by Lexi Wilson
It was no wonder that Barrett got around as much as people said he did. Looking like that and being equipped like that, he must get plenty of opportunity to put that goal post of his to good use, and that was exactly what people said. What they also said, however, was that Barrett did not do relationships.
What I’d always heard about him was that he dated around, and his only real interest in dating, to put it in football terms, was getting to the “touchdown.” Going out with Barrett was the preamble to getting fucked by Barrett. That was all he did; he’d take a woman out and then he’d take her to bed – first and only date. He never concerned himself with anyone who wasn’t prepared to be naked under him at the end of the evening, and as soon as they expected anything more than what must surely be the incredible pleasure of his cock, he was out of there.
Even knowing his reputation, women still went out with him. Because let’s face it, given the opportunity to have Barrett Porter’s superhero body on top of you and his member planted in you is something way too rich for most women to pass up. You just didn’t expect anything else with him.
That was why what Barrett Porter had always represented to me was a fantasy and a temptation and nothing else. While I wasn’t a virgin and certainly didn’t avoid sex, I wasn’t the kind for an involvement that was nothing but fucking.
It didn’t really make much of a difference, anyway. What Barrett and I had was always a speaking acquaintance, and he was always nice to me. He was usually nice to everyone; he wasn’t one of these stuck-up jocks you hear about sometimes. Unquestionably, there was some woman he was screwing somewhere, and he’d probably be seeing her after the party tonight. Lucky her, even if he was only fucking material.
Barrett Porter was an asset to the Dallas Rangers, on and off the field. He played winning games and brought the team good publicity. He was an asset without being an ass. And when he wasn’t scoring on the field, he was scoring – or some very-fortunate woman was scoring with him – in bed. That fortunate woman, however, who didn’t mind being with a super-hot guy who was all about where he wanted to put his cock, was not me.
I could look and imagine, and that was enough. After all, this was Texas. It was full of big, hot guys. There was only one Barrett Porter, sure, but he wasn’t the only hunk to be had in the Lone Star State. He was just the hottest one of them all.
That was what Kira and I were talking about at the party. Discreetly, unheard over the clamor of enthusiastic athletes in the penthouse, we were discussing who was probably going to end up wailing ecstatically under Barrett Porter tonight.
Kira was about my same height and build, with a more olive complexion and shorter, darker hair. She leaned over to me and asked, confidentially, “So who do you think it will be tonight?”
I could only shrug, having no more of a clue than she did. “Who’s to say? How many hot, available women are there in Dallas?”
Narrowing her eyes, Kira guessed, “I’ll bet it’s that brunette who interviewed him for Cable News TV.”
“Who knows?” I rolled my eyes.
“Or, maybe it’s the blonde reporter they just hired on The Casino Network. You know, the woman they brought on just to keep the guys tuned in.”
“What, you mean the chick with the slam-dunk boobs?” I replied.
Kira sputtered out laughing at the descriptive term we’d come up with for that particular “personality.” Coughing a bit after almost swallowing her beer the wrong way, she said, “Yeah, her.”
I made a snarky expression and said, “If it’s her, he’d better be careful jumping on her. She’s liable to bounce him up to the ceiling.”Kira burst out laughing louder, and I couldn’t help join in at the cartoon image I’d just conjured up for us.
The next thing we knew, a hulking shadow fell over us, and we looked up into the face of one of the other Rangers. Mack Tolliver had shoulders a mile wide and arms as big as the trunk of a Redwood. He also had a round, doughy kind of face and hair that I found too blond. A couple of the guys on the team were my type. Mack was not one of them.
“What are you girls laughing at?” Mack said, gazing down at us with a look and a voice that told us at once that he was one of the least sober people in the room – not that we had any business talking about sobriety just now.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just girl talk.”
“Oh yeah?” said Mack. “Y’know, the movie’s almost over. They’re gonna put on some music afterward. You wanna dance?” He directed his question right at me.
