Her Game Was Passion Ch. 01

Note: This story is a football related story... This was one of those rare writing moments in which I watched a lot of football films like "North Dallas Forty" & "Necessary Roughness"... There is a lot of football related jargon in between the sex scenes... some readers may be put off by that... never-the-less, enjoy!

*****

-one-

God, I wanted a drink. In the worst way. My throat felt dry and my fingers felt tight and nervous. I had been one year on the wagon. I was scared to death of having a drink. It would start everything all over again, chasing pussy and swinging. I had ruined myself in pro football once. I mustn't do it again. But could I stand. or sit in a bar and order a Coke or Seven-Up, without giving in to the impulse to have a drink and pick up pussy? Well, maybe now was the time to find out, before I went to Wells Fargo office. Because if I didn't have the guts to go into a bar without getting hammered and winding up in the sack with some strange broad, I was finished here in Kansas City. And now was the time to find out. Now or never, old buddy. Either I was going to get back into pro football or I wasn't.

So I stopped and parked near the first bar I saw. It was dark and cool inside. I could hardly see the bar at first because the sun outside had been so bright. I bumped against the edge of a booth. At least it felt like a booth, and I put my hand on the back of it and sat down.

"Well, pardon me," a woman's voice said.

I couldn't see her at first. It was that dark in the room. Somewhere a jukebox played an old Harry James tune. The record people were really punching hell out of the 1930's these days.

And then I saw her. I got up to leave. She was small, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes and a smooth soft chin. She was wearing a yellow miniskirt and a bluish-colored sweater. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but that wasn't all they had adjusted to see clearly. The miniskirt had hiked up her thighs as high as it could go without revealing her nylon panties. I stared for a long instant at her soft creamy thighs which were crossed and I couldn't stop thinking and seeing in my mind that sweet little pussy and all that soft downy hair that was just above the edge of her skirt. Almost instantaneously I felt my cock get out of control, change into a stalk. Down boy, down boy. But it didn't want to go down. No way. It wanted to slice right between those beautiful soft, creamy thighs, and slide right into that fresh young pussy. It was as if all I had to do is close my eyes and I could feel my prick going into this juicy young piece of ass. Right then I decided it was time to cop out.

I got up. She didn't look more than twenty. I could see her real well now. Maybe she was a couple of years older in the daylight but this wasn't daylight.

"Wait a minute," she said. "I want to talk to you."

She didn't sound like a hooker, nor did she look like one, but who can tell these days with so much hot pussy running around.

"I got go," I said. "Take it easy."

Her hand caught my wrist. "Please." There was a pleading tone in her voice. I told myself not to sit down, but damn it, the next thing, of course, I was sitting down. Maybe you just can't change old tomcats completely, especially when birds land right in front of them.

She was wearing a little lipstick. The trouble was right there, she smelled nice. I liked the soft odor of perfume in her hair.

"O.K"" I said, "what's the gimmick?"

"No gimmick." She was still holding my wrist. Her fingers were cool and slim. Her finger stroked the vein in my wrist, and I felt the blood rush up my arm and the vein pulse and jerk like a hooked worm.

"What'll you have to drink?"

It was the waitress, standing right behind me. I turned my head and looked at her over one shoulder and heard the blonde speak: "Rum and Coke, please."

"Seven-Up," I heard my voice say mechanically.

"Seven and seven?"

"No, plain Seven-Up."

"Hmmmmph," said the waitress and went away.

"Are you sick?" said the blonde. She peered at me strangely.

I didn't say anything. I was looking at her boobs. Her sweater was too tight, a cardigan, and she was braless, and the top button of her sweater was open. Her breasts were high and hard and the nipples pressed firmly. I could see the nipples outlined right through the sweater, and the closeness of her flesh and body struck me like a bolt of sunlight. God, I hadn't screwed a woman in more than a month, not since I had gone out on the abandoned farm on the prairie alone and trained and trained, throwing hundreds of footballs every day, running five miles, then sprints. Hell, I didn't need a woman out there. I ran myself into the ground every night. But like somebody said, if you don't see pussy too much, it doesn't bother you, but if you're going to hang around it, you're bound to want as much as you can get. Right now I wanted some of this. But first I must see Clemens. I hadn't sweated a year out of football to blow my chances on the first bar pussy available.

"Seven-Up straight?" She wrinkled her nose. "Feel okay?"

