My name is Velna. In Latvian, it means female devil. That’s pretty appropriate because I play basketball like I’m in a war. I play for a well-known basketball school in California. For privacy and safety from psycho stalkers, I’m not going to get any more specific.

I’m on a student visa, so I’m pretty careful not to get in trouble that could jeopardize my scholarship. Female athletes have to be more discrete than guys or potential sex partners become a distraction that hurts her game. If a girl gets labeled as promiscuous, it can get dangerous if big, powerful guys are her favorite kind of partner. I’m a 6’4” guard. I lift and work out hard, so I could break the average guy in two, but if I had a really big football player think I never said, “NO,” and I decided to pass on getting my itch scratched that night, I couldn’t stop him from raping me, and if I fought too much, I could get seriously hurt.

What female athletes do a lot of the time is not to have a regular boyfriend or girlfriend and share a pool of fellow athletes for potential sex partners. The way that might work was that if I was going to play against The Sun Devils, I would call a girl on the women’s team and ask her who was available that would match up with what I like. She’d give me two or three numbers of guys who have proved they are safe. I’d call and invite them to the game. I’d meet up with them after the game and we’d go get something to eat. I’d pick the guy I liked best, and we’d either go to my hotel or his dorm, get together, and take care of business.

I’m a Latvian blonde girl. I kind of like Viking type guys, but I’m not a size queen. I’m tall, but my pussy is tight, and I’ve never felt the need for a guy with a huge schlong. Because I’m European, I’m probably more colorblind than a lot of American girls, but for me, it’s all about personality. Looks are nice, but for me, a guy needs to be fun and lighthearted. I need to feel like we are having a good time, not just rubbing genitals together to get off to reduce our stress level.

I’m blonde and pretty, if you like a Viking shield maiden type of girl. I’m skinny in a way, but all the extra muscle from weightlifting and working out makes me look bigger. I wish my tits were larger, but they would get in the way when I am playing basketball if they stuck out any more than they do. I can’t wear a normal bra because while my nipples are only an A cup worth higher than my chest wall, my boobs are nearly two times the diameter of any standard bra cup.

I’m lucky that my breasts are very firm, so I don’t droop or jiggle, but playing Division 1A women’s basketball makes even my tits hurt. A sports bra doesn’t work for me, so I use Ace elastic bandages and wrap myself just tightly enough to keep my breasts from hurting. Mostly I go braless. I try to wear tops that aren’t too thin. My nips are large diameter too, and just like my breasts, they don’t stick out much.

I’ve wondered about what it would be like to have a baby. Would it be a twelve-pound monster? Would a more normal size infant be able to get its little mouth around my dime diameter nipples?

It makes it pretty difficult for a girl to feel sexy when she can’t fit into a single thing they sell at Victoria’s Secret except for panties. I can’t even swim in public unless it’s a nude beach or topless is allowed because even a one-piece tank suit makes me look grotesque.

I was in Chicago to play a holiday tournament. I didn’t know any girls in The Windy City, so I didn’t have an after-game hook-up arraigned. Normally that wouldn’t be the end of the world, because I’ve learned to keep my libido under pretty tight control, so I don’t make bad decisions or do stupid stuff. Unfortunately for me, the team we played was hella good, but we were better. I had a career night, and kicked serious butt. That lit my fire, and I was as hot as I’d ever been. I was juicy without any direct stimulation, and I felt like I was going to die if I didn’t get dicked ASAP. I knew there were several girls on our team who would like a chance to get in my pants, and I’ve been curious about what it would be like to do it with another girl, but I have seen problems grow out of girls on the same team getting busy together, so I decided to stay in control and resist temptation. I suppose I should be honest and admit that I wasn’t sure a chick could do me the way I needed to be done.

I made my way back to the team hotel and went in the bar. I was a senior, so it’s legal for me to drink. Mostly I don’t drink because of how fucked up things can get if a girl is drunk. I felt awkward sitting at the bar because of my height and I’m too tall for a booth, so I sat at one of the tables. The waitress came over and I ordered a Stella.