After a quick glance at Kira, who just rolled her eyes and took another swallow of beer, I replied diplomatically to Mack, “I don’t know. I thought I might call it an early night after the movie. You know how important tomorrow is. I wanted to be fresh for it.”
Mack balked. “What, the head cheerleader, cutting out early? That won’t look good. You’ve gotta stay at least a little longer. Give me just one dance.”
Usually, there was an unspoken, invisible line between players and cheerleaders that limited our fraternizing. It was considered good for morale, for them and for us. But, sometimes the line got blurred and sometimes it got crossed. And truth be told, I wasn’t up for crossing it tonight with Mack Tolliver. How could I get out of this? I wondered.
“Ummm... I don’t think I should,” I told him. “I can’t dance too much when I’ve been drinking. It makes me a little queasy. You don’t want me to throw up on your sneakers, do you?” I looked down at his sneakers, which could have easily cost me a week’s salary, maybe two. “Not to mention the carpet in the room. We don’t want the hotel charging the team for me puking on the rug. The owners won’t appreciate that.”
Disappointed, Mack said, “Aw, c’mon, Bama; one dance after the movie won’t hurt.”
“What do you think, Kira?” I asked my friend. “Is that a risk we ought to take?”
She made a little tsk noise, playing along with me, and said, “I’d be careful if I were you, honey. You don’t want the owners to get mad.”
Whipping my head from Kira back to Mack, I said, “That’s right.” I put down my Seagram bottle on the end table and continued, “As a matter of fact, maybe I’d better go to the bathroom right now.”
I rose quickly from the couch, a little too quickly, as what I’d been drinking made my head swirl and I wobbled a bit in front of Mack. For an added effect, I put my hand on my stomach. “Whoa, I’d really better go to the bathroom.”
My ruse worked. Mack took a step back and away from me, his palms raised, and said, “Not on the shoes. Not on the shoes…”
Without another word, I got myself out of there and headed for the bathroom, making good my escape from the unwanted attentions of Mack. Unfortunately, I’d left Kira with him, but she was a big girl; she could handle herself – and him.
Behind the closed door of the very upscale penthouse bathroom, I realized how honest my little story to escape Mack had been. It was catching up with me, the way we’d all been so jazzed up about our winning season and so excited about the Super Bowl. When we made it all the way to this ultimate game – a home game to boot I couldn’t believe it was happening. I had become head cheerleader so fast, and now I was head cheerleader for my team at the Super Bowl. It all seemed like a dream.
I’d been as excited as the players, and now I realized I hadn’t really quite come down from that “high.” Which was why I’d over-indulged in drinking tonight. Going over to the bathroom sink, I felt the wisdom of what I’d said, trying to get out of dancing with Mack. Perhaps I really had reached my cut-off point and really ought to call it a night. The team would be counting on me tomorrow.
So, I splashed a little water on my face and took a deep breath, and took a good long look in the mirror. Wow, girl, I thought to myself. How many people twenty-three years old and out of school for just a year have their lives as put together as you do right now?
Happy that I had taken this moment just for myself to stop and appreciate how happy I was, I straightened my blouse
and brushed some stray locks of hair from my face. Really, Bama, maybe the best thing for you to do, I told myself, is call it a night. The other girls and the team will try to get you to stick around longer. They’ll argue the evening is young; they’ll say the party’s just getting started. Maybe if you just remind them how important tomorrow is, some of the others will excuse themselves, too, and you won’t seem like such a downer…
The thought had just crossed my mind. My hand was on the handle to the bathroom door. I swung open the door and stepped into the threshold, thinking about nothing but making my excuses to the team and the other girls…
And crashed right into a 6-foot-4-inch, 240-pound stone wall.
I practically bounced off and staggered back into the bathroom. I somehow stopped myself falling back on my ass and gazed breathlessly into the blinding handsomeness of Barrett Porter as he let himself into the bathroom with me and closed the door behind him.
