stop it!"

"What is it, Beatrice?" Dennis asked innocently.

Lizbeth giggled and I reluctantly removed my hand and placed it on my own lap.

Beatrice had reached down and now had Dennis' wrist in her hand and was tugging it out from under her dress.

"Everyone will see!" she whispered then realized that both Lizbeth and I had heard her. "He's being a bad boy!" she said as if that explained everything. As far as Beatrice was concerned it did, for neither Lizbeth nor I made any comment on the matter, but looked at the stage as if the performers were already on stage.

Both Lizbeth and I knew that Beatrice may have feared being caught, but certainly welcomed not only his touch but mine as well. I proved this by reaching across Dennis to squeeze her breast without drawing any semblance of protest from her. I relinquished my hold on her tit and turned back to Lizbeth who still had a firm grip on my cock.

"She's putty in his hands," I said into her ear and followed up by licking her ear lobe.

Lizbeth shuddered, and then squeaked, "I think I am too, but we're not in the balcony of the local movie theatre. People will take note and very possibly complain."

"You're absolutely right, my dear. Let's hold off until we get back to your place."