When I got back to the motel, it was raining outside. It looked as if it were going to rain the rest of the day and probably all night. That was bad because when it rains and there's nothing to do, I like to sit in bars and drink and shoot the breeze with anybody. Especially on rainy afternoons and evenings. It helps pass the time. I began to get the itchy feeling when it rains. I wanted to go someplace, but where? I just didn't want to sit in my room alone, but if I went out and to a movie in the rain, I would want to go to a bar after the movie. I looked at the movie advertisements. There wasn't a good movie in Des Moines. Just movies about monsters. So I tried the television. More monster movies. So I sat on the edge of the bed, debating, telling myself not to go out, wanting to go out, but telling myself over and over again to sit tight, take it easy, sit tight. I got up and went to the window and drew back the drapes. It was raining hard; the wind blowing the rain against the window. You could hear the wind-blown rain slashing against the glass. I thought about Mary Beth. No, don't get mixed up in that. I tried to locate Mary Cassidy through information, but the telephone wasn't listed in the directory. Well, I finally told myself, why don't you act your age and do what you should do? Study the team playbook. I knew the plays. No, you don't know them that well. Quit kidding yourself. This was true. So I got the play book and lay down on the bed and started reading and going over the sets and moves of the bread-and-butter plays. These are the key plays, the best offensive weapons to hit the individual weaknesses of each opponent and to probe their defensive vulnerability.
At the same time, I wanted something to run at the strongest lineman on each team. Like that Day who'd been knocking the hell out of me. That's the kind of lineman you have to two-time block or he'll chase the play down the line every play. But to keep him home in his place., you have to have something to run against him. Even then, when you keep a big lineman home by running at him, the odds are against the play ever working. I knew we had to get better blocking against a big tackle. You have to run outside of them a couple of times, usually a second down call. Usually a wasted play but you have to use it sometimes even if you're on second down and ten. It's the only way to keep a big tackle honest through an entire game.
I went over the bread-and-butter plays, at least the plays I've always felt are bread and butter. An end run, off tackle, a trap play and a pitch out.
What I saw in the book, I liked. Reed's end-run play from a split formation with the end out. That was all right. We would turn the defensive tackle loose and not pull our guard.
This play would develop faster than a regular end run, with five men. blocking downfield. But Reed had the end split only ten yards. I preferred a twelve-yard split. I'd talk to him about it. Then the halfback would run full speed to get wide, with the right halfback nailing the end and the fullback handling the linebacker. Good solid bread-and-butter play.
I started to study the trap play. All tackles are susceptible to trap plays, especially when you catch a tackle with a square charge, coming straight in, instead of at an angle.
There was a knock at the door. I sat up. For a minute I was scared Mary Beth had found my motel.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Manager." It was a woman's voice.
"Come in."
I listened to the doorknob click turning and watched the door open.
The woman standing in the doorway had flaming red hair. She looked about thirty-five. She was tall, with very white skin and a few crows feet at the corners of her eyes. I couldn't tell what her figure was like. She wore some kind of housecoat, unbelted, so whatever was underneath it in the way of a body didn't show. The housecoat was bright blue and her legs were very straight, bare, quite white. She wore dark sandals. Her toenail were unpainted. I took her all in with a single glance. There was a little mileage on her.
She looked self-conscious standing there with fresh sheets over one arm and pillowcases over the other.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Well, uh," she said awkwardly, blushing faintly. Her eyes were green. She stepped into the room. "The girl made up your bed but forgot to put on fresh linen."
"That's okay;" I told her.
"She's a new girl."
"It'll be okay until tomorrow."
"Chain rules," she said, crossing the room. "We have to be sure linens are changed every day." Her voice was businesslike now, rather clipped and filled with haste. She dropped the folded sheets down on the chair beside the bed. "It'll only take a minute."
She leaned over to pick up a sheet. The top of hex housecoat opened at her neck and for a brief moment I could see all the way down to her navel. Even as she bent over, I saw her enormous breasts, highly arched. Down boy. Study the playbook. As she came up with the sheet between her hand, her eyes caught mine and she knew what I had seen. She smiled sweetly, all self-consciousness gone, as if she were proud and happy I had just seen those rising beauties – and they were really beautiful. Down boy.
But the trouble was the more I thought about her tits the less I thought about learning the play book. Come on. Come on. Get down to business. You ruined your career once with chasing pussy and booze. Don't do it again. Don't blow a good chance at a job for a set of beautiful tits. But I couldn't take my eyes off those tits. Even when she was standing up, I kept seeing those rising beauties in my mind. They were really luscious. Big coral pink nipples. I could see them inside her dress like they were eyes looking at me. I thought of the soft down between her thighs. I forced myself to look down at the play book. but I could hear her being busy about the room. I put the play book in front of my crotch because now I had a hardon, as hard as my wrist, making a tent in my pants. I heard her say something indistinguishable. I looked up.