My breath froze. I was in the bathroom with Barrett Porter.
“Hey, Bama,” said Barrett.
Blinking at him the way you’d blink looking right into the sun, I said, “Hey, Barrett.” I quickly added, “I was just on my way out.”
“I saw that,” he said. “You in a hurry?”
Unsure of the whole situation, I replied, “Why do you ask?”
“Because there’s no reason to rush right off. Not now.”
My heart fluttering, I said, “Well...there’s the game tomorrow.”
“That’s tomorrow,” he said. “Tonight’s not over.”
I was getting almost the kind of hot flashes I would get if I’d come down with the flu. “That’s why I was going. I wanted a good night’s sleep. You want your head cheerleader in good form for tomorrow, right?”
“You’re in good form right now.” The look on his face shifted between “man-stud” and “little boy” in a way that was just too irresistible.
“We’re in the bathroom,” I reminded him. “And, there’s a party going on.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “We’d better do something about that.”
I thought I was home free. He stepped back to the door and reached for the handle. I was sure Barrett was going to be gallant about it and open the door to let me out.
Instead...he locked the door.
He faced me again with that same “man-stud/little boy” look. I trembled a bit. Oh no, this isn’t happening…
Barrett gestured at me. “Come here.”
My eyes widened. Oh my God, this REALLY isn’t happening! Is it…
“Wh-what do you mean?” I stammered at him.
“Come here.”
There was any number of things I might have done. I could have screamed. I could have tried to maneuver around him to the door and get myself out of there. Right. Maneuver myself around a 240-pound wall of hard muscle that was used to chasing and tackling guys up and down a field. Sure, Bama, good luck with that.
Instead, a bit feebly, I just said, “You want me to…”
He smiled at me, more sweetly than he had any business smiling. And one more time, Barrett held out one hand at the end of one of those incredible arms and said, “Come...here.”
What would he have said if I told him no? Would he have come over to me, instead? I never had the chance to find out. Whatever made me do it, whether it was the drinking or the fantasies I’d had from looking at those magazines and websites, my response was not to say no.
Instead, I found myself almost lunging into his arms. The next thing I knew, those arms were around me like the pythons in the reptile house in the Dallas Zoo – and I was kissing him.
Oh sweet Lord, I was actually KISSING BARRETT PORTER.
And, he was kissing me back – kissing me the way a guy kisses you when he knows what he wants, wants you to know it, and expects to get it. And to make his message plain, while molding his lips to mine, Barrett moved his hands down the small of my back to the seat of the short skirt I was wearing and slipped them under the hem.
I pulled out of the kiss, which took some effort, and gasped at him. Barrett responded with a chuckle and kissed me again, while his hands moved up under my skirt to my panties, where he squeezed my ass. My heart leapt, and again I broke out of his kiss, to find his dark brown eyes drilling into me.
My heart acted like something from an entirely different sport than Barrett’s – basketball – as it started dribbling inside me when he slipped a hand under the thin material to feel my bare bottom.
In some corner of my mind, a voice told me I should tear myself out of Barrett’s grasp and get the hell out of there. But a voice in some other corner of my mind hollered, Shut up!
Barrett, in his real voice, said to me, “You know what I love best right before a game?”
Powerless against the squeezing of his big, strong hand at the cheeks of my ass and the dribbling of my heart, I knew the only possible answer. Even so, I stammered, “Wh-what?”
Putting the sexiest smile I’d ever seen on that studly face, Barrett said, “I love going into a game after a hot fuck.” He kissed me again, and tightened his grip on my ass. If he kept on like that, I was afraid I wouldn’t have to tear myself out of Barrett’s arms. I’d just melt out of them and become a puddle at his feet. “How about letting me have some pussy?”
I didn’t know whether I was going pale or turning red. “Here? Now?” I asked apprehensively. And for emphasis I repeated, “Here? Really?”
“Yeah, right here,” he said. “Tomorrow’s the Super Bowl, and I’m horny.”