"Never felt better," I told her. "What do you want?"

"Well, now! I haven't even thought about that. But September's sure nice here, isn't it?"

"That's a reasonable statement."

"You live here?"

"Not yet," I said. "I'm from all over."

"All over what?"

"Wherever I can hang my hat."

She smiled. "What do you do?"

"Stockbroker," I told her. I didn't want to talk football to anyone until I saw Clemens.

Her face lit up. "Jeez, you must be rich!" She laughed softly, but I couldn't tell whether she was serious or kidding me.

"Maybe you haven't heard about the market lately," I said.

She looked up. The waitress was there. I paid her and she went away and the girl said, "Which one?"

Now it was my turn to stare stupidly at her. Which market? What the hell. There was only one market. Now who was pulling whose leg?

"Stock market," I said.

"Oh," she giggled. "I thought you meant supermarket. That's what I do."

God, I thought, get out of town, Scott.

"I'm a check-out girl at C&R Supermarket."

"What's the forecast in groceries?"

"I bet you can't guess my name," she said.

"I bet I can't."

"Mary Ann. I bet you'd never guessed it. Practically nobody does."

She sat there looking at me as if she were going to say now it's your turn to tell me your name.

"Thomas Horton," I said, which I often used when picking up a strange pussy.

She didn't say anything for a minute. We were sitting in one of those round leather-padded booths and she suddenly moved over and said, "Come on, sit in here," patting the leather beside her. "You're going to trip a waitress sitting way out there on the edge."

Don't be a sap, I told myself. You've got a job to get, don't get mixed up with strange pussy. Don't be a sap, but those long, beautiful creamy thighs looked appealing. Even if I couldn't see her pussy there in the dark, I felt my body moving me over and I couldn't stop thinking about that sweet, little cunt. I had such a hard-on I had to squeeze my legs together, but I got over next to her. Hell, it wouldn't hurt to line her up for a future shack-up, after I got squared away here with the team.

"Mind if I smoke?" she said.

"Nope."

"Mind if I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"This sounds crazy, but does it get you hot looking at pictures of naked girls?"

"Yeah, you might say so."

She shook her head and sighed a little. "I bet you'll think I'm crazy or something," she said. "I bet you never met a girl it does the same thing to."

"What?" I looked at her, amazed. "Pictures of girls?"

"No, no, pictures of men. God, I get so hot I can't stand it. I mean those pictures of guys in those muscle magazines. My box just starts jumping."

"It's a little dark in here to read the menu."

"But do you know what I was doing before I came in here?"

"Let me guess," I said.

"God, I feel hot right now," she said. "I keep seeing those pictures in my head."

She said, "Feel me here, Thomas," putting my hand on her left breast. My hand rushed hot and cold as it caressed her nipple, and my cock ached, pulsing for her body. Knock it off, I told myself, don't get started. But I felt her lovely nipple get bigger and grow firm.

"How does it feel?" she said. I cupped her breast, stroked it softly. It was firm and hard and beautiful. Her mouth came up to mine in the darkness, and her tongue slid right in. She could kiss. She ran her tongue around my mouth, then over my lips, under my lips, then back inside my mouth. Her mouth was hot! She pulled out her tongue and began to lick my neck. I manipulated her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I felt my guts churning with excitement. Suddenly she broke away and sagged back against the booth, her mouth open and panting. I was really shook up. Get the hell out of here, but I didn't move.

But she knew she had me hooked. She knew I was hot to go. But if I got mixed up with this puss sure as hell I'd start drinking and swinging again and I'd forget about Clemens today. But I could feel myself sliding away, my whole body wanting her. No. No. Don't fall for it. Hang on. Knock it off. Split fast. Get out.

"Listen," I said. "I can't now. Later. Tonight after I get a room. Christ, not here."

She made sniffling sounds as I pushed her away gently. I felt my balls throbbing; my cock was so hard it hurt, longing for her flesh. Beat it, I thought, get over to see Clemens before you blow the job you don't even have yet. But she came back over against me and shoved her soft nipple against my arm and put her head on my shoulder. Her mouth was open against the side of my throat and I felt my hand going inside, down inside the top of her dress and then I found the nipple.

She slid down slowly in the middle of the curve of the booth. It was really dark in that part of the booth, and the back of the booth was high so nobody could see us from that side and only the waitress would see us if she came right up to the booth.