She was-standing, half turned, beside the bed. I felt the heat rising in my balls. The big hardon distended the crotch of my pants into a higher tent. I was afraid to lay the book on it because the book would stand straight up. So I just kept the book up as a shield, so she wouldn't see it. Come on, come on, I told myself, don't mess with her. You live here.
"Are you going to stay here regularly?" she asked. Her lips remained faintly parted after she finished speaking. The pink tip of her tongue showed faintly between her white teeth. She appeared to be holding her breath.
"Probably," I said. "All finished?"
"Almost," she said, turning, smoothing the bedspread with both hands. "Did you want to lie down and read?"
I got up without thinking. Her ass was smooth and round, the housecoat tight around her ass. I could see its shape. It was a lovely ass.
Sit down, I told myself, but I walked toward the bed. I wasn't going to touch her. Sit down. Go back to that chair. But I went on toward the bed, kidding myself I was just going to lie down and read the play book.
Sure. Just read the play book.
She turned around suddenly and took a step forward. We collided and the play book fell out of my hand onto the floor.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she gasped and knelt down to pick up the play book and in that motion, she saw the hardon sticking the tent of pants straight out.
I'll say this for her, she tried. I didn't. I mean at least she picked up the play book, and then put it down. Hell, I didn't even move. I wanted her to see it, to know the hardon was there. My balls were tingling and my cock was throbbing for her.
She knew the play book hadn't produced that hardon. It was funny the way she went about it. First, she picked up the play book. She was kneeling then right under my hardon and the playbook lay on the floor between my feet and if she lifted her head straight up, it would bump the hardon.
Her hand rested on the play book for a second or two and then she lifted her hand away from the play book. And slowly from a kneeling position, she started to.rise, quite slowly, keeping her head down. Then, just as the top of her head almost touched my crotch, she drew her head back and lifted both hands.
She didn't look up at me. She looked straight ahead at her hands. And they were busy hands. One hand unzipped my fly and the other hand reached inside my pants and pulled out my cock.
It was hard as iron and looked a mile long, thick as my wrist, the big pink knob glistening.
She half-squatted, unzipping her housecoat. Beneath she was naked and she lifted her breasts with both hands and pressed my hardon between her tits, massaging my whole prick with her two tits.
I closed my eyes and spread my legs. Thrills of desire ripped up and down my thighs, straight back out of my cock into my loins. I wanted to revel in lust again with- all my senses. I felt new. Miss Cassidy was completely forgotten. I don't know how or why. Perhaps the sudden unexpectedness of this meeting now.
I didn't know and I didn't care then in that moment. Suddenly she cried out in a strange voice and lifted her face and took my cock in both hands. She stroked it down from against my belly, holding it in her fingers, fingering the back of the knob, until I didn't think I could take the thrills she was giving me.
I felt her tongue flicking over my balls, then her head went under, between my spread legs and like little flicks of fire, she ran her tongue along my anus, back along my balls, up the back of my prick. Then she gobbled the whole prick, moaning, writhing on her knees.
The room started to tilt at a crazy angle. I opened my eyes and put both hands over her head, stroking her hair, feeling her wonderful hot mouth lapping and sucking my hard. Her tongue was warm and wonderfully slippery. Her tongue rolled round and round my cock. She peeled and repeeled the foreskin. One of her fingers found my anus.
I felt my legs trembling and shaking as her finger slid back and forth in my anus in time with her lips on my cock. My balls were swelling. I dug my heels in the carpet. I could hardly breathe. I felt spasms of come surging in the base of my cock. I could feel the shocks running through my cock.
Suddenly she drew her head back and flung off her housecoat and rose, all in the same motion. She lay back on the bed, her legs hanging over the side and her thighs spread, her dark hair glistening with dew.
"Kiss me," she panted. "Kiss my cunt, please."
"I'm no cunt eater," I said.
"Buster, if you want this honey cup, you better give a little."
Oh, I'd eaten my share of pussy, but mostly for love and that was all gone, but this redheaded sweetheart had my cock harder than it'd been in a long time. Maybe I needed a little pussy practice. Hair pie never gave anybody indigestion, but I preferred good old-fashioned fucking.
I knelt down between those full, soft, smooth, spread thighs, and reached up with both hands, felt the hard nipples and stroked and kneaded both her breasts.
Her cunt was boiling. It was a cupful of honey, and just as sweet as roses, just a natural sweet odor to that honey. I plunged my tongue into her cunt, a boiling hot chasm. The inner muscles clutched at my- tongue. I twirled and vibrated it like a crazy snake.
