The GOP by a landslide.

Samantha comes out of your garage dribbling a basketball like a pro. “Ladies first.” She announces and takes position about 15 feet away from the basket.

“I thought you Libs didn't believe in competition.” The arrogant conservative taunts you as she sizes up the height of the basket.

You have a brief moment of hope as her first shot rims out.

The redheaded Republican, however, seems unfazed, “I had a .869 life time free throw percentage at Harvard.” She proudly announces and then proceeds to drain the next eleven baskets.

After making five of her last eight shots, Samantha gleefully proclaims, “Not up to my usual standards, but more than enough to beat you I think.” She bounces the ball hard back to you and with a confident swagger moves to the side awaiting for you begin.

Several quick comebacks run through your mind, but in the end you decide to remain silent. Having to make 16 baskets to merely tie is daunting.

“Oh good lord.” Samantha laughs out loud as your first attempt hits the back of the rim like a brick and bounces off to the right. Retrieving and bouncing the ball back to you Sam takes station underneath the left side basket. “You're going to need a spotter.” Putting her hand on her hip she strikes a pose. “At least it will be over soon.”

You know that her willingness to spot you is really just a means of distraction. Though you would give anything to remove that arrogant smile you cannot help but to glance at her pornstar figure.

“Zero for two.” The conservative chuckles as your shot bounces off the left side of the backboard. Nimbly, she jumps up and grabs the errant shot and with one fluid motion throws the ball back to you. Even with a sports bra on her breasts jiggle most pleasantly. “You need to focus on the basket.” She taunts, catching you looking at her tits.

Missing the third attempt brings Sam's worse tease, complete silence with an assured smile of victory. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts of her body, you make the next two shots. Your luck doesn't hold, however, the sixth shot bounces off the rim.

“One more and you lose, Lib.” Samantha gleefully informs you.

Dribbling the ball you try to focus. Just before you shoot your sexy antagonist bends over slightly, resting her hands on her knees. You catch a glimpse of her ample cleavage through the top of her t-shirt.

You miss so badly the ball goes under the backboard. Sam simply raises up and catches it. A huge grin from ear to ear appears on the victor's face.

“Now get your signs into my garage, Lib.” She commands, “And remember one at the time. But first . . .” Slowly she looks you over like a piece of meat. “Time to strip, loser.”