Her Game Was Passion Ch. 02

A big tackle named Gregory came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

"We'll kick the hell out of them," he said.

"One guy you want to watch," Gregory said. "Ray. Bobby Ray. A new kid. A Guard. He nailed Jacko."

"Let him come," I said.

"He's a rough bastard."

"Just give me time," I said. "I'll scramble a couple times. His guts will start to drop out, chasing me."

"Like Fran?" Gregory grinned.

"Like Fran," I said. "Let him through a couple times. Trap him, then let him run after me."

"We got a good line," Gregory said.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed and taped, hearing the band loud now, we charged out, across the field, single long line of white helmets under the lights. The crowd roared and the announcer called our names, one after the other. I looked up at the lights of the press box.

We lost the toss and I sat on the bench and watched the kick-off. Indiana controlled the ball for seven minutes, then punted, and we fumbled the kick on our twenty yard line. Indiana fumbled on our fifteen and I went in.

I looked at Lennox's eyes in the huddle. His eyes were blank. I tried an end sweep. Lost five yards. Then a quick opener off tackle lost three yards. It was the big guard Bobby Ray. He was busting into every play. I should have trapped him on second down. He looked about six feet seven.

The trouble was somebody was hitting me every time after I got the ball off. I couldn't tell who it was but I could feel it. Somebody was letting a lineman or a linebacker through after the handoff, and with my back turned to the line I couldn't see. I was socked hard both times, right across the kidneys.

I couldn't blame anybody because the linebackers were dancing and the interior linemen were stunting. I walked up to the center. Ray looked at me from under the rim of his helmet. I saw the linebackers start to dance. I had called a sideline pass in the huddle. I went on calling, watching the outside linebacker dance in, then out to one side, and then to the other. Third down and eighteen. Too deep in our territory to throw the long bomb. They were sure to blitz again. Even now I could see it. I checked off an audible. Just a flip pass over the line of scrimmage to Lennox.

I saw him take it just as I got hit. I was hit too soon. I felt the shock tear through my guts. It was Ray again. I looked up into his face. His eyes looked like they were all iris. "We're going to get you, boy," he said, and pushed up off my chest.

The pass was good for seventeen yards to Lennox. I could see the kicking team starting across the field. Fourth down and one. I waved them back. I noticed there was blood on my hand, then I tasted it. I couldn't remember being hit in the mouth.

"Who's letting that guard through?" I asked in the huddle. Nobody spoke. Their eyes watched me. I called a trap play on Ray. It was good for five yards. I saw Ray lying on his back. his slit eyes watching me closely as he got up.

Now we're moving, I thought. Ray will hang back a little now. A couple more traps and he'll stop blitzing.

I started calling, giving the inside linebackers a sneering look. There they were, waiting impatiently to blitz.

I had the ball in both hands and took two steps backward. I saw Ray coming with his eyes big as moons, those long arms and big hands raised, and then he was blocked sideways and I was looking downfield for Lennox. I couldn't see him, but I knew where he was supposed to be, then I heard him yell, "Ball!" I went back one more step and came forward and released.

Here he was again. Big as a mountain. I turned as Ray came bearing down on me. I ducked as he leaped, with both arms outstretched. He passed over me as I dived into the line for a first down.

We were moving but nobody could keep Ray completely out of the play. He kept coming and he was nailing me on three out of four plays after I got rid of the ball, or just as I was getting rid of it. Nor did it help to mention it in the huddle. I was just going to have to keep taking it. I spat out a mouthful of blood.

Here he was again. Jesus!

I rolled out to the right, looking downfield, listening to them coming after me, Ray yelling something. I raised my arm, but I wasn't planted. I stepped back, and somebody shot past. I saw an arm swinging at my throat. I pulled back my head to avoid being clothes-lined. The play was a bust. Better eat it. Then the big black body of Ray slammed me down. My guts slithered with pain.

Somebody's got to hold him at the line, I thought. Then into the huddle, kneeling, facing the circle of faces, calling a swing pass, first and ten on Indiana's thirty. I called draw and got hit after the hand-off. A sword of fire ran along my ribs. It was agony for a second to breathe. I got up slowly, shook it off.

