Chapter 48: Football & Sex

I was beside myself with worry. How could I make Mom happy without giving up all the sex that was available to me? And to a lesser degree, should I play football this coming season? I had last put on the pads in the 8^th grade. I had played well, but doubted anyone my size (at the time) could play high-school ball other than sitting on the bench. I had grown a lot in the past two years. I was six foot and weighed a solid 185. I worked with weights almost daily, and had very little body fat, so there was no question about my ability to take a pounding. But did I want to risk damaging my arm, the arm that might carry me into a college scholarship and possibly a professional contract?

Regarding the latter, I called my baseball coach and told him about the football coach, Tucker Gifford, asking me to go out for football. Coach said, "Yeah, his QB was in an accident, flipped his father's SUV and broke his arm in two places. His throwing arm, I might add."

He was talking about Jessie's boyfriend! I thought. "Larry-something, right?" I said.

"Yeah, his name's Larry Wright. Kid could throw the ball. Well, you can too, Bree."

"Coach, I haven't played football since the 8^th grade."

"But when you played, you played quarterback, am I right?"

"Yeah ... but..."

"No buts, son. Coach Gifford will work with you. Hey, you get another letter, get to play QB, and they won't expect you to play like an All- American."

I was feeling better about the prospect of going out for football. "I guess I just needed to hear it from someone who knows what he's talking about, Coach. Thanks."

"Don't thank me, thank Coach Gifford. He's watched you pitch. He knows you've got a great arm. And he'll give you lots of reps to get settled in. You know, practice starts this Wednesday."

"I didn't know that."

"You do now, so get your butt out there and give 'em hell."

"Um, thanks Coach; I really appreciate your help."

"Don't mention it. Do good. I'll be watching."

The following morning, I called Coach Gifford. He sounded like he was really glad to hear from me and asked if I could come by the football field at two that afternoon. He knew a former NFL quarterback who had played for theDenver Broncos andMiami Dolphins that lived in town who would be happy to give me some tips on playing the position.

I was ecstatic about the idea and quickly agreed to meet with them.

Next I called Hayley and told her the news. She was far from delighted, and said so. "I thought we'd go to my Dad's place and edit the videos."

"I'm sorry ... I simply forgot. I mean, after getting a major lecture from my mother after she all but caught you and Janet with me..."

"Your mom isn't going to do anything to you, Bree. If anything, she'll call our mothers and complain to them. You're her little angel. You'll always be her little angel."

"You may be right," I conceded, "but she's my mom, and I respect her. From now on, anything we do won't be at my place.

Apparently, Hayley had thought that I might be planning to end our relationship, and was mollified by my statement. "Maybe I can get Janet to help with the editing."

"How long do you think it will take?" I asked.

"Hours and hours," she replied, "Possibly days, maybe even weeks."

"That long?" I said, not comprehending the magnitude of what goes into editing a video.

"Will you meet me after the practice?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure ... But I don't know how long that will be."

"You have a phone; call me. We'll meet you."

"Good deal, only..."

"What?" There was a hint of exasperation in her tone.

"I'll probably be all sweaty from running, you know?"

"Sweaty is good for what I have in mind," Hayley laughed.

"Then I'll call you."

"Yeah, you do that, sweetie."

I met Coach Gifford and Mr. Johnson shortly after talking with Hayley.

Mr. Johnson was a friendly guy and I had trouble believing that I was actually working with a former professional quarterback, well, until he threw me several passes that stung my hands each time I tried to catch them. That's right ... tried to catch them. They were thrown so hard that when they reached my hands they simply bounced off them.

Coach Gifford laughed and said, "There's a knack to catching a football, Aubrey. Your hands are big enough, but the trick is making them soft enough to absorb the impact of the ball as it settles into your hands.

"But I see those guys on TV making one-handed catches..."

Mr. Johnson laughed, and said, "Yeah, sure you do. But have you ever seen their hands?"

I hadn't, and said so.

"Let me tell you," he said, "they're huge, really huge and that's how they can grab the ball one-handed."

A few minutes later I was learning about the intricacies of the footwork involved in taking the handoff from center and backpedaling. Not throwing the ball, just taking snaps and moving backward to position myself for the throw.

