My college roommate, Mary, and I boarded the flight to San Diego on our way to the Super Bowl. Mary had just lost her virginity with my help. As a result of the circumstances surrounding that event we had received two free tickets to the big game. Not only that, but after our double-team on the professor, Stephen Chandler, Ph.D., who donated the tickets, all of our other expenses were being provided for.

"Annie, I still can't believe you got Stephen to give us his credit cards to use," Mary marveled.

"You know, Mary, I'm not even sure if it was the handcuffs or the whip that convinced him."

"Annie, it could have been you putting on that dress and pretending to be Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman."

"Or it could have been you, Mary, putting on that skimpy tennis outfit and pretending to be Anna Kournikova."

"Maybe your right, Annie. Stephen did seem to really enjoy pulling down my little white tennis shorts, bending me over, and doing me anally. Yeow! That hurt! I never would have let him if you hadn't been there to... uh... help matters along."

"And apply the lube."

"That too."

I thought back to that night Mary got her butt bumped and tried not to laugh. It was funny as hell. She squealed like a little pig. Stephen has such a thick cock which didn't help the situation. Long and thin would have been better for anal than short and fat, not that he was that short. Just about right to show a lady a good time. Fuck those big dicks anyway, especially black ones. Size does matter but just up to a certain point.

Mary screamed for her father the minister. I don't know why. What was he going to do? Take her place? I put plenty of cocoa butter on Stephen's putter so that wasn't the problem. The problem was we had such a difficult time getting the big head of his porky pecker past Mary's sphincter muscles. But when he got all the way up her bum she settled down and took it like a real trooper. I was impressed although I didn't let her know that. She's only been an ex-virgin for not even two weeks and already she's strutting like a hooker or something. I planned to teach her a lesson in humility. For her own good.

"Annie, what are we going to do in San Diego?"

"Well, Mary, there is the game, of course. And the parties. Shopping. Sightseeing. I'd like to visit some art galleries."

"No, Annie, I mean about sex."

"Oh. You know, Mary, I'm a little concerned about you lately. Two weeks ago you were a virgin and now you're a nymphomaniac."

"I'd just like to get laid on our little vacation if that's okay with you, bitch," she snapped irritably. "I mean, Stephen has been servicing me since he took my cherry and he's not around. I'd like to find some cute dude and bump fuzzies."

"Whatever, Mary, but no sex for me. I'm saving myself for Mark and our rendezvous in San Francisco for Valentine's Day."

"But you gave Stephen a blow job, Annie. More than one."

"That doesn't count, Mary. Remember that former president who said oral isn't sex? I merely masturbated Stephen with my mouth. Remember what you said about masturbation?" Mary believed that masturbation was not a sin. She had looked the word up in the dictionary. Webster defined masturbation to be stimulation of the sexual organs to a climax of excitement by contact exclusive of sexual intercourse. That's what we had done to each other with our fingers and tongues. What she did to Dave with her hand and Joey with her mouth. I had no problem giving a guy a rush between my lips, the ones under my nose. But the lips below my waist belonged exclusively to my doctor lover Mark.

"Well, since you are willing to perform fellatio, I'll make a little Super Blow bet with you, Annie." Oh my, the girlfriend was getting just a little too smug.

"Let's hear it, Mary. I love competition. Don't forget I beat your cute little no longer virgin ass at wrestling. Less filling!"

"Tastes great!" she shouted back. Some of the other passengers on the plane stared at us curiously. "What exactly is in semen, Annie? I know they say protein, but do you know specifically?"

"Of course I do, Mary. I repeated what the gay manager of the football team who had their way with me in the locker room responded when I worried about all the semen I had consumed. Ricky had explained that it contains small quantities of aboutonia, ascorbic acid, blood-group antigens, calcium, chorine, cholesterol, choline, citric acid, dreatine, deoxyribonucleic acid, fructose, guutathione, hyaluronidase, inositol, lactic acid, magnesium, nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, purine, pyramiding, pyretic acid, sodium, sorbitol, spermadine, spermine, urea, uric acid, vitamin B12, and zinc.