Ray was there, squatting on the line, waiting, but it wasn't just Ray who was getting to me. It was somebody different now on every play. Somebody off the weak side. Someplace, somehow, the line would leak. Sure, we were moving, but on every play somebody was getting to me after the hand-off. They were knocking the crap out of me. They stopped us cold and I got knocked down badly on two passes. We kicked a field goal. In the second quarter we were behind six points. It was the same pattern. The minute we got inside their thirty yard line I couldn't get any blocking in the line. At half time the coach chewed everybody's ass. My ribs were killing me. I could hardly breathe, but I didn't dare ask for novocaine. I'd get benched. I had to beat the rooky they had waiting on the bench. But the chew job on the team didn't help in the third quarter. If anything, our line was leaking more inside Indiana's thirty. Their backs were forcing the receivers to do a lot of running, so the line had an excuse for not holding too long on pass plays.

Now, facing third down and nine inside Indiana's twenty yard line, I thought of many things. There were the outside linebackers - the one fast, the other a little slower but clever - and the necessity of drawing them in for a sideline pass. But they would be set for what was now the obvious play. Or with Lennox catching well, go for a touchdown; if we didn't make it, a field goal wouldn't bail us out.

I must make this play. Must make it.

Here goes, I thought, checking off audible at the line, watching the defense playing loose, a little too deep to protect against sideline and down and out passes. But nine yards is a long way on a quarterback draw. But I must get it. I must get it. Fast and quick. Here we go. I took the snap, pivoted, moving back, ball low in both hands, snug up against the fullback, gave him the ball against his outside hip and took it away, boot-legged it with my left hand, taking a step back to pass, seeing in that instant the hole open behind the fullback after he was tackled three yards past the line of scrimmage.

I sprang, running full speed, getting both knees high, before I hit the hole, only a fraction of a second to make it.

Then I was through and running faster, picking out the deep safety, cutting for the sideline, running, running. Suddenly a tremendous impact, and I felt myself knocked sideways into the air. I clutched the ball tighter as I seemed to cartwheel, and it flew out of my hands. In the air somebody hit me as I was spinning. I struck the ground and they were all over me as I fell.

Jagged spears of light shot through my head. I felt my body breaking, sliding down into darkness. Then the roar of the crowd ran over my head like the crash of surf. The darkness lifted suddenly. Ray lay on me breathing in my face. Nailed by Ray from behind and side.

I stood up and shook my head. I started walking off the field. Somebody caught my shoulder. My fumble had been recovered. I leaned over for an instant, rested with my head down, hands on my knees. A voice shouted, "Are you all right? All right? All right?" I straightened up and ran back into the huddle.

"Let's go!" I heard my voice snarl as I slapped my hands. The crowd was roaring and applauding. It was a first down on the fourteen. Ray crouched, waiting. I called a trap-left, away from Day.

I looked at Ray as I called signals. He looked tired, his butt was too low for a good charge.

I handed the ball off at almost the same instant I got socked from both sides, knocked first to the right and then back to the left, to be crushed on the turf. Day was on top of me again. I felt somebody sock me in the ribs with his fist. There were three of them on me. I yelled with pain. Suddenly they leaped up.

I got up slowly, my ribs on fire. We'd lost three yards.

"Who in hell is letting everybody through?" I glared in the huddle. Ten silent faces stared back at me. All right, you bastards, I'll do it alone.

I tried a pass over the middle and got smeared. No blocking. I cursed them out in the huddle. Nobody spoke. I called a quarterback sneak. I drove over left guard; they let me through. I got good blocks, but the inside linebackers came up too fast. My speed was gone, I should have made five yards. I felt the helmet spear my guts. I twisted as the other linebacker missed my head.

I heard the boos as I walked back to the huddle. At first not too loud, then louder and louder as I came nearer the huddle. Then a roaring sea of chanting. The same old Sunday afternoon creeps! Kick you in the balls when you're not perfect. Got to be perfect every play.

All right, Ray, here I come. Grinning. Grin, you bastard!

I faded back to pass.

Lennox! Lennox! Where the hell are you? A hand reached for me. I rammed a fist under a face guard and sidestepped. I tried to roll out, trapped; I whirled, but it was too late. A big guard dived at me, head down. As I stumbled I got hit from the blind side across the back of the neck and the blow of a fist slammed down into the back of my ribs, deep. I twisted, ducked, got hit again, went down. I couldn't move. Screw you! They climbed off me. I staggered over to the huddle.

"Lennox!" I snarled. "Where the hell were you?" He didn't answer. "You better catch this one or I'm going to kick your ass!"