We practiced this for 40 minutes, took a water break and then coach had Mr. Johnson watch me throw some passes.

I had thrown about seven passes when Mr. Johnson intervened again to demonstrate the proper way of holding the ball prior to throwing a pass.

After practicing this for several minutes, we returned to taking snaps and the footwork again. But this time Mr. Johnson was yelling instructions that would have me breaking out of the pocket and scrambling either right or left.

Finally, I sank to my knees, too tired to run another play.

"All right," Coach Gifford called out, "Let's call it a day. Not bad for a first timer. What'd you think Gus?"

Gus Johnson had a grin on his face, "Coach, he did fine. In fact, he did a heck of a lot better than I did first time out."

My grin must have been a mile wide, and when Mr. Johnson put his arm around my shoulders, I was about as proud of myself as I'd ever been, and couldn't wait to tell Hayley.

"You're seriously sexy, you know that?" I turned Hayley's face to mine. Her mouth was soft and vulnerable. It was definitely a different look for Hayley.

"Am I?" She whispered, and licked her lips.

"Oh, yeah, seriously so."

"So ... Just what are you gonna do about it, boyfriend, Bree?"

"I'm gonna fuck you, Hayley; that's what I'm gonna do."

I slipped my hand inside the loose sweatshirt she wore. She sighed into my mouth and her tongue flickered over mine as my hand cupped her bra-covered breast, squeezing it gently, and then harder. She moaned into my mouth as I squeezed a little harder, and sucked feverously on my tongue.

Hayley reached behind her and did that magical thing women do with their bras, and opened it, releasing her lovely melons to my hungry mouth.

I was teasing the right nipple, when Hayley sighed and gently removed her breast from my mouth and said, "We've got to stop for a minute."

"Why?"

"We've ... There's a problem."

"What's problem?"

"Sandra's pregnant."

"What!"

Hayley's eyes were as wide as I'd ever seen them. "I'm serious, Bree! She's fuckin' pregnant!"

"And you ... you think I did it?"

"No ... Eric's the father. Sandra as much as told me he's the only one she's had inside her."

"But she blew me!"

"You didn't fuck her."

I calmed down at that. No one was accusing me of being the father. A minute passed, and I felt like I could deal with whatever the actual problem was, so I asked.

Hayley replied with a moue, "She needs a guy to take her to the clinic for an abortion."

"Isn't that Eric's job?"

"He's a goddamned wimp!" Hayley spat out. She was fuming with rage.

"What?"

"He claims it's not his; that they always used a rubber, and besides she's on the pill."

"Are you sure it is?"

"Whose side are you on, Bree?"

"Yours, but..."

"What the fuck, Bree! Do you hear what I'm saying?"

"Yeah ... Sandra's pregnant and Eric's the father, right?"

"That's right!"

"Did Sandra say he's the father?"

No ... she didn't have too."

"But he denies it."

"Right!"

"Who did he deny it to?"

"Well ... me!"

"You asked him if he knocked Sandra up."

"Yes, of course I did. She's my bestest friend. Of course he denies it."

"Is it possible he's not the guy?"

"It's possible he might not be the guy." But she refused to leave it there. "Now listen to me for a minute. He might not be the one, but he might be."

"So, you really don't know he was responsible."

"Bree, for Christ's sake! We tell each other whom we do it with. She does it with Eric. Shit, you saw her fuck him. What more do you need?"

"All I'm saying is, Sandra didn't mention his name, and it is possible she did it with another guy and didn't bother telling you about it. Maybe she didn't want you to know about it. Now don't scream at me, I'm just saying."

"Oh, fuck you! All you guys are the same!"

"Wait a fuckin' minute! Am I right that all she needs is someone to take her to the clinic?"

"Yeah ... right! You'll take her, right?""

"What about the cost?"

"I've got that covered. I withdrew $500 from the ATM."

"So tell me how this works. I really don't have any idea."

"Take her to the clinic. Pretend to be the father. They don't take names. Hold her hand. If necessary, comfort her and take her home. No, take her to my house. I'll make sure she's well enough to go home so her parents don't catch on."