Chapter 55: The First Game

I returned home from Hayley's, and made the first priority to find a decent hiding place for the $7500 she'd given me for the X-rated movies we'd made.

I lay down on my bed and wondered where this thing with Hayley was going. I was young, and saw no reason why it couldn't continue unabated, for as long as we wanted it too.

I remember glancing at the newspaper clipping framed over my bed, and the black and white photo of me in full football regalia. It was taken just after the game that put us in the state finals last year. Of course we lost the next game, and I was the major reason, or at least the two interceptions I threw were, but the new season loomed, and all was well with my little world.

The First Game was an away game against Monticello, on the other side of the state. In the locker room at the stadium, J. P. Pacillo, the center, took the offensive line off to a corner. The coach wants the linemen to keep to themselves, like a family. A few of the guys are still horsing around, but most are getting serious. Shad Jackson, our monstrous defensive tackle at 6 feet, seven inches and 325 pounds, was banging his head rhythmically against the wall getting himself pumped up. Tucker Ferguson, leaned against the same wall, helmet under his arm, eyes shut, oblivious to the crash and thunder next to him.

Bert Tilstrom, the team manager and quasi-trainer, edged past both of them and came over to me with a roll of white tape in his left hand.

"Can I help you tape your ankles, Bree?"

Johnny Mack Brown was sitting on a bench between me and the water fountain. Already off in whatever world he goes to before a game starts building his concentration.

"Sure," I replied, and stuck my right foot out, and closed my eyes trying to visualize the first series of plays the coach had given me.

When Bert finished taping my ankles, I walked around the locker room, got a drink of water, patted Johnny Mack on the shoulder pad hard enough to break his concentration and look up at me.

"Gonna run it right at them, Johnny," I said and smiled. I nodded appreciatively at the newly transferred Johnson twins who now occupied the offensive guard positions, and I mean occupied with a capital O. They were named, Oringello and Lemingello respectively. Twin mountains of muscle, who along with my best buddy, J. P. and Marvin Webster at tackle, gave me a nearly insurmountable amount of protection as an offensive line.

"Right the fuck over 'em," Johnny Mack replied, and as I watched, his eyes glazed over and went back to wherever the hell it is he goes to at times like this.

Coach Spagnitello came into the room and called everyone together. I looked around at everybody. Ankles taped. Pads strapped on, with snowy white socks and pants. And over them, the bright, dark green jerseys.

"I want everyone giving everything they got for sixty minutes. No letting up. These guys are good. We're better, but just barely. Don't stop hitting until you hear the whistle. Make your tackles. Make your catches, and hit the hole when it opens, not a half second later. Contain, contain, contain!"

"Anyone makes a mistake, be sure it's at top speed. You all clear on that?"

"Yes sir!" everyone shuts on cue.

"I ain't ever lost a season opener." Coach's voice rings out through the locker room. "Not as a player. Not as a coach. That ain't gonna change tonight!"

His words fall, coming to rest in absolute quiet. Then he said, "Now let's have a moment of silent thought."

Heads bow, and I snuck a look around, then quickly bowed my head and stared at the floor.

"Amen," says the coach, a moment later, and then we're racing through the passageway and onto the field to sparse cheers from the small group that bothered to travel with us to the other side of the state.

Ten minutes later, following the National Anthem, and the coin toss, I stood with my hands under the center's ass, and with Monticello's overflow crowd roaring in my ears, I shouted, "Black twenty-three! Black twenty-three! Set ... Hut! Hut!"

I felt rather than saw the huge presence of Marvin Webster, my left tackle as he knocked the blitzing linebacker on his ass. Johnny Mack Brown, my running back, broke into the open space vacated by the linebacker, and with the Johnson twins protecting me in the pocket, I hummed the ball to him. Johnny Mack caught it and turned up field, taking the ball fifteen yards to their thirty-five yard line.

Two minutes later, it was first and ten - again. That was three first downs in the last four plays. We were on a roll.

"I can beat my man long," Curtis said in the huddle. I nodded, and called his number. My man, Maynard was right. He got two steps on a faltering corner, and took my toss in full stride for an easy touchdown. We led, 7 — 0.

It got easier, thanks to two interceptions by Johnny Demastri, our left corner, and a tackle by Tucker Ferguson that forced their quarterback to fumble on his twelve, with Tim Battle recovering the ball and taking it in. The final score was 33 — 14. We were off and running.

Some of the guys and me were having burgers at MacDonald's following the game, when the Pom-pom girls burst into the place. I was busy wolfing down my first quarter-pounder when I heard a familiar voice say, "God, Aubrey, don't they feed you at home?" I turned, and flashed an open mouth filled with food at little Mary Stiller. She lived three houses down from me. A freshman, she was still underdeveloped, and had enough makeup on to pave Route 17, which ran past the MacDonald's.

Her girlfriends were giggling, secretly hoping that one of us would put a move on them. It didn't happen. I had certain known obligations to Hayley, and some unknown as well. As for the other guys, well, they really weren't ready just yet, even for freshmen. But I was thinking about changing all that. I needed some studs for the next feature Hayley was planning.

I was taking a long gulp from my vanilla shake when my eye caught Mary bending forward to lean over her table. I never fail to be amazed at the lines a pair of tight jeans can take on when a girl is wearing them. She'd given me a woody and a new found respect for her body, undeveloped or not.

