The Footballer

Come on… where are you?

It’s been half an hour.

You… yeah, you confirmed the time and place. Post-match interview in the locker rooms at 1:30… So where the hell are you?

Definitely wouldn’t be the first time you conveniently forgot to show up for one of our interviews.

Now I’m just sitting here, alone, staring at this awful gray row of lockers. Kind of ironic that your jersey is hanging on the hook by the door, but you’re nowhere to be found.

So much for the feature I promised my editor. Might have to call her and let her know…

If you hadn’t just broken the league record for most goals scored in a single game then I’d be halfway out the door already. But I guess I should stick around a little bit longer just in case you do show up…

“I’m here! I’m here!”

“Hey.”

“Late as usual.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Lots of press out there. But I couldn’t leave my favorite journalist hanging.”

“I’d hate to tear you from your adoring public. I can’t say I blame them. You are the man of the moment, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks. It was a team effort, though. I’ve got to give all the credit to Baptiste. He was the one who did the last run. I just assisted.”

You sit next to me on the bench and lean forward with your forearms on your thighs. You look boyish, like you’re not used to being in a suit that nice.

And then there’s that roguish little smile. You know I completely fold when you do that.

“Can you forgive me?”

“Just this once.”

“Thanks. So, uh, interview?”

“Yes. Interview. I did have some questions prepared. But after tonight, I don’t think the fans really want to read about your childhood or your morning training routine.”

“Well, as usual, I’m an open book. So, ask me anything.”

You lean towards me, flashing me those mock puppy dog eyes you do whenever I’m mad at you. It’s always been like this between us.

You drive me insane most of the time. But it’s all in good fun. Before we met, I didn’t actually like you that much.

I thought your tricky footwork was bad sportsmanship. Like you were scheming your way to the title of football star as opposed to actually earning it.

The press wasn’t exactly kind to you at the time. They were always making you out to be some kind of big-spender-playboy-type.

And then I actually met you. You really surprised me with how down-to-earth you actually are.

You’re still very much a flirt. And you are really hot.

But, you’re a nice guy. Not flashy like some other big-time players.

I like you.

“Mind if I record?”

“Be my guest.”

I put my phone in between us and you slide a little closer. Very close. I catch a hint of your heady cologne and… whew. Made my head swim a little there.

God, you smell good…

“Okay, so… you’re officially in the finals and now you’re the top goal scorer in league history. Congratulations. How do you feel?”

“I’m on top of the world. It still hasn’t sunk in.”

“Yeah, I mean, it was some of the best football I’ve ever seen.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. The goal you scored from midfield? C’mon, you’re a shoo-in for the Golden Boot, for sure. No pun intended.”

“Well, I was trying to impress you. Did it work?”

“Yeah. Consider me impressed.”

The way you’re looking at me… Like you actually meant what you said.

I’m so used to us just joking around, but right now I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.

“You know, I was really looking forward to this.”

“To what?”

“Talking to you now. That’s why I left the press outside.”

“Oh, come on. All that adoration outside and you want to talk to me?”

“Yeah. You’re no-nonsense. You keep me on my toes. I like you. And if I’m right, which I usually am, you like me too.”

You inch a little closer to me. My phone is the only thing between us, the only thing keeping us from touching.

You pick up my phone, stop recording and place it back in my bag. You shift closer and our thighs touch.

“Was that… a question?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

My chest tightens a little and my breath feels like it’s stuck in my throat. Am I hallucinating? Did you really just say that?

I really, really hope you’re not joking with me, but… I wouldn’t put it past you. I mean, you’re not cruel like that. But I could see you saying something outrageous like that just to get a rise out of me.

“Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong.”

“Off the record? You… might be… a little right.”

“Now I know you must really like me, because you take every opportunity to tell me I’m wrong.”

“What… where are you going with this? I’m trying to work here and you’re… messing with me.”

“I’m not messing with you. Scout’s honor. I just want to get to know you a little better. No cameras. No recording devices. Just… us.”

“So you are a good kisser…”

“The press prints a lot of lies about me, but… yeah, that one’s true.”

My hands slide up your chest to your tie. I pull hard at the tight Windsor knot as you slide your jacket off your shoulders.

