Chapter 1: Baseball and Two Big Hot Dogs

It was the middle of the eighth inning at the Oakland Coliseum. In an inter-league game, Milwaukee had just scored four runs and were leading the A’s 13 – 2.

Roberto Garcia, just turned age 18, looked over at his father, Diego, with a grim expression.

“Dad, I guess we should go home now. I was so happy we could come here to watch the game, but they have lost for sure.”

Diego grumbled, “¡Los Atléticos de Oakland jugaron como mierdas!” [They played like shits!]

“Yes, they did, so let’s head out to the car.”

Major League Baseball (MLB) had dedicated all these weekend games to “Latino/Hispanic heritage.” Today’s giveaway t-shirts and the A’s on-field jerseys were showing “Atléticos” (instead of the usual “Athletics”) in script font. And Milwaukee’s players were the “Cerveceros” (“Brewers”).

By this point in the game, Section 108 had almost emptied out. Two mothers were sitting a few rows above the two seats Roberto and Diego were about to relinquish. Their three pre-teen sons had moved ten rows down to be closer to the players. Having no interest in the game, the women were gossiping about the Garcia boys.

“They must be father and son, just look at their faces. If it weren’t for the few lines and wrinkles, they could be twins. Very hot-looking twins.”

“No argument from me. Just imagine waking up between them, all three of us naked of course.”

“Naked, and with ‘morning wood.’” Exploding in laughter, the sound prompted Diego to give the women a curious look.

“No, Gabriela, I want that one for myself. You can have the young one. I’m sure you can teach him something new and exciting.”

Along with the facial resemblance, they shared the same physique. Broad backs, small waists, reasonable muscles. Black hair, brown eyes, no facial hair; about 5 feet 9 inches (175 cm) tall. Diego had a little more belly compared to his son, but neither was overweight.

The gossips couldn’t know all these details, but they sure liked what they were seeing.

Roberto and Diego stood up to leave. Gabriela nudged her friend Mia.

“Two perfect butts!”

They began climbing the stairs. As they passed, Diego smiled politely and put his finger to his ballcap, as if it was a cowboy’s Stetson.

“Ladies.”

Startled, they managed to smile and nod in acknowledgement.

After the men had continued upward, Mia exploded.

“Fuck me! Did you see them?”

“I’m calling UPS for those two big packages. They need to be unwrapped.”

As they left Section 108, Roberto poked Diego’s shoulder.

“You were flirting.” And in a childish voice, tattling: “I’m telling Mom.”

Diego just laughed at him.

In Oakland, along with this season’s shaky roster of low-paid players, the home team was afflicted with MLB’s most unlovable, unsuitable, and unwelcoming stadium. Roberto and Diego made their way to the back of the concourse, past the locked down curtain gates of the disused concession and food stalls.

“I need the restroom before we leave,” said Diego.

Like everything else in the building, the men’s room was old and worn, with wide troughs for urinating (instead of individual fixtures).

For no particular reason, Roberto glanced towards his father. Diego had pulled out his extra-large long and thick penis. Quickly, Roberto looked away, before his father took notice. But Roberto had just discovered that father and son were holding big near-identical tools over that trough.

Contemplative during the drive home, Roberto was thinking about their penises. He was sure about what he had accidently seen. Because everywhere else on the two men, their body parts were the same size. They could wear each other’s shoes, pants, shirts, and so on, with the same fit.

He considered that his mother must be comfortable with his father’s dick size. Because, for years, he had been aware of his parent’s lovemaking sessions.