Somebody put a hand on my shoulder.

"You O.K.?" a voice said.

I brushed off the hand, called the play.

There was the crowd roaring and the helmets of the defense waiting again.

I took the snap, started rolling to the left, punched a guard on the side of the helmet. Leighton was covered in the end zone. I spun, started back in the opposite direction, stopped, and looked back at Leighton, coming across behind the goal post. I felt the ball soar. Right straight between the goal post. Right straight for Lennox's hands. Then a monstrous blow came again, and bodies were lying on top of me.

I felt hands lifting me up. I felt myself shaking. Then I was on my feet, walking. I saw Lennox fling the ball on the grass.

Somewhere the crowd was roaring. I staggered.

I looked at my legs. My guts felt busted inside. A great spear. of pain shot through my chest. I must hold the ball for the extra point. I felt myself fall down without at first knowing I was falling. I got up on one knee. The roaring of the crowd sounded louder but far away. I'd done it. What did Clemens think now? I got up on both feet and pain speared me again. I fell down and felt the sweat dripping off my face onto the grass. I felt terrible. I held onto my guts with both hands. I thought my stomach and back were going to fall out. I'd never felt this sick before and so badly hurt inside. I lay down and waited for the stretcher. Well, somebody else would have to hold the ball for the point after touchdown. Screw you, Lennox, you bastard! I did it in spite of you. They were lifting me up onto the stretcher. Lennox stood over me smiling. I shut my eyes.

When I opened my eyes Lennox was still there. I didn't hurt anymore. The room was white. I was in the hospital.

Lennox stood beside the bed smiling down at me.

"You made the big one," he said. .

"You son-of-a-bitch," I said. "How did you do it?"

He put his hands on the edge of the bed and smiled at me.

"You figured it?"

"What the hell else with somebody letting the line leak just enough to get me damn near killed. What did it cost you?"

"Five hundred."

"Two tackles and two guards?" I said. "Hundred and twenty-five bucks each."

"We're even," he said.

"No, we're not," I said. "But now it's your turn."

He grinned.

"I had my turn," he said.

"You won't know it for a while yet," I said.

"What?"

"You Judas bastard," I said. "How do you think I felt all the time after she was killed."

"Shut up," he said.

He started toward the door but he knew already. He was getting the feeling of how it feels to live every day, all day, with the fact that you're a no-good bastard.

-three-

I woke up the next morning with a terrible headache. I couldn't remember going to sleep. They must have given me something, but I knew I'd been hit hard in the head, so they wouldn't have given me a hypo. Whatever it was I had been out a long time. My ribs hurt me and I looked under my hospital gown to see if they had taped me and then I remembered they don't tape you any more for ribs, only for a game if your ribs haven't mended. I pushed the button on the bell-cord. A couple of minutes later an old, ugly nurse came in. The name tag on her breast pocket said she was Miss Clara Brooks.

"Well, well," she said. "You had quite a sleep."

I didn't like her and I don't think she liked me. "Could I have something to eat," I said.

"After you wash yourself."

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

I started to get out of bed.

"No, no," she said. "You're not to get up."

She went into the bathroom and returned with a wet washrag and a towel.

"What's wrong with me?"

"You'll have to talk to the doctor."

"Why can't I get up?"

"The doctor will tell you."

"For Christ sake," I said. I took the washrag and the towel. I washed myself sitting on the edge of the bed. She went out of the room and when she returned, a young nurse was with her. In some strange way she reminded me of Joan Lennox. I felt hollow and lonely all of a sudden. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her. She was quite tall. Her name was Mary Derry. She was blonde and had tawny skin and the most beautiful figure, long, lovely legs, and high breasts pushing hard against the starched front of her nurse's uniform. Her eyes were bright blue.

The pain started in my ribs again when I moved but when I looked at Derry, I forgot about the pain. They made up the bed with me sitting on the edge and when I started to stand on the floor, Miss Derry told me not to.

"Who told you?" I said.

She looked at the old ugly nurse and they exchanged glances while their hands kept busy tucking in the sheets at the bottom corners of the bed.

"Doctor's orders," they said at the same time. "Who's the doctor?"

"Dr. William Sloane."

"What kind of a doctor is he?"

"Medical," said Mary Derry.

"I think I'm going to have a baby, I was hoping for an O.B.," I said.