I toss it to the floor and reach around to lift the back of your shirt. Caressing up your back with my palms.

You grab my blouse in fistfuls, pulling it over my head.

I don’t know what we’re doing. In fact, my brain is completely turned off right now. All I know is that I want you.

“You taste good.”

Your stubble scratches at my cheek, your hot breath rolling down my neck. I don’t think I ever consciously realized how badly I want you… How hot these stupid games between us actually make me.

“Here…”

Mmm, fuck…

You lift me into your arms effortlessly. I wrap my legs around your broad hips and you turn us around, lying me back on the bench.

You massage my breasts, lightly squeezing as your lips trail down between them, down my stomach. I arch under your hands as they slide down to unbutton my jeans.

“Do you know how many passes I’ve missed because I got distracted staring at your legs? While you’re on the sidelines writing in your little notebook…”

“So, you’re going to blame me for not having a higher passing percentage?”

“Mmhm.”

You kiss up my inner thighs, your eyes barely leaving mine as you get closer. You push my legs apart and hold them wide. I’m completely exposed to you.

“I really want to taste you… can I?”

“Yeah, put your mouth on me. Put your—”

Your fingers squeeze hard into my thighs. Fuck, it’ll be so hot if I have marks there tomorrow.

I rock my hips up against your mouth mindlessly. It’s so… fucking good… and damn you’re good with your tongue.

You suck at my clit, like you’re desperate for it, working your tongue back and forth right where I’m most sensitive.

I brush through your hair… then take a fistful and pull.

“You want my fingers inside you? I really want to make you cum…”

“Yeah, yeah. Please. Wait—wait, what if—what if someone comes in?”

“Doesn’t really bother me.”

“Oh my god, of course you don’t.”

Your fingers curl up and press against my g-spot.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, that feels so good–right there, right there—!”

“Think you can take both? My mouth, my fingers, all at once?”

“Oh, god, of course I can. Do it, do it…”

“Oh god, I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!”

“Kiss me…”

I love that I can taste myself on your mouth.

I wrap my legs around your hips while you roam your hands over my breasts and down to my hips.

“Here, get on top…”

“Okay, we have to do this quick.”

“What? Embarrassed, are you?”

“Shut up. Of course I’m not embarrassed.”

“Well, then—”

I straddle your hips and unbuckle your belt. I haven’t felt this needy for someone in a long time. I feel like I have to have you inside me. Now.

“You have a condom?”

“Wallet. It’s in my jacket. Left pocket. No—right.”

I reach above you for your jacket. There it is.

Oh, god, I can’t do anything with you kissing my nipples like that.

You massage the tip of your cock through my folds, teasing right at my entrance.

I need you…

“You ready?”

“Yeah…”

“Oh, yeah—you good?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

“Is that okay?”

“Feels so fucking good…”

Your hand curls around the back of my head into my hair, pulling my forehead to yours. I bounce against you, hard.

“Fuck… yeah, ride me, ride me…”

I press my hand against your chest for balance, rocking my hips into yours. Your hands curl around my ass and hold me impossibly close as your cock drives deeper and deeper into me.

My pussy clenches around your cock. Fuck… I want more…

“Fuck me… harder…”

“Yeah? Harder?”

“Yeah, yeah, harder, please—”

“Oh god, yes—”

“Yeah, come on… give it to me, baby.”

“Oh god, I’m close…”

“Fuck—fuck!”

“Oh yeah, right there… right fucking there! Oh, fuck yeah!”

“Oh… god.”

You wrap your arms around my waist and hold me tight against you. Mmm, my body is so warm.

“That… that was so good…”

“I think that was the best post-match interview I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you. That was amazing.”

I prop my chin up on your chest.

“I do need to finish the interview, though. My editor wants it by Monday.”

“We could always… continue back at my place?”

“The press will be swarming your place. Besides, footballer mansions aren’t my thing.”

“I live in a flat!”

“Okay… okay. I suppose there’s some room at my place. I’ll even buy you Chinese food. What do you say? Deal?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I guess I am.”

“Great. So long as we can watch the match highlights on TV? Please?”

“Oh my god, as if you didn’t just live the actual game. Fine.”