"I got it, Annie! We'll find some players from these Super Bowl teams and convince them to audition for a beer commercial. We'll do our 'tastes great--less filling' wrestling routine. All the players have to do is hold a beer in their hand while we give them a blow job."

"You have a very dirty mind, Mary. I love it! And while you and I suck them off we pause momentarily to keep arguing. Less filling!"

"Tastes great!"

"And they beg us to quit yapping and put them back in our mouth. But what is our bet, Mary?"

"I don't know, Annie, but we'll think of something."

I had already thought of something but I wasn't about to tell Mary about it just yet. That could wait until the moment of truth. She had no chance to win and I knew what I desired if I won the bet. And I surely would, remembering how I had gotten all of James' big black bone down my throat that time I had been drugged and then ravaged by that college football team in the locker room. "Well, Mary, if I win the bet, whatever it is, I know what I want you to do."

"What's that, Annie?"

"Get rid of all those stupid stuffed animals in our room when we get back. They are all over the place. It's like a jungle. You can barely move around."

"But I love my bears! Oh, all right. But if I win the bet, whatever it is, I want you to take me with you to San Francisco."

No way I thought. It would be strictly me and Mark and his cock and my pussy. I didn't need competition. "Sure I will, Mary. If you win the bet, whatever it is."

We got off the plane and checked into the hotel. I dragged Mary all over the city. The Reuben H. Fleet Science Center, Japanese Friendship Garden, Starlight Bowl, Mingei International Museum, Timken Museum of Art, and much more. Mary seemed a little bored. Spreckels Organ Pavilion wasn't what she thought it might be--a place of phallic worship. Finally she perked up when I took her to Fashion Valley.

"Mary, do you see that guy over there in the green blazer and red tie? He has been following us."

"He's cute!"

"I'm going to go find out what he's up to. Stalking us or something."

"I hope so!"

I walked right up to him. "You have been following us. What's up with that?"

"Yes, miss, that's true," he replied. "My apologies. I'm a reporter here from New York City to cover the game. I thought when I saw you two at the science center that your friend might well be Anna Kournikova." I laughed. And motioned for Mary to come over.

"This is Mary. This guy thought you were Anna Kournikova, Mary."

"I could be if that's your fantasy, dude. You should see me in little white tennis shorts," Mary quipped.

"I think I'd like that," he replied, giving Mary a head-to-toe inspection, and then returning his gaze to her chest which featured that no bra tight sweater look. "My name is Sean."

"He's a reporter from the Big Apple here for the Super Bowl," I informed Mary. We looked at each other. The light bulb went on at the same time. "I'm Annie," I said to him.

"Well, Annie and Mary, what do you say I buy you two lunch? On my expense account, of course."

Sean took us to the "Fifth Quarter in the Gaslamp." Home to seventy restaurants and thirty-five nightclubs. All Super Bowl weekend a huge block party flourished.

We enjoyed a leisurely lunch at Barney's Sports Bar, Sean's favorite hangout when in San Diego. He raved about the New York flavor of the place. He suggested we try the crispy club panini with honey mustard slaw. Straight from the Taste of the NFL Chef of New York's Tribeca Grill so he said. Bacon, deli-style mesquite turkey breast, mozzarella cheese, chopped basil and tomato on Tuscan bread.

"Sean, you have a press pass for all the game-related events and such, I assume," I stated matter-of-factly between bites.

"Yes, I do."

"You know at what hotels the players are staying and a lot of other information about them, I assume."

"That is correct, Annie. It's my job. I need to know where to find them to get the scoop, so to speak."

"Sean, Mary and I want to meet some of the players."

"We want to suck their cocks!" Mary blurted excitedly.

Sean didn't seem all that shocked. He remained silent for several minutes, in deep contemplation. Finally he spoke. "You two young ladies are ravishing beauties. Mary looks like Anna Kournikova and you, Annie, look like a younger version of Julia Roberts or maybe more like Angelina Jolie but with red hair."