Suddenly she arched her back and flung my hands away from her tits and started moaning and screaming in a frenzy, thrashing her body from side to side, grabbing and rubbing her tits with both her hands.
"Oh, Jeeezonz," she moaned. "Whaaaa! WHAAAA! Killing me… Oh, kill me. MEEEEEE! Oh, fuck. Fuck me! FUCK ME NOW! Oh, kill me! FUCK ME NOW!"
Her voice went on moaning and shrieking. Even as I was swinging her body up on the bed, she was rocking herself back and forth, her legs spread, ready to go.
I lowered myself slowly into her. It was like dipping into a tub full of hot oil. My cock never slid in easier.
"Oh, MEEEE!" she moaned, rocking and rolling, rubbing her clitoris harder and higher, her hips thrusting against my pubic ridge.
I felt hot juice bathing my dick.
"OHHH!" she screamed as my prick slithered up and down and round and round. "Ooooooo… FUCK… HARDER, HARDER!"
My head was roaring. I felt dizzy. I could hear the sound of the stadium crowd, the golden horns blaring, the roaring of the crowd, the blur of colors, faces, pennants, voices calling through the sound of the band thudding, so far away, yet roaring and roaring higher and higher inside my skull. Got to make it. Got to make it. I felt myself running faster and faster and then I heard her screaming and screaming.
I opened my eyes. I. was fucking her so hard she couldn't take it. I was ramming her so damn fast, she was ready to cry uncle.
"I've come! I've come!" she yelled, pushing at me with her hands, but I went on ramming it to her, straight into all the sweet, hot honey, feeling it dripping down my balls onto my thighs.
Wildly she shook her head from side to side, spilling her long hair over the pillow. I slammed into her, harder and harder, smashing her down onto the bed.
"Oh, God!" she moaned. "Oh, God!"
She tried to climb away, wriggle backward; her moans became shrieks of pain and then another sound came, that long thin cry of ecstasy again. The roar of the football stadium filled my skull again and I closed my eyes and listened.
Suddenly I had the ball and I was running toward the goal line, lifting my knees high, crossing the goal line standing up, the crowd screaming all around.
And just as I tossed the victory ball-in the air, I came in a flood of juice, spurt after spurt. Then slowly, almost a lifetime it seemed, I stayed there, straight down into her, and then I sank down and rolled away from her.;
We lay there quietly a long time, waiting for our breathing to go down. When I opened my eyes, she, was looking at me, staring straight into my eyes.
"It was great," she whispered.
I stared at her.
She reached for my cock. She stroked it gently. It started to get hard again. "Beautiful," she said. "It's beautiful."
I didn't answer. I just kept thinking what kind of a jackpot have I got myself into now, but I felt better. I even started thinking about Cassidy again and I didn't feel lousy thinking about her because of this fine fuck I had just had. I just kept thinking how much I wanted to see her and how much I could do for her. The trouble was I started thinking about her in a nice way, not just as a piece of ass, but like I'd felt in high school, when I thought I was in love with my English teacher in my senior year. That's another story which I'll get around to later. So I just lay there, thinking of Mary Cassidy, while the woman beside me stroked me. I didn't feel two-faced about it either, because I kept telling myself maybe I was in love with Mary Cassidy if I kept having these gentle tender feelings about her like that time in high school with my teacher, which was only puppy hots. But I'd felt the same way about Uighton's wife and I had loved her. Oh, for Chrissake, I thought. Scallen, you can't be such a damn fool as to think you're in love with a woman you don't even know. You're in love with Cassidy's ass and that's it. Quit kidding yourself. Well, I was going to have to find out.
I didn't even know what was going on in bed until I felt the woman take me in her mouth. She kissed the knob and parted the tip with her tongue. She kissed my cock and pressed it against her cheek. "As long as you stay here, you don't pay anything," she said.
I touched her hair and she lifted her face.
"Where's your husband?" I asked.
"Answer me first," she said. "Will you stay here during the season?"
"Sure," I said. You're kept now, Scallen. How does it feel? It didn't feel right, but comfortable. I didn't know what the contract would read, but what a helluva reason before peddling your cock. Room rent. Yet I had to get release somewhere and if she weren't married, she was better than chasing pussy through bars while trying to stay healthy.
"Dead," she said. She sobbed. "That goddamn stupid war."
I lifted her face up to me and kissed her.
It was a bargain. Signed. Some affection and good fucking. A deal.
We'd made a deal for the season. And what if you make out with Cassidy and find yourself in love with her?
What then, Mr. Scallen? I refused to believe I could think that far ahead. Beside, I wasn't going to fall in love again.
To hell with you, Cassidy. I'm not going through that again.