I opened her dress and leaned down, put her nipple in my mouth and licked it slowly with my tongue.

She murmured, "Oh, darling! Darling!"

I bit her nipple softly. She grabbed my hand and shoved it up under her skirt and pushed me up. Her panties were moist.

"They'll see us," she said. "Just sit still." But she didn't take my hand away. "Oh, God, I'm burning up," she said. "Get me off. Please, get me off."

She pulled her panties right down to her knees and spread her legs. "Oh, God, stick your finger in. Get me off!"

Believe me, that hole was tight and juicy. I got my left forefinger in all the way, right to the hilt, with my right arm around her shoulder, like a very affectionate couple just sitting together in a bar. This must be some crazy fetish with her, wanting to get her gun off in a bar booth. I was willing to bet she'd done it before. Probably a lot. What a sweet little garden of delight was planted between those two soft, firm thighs. I felt the lips of her pussy spread wider and wider. I put the tip of, my finger against her cunt; she had to put her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming out loud. She just sat there and squirmed her ass around without moving her shoulders so nobody could tell in the darkness of that room that she was really reaming; herself. Good thing it wasn't my right hand, or she would have cut my passing down at least ten yards.

Back and forth, Mary Ann squirmed on my finger. I felt her little cunt really squeezing. What a sweet fuck she would make.

She gasped. Her eyes narrowed with exquisite pain. She lifted her buttocks to lengthen the stroke. I knew she'd come now about four times, but there was no stopping her.

Meanwhile, my nuts felt the size of tennis balls. They hurt like hell. I wondered when the hell it was going to be my turn to get off.

I felt her opening her thighs wider and wider. Then, bringing them together, pumping and squeezing, opening and closing, she finally blew the big one and collapsed against me.

My balls were ready to burst. She sagged against me, but I took her hand and opened my fly and up jumped my dick. I put her fingers on it. She gave it a squeeze.

"Poor baby," she said affectionately, as if speaking to my cock. "Mary Ann's been getting all the fun. Now it's your turn."

Wow!

She had professional fingers. My cock never got jerked off like that before. Frankly, I don't know exactly what she did, but it was pure perfection. First, just kind of dipping the tip of her finger into the slit, while letting another finger slowly stroke the vein down the back.

"Easy baby," she said. "Mama's going take real good care of you."

I felt the top of my skull starting to crawl. She played with it like it was a special toy she really loved. She would draw the foreskin slowly over the throbbing head, hold it there, squeeze softly, then slowly peel the foreskin back. Then, with just her thumb and forefinger, she gently stroked the head, back and front, round and round, gentle as caressing feathers. Rippling waves of pleasure ran up and down my cock. The head of my cock was jerking and throbbing. How that little girl could pull and caress my root. Wow!

I came in a wild spasm contraction of my hips, like I'd been hit from the blind side on a busted play. I thought I was going to roll out of the booth and take a mandatory eight count on the floor.

She caught my wrist and the next thing I knew she was taking care of the come around my cock with a napkin. I felt the top of my head come back and settle down on my skull. After a long moment she said, "Happy?"

"Mmmm."

"Feel good?"

"Mmmmm."

"You like it better than the real thing?"

"Not quite," I told her.

"Sometimes it's better than being knocked up."

"You get off a lot like this?"

"Sometimes," she smiled and nestled her head on my shoulder.

The waitress came up.

"Same for her," I said. "Nothing for me."

When the waitress went away I said, "Thanks for the chat. See you around."

Well, I was still in the clear. I hadn't taken a drink. I felt better about that. I hadn't been laid. I didn't feel so good about that now. But that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was Clemens. Would he give me another chance to play football?

"Don't forget," she said. "You can always find me at C&R Supermarket."

"Rebellion prices

"You're funny," she said.

Yup. That's me. Scott Norton. A real card.

-two-

I went straight out to Lenny Clemens' office.

"Scott Norton," I told the girl at the desk. "To see Mr. Clemens."

"One moment, please. I'll see if he's in."

Where else would he be, but in? Who was she kidding?

"Mr. Norton to see you," she said into the telephone.

There was a long pause while Miss Receptionist played cool-eyed, listening to whatever Clemens was telling her. I had a good idea what he might be asking. She put down the telephone and showed all her super-white teeth.