"You are making us blush, Sean. You'll help us then?"

"Will you do the same thing for me you are planning to do for the players?" Sean asked hopefully. "Will you suck my cock?"

"I will!" Mary cried.

"I see." Sean smirked lewdly. "I'm not actually a reporter for a real newspaper. A tabloid. You can find it in the supermarket on your way through the check-out line. This situation has possibilities for a story. What the players did before the game. How it contributed to victory or defeat. I like it!"

"So you write that trash, huh? I love that stuff. What are some of your more titillating revelations? You know, aliens abduct and impregnate Jodie Foster and that sort of thing. She never told who the father is."

Sean enthusiastically went on and on as Mary and I both ordered another club sandwich. He talked about Mike Tyson who he had written numerous scandalous stories about. Mike, in the news lately because of his latest divorce, likes cock better than pussy. Hadn't we ever heard that girly voice? Both he and Don King spent time in prison where they developed an obsession with taking and giving it up the poop chute. That's what really made the Don's hair stand on electrifying end--Mike's dick in his ass. Tyson's wife got pissed because of all his transsexual pals and told him to get straight or beat it. That night she caught Mike and Don King in baby doll nighties watching boxing on ESPN Classic and jerking each other off.

Then he talked about LeBron James and his Hummer. James, expected to be the first NBA draft pick, drives a 2003 Hummer H2 to high school. Supposedly his barely employed mother Gloria bought the $50,000 plus vehicle for his birthday. Yeah, right. The best part of this fiasco is that Sean claimed he got a picture of Gloria giving LeBron a hummer in the front seat of the Hummer. The favorite son slam dunked his dick in mama's mouth.

Recently Sean auditioned for a position on The Best Damn Sports Show Period he reminisced. It went well until it was suggested that he put on purple pajamas like Michael Irvin's and give Tom Arnold head. He asked Lisa Guerrero if that had been a prerequisite for her employment. She said no. Tom didn't cheat with his latest wife except with the other guys on the show. John Kruk is quitting the show because Tom never lets him be on top and he always has to sit on one of those donut cushions while the program is underway. Arnold cried when he heard Kruk was leaving because he reminded Tom so much of a former wife, Roseanne. Lisa did mention that it was her responsibility to get top stars to come on the program, no matter what it took. Usually at least a blow job. Except Mike Tyson. He just wanted to borrow her lingerie.

Sean bragged about his latest coup. He had covertly acquired a tape of Pamela Anderson going down on O.J. Simpson in the back seat of a white Ford Bronco while being driven by a friend. O.J. wore gloves and wielded a knife as he encouraged Pamela to bob her pretty blonde head on the black bone. The only concern that kept Sean from making the tape public was that the greedy Pamela has demonstrated in the past the ability to get far more than her share of the proceeds. She seemed to have judges on the tip of her tongue like the one who just awarded her and Tommy Lee $741,000. Before that she got a couple hundred thousand for the tape of her doing dirty with Bret Michaels of the rock group Poison. O.J. took Pamela to his place and they rode a rubber raft in his swimming pool. He told Pamela to put out or get out. Pamela, star lifeguard of Baywatch, whined she couldn't swim and offered to stick her tongue up O.J.'s black ass. When Sean does publish the story the headline will read, "Pamela Anderson gets shit-faced in O.J.'s pool."

Mary finally left with Sean for his hotel room to complete our end of the deal. I returned to our room to nap until she returned with the information regarding when and where we would meet the players. She woke me when she got back.

"Well?" I asked eagerly.

"Sean is cute but he has a small penis. Not much of a lover. I only got off once and that's because I helped myself."

"What about us meeting the players?"

"It's all set. Sean knows players on both teams. The ones who like to party. In fact, some of them had asked him to find them some whores. Are we whores, Annie?"

"No way, Mary, not whores. Sluts. We don't do it for money. We do it for fun."

