The Curler

The following story takes place during the 2003 United States Curling Women's Championships in Utica, New York. It is a work of fiction.

It was roughly 10 PM when I walked into the bar. I was a newbie sports reporter with the New York Times, sent to cover the United States Curling Women's Championships. My editor thought it would be a hazing ritual but to be truthful, I had all but volunteered. I was an amateur curler myself, and was an avid supporter of the US Olympic Curling Team.

Normally when I tell people that I not only enjoy curling but participate in it, I get one of three responses. Some would feign interest, others reply, "Oh that sport that's not really a sport?", but a marginal few actually cared. These are the select few that see curling for what it really is, part shuffleboard, and part broomball (In my college days, I often added a third part, "Homemaking", in a sarcastic reference to the sweeping done on the ice.). Many refer to it as "chess on ice"; a reference to the tactical skill required to accurately place a slab of granite on a sheet of ice.

I was in the bar looking for some warmth and a nice drink. It was there when I saw her, Debbie McCormick. She was the captain, or "skip", of the Women's Olympic Curling Team, and her team was favored to win the tournament. She was also one of the reasons I started curling. I developed a sort of crush on her in my youth. I watched her during the 1998 and 2002 Winter Olympics. I was mesmerized by her skill, her grace, and her rack. She was heavier than most, but was made cuter by it. She had shoulder length brown hair, and deep brown eyes. I was entranced by her skill grace on the sheet; her ability to be cool under pressure, and her willingness to stay positive in the most hopeless of situations.

I walked up to her booth, and with a quick smile I asked, "Are you Debbie McCormick?"

She replied "Yes, and who might you be?"

"Brian Toreno. Amateur curler and avid fan." I extended my hand to her.

"You forgot 'reporter'." She quipped, pointing to my press badge.

"I'm off-duty, I promise; no tape recorder on me. I just wanted to talk strategy as a fellow curler."

"Well buy me a drink and we'll talk all night"

After several drinks, talks of strategy turned into discussions of life outside of curling. She spent most of her time curling, never truly developing a life that didn't involve the game in some way, shape, or form. What little time she spent off the ice was spent with friends who were constantly trying to set her up with various men. Those that were willing to handle her "curling first" attitude were few and far between, with the rest not being worth pursuing. What had begun as a discussion of various maneuvers and sweeping styles had quickly morphed into a chat between two friends, nay, two potential lovers.

"Tell you what," she said, placing a hand on my upper thigh, "want to head over to your place and talk more there?" I was already walking (Sprinting would be a better term.) to the bartender to close my tab.

It was only a few blocks to my hotel, so it was a fairly short walk. When we reached the lobby elevators, we both looked at each other and began giggling. While we were both mature adults (Her 29, me 24.), but we were both acting like two college freshmen having their first hook-up. The elevator came and we stepped in. Once we were sure nobody else would be joining us, I hit the button for the 4th floor and we began kissing. At first they were long, loving kisses which quickly descended into deep, passionate kisses. I could tell she had wanted this for a while. We reached the floor of my room, ran to the door, pushed our way in, and immediately headed for the bed.

She all but tackled me onto the soft mattress. Straddling me, she sat up and we began to undress each other. Shirts went to one side of the room, pants to the other. I moved above her and began kissing down her soft, warm body. Kisses on the chest, turned to kisses on the belly, turned to kisses on her panty-covered, dripping snatch. In one quick motion, I pulled her silky underwear off her and without skipping a beat drilled my tongue into her slit. She moaned a deep, heavy moan. I almost came right then and there.

My fingers replaced my tongue as I moved my mouth up to her clit. The walls of her vag were constricting and I knew she was close. I quickened my pace and was rewarded with a scream.

"DON'T STOP, DON'T STOP!" As she came, I slowed my pace and removed my fingers. I began my ascent back to her in the same fashion as I had descended. As her breathing returned to normal, I moved in for another kiss. She quickly took control of the situation, climbing on top and straddling me once again. As I removed her bra and took a nipple in my mouth, the softly began to stroke my manhood. She leaned into my ear and whispered, "Are you ready for this?" I smiled and moaned back, "Oooooooh yeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh" in a voice not unlike Isaac Hayes.

She positioned herself above my cock, and gently guided it in. Once she was confident she could take all seven inches, she sped up. Moving up and thrusting down hard, she was impaling herself on it completely. She bounced up and down on my cock, her gorgeous tits swinging wildly as she rode me. I thought she looked so hot, riding my cock like a cowgirl with beads of sweat cascading down over her hot body. I reached up and grabbed two handfuls of her perfect tits, again twisting and pulling her nipples as she impaled herself again and again on my hard cock.

I heard her breath began to quicken again and knew she was about to cum again. I moaned slightly, trying to bring myself to cum. I wanted to cum with her. She bit her lip, and moaned; her vag clenched up again as I let myself cum. We both moaned in unison, creating a beautiful harmony. As my cock began to soften, she sighed and moved to lie down next to me. We snuggled under the sheets of the bed and began kissing again, only this time just soft, delicate kisses.

As we lay there spooning, I asked, "So, is the rest of the team as accommodating as you?"

"Hehe, maybe, probably more so after I tell them about tonight."

As she drifted off to sleep, my mind began to wander. I had just hooked up with my teenage crush, something most men never even think will happen. Some guys fantasize about Jessica Alba, others dream of Alyson Hannigan. I had not only rejected the pack mentality in that fashion, but was rewarded for doing so. I closed my eyes, and slept peacefully.