I was wearing a grey knit dress. It wasn’t too tight, but it did show all my curves. The hemline was only slightly above my knee. It was coach approved as being classy and not too sexy. I knew how to wiggle in my seat to get my skirt to “accidentally” ride up as much as I wanted it to in order to give a guy a view of my smooth, slim thighs, or a panty flash, if I was really interested. I was wearing a black satin thong so there wouldn’t be a VPL[1], and I was pleased with my long, smooth lines in the clingy knit dress. I like thongs for going out because they rub me in ways that get me turned on, so I get wet. That makes me pour, “I’m hot and I’m female” pheromones into the atmosphere. When a guy knows you are already hot and not a shy virgin or a game player, he tends to relax, and things go a lot smoother getting to the place both of us want to be.

I looked around the mostly empty bar. I thought most of the people were like clones or zombies. There was an old man sitting at another table who looked like he was his own man. His hair was buzz cut so short he almost looked bald. It was hard to see, but his hair was about equally divided between white and black. His full beard was almost completely white. He wore a grey herringbone tweed jacket. I smiled when I saw his jacket didn’t have leather patches on the elbows. I probably inferred too much, but I didn’t think this man would take on affectations the way so many of my professors had. Nothing about this man seemed insecure or weak. He was wearing jeans that weren’t new, but not worn out or shabby. I thought they must be Wranglers from the way they fit. They were meant for a man who is comfortable working in some physical or craftsman way. It looked like he was wearing black bull hide Justin Ropers.

I picked up my beer and walked over to his table. I gave him my best college girl smile and said, “I made a bet with myself that you would only be wearing a belt with your name on it if you had won the buckle yourself. Would you mind standing up so I can see if I need to buy you a beer or not?”

He chuckled as he stood up. His belt was plain black leather that was very similar to his boots. The buckle was a simple harness type.

He grinned at me and said, “Who won?”

I said, “I hope both of us will win tonight. What are you drinking?”

He said, “In the interest of good manners, my name is George. Please join me. I’m drinking The Arran Malt 18-year-old Single Malt Scotch Whiskey. It’s a little pricey, so you can order Johnnie Walker Black if you are on a budget.”

I said, “I believe in good manners too, George. I’m Velna. I’ll order the good stuff if you let me taste it and explain why you picked that one.”

George said, “People who like Scotch can get long winded and sound pedantic. There is history and tradition as well as the science of distilling that makes Scotch interesting to me. All that seems pretty tedious and boring until you have tasted good Scotch and decided you want to know more about the regions, styles, and brands you like.”

I said, “I’m a scientific kind of girl, so I’ll order the ‘beginner’s’ whiskey for me, and you can explain the differences as we taste them, OK?”

George said, “That sounds like a plan.”

I ordered two different Scotch whiskeys, doubles, neat. We tasted and talked, and we started getting closer together. We unconsciously scooted our chairs right next to each other, so our hips were touching. Our faces were close together and we were almost whispering as we talked. I started feeling a more intense than usual attraction for this man. I put my right hand on his cheek and turned his face to mine. I kissed him on the lips. I got more of a buzz than I’d ever got from a kiss. George had my full attention. I instantly turned bright red.

George grinned at me and said, “Don’t be embarrassed, Velna. I’ve never had a beautiful woman I just met kiss me before, but I definitely could get used to your kisses. I think it’s good for a woman to know what she wants and not be afraid to pursue it.”

I said, “I’m out of my normal. I usually get setup with guys another player vouches for. It’s safe, but it gets predictable. It’s not as exciting as flirting with you. I hope that doesn’t mean you are dangerous. I don’t have any experience flirting like this, so it makes me feel a little clumsy.”

George said, “I better give you my personal data so you can relax. I’m seventy-four. My wife died last year. I don’t have any lady friends. I don’t have any skeletons in my closets, and I don’t have a private cemetery in my back yard.”

I said, “How do you feel about our age difference? Do you find my height exciting or scary? Do you think a girl can be an athlete and still be a woman you lust for every time you see her?”

George said, “It’s a good thing we are whispering. Our age isn’t a problem unless I can’t give you everything you need. Your height is exciting because your legs go on forever, and I keep imagining them in all kinds of interesting positions. Right now, dressed up to your team dress code, you look like every man’s dream girl and 100% female to me.”

