The Football Game

Author's Note: This is #15 in the Helena series, and I must always give tribute to my friend "Helena", a beautiful lady here on Lit who has become my muse and my friend in the last couple of years. This particular chapter deals with something uniquely American, and a long-standing tradition, especially in smaller towns and cities in the South. I hope you enjoy it!

Helena 15: The Football Game

As we head down Hwy 321 in the dark, I can't help but reflect on how the evening began. It was very similar to the way it is concluding, I mused. Just a bit of juxtaposition of motivations, you might say.

At any rate, it sure is a great way to finish an evening out, I thought, as I held the steering wheel with my left hand, my right on the back of your head, helping you as you bob your mouth up and down around my hard cock. Just as we come out of the last curve before Townsend, your efforts are rewarded, and I explode into your mouth. Like the champion that you are, you never miss a stroke.

Or a drop.

Yes, a very fine evening indeed.

***************

"You're seriously not going to tell me where we're going, are you?" I can see the look on your face out of the corner of my eye. You're not ticked off, but you ARE a little challenged by the fact that, in spite of you groping my cock through my jeans (thank GOD I am not wearing shorts!) and nibbling at my ear as I drive, I won't relent.

"Nope! It's a surprise! All I'm going to tell you is that you're REALLY going to experience America tonight. The best of it!" I say with confidence, as if my resistance isn't growing dangerously thin.

"Not even if you I offer you the very BEST in British oral sex?" you whisper in my ear. Your hand has crept under the hem of my T-shirt, and it's sliding up. I know what you're up to; you know my nipples are my Achilles heel. Or, well, one of them, anyway. It seems you're finding more of them all the time.

I gulp; my resolve is in danger here! But then my eyes spot the cavalry, coming over the hill. Well, okay, maybe it's not really cavalry, and maybe it's not coming over the hill, but it IS there:

The lights of the football stadium, already on although the sun won't set for another hour or so.

"Back, Redcoat! I have outlasted you!" I proclaim, pulling your hand out from under my shirt. "Now, prepare yourself to be Americanized!"

You turn to look, and at first the sight of these lights has no meaning; you don't see this kind of thing at British schools any more, apparently. And probably not at this scale.

The stadium at Maryville High School holds 6,000 people, not to mention the cheerleaders, coaches, players, medical staff, referees, photographers and police officers down on the field. And they take their high school football very seriously here; Maryville is always a contender for the state title.

"What...what is this...?" I'm just tickled pink to catch you off guard.

"You, my fine English honey pot, are about to experience the most true form of Americana there is: A high school football game."

I'm not sure if I can call that a squeal that comes from your pretty lips, but that's the closest word I have. "Really? We're going to a football game? After all you've told me about them, I can't wait!"

Score one for the bear!

********

We pay the students at the front of the parking lot $5 to park, then we have a bit of a hike to the ticket counter. I'm glad we got here early, though; tonight's game pits the Maryville Rebels against cross-town rival Alcoa Tornadoes. Rivalry games are the best; emotions are high, and the competitiveness runs decades deep. The populations of these two cities together barely top 40,000, and some of these kids go to church together and may even be related, but tonight, they are separated by a field of combat.

We get our tickets, then head to the Maryville side, and we find seats 2 rows up off the field at the north 40-yard line. I leave you seated, then run up to the concessions stand. When I come back, my arms are loaded; part of the football experience is concessions stand food.

"What is all of this? Are you hungry?" you tease.

"Hey, you can't come to a football game and not eat. And you have a LOT of catching up to do and new tastes. From elephant ears coated in powdered sugar to hot dogs to kettle corn, this is what makes America great! (And fