Her Game Was Passion Ch. 01

Her cunt was made for me. There was no doubt about it. She didn't really know it that first time. I'd never forget that first night and morning with her when she came, watching her eye balls roll back in her skull, holding myself back, enjoying the sight of her face flushed with passion that made her look as if she were enjoying a wonderful thrust of agony, grinding my cock deeper and deeper into her as she thrust up against it in shuddering swoons, wanting more and more, and giving her all she could handle while she little knew how good my cock felt in her perfect-fitting cunt.

But why hadn't I loved her at first? And then later how had I ever come to fall in love with her? It seemed incredible. I'd never fallen for any woman before. Not in my life. No way. They were all just a piece of tail. Poor Lennox's wife.

Scott Norton had fallen in love with what he thought was just a piece of tail. That's the way it had started, but it hadn't finished that way. And I didn't want to think how it had all finished.

Clemens looked at me and lifted his eyebrows.

"So you think Lennox isn't going to be out of the hospital on time for the game and that junior college quarterback fill-in has me worried so much I'd sign you and put you in?"

"Why not?" I asked.

"Why shouldn't I stick with the junior college potential star?"

"Because this is your first managing job and you want to win."

"What makes you think you're a winner? Hell, you haven't played in a year."

"I've thrown two hundred practice passes everyday and run five miles every night the past year."

"You don't know our play book."

"Give me two hours, and show me three game pictures," I said. "This is only a farm club. That's why I'm here."

"Why didn't somebody pick you up this year?"

"Knock it off. You know why. With the kind of money and choices they have, who's going to take a chance on a former lush?"

"Me?"

"Why not? I'll draw a hell of a crowd, win or lose."

"Maybe they never heard of you in Kansas City."

"They heard of me a year ago if they stay awake here for the ten o'clock news."

"Okay ... if Jacko isn't ready."

"How much?"

"Nothing if you lose. A contract if you win."

"Crummy."

"Take it or leave it. I'm answerable to top management."

"Five hundred?"

"Nothing if you lose."

"If I win?"

"Contract and five bills."

"Okay. Who are the guards?"

"Post and Preston."

"Never heard of them."

"Tackles?"

"Neiman and Michaels."

"Good boys."

Well, I thought, I won't get killed from the inside if the guards are as good as the tackles. Michaels was a big hillbilly and Neiman was just as big, about six-five, good enough for this league, and if they kept working they both might make it back to an NFL taxi squad.

"Right end?" I asked.

"Lennox."

"No thanks."

"He's the best we've got."

"I don't want him."

"You'll take what you'll get."

I looked at Clemens, straight into stony eyes.

"You know about me and Lennox."

"He'll work no matter who's in the pocket."

"That's what you think."

"If he doesn't, I'll kick his ass off the field," Clemens said.

"He'll make it look like he's working."

"You're asking for the chance," Clemens said. "Do you want it or don't you?"

"Haven't you got somebody other than Lennox?" I asked, feeling I was losing my grip. "He only has to slip up once and I'll get my head torn off."

Clemens stared at me, fish-eyed.

"Why don't you go over to Indiana and see if they'll give you a chance?" Clemens said.

"Come on," I said. "You don't get to the Vikings via Indiana."

He stared at me.

"Chicago has a nice club," he said.

"O.K.," I said. "Where's the play book?"

"You won't need the whole thing," Clemens said. "Remember the seventy and eighty series?"

"Open right, 25, Charlie B, on four," I said.

"Here's the play sheets you'll need," Clemens said. "Nine o'clock sharp. Get to bed early."

"Right on," I said. I started out the door. "Where's the team?"

"Thunder-Bird Motel," he said. "Get to bed early."

"What if Jacko is out of the hospital before Saturday?"

"You won't play," Clemens said.

-three-

I went outside to my car. It was a cool, sunny October afternoon. I drove across town with the top down. The motel looked big and new. I got a room and asked the switchboard to ring Lennox's room. No answer. I left a call. I went downstairs and ate dinner and bought the papers and tried Lennox's room again. No answer. I was half-asleep with the paper over my face when Lennox called wanting to know what the hell I was doing in town.

"Come over and I'll tell you," I said.

"Are you sober?"

"Come over and see."

Just hearing Lennox's voice reminded me of his wife's voice. I tried to put the sound of her voice away, but it wouldn't go away. I lay there on the bed thinking of her, waiting for Lennox. There was a hell of a lot to remember when I started thinking about her.

How she had looked at me that time in practice camp, straight through me as though she were looking two thousand years beyond me, as if I simply didn't exist. She was standing on the side of the field. It was August, hot and muggy and the coach had been driving hell out of us because we were going to open against Baltimore in a non-scheduled game, and everybody was out of shape and the coach was sore as hell. But one thing you got to say about Bud, he never showed it, just a look, that's all he needed to give you, just a look at your guts or legs and you knew what he meant.

Her hair was shining, golden, and she had a beautiful body. I could see every curve, breasts, thighs and legs, beautiful, smooth as a racing sloop. I walked past her and gave her the eye and she looked straight at me. I thought maybe she was just being polite because I probably stank worse than a dead mule after a two hour scrimmage. I got about five steps past her. Those tits did it. Not her blank eyed stare. I wanted to know who owned those beautiful tits. I turned and went back to her and tapped her on the shoulder. She knew even then who it was. She didn't turn. She didn't move.

"Yes," she said. "What is it? What do you want?"

"I thought maybe you were looking for somebody."

There were always young broads around training camp and on the road. Not as good as in baseball where you don't get whacked around like in football and can hardly lift your cock to pee out of after a tough game, but always broads some place.

But none of them quite this classy.

"I am looking for somebody," she said.

"That's funny," I said. "So am I"

She still hadn't turned around.

"Sorry I can't help you," she said.

"I think you could," I said. You should have seen her ass. Beautiful.

"Goodbye," she said. "I'll tell my husband I just met the quarterback."

I got the hell out of there fast. One thing I always try not to do is get my meat where I get my potatoes. I didn't want to get mixed up with anybody's wife from the team.

But that didn't stop me from thinking about her, and now waiting to see Lennox again I went on thinking about her, remembering her. ...

How her body was not only beautiful but pleasant, how I met her the second time at a team party and walked up behind her and spoke to her in a voice that was neither soft nor a whisper, but only loud enough for her to hear, standing a few inches behind her shoulder: "I don't care what anybody else says I think you've got the best shape in the room."

She didn't even turn. The rim of the glass against her lip did not move as she spoke, looking straight ahead, just as if she hadn't heard me, her voice cool and detached: "If you tried, you could be quite decent."

"I bet if you turned around you'd see how decent I am."

"Why don't you bring your own date?"

"I don't know any girls."

"Maybe you ought to meet one."

"I'm just a shy country boy."

"So I've heard."

"Has it all been that good?"

"Run along, little boy, and drink your beer." She walked straight away, across the room, to where her husband was leaning against the wall, talking to MacDonald, a new guard from Alabama.

Screw you baby, I thought, Norton's going to run a big play right over you yet. Goddamn, she had a beautiful ass and legs.

Lennox looked bigger than I remembered. He had been All-American at Wisconsin, then a dislocated shoulder in his senior year, that wouldn't mend right after an operation, kept him out of pro-football his first two years after college. Then he'd played two years of pro-ball with me. After I was fired, he'd been injured again, traded, and now he was trying to work his way back up. He sat back in a chair and lifted his two big feet up on the writing desk and looked at me.

"Well, well," he said.

"How goes the battle?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" he said.

I put both hands behind my head and leaned back against the pillows at the head of the bed.

"Same thing you are."

"Cut out the crap."

I didn't say anything for a long moment. I just looked at him. He sat there staring at me.

"I'm going to need your help Saturday, Bud," I said.

"You got to be kidding."

"No, I'll start if Jacko doesn't come out of the hospital."

"Like hell. We got a kid -"

"I'll start," I told him.

"And you want me to. make you look good?"

"I'll make you look good, too."

"Nope," said Lennox. "I hope they break your neck."

"Maybe I ought to tell the coach."

"Tell him. I don't give a damn."

"Come on. It's all over," I said.

"Bullshit," Lennox said.

"She's dead."

"You ought to be dead," Lennox said.

"All I need is one good game."

"You think you can come back?"

"Want to bet?"

"You're out of your mind," Lennox said.

"It was an accident," I said. "Don't you think I paid enough for it? I didn't mean to kill her."

"You were drunk. With my wife. Remember?"

"O.K."

"What happened to this stock business?"

"I want to play football."

"What have you got left? Maybe five years."

"I'm throwing well. You'll see."

"You look like you're in shape."

"I feel great."

"So does Hogan. Don't shit me you're the same after that accident and all that booze."

"What about yourself?"

"O K.," he said.

"Come on," I said. "They're holding you together with tape and piano wire."

"I had a good year."

"On a taxi squad," I said. "And now you want to work back up to the taxi squad. Why'd they send you down?"

"You're over the hill," Lennox said.

"Well, let's see if you are. I'll put that ball right in your hands."

"You don't know the patterns."

"Drop a few and see where you'll wind up."

"I'll catch them."

"That's all I want to know."

"Care for a drink?" said Lennox.

"No thanks," I said. "See you in the morning."

I sat on the edge of the bed, then stood up as he turned the doorknob. I felt things were going to be O.K. Lennox had a great pair of hands. If he dropped the ball or screwed up the patterns he'd only shaft himself, not me. I hoped he was O.K. physically. Above all I hoped the offensive line could hold a block.

"To Be Continued..."