Eagles Country

With seven minutes to go in the quarter Philly scored. I took off a sock, playing up its insignificance.

"Ooo, wow, you get to see my toes," I mocked.

With three-and-a half minutes left in the quarter, things got serious. Brady passed to Hogan and it was time for pants removal. Their shoes and socks that didn't count came off, and they all slowly removed their jeans. Three out of the four of them had problems to deal with. Maybe not full on erections, but lumps of embarrassment under their underwear that took a combination of hands, beer cans and new sitting positions to partially conceal.

Why were there erections? Were my small little tits that compelling? Were they all assuming full nakidity would mean taking the next step? I didn't know, but it was nice to see I had that affect on men.

The boys' cheering became more intense in the fourth quarter. They all desperately wanted the Eagles to win the game, sure, but there was more behind it. The wanted to drape my pink panties over a lampshade, the way college boys do in a frat house. They wanted a naked woman to bring them their next round of Bud Lites. They wanted to see my pussy.

It's nothing special, really, my pussy. It's not shaved or pierced or anything like that. I've seen a lot of them, being a nurse, and mine's just sort of normal, right in the middle between girlish and grotesque. I trimmed it up pretty thoroughly, thank God, because I didn't know what would happen with Brian. I used my leg razor in the shower to get things shaped halfway to modern looking.

Philly kicked a field goal just forty-five seconds into the fourth quarter, and my second sock came off. I held it in my hand, not gloating or teasing. It was a moment of clarity; a realization that I would indeed be naked in front of four men before the evening was over. All I had left was the cute pink panties with the little lacy edges.

I tossed the sock at the mesmerized looking men. "If any of you have a foot fetish, I guess you're golden," I said, wiggling my bare toes.

Nervousness is odd when you've had too much to drink. It doesn't affect you the way God or Mother Nature intended it to. It becomes an odd curiosity, assuming you're tuned into it at all. I knew it was there, inside me, but it was easy to ignore. I tossed back a shot of vodka, even though it wasn't a part of the bet anymore. It felt warm going down. I was up on my feet, happy to have eyes on my ass, with my bare feet snugly against the carpet. It's funny how sensual something that simple is — bare feet on a soft carpet.

Brady to Gronkowski. They're three words that are magical to any Patriots fan. I cheered when the catch was made, and I jumped up and down like a little kid. My four companions groaned their disapproval at the touchdown, telling each other how the Eagles' defense had broken down. They all looked at me sheepishly. I'm sure the smile on my face was plenty goofy looking. The Patriots were suddenly in the lead, and I was, too.

So there they were, moments later. Four naked men. Men with pubic hair, and erections, just like we'd been taught in med school. But it didn't look like med school. Didn't feel like med school. The sensuality that had been hovering around my feet down on the soft carpet started traveling upward. My whole body tingled with electricity. My skin felt tight, and my nipples stuck out so much I could see them in my peripheral vision. There was nine and a half minutes left to go in the game, and the tables had turned.

For quite a long time I basked in the glory of being on the winning side of the bet. I finished my beer and I asked Brain to get me one. He smiled a little and he shook his head like he couldn't quite believe me. Of course he's a gentleman, so he got up off the couch and my eyes followed him to the kitchen. I'd never seen his bare ass at the office, and I wasn't disappointed. He's truly a good looking guy. His walk back to me was nice, too. Strong looking legs; dark, bushy pubic hair; and an average sized cock. It was chubby but not erect. I'm sure he was glad about that.

There were about two-and-a-half minutes left in the amazingly good game when Philly scored another touchdown. I've never heard a group of men whoop and high-five the way my men did.

I didn't have nearly enough alcohol in me to drown out the emotion I felt when I took off my panties. My body felt like it was on fire — blushing and tingling and goosebumping. I was standing up, facing them, giving them the full show. I held the pink panties out to my side and I dropped them. They fluttered to the floor.

So we were all naked and the guys were high-fiving and their problems were returning. Erections. Beer cans were put into use again, to press down, and to cool.

A few minutes later, Philly scored the last points of the game, virtually securing the win. The guys were on their feet, whooping and high-fiving again, hard cocks be damned. A Super Bowl win was bigger than embarrassment. For true-blue Eagles fans, it was bigger than anything.

I had a few minutes to contemplate. Even though I'd ribbed the guys and bet against them, I was happy too. I'd lived in Scranton long enough to know the significance of sports in that blue-collar town. I liked the Eagles, and rooted for them most of the time. So there was that, helping to stir up the happy hormones in my brain. And then there was the whole naked-in-a-dimly-lit-livingroom-in-Clarks-Summit thing. It had my happy hormones bubbling like champagne. What happened next was the most disconnected my mouth has ever been from the thinking side of my brain...

"Are all of us Patriots girls sluts tonight? Do you think? Would fucking one of us make this the best Super Bowl ever? Do you all wanna fuck me?" The surprising words flowed out of me unfiltered. The men were all up on their feet, excited, re-living the big plays of the game. They fell silent when they heard my questions. I was on the big couch, leaning back to a full recline, and my legs opened. Wide.