Hayley gave me free rein to find new girls for our feature films and I had more success than I thought I would. Hayley also found a few, but I was proud of the three that I brought into the fold. I'll gloss over some of the details and provide more detail on others.

Noreen was a nineteen year old college sophomore. Her face was plain, but her optimistic and cheerful personality made up for that. She was gifted in all the right places, large, firm breasts, smooth belly, nice legs and an ass that jutted out a country mile. She had scattered freckles and moles all over her body, and a large pair of nipples that begged for camera time. I was entranced by her as a video prospect, and I think she liked me too, but she liked the money we had to offer even more.

We got started one night when I was visiting the local University to see if I wanted to play football there. I didn't.

Noreen had been assigned to show me a good time (read my fuck-toy for the weekend) Anyway, she'd been drinking wine and we were playing cards as it was raining cats and dogs out. I suggested strip poker. She was amenable, and so we began. Naturally, I cheated like crazy, and eventually she was sitting across from me naked, one arm folded across her breasts, the other arm in front of her where she held her cards in her hand. I was down to my underwear. When I saw that she kept staring at the bulge in my jockey's, I suggested that we play for sexual favors. Noreen declined at first, but was only playing the age old game women tend to play.

But after two more glasses of wine, she suddenly warmed to the idea. My guess is that Noreen happened to remember what her assigned duty was and that was that.

I stripped off my underwear, and we got on the bed. I was pleasantly surprised when I felt her chin bump into my balls as she took me deep.

Later she told me that she loved giving head, but deep throating made her eyes water, and she couldn't do it for long. I asked her to let me suck her pussy, but she declined, explaining that she was dating a professor who was much older, and wanted only him to have her pussy.

Further questioning revealed that this professor had had a vasectomy, and so they could freely fuck without worrying about pregnancy. Neither of us had any birth control, and she didn't want me to suck her pussy because then she would want me to fuck her.

I assured her that I wouldn't try to fuck her even with her permission, and so she said it was all right for me to go down on her. I did, and it was delicious. She asked me to lick, suck and finger her ass, and I did that too. Soon I had two fingers in her pussy, two fingers in her ass and my tongue flicking across her clit. Her fingers were wrapped in my hair, and she was grinding her warm, wet crotch against my face. It was fabulous.

Soon after she came, I poured her another glass of wine, and she admitted that she really liked anal play. I asked her if I could fuck her ass since she couldn't get pregnant that way. She agreed to that, and soon she was on her hands and knees, moaning as I slid my cock into her lovely, heart-shaped ass.

As I recall, Noreen masturbated at warp speed as I fucked her ass. I was aroused beyond description in part from visualizing what this might look like on film if I could persuade her to take up acting.

I became an animal, thrusting rapidly and rhythmically, digging my fingers into her breasts, biting her shoulder, grunting in time to her groans of pleasure. She begged me not to come in her ass, and so I pulled out at the last minute, and jerked myself off. I was ready to come on her ass when she turned around, lay on her back, and pleaded for me to cum in her mouth.

I did, I also came on her chin and over her breasts while she moaned and rubbed my semen into her skin.

We went to sleep that night wrapped around each other, enjoying the smell and feel of sex on each other's bodies.

The next afternoon, following a tour and sit-down with the head coach, Noreen introduced me to golden showers. She stripped the sheets off the bed, and asked me to lie down on the mattress. We were both naked. She got on top of me and squatted over my cock, then leaned over to kiss me as she began to piss on my cock. The feel of her hot liquid splashing forcefully over my cock, gave me an instant erection, and I begged her to let me fuck her, but she refused, grinning madly. Before we finished with our water sports, she had pissed all over me and let me piss on her tits and belly. Then we engaged in a very long-lasting 69, concentrating on drawing out the intense pleasure. When we came, and I still remember every detail of it -- her thighs squeezing my ears as she flooded my tongue with pussy cum; the sensation of ejaculating into her mouth; the once-warm urine, now cold, in puddles around us on the mattress, and the combined smell of acrid piss, hot cum, and our sweaty bodies that hovered over and around us on the bed.

Sissie answered one of our ads. She had a great body, with small, sexy breasts, a long, flat belly which curved outward to her abdomen and then back inward to her beautiful pussy. Her ass and thighs were large and complemented her gorgeous legs. Sissie was the first woman I slept with who could easily have been a fashion model. She had a tiny nose, sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, perfect black hair, and a sharp, sexy grin.

Sissie loved to fuck, but since she had been sexually abused as a child by a man who held her down and raped her, she was reluctant to do it in the missionary position. That was how she remembered her abuser -- him on top of her. But Sissie loved fucking in the female superior position, or doggy style.

She told me once that her uterus was out of place in her body, which made her cunt a lot tighter than it should have been; and that fucking doggy style

heightened her sensations more so than any other position.

Fucking Sissie always resulted in scratches, bruises and lots of sweat. We always collapsed and sometimes didn't bother to clean up. In our films we fucked on kitchen tables, glass-topped coffee tables, bathtubs, showers, in corn field and of course, on a large, king-sized bed.

We made three films, one with me and two with other males taking her on. Unfortunately, my last encounter with Sissie does not have a happy ending,

but I'll spare you that.

Maria Elena was the third girl/woman I introduced to our movie making.

I met her while shopping with my mother at the local food market. She flirted with me, and when my mother left me to shop on another aisle, I asked her for a date and she accepted.

We went to a movie and from there straight to her apartment. It was too easy.