I said, “If I had WNBA aspirations, I suppose my mane would have to go, but I think my long, blonde hair does a lot to reassure a guy that I’m all girl. Do you think I look too much like Lagertha?”

George said, “Being a shield maiden’s main man would probably be a pretty good gig. A strong woman knows that a guy looking like Ragnar doesn’t guarantee a girl will get what she needs. I’ve always been all about making sure a girl gets everything she needs before I think much about what will finish me off. I had one girl break up with me because she thought I took too long. I think an athlete could appreciate and enjoy that characteristic.”

I said, “Nice, George. Confident, but not arrogant. Sure, you know what I want, but you are not judgmental that I have the same needs as you. So I’m at the, ‘My room or yours?’ point right now, where are you?”

George said, “I think my room might be the better choice, in case team members or coaches were going back to their rooms. I suppose you are wondering, so I better tell you now; everything works. I’m average size. Neither length nor girth is remarkable. I do try to compensate for any short comings by making the most of the equipment I was born with through reading and careful observation of what a girl likes.”

I said, “I agree your room is the better choice. Don’t worry, I’m not a size queen. I’m a tall girl, but the relevant part of me is sized consistently with a twenty-one-year-old girl’s tunnel of love that has not been used very much and rarely stretched to capacity.”

George stood and held my chair. He said, “Shall we?”

I uncharacteristically giggled and said, “We shall, and we should!”

I stood and he took my hand. He held my hand firmly, but loosely. His touch made me tingle. We strolled to the elevator, and he swiped his key card to call the car. Inside the car, he swiped his card and selected the floor. The door swished closed, and I turned to him, pressed him against the wall, and kissed him hard on the mouth. He kissed back, mirroring my ardor. I pressed my whole body against him. He was chubby, but not fat. I let my hips squirm, rubbing my mound against him. He was hard. He didn’t lie. He was average size, but I knew from experience that I wouldn’t be disappointed with the size of his equipment. The elevator dinged as it reached the Platinum Club floor. I pulled back to stand beside him. The door opened, and he led me to his room. He opened the door, and I smiled because it really was a premium room. For a 6’4” girl, it’s easy to get claustrophobic in a standard hotel room. This room was big enough I felt my sense of constriction evaporate and I relaxed so that I felt soft, not compressed, like I was poured into a power net girdle.

I am not one of those girls who talks over every minute detail of her last tryst with her girlfriends, so I don’t know if other girls experience this, but I felt peaceful and confident that sex with this old man was going to be really good, and perhaps the best I’d ever had.

I scanned the room, but I was in a hurry now, so I pulled off my dress and slipped the waist band of my thong down over my butt. I let it drop to make a puddle around my ankles for the erotic effect. George saw what I was doing, and he knelt at my feet. I lifted one foot and he slipped the thong over my ballet pointing toes. I put the right foot down and lifted the left so George could finish removing my thong. I knew why I was trying to be dancer graceful by pointing my toes. I’m a tall girl. I have big feet. It’s difficult to feel feminine and sexy with gunboats on your feet.

I was naked. A man was kneeling at my feet. He kissed up my leg from my knee, all the way up to my mound. I was dying to feel his tongue probing my portal to paradise. He kissed my whole mound firmly, then kissed down my other thigh, going all the way to my knee. He kissed and then licked the back of my knee. My whole body quivered. I was afraid my legs would turn to rubber and my knees would give way.

I said, “Get naked George. I’m not feeling patient tonight.”

My desire overrode my brain, and my thoughts were all about heat and the juxtaposition of hardness and softness and wet slipperiness. I wanted to put him on his back and rub my clit on the shaft of his rigid dick. That’s not what happened. He didn’t undress. Suddenly, I was on my back on the extra-tall king size bed. My butt was at the edge of the bed and my feet were on the floor. He spread my legs as wide as they would go, and then he was teasing my swollen labia with his tongue. I thought about wrestling him into the position I wanted, but at that moment, his tongue found my clit and two licks later, I came for the first time.