“B-but...there must be someone else. You must be meeting someone else after the party, aren’t you?”
“I’m not thinking of anyone else,” said Barrett. “Not while I’ve got you right here and I’ve got a hard-on. Let me fuck you.”
“B-but...everyone’s right out there,” I protested.
“It’s a big penthouse. If somebody needs a bathroom, they’ll find another one. Right now, I know what I need.” He swiveled his eyes to the sink. “Over there.”
Once again, there was a disconnect between what I should have done and what I actually did.
I should have gotten myself out of there by any means necessary. But instead, I only thought about the moment I was in, Barrett’s arms around me, that impossibly gorgeous face close to mine, and all those magazine spreads – and the secret lurking in those Speedos and tight shorts that wasn’t so secret. And, I thought of all the women – and not a few men – who’d so desperately want to be right where I was right now. How many people would kill to be in the arms of Barrett Porter and have him ask them to let him fuck them?
That was why, before I knew it, I was letting him lead me over to the sink, where he effortlessly lifted me up and put me on the counter with my legs apart.
“Atta girl,” he said. “Now let’s see what we’ve got to work with here…”
I held on to his shoulders. He was wearing a short-sleeve muscle top shirt with the Rangers’ logo, and I couldn’t help thinking I was literally about to “take one for the team.”
Barrett took hold of my skirt again and lifted up the hem over my waist. I licked my lips as he pulled my panties down and closed my legs just enough to get them down my thighs and off of me. He slipped my shoes off and put them on the floor while putting my undergarment on the vanity next to me.
He parted my thighs once more and wet his own lips at the sight of my pussy, which had turned glistening wet. He put his thumb between the lips of my pussy and slid it up the wet opening and onto my clit. Still hanging on to him, I gave out a shuddering gasp.
He looked up into my eyes and said, “Mmm, that’s nice. It’s gonna be nice getting my cock in there.” He kissed me again, hard, as if to leave no doubt about the inevitability of what he would now do to me.
During the kiss, I heard the little rustling and clinking of Barrett undoing his belt and the button of his jeans, then the sound of his zipper coming down and another rustle of his jeans coming down over the trunks of his
thighs. He parted the kiss, saying, “Have a look at what I’ve got for you.”
I thought I would fall over when I glanced down. So help me, the thing practically fell to the floor. All those pictures left no doubt that Barrett’s penis was huge, but they’d done nothing to prepare me for it. His cock was an absolute monster. The hard, immense, veiny, mushroom-headed thing with the flaring, drooling opening under the bush between his thighs was more than a penis. It was “The Creature That Came on Dallas.”
And, he was going to stick that thing into me? How was I supposed to lead cheers in the Super Bowl tomorrow if Barrett split me in half with that thing tonight?
Both excited and almost on the edge of panic, I actually started to babble at him. “B-but, Barrett… Oh my God, Barrett, it...it’s so-”
He cut off my babbling with another kiss. “Shh, babe, I know. That’s what they all say. Then, I stick my fucker in ‘em, and they can’t believe how good it is. Just relax and give me your pussy. Come here…”
Whimpering, I allowed Barrett to hitch my legs on his hips. I held my breath, anticipating the moment of penetration. I’d never had a cock so enormous inside me. How could I take it?
I bit my lip as I felt the head of that monster slip between my labia. Somehow still mindful of all the people on the other side of the bathroom door, I kept biting my lip to muffle my shriek and threw my head back in what I can only call a torment of pleasure from the mushroom of his glans moving into me, followed by his cock. He slid it all the way in, and I grasped his shoulders for dear life. I’d never felt anything like it. I thought I’d pass out. But, I didn’t want to pass out. I wanted to feel every stroke of what would happen next.
Barrett smiled with absolute lust at having me exactly where and in exactly the way he wanted me. “Shit, you’re wet. That’s good,” he grunted. “A wet cunt takes my cock easier. Mmm, fuck yeah…”