"You can go in," she said.

Clemens hadn't changed. Not a lot heavier than when he'd quit quarterbacking for Pittsburgh ten years ago. The office was expensive but plain. No autographed pictures of old buddies and this year's heroes. Not even the wife and kiddie picture on his desk.

He just looked at me. The same old flat gaze.

"I thought you were selling stocks and bonds," he said.

I grinned. What else could I do? I picked out a chair and sat down.

"Are you off the sauce?" Clemens asked.

"Nothing to drink in a year," I said.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"I heard you were picked up for drunken driving," he said.

"You heard wrong," I said. "You can always check it."

He stuck his thumbs in his vest. Mr. Corporation.

I looked at his clothes. Six-hundred-dollar suit. A little old boy out of a Mississippi swamp. He'd gone a long way on a Mississippi Christian option play. He was guts from hell. I looked at the scar down the side of his skull, the busted nose; the broken jaw didn't show - they'd wired it good. I wondered if he had trouble getting up after sitting two hours in a movie with those bad knees. And the punctured lung only the Mayo Clinic could fix. But nobody was trying to kill him every week anymore.

His clothes, his eyes, his clean-shaven face, and his relaxed lips said: "I made it. I'm not running a two-bit bar after ten years in pro football. I'm management. One of these days I'll manage a top NFL or AFL club."

He saw me looking him over.

"We got some good boys," he said. "Couple guards out of Colorado. They'll make it with the Vikings next year."

"What about Jacko?"

"Oh, he'll be okay."

"He's still in the hospital, isn't he?"

"How're you feeling?" Clemens asked.

"I've been training, if that's what you mean," I said.

"What's wrong with the stock-and-bond business?"

"Don't you read the papers?" I said. "Besides, I'm a quarterback."

"You had your chance," Clemens said.

"Right. And I almost blew it," I said.

"You blew it."

I grinned.

But I didn't really feel like grinning because now in my mind I saw the motel room again when Lennox was in the hospital after the game with Baltimore. I lay on the bed reading the evening paper and the sports writers were still saying Namath was the best in the world. Maybe they were right but I still had two good knees. That was one of the evenings I wanted to forget, with, in the morning at breakfast, hearing the weather forecast in Chicago and Lennox's wife where she lay beside me in bed, saying, "I still can't believe it happened. I didn't even like you the first time I saw you." And then her lips warm and round and wet that morning and her tongue moving slowly round and round inside my mouth.

"I love you, Scott," she moaned. "I love you. You're so big it hurts me. Oh, God, I love you, Scott."

And then lying on top of her that morning after making love all night, her hand seeking my cock, squeezing it with both her hands until I was breathless.

I stroked her breasts slowly while our tongues met and her body arched higher and higher.

"Aaah," she moaned until our flesh was crawling with delight and I put myself into her slowly and I slowly stroked her, feeling our bodies slowly passing into each other. I eased myself in and out of her, kissing her nipples, sucking each nipple slowly, stroking my cock slowly, feeling her soft buttocks starting to turn and thrash in my hands.

Now her nipples were big and hard and round in my mouth, her hips writhing and turning from side to side. I felt our bodies rising higher and higher, seeking the peak of exquisite ecstasy.

The longing rose higher and higher in both of us. It couldn't last. I wanted it to rise higher and higher, last longer and longer, forever. I felt as if all the blood had drained out my skull. I was soaring. She moaned and cried like a dying animal, grinding her hips into mine, dragging her lips across my face.

"Oh-ohohohohoh!" She cried and then her voice stopped and her mouth opened wide on no sound. Her teeth chattered as if cold and then she screamed my name: "Oh, Scott! Scott! Scott! Scott!"

It was a hell of a tough game coming up that Saturday, Philadelphia, with Stanley at guard knocking down everyone who tried to get to you in the slot, and Stanley looking at you in the locker room the next day saying, hey, take it easy, Norton. Don't leave your best game in the sack. Who's she this week?

But that wasn't the beginning of the trouble, not Lennox's wife. Hell, it went all the way back to high school, ever since I first started getting laid. The high school coach's wife, she'd started me, man, what a teacher. No, I wouldn't think about her now. Maybe some night when I was really hard up and couldn't get laid. But not now. Listen to Clemens. I felt Clemens staring at me but I couldn't stop remembering that morning in the motel room with Lennox's wife.