“George Bush claimed he talked to God every morning.”

The group of men all chuckled.

Jack raised his glass and piped up, “Thank God for Canadian atheists!”

The other three men raised their glasses and, each laughing called out, “Here, here!” Each then sipped their drink.

The four men all wore black suits. Jack was the oldest and in the best shape of them. He wore a purple tie under his jacket.

“So, Jack?” Clark was the largest of the group and sat to Jack’s right. Not out of shape, but he had the build of a defensive lineman. His skin was a dark brown with a tight afro of brown hair. His tied was red over a black shirt. “Tell us of this woman who holds your leash.”

“Which one?”

The other three laughed again.

“I have my toy, Mary-Jo. She’s the American who now claims to be in love with me.” His fingers quoted around ‘love’. “Then there is the Lady Beckula, who ordered me to break one of Mary-Jo’s bones.”

“Wow.” Tom, a blonde young looking man, was sitting directly across from Jack. His his tie was red on a white shirt. Though not as big as Clark, he was not in good shape as a beer belly peeked over his belt. “Did you do it?”

Jack nodded. “Cracked her ribs during a threesome.”

“A threesome, you dog, you.” The third of the party was Vince. Thanks to only a fringe of gray hair and lines from smoking, he looked the oldest of the group. His tie was green on a white shirt.

Clark smiled at Vince. “You’re too vanilla, my friend. We may have to throw you out.”

“Now, now,” Vince pleaded. “I still had a woman bound and gagged on my bed, and then begging to have my cock in her mouth.”

Clark cocked his head and glanced at Tom. “What do you think.”

Tom chuckled. “I think we can let him off the hook on the threesome thing. Group doctrine doesn’t prescribe specifics of needing threesomes.”

Again, all three laughed.

Vince raised his glass. “To vanilla, something that is only allowable as an ice cream flavour!”

Laughter as the four men agreed and drank.

Jack raised his hand to signal the waiter for another round. “Who’s turn is it?”

Vince finished the drop at the bottom of his glass before answering. “I believe it is Clark’s turn.”

“No, not already?” Clark looked around playing innocent. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The waiter returned to the table with four refreshed brandy glasses.

Clark looked up at the waiter. “There was this redhead at the stadium last summer, well, she was a cheerleader, so it was hardly happenstance…”

“Wesley! What the fuck are you doing?” Clark slammed his clipboard on the turf.

“Coach, I…”

“Shut the fuck up and hit him! If you don’t, they get a sack. Phelps goes down. We can’t win if Phelps is on his back.”

Wesley was smaller than Clark, but not by much. With pads on, however, Wesley looked bigger. His blue eyes peered out from under his red helmet. “Yes, coach.” His red jersey was untucked into his white pants.

Clark wore a black golf shirt over cream pants. Being the Sun was over the east, his skin was dark enough that the shade of the stands made it difficult to tell where the shirt ended and his neck began. “Son, do you want to make this team, or do you want to go back to…ah…”

“North Battleford, sir.”

A horn blew at the other end of the stadium signifying the end of the day’s practice. The other players around all began jogging towards the locker room.

Clark let out his breath. “Where is North Battleford?”

“Saskatchewan, sir.”

“Call me ‘sir’ once more and I will rip your head off with that helmet.”

Wesley smiled with some relief. “Yes…coach.”

“Walk with me.” Clark picked up his clipboard and started towards the locker room which was all the way at the south end of the field. “Wesley, you won’t be going home if I have my way.”

Wesley sighed beside him. A large smile on his face.

“Dare I say you may be the best lineman on the team. Just don’t get cocky. Do not let up. I need you to prove that I am right. Can you do that?”

“Yes, coach, absolutely!”

Clark slammed his right arm down on Wesley’s shoulder pads. “Good. Go get changed and I will see you at dinner. Double time now.”

Wesley did not need to be told twice. He pulled the snaps off on his helmet to pull it off and started to jog towards the locker room.

Clark stopped near the middle of the field and looked down. “Fifty-five yard line,” he said and chuckled. “How do I explain this to mama?”

“Mr. Laws?” a female voice called from the direction of the locker rooms.

She was a very pale redhead and more than a foot shorter than Clark. He hair was straight and held in a pony tail that bobbed as she walked.

“Yes, maam?” Clark allowed his southern drawl to drag just a little. These Canadians seemed to like the accent.