"That's right. For fun. Sean told the players he'd set them up. In return for an exclusive interview. The story is we are coeds who work for an escort service to pay the tuition. No intercourse. We only do oral sex."

"That works for me."

"Yeah, well, I might go a little further than that. Especially if one of them is black. I've never had dark meat. That Ronde Barber on the Bucs is cute! His coach said Ronde is one of the fifty best looking dudes in the world, next to the coach himself of course. Does sucking off a coach count? That cute coach's nickname is Chucky. I'd like to fucky Chucky."

Mary would remind me again of the locker room and the team that drugged me and then had their way with me that night. They held me down while they took turns. I remember vividly the last rites given me. "Another white pussy is tamed. But I really dig this one. Feisty and wild once she gets used to the big black bone. I think she liked it. I know she did. They all do. I hope we didn't kill her. Maybe she'll come back for seconds. This was the best ball game yet." I was unconscious when those words were spoken but I later heard them spoken as I watched the movie they made.

"Forget about Ronde Barber, Mary. He has a twin brother who looks just like him. He was on the sidelines at the Philly game. Haven't you seen that commercial? A blonde, like you, can't tell them apart. Our bet is you have to deep throat a player on one of the Super Bowl teams. Therefore, twin brothers and coaches don't count. You have to abide by the rules of the game. You don't want to lose because of a case of mistaken identity do you? Doh!"

"No, I sure don't. And I don't plan on losing. I love my stuffed animals!"

"So when do we hook up with these dudes, Mary?

"We are supposed to meet the players tonight at 10:00 P.M. at their hotel. And we are to wear nothing but Tampa Bay jerseys, high heels and underwear.

"We'll have to buy extra-large jerseys so they at least cover our asses."

"Let's go shopping! Don't forget we have Stephen's credit cards."

Finding the Bucs jerseys was too easy. They were for sale all over the place. Getting the number 69 and the name PUSSY put on them took a little effort. We found a strapless convertible bra that came in Raiders colors. Well, almost--nude leopard. You can wear it strapless, two-strap, x-back, halter, or one-strap. Matching panties. Black four inch spike heels. We decided to wear our new bras strapless. Easier to rip off that way.

We showed up at the hotel at 10:00 P.M. sharp. Nobody answered our knock but the door was slightly ajar so we went in. Four Raiders players sat on the floor. Wearing their jerseys and playing John Madden NFL on a PS2. Another older guy watched them but I couldn't see his face at first.

Finally they noticed us. One dude got up and came over. "Are you boys ready to party?" Mary asked, smiling seductively.

"Excuse us, girls," he replied. "We have to finish this game. We're kicking the crap out of Tennessee. Again."

"I'm Annie," I offered. "And this is Mary."

"Yeah, right." He winked. "Grab a beer out of the refrigerator while we finish the game. It's in the third quarter."

The older guy got up and left. I recognized that face. "Hey! That's... uh... uh..."

"Clint Eastwood," the guy who offered us the beer replied. "He's giving us acting lessons. Didn't you see the end of the Tennessee versus Pittsburgh game? I'm the kicker. Field goals and extra points. I need the acting lessons most. Could make the difference between winning and losing the big game. That little twerp Buc kicker tried a flop against Philly and didn't even get a flag. Clint says I have great potential. Watch my Chevy Chase routine." He did several very realistic flops. And even moaned and screamed like he was injured severely.

"Sweet," was all I could say.

"And when I'm done playing ball I might try acting. Clint says I'd make a great villain and might let me get blown away in one of his flicks. Clint would really like to see me kick the ball down Warren Sapp's throat and shut him up. If I do he says he'll even let me say a few lines in the movie. Something like, 'Oh fuck, I've been shot' or 'that bullet really hurt.' These other guys are also special teams. That's the punter." He pointed. "The one with the long hair is the holder. Also second string quarterback. The big black dude is the snapper." He went back to his game and we went to the refrigerator.

"Oh, they have light beer," Mary observed. We both giggled.