Brian was the first man in. I'm still not sure who I was to him at that moment in time — a Patriots slut, his nurse, or his date — but it didn't matter. His nice cock was extra hard and he rammed it into me with some force. It was a hell of a start! Dirty words flowed out of my mouth in a way they'd never done before. I pulled my knees up near my chest and Brian held them there. He fucked me hard, with quick speed that accelerated the way an animal does when they fuck in the wild. The celebration was going full swing on the TV, with confetti cannons and mayhem on the field; and there, in that dimly lit livingroom in Clarks Summit, our own little celebration gangbang had begun.

Leon was the next man in. All of the guys were hard and ready, but he was different — a fat cock with a foreskin. I was still on my back with my knees in my hands. Even that was new; I'd never spread myself so open for a man before. Leon rammed in, hard, the way Brian had done. It turned out to be a theme. All four of my men fucked me with with some fury in their eyes and their cocks. It was pride; it was years of frustration ended; it was team spirit. The Eagles had won the goddamned Super Bowl! My men were wound up!

Jack fucked me next. He pushed my legs apart, my knees wide at my sides. His cock was the biggest and he went deep. I smiled at him and reached for him, pulling him to me for a hot kiss. My mouth and my tongue devoured his whimpering moans. He had a short fuse and he pulled out mid-spurt after a quick fucking, his big cock lying on my wet pink pussy, gushing it's warm goo onto my tummy.

I was a mess, dripping with cum when Jeff took his turn. He slipped in easily and was soon at warp speed.

"Oh, fuck yeah!" I yelled. "Oh, fuckin' fuck me! Yeah! Fuck me!"

I'd never thought much about gangbangs before that night. I guess I pictured them as being kind of quick — wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am — with lots of porn style cum shots. It was like that that to begin with, but then I wiped — smeared is a better word — the cum off of me with an eagles t-shirt and we got down to business. Me on the floor, me on the couch, me on the big chair. I got my horny frustrations out in all kinds of different ways.

It was the floor where I had the most fun. Down and dirty. Maybe a slut is most at home on the floor. I was just learning the ways of the wanton woman, so I don't know for sure, but the floor was a fun place to be. They all fucked me doggy style down there on the wall-to-wall carpeting, and they praised my ass and my legs. It was a thrill to hear four men talking about me that way. Never in all my forty-five years had I heard such talk; a masculine chorus with nothing but praise for my sexuality. It was more than enough to make me wonder if slutty sex is something I should think about embracing in my regular life.

I certainly went for it that night, that was for sure. One of my favorite memories is of when Jack was on his back on the rug, and I was riding him, cowgirl style, I think you call it. It was a nice, mid-tempo ride, with my back arched a little and my body moving sensuously. His big cock felt amazing way up inside me. Brian was in my mouth. I'm not the best blowjob giver, but I like doing it, and that night I was literally drooling. I had Leon and Jeff's cocks in my hands, stroking them. I think four is the perfect number of men.

Jack fucked me again a little while later, on the couch, with me down flat on my stomach and my ass raised a little bit. I think it may be the sexiest thing I've ever done. Good Lord it felt good! All the other boys took turns in my moaning mouth while I was losing my mind.

I hope I gave them all equal time. I think I did, but Jack's big cock really did it for me. It wasn't just the size that was perfect, it was the way he used it. The guy can fuck. I don't know his phone number and don't know if he'd be interested in giving it to me, but, I might drive up to Clarks Summit someday and leave a note in his mailbox.

We went into the kitchen for some cold pizza, and the boys started fucking me in there, too. It was different in the brighter light. Even sluttier. I put a leg up on the counter and they took me from behind, one by one. Jeff fed me while Jack fucked me. It made me smile, and then it made me cum. The boys smeared nacho cheese on my tits and they licked it off.

Back in the living room my slut show reached its zenith — me on my back on the low cocktail table, with empty beer cans and shot glasses and half-eaten pizza next to me. My legs were up on Leon's chest. He was on his knees, fucking me with glorious smooth strokes. My shoulders and head were hanging off of the side of the table and I had Jack's cock in my upside-down mouth. My little tits were stretched tight, nipples hard, and hands were on them. It was a slut position if there ever was one, and my boys shifted around round-robin style, taking turns at each end of me, making my tits happy when they were in-between. I don't even know how many orgasms I had.

The sex drive is a powerful thing. We learned a little about it in school. I learned a lot about it on Super Bowl Sunday. I learned that I'm a casual fan of both the Patriots and the Eagles, and I'm a big fan of group sex. I never would have guessed it, although there's been some fantasies over the years. I think I acquitted myself pretty well considering my lack of experience. It was one of those nights, with backup quarterback Nick Foles stepping up and winning the game for the Eagles, even with his lack of experience. He even won the Most Valuable Player award. I think I would have won that award at our party, if there was such a thing. The boys didn't know I was a rookie slut that night. I think I convinced them I was worthy of the game. I gave it my all, and played like a pro. And I've never had so much fun in all my life.

-

So that's it. Pretty slutty, right? I'm not surprised Brian never called me again. I don't blame him. If he ever comes back to the doctor's office he'll be sick and I'll treat him professionally, as any good nurse would. Maybe we'll have a little smile together, remembering Super Bowl 52. The night the Eagles won. The night all of Eastern Pennsylvania went a little crazy.