Miss Brooks made a sour face and wrinkled her nose, but Mary Derry smiled and I winked at her. But she looked away.

"Get into bed now," said Miss Brooks and they both went out of the room, Miss Derry following Miss Brooks.

I waited a couple of minutes and pushed the button on the bell-cord. Miss Brooks came in.

"When do I eat?"

"Not until the doctor sees you."

"You said after I washed."

"Doctor's orders."

"Where's Doctor White?"

Andrew White was the team doctor.

"He's consulting with Dr. Sloane."

"Come on, what kind of specialist is Sloane?" "Brain, if you must know."

"Oh-ho! My noodle got scrambled."

"I don't know," said Miss Brooks.

"I want to see Miss Brooks."

"Why?"

"I know her brother."

"I doubt that," she said sourly.

"Tell her to come in, please."

Miss Brooks didn't say anything. She went out of the room. I rang the bell-cord again, but nobody came. About twenty minutes later Miss Derry came in. Christ, she was beautiful, and what a body. Despite that starched uniform, I could tell what kind of tits she had. Not big melons, but tiger tits, conical with a large base glistening softly to long sharp nipples. No other way would that nurse's uniform stick out so sharply in front.

She knew I was staring at her tits, but she ignored my gaze and looked straight at me.

"How's your brother?" I said.

"I don't have a brother."

"How's your mother and dad?"

"What do you want, Mr. Norton?"

I grinned.

"Well, now, ahhh -"

"You're wasting my time."

"If you haven't a brother, why did you come?" I said.

"You rang."

"That was twenty minutes ago."

"All right. What is it?" She was standing by the door, but the door was closed.

"Come over here," I said.

"What do you want, please," she said angrily, and she really sounded sore.

"You're damn good-looking, Miss Derry."

She drew her lips in faintly and they parted and I could just see the edges of her even white teeth. Her eyes were hot and angry. She turned the doorknob and jerked the door open. She went out fast, but not before I had a glimpse of that beautiful, perfectly shaped ass, and those perfectly shaped legs and slim ankles. My crotch throbbed when I thought how beautiful she looked. I hadn't seen anything that beautiful in years. Down boy. Down. Just thinking about all that white smooth skin of her long limbs gave me a pain in the pit of my stomach and my cock started to tremble and rise. Damn it. Down boy. But my cock couldn't stop thinking about her, either. I felt it huge, congested, swollen, stiff as a ramrod. Already it had lifted the sheet and made a little tent of the blankets. It was standing up vertically from my belly. Hey, knock it off, I wanted to tell it, but it wasn't going to listen to me as long as I kept thinking about the gorgeous ass and tits of Mary Derry. I closed my eyes and started seeing her undressed, trying to imagine her body. I could see her belly, then her soft, hairy crotch, slim, golden hairs, curling softly between the tops of her smooth, white thighs. Then slowly she turned. I saw her dimpled, round ass, with dimples like those in her cheeks. I longed to put out my hand and touch it. How soft and smooth and round it would feel.

Her ass was perfect, firm and muscular. I felt my hand steal under the blankets while I held the vision of her buttocks in my mind. I put the palm of my hand around the shaft. I could just barely touch thumb and forefinger together and in my other hand I held my balls. I lifted the blanket and looked at my cock. The little slit on top of the pulsing head seemed, to look back at me as if it were the eye of a small beast. But what the hell was I to do? The pain in my crotch increased. I squeezed. I hated jerking off, wasting a good hard-on that way. It stood there, vigorous and massive, the unsheathed head glossy and purple, the veins looking like blue worms. The tip touched the bottom of my navel as I drew it back against my belly. I released it and watched it quiver in mid-air. Angrily, I opened my eyes, sore at myself for day dreaming about Derry and sore at Derry for not coming back. I gave my cock a whack, trying to knock him down, but it was still hard for Derry. I squeezed it because it was ready to come and I didn't want it to come, but there was no stopping it. I couldn't control the congestion, and suddenly it exploded in my hand, first with a single quiver, a few drops of semen, and then, bang, pow, come flooded all over my hand. I wiped it off in a fit of despair, using the sheet and lay back and slept.

I don't know how long I was asleep. I thought I was dreaming when a hand, a voice, roused me. I opened my eyes.

"For Christ sake," I said. I couldn't believe it.

Yes, it was her voice and it was she, all right. No dream.

"Hee hee," she giggled, and sat down on the edge of the bed.