She was in tight black shorts and a red halter top that showed off gorgeous medium breasts. A gray tee-shirt was draped over her left arm. Her right arm grasped his right bicep as soon as she was close enough. Her green eyes widened, seeming impressed. “Could I get your autograph?” She held a black marker in her left hand.

“Of course.” Clark offered her a big smile. “You know my work, do you?”

She nodded. “My cousin and I saw your team play at the Wisconsin game last year. I also got to see you play once against Seattle..”

“Hmm, well you look too young, as I’m retired from playing for ten years.”

She held the tee shirt and marker towards him.

Clark took them from her and glanced around. “Need a flat place…oh, and what’s your name?”

“I’m Mandy. And, here.” She turned around and bent over slightly so he could sign on her back.

He dropped his clipboard on the turf, lay the tee over her back and looked down at the familiar black bird head with the gold “R” that he once wore on his helmet. He leaned down and started writing, ‘Mandy, thanks for remembering. Clark Laws #72.’ Just as he finished putting his old jersey number, he felt her hand reaching around to grasp his crotch.

Clark picked up the tee off of her and looked down.

Mandy squeezed and then pushed her ass back into him lightly against the erection that had quickly formed.

“Mandy, ah, this could be awkward.”

She stood upright and turned to him. “I’m sorry, you’re probably happily married, right?”

“No…”

“Strict Christian?”

“Um…I’m atheist, actually…something rare in pro football, let me tell you.”

Mandy looked concerned. “Is it that I am a cheerleader? Team rules about players with cheerleaders, but nothing about coaches.”

Clark laughed and dropped the shirt and pen on his clipboard. “No, it was an awkward position for you to unzip my pants from.”

Mandy did not need another suggestion as she stepped forward and quickly pulled down his zipper. Her hand slipped into his briefs and pulled his erection out. Dropping to her knees, she gasped at the size of him before taking the tip of it between her lips. Due to his size, her lips only made it half way down his shaft.

Clark felt a flash of worry as he felt his cock sucked. Glancing around, there was no one on the field. There seemed to be no one in the stands. From what he could tell, there was no one in any of the glass press box windows watching from above, either.

Mandy stopped and ran her tongue along his shaft to his balls. Sucking on them lightly, she held his cock with one hand.

“Stop,” Clark instructed, still glancing around.

She followed his direction and stood up.

“We won’t be alone out here for long, so turn around.”

She smiled and turned around.

Clark tug her shorts down and smiled with the realization she was wearing no underwear.

Mandy bent forward and balanced with a hand on each of her knees. Spreading her legs and angling her mid section, she gave Clark easy access.

Clark found her pussy lips with his fingers. He spread them and gave her clitoris a quick rub before pushing his erection inside. He did it slowly for fear of hurting her.

Mandy, however, had different ideas as she pushed her ass back towards him. Her pussy took his cock all the way until his balls were rubbing against her clit. She gasped with pleasure.

Clark reached forward with his right hand and grabbed her ponytail. Pulling on her hair, he thrust inside.

Mandy moaned after only the third thrust. She kept pushing back.

Clark’s left hand slipped around her neck and grasped lightly.

“Yes,” Mandy whispered and sighed. She shivered as an orgasm took her.

Clark released her hair and throat.

Mandy stumbled one step forward before spinning and returning to her knees. She took him back into her mouth and stroked him until his cum hit the back of her throat.

One of the empty brandy glasses shattered on the floor.

The waiter stood with wide brown eyes and mouth open in amazement.

Clark laughed at the waiter. Glancing at the rest of his mates, he asked, “So?”

Vince offered first, “Bullshit. No way you’re brave enough to get laid at mid-field.”

Tom nodded. “Bullshit. Nice though, but bullshit.”

Jack smiled and laughed. “I think it is true.”

Tom and Vince both clucked tongues at him suggesting they knew better.

Jack looked at Clark. “She was one of your references when I hired you away from Calgary, was she not.”

Clark chuckled. “She was not a reference.”

Vince and Tom roared happily sensing victory.

“But the story is true.”

“Aw fuck,” Vince said before downing his brandy in one frustrated gulp. He looked at Tom. “At least we’re splitting the bill tonight.”

One comment

  1. Mmm, nicely written. I especially like the rough part:

    Clark reached forward with his right hand and grabbed her ponytail. Pulling on her hair, he thrust inside.

    Mandy moaned after only the third thrust. She kept pushing back.

    Clark’s left hand slipped around her neck and grasped lightly.
    ***
    I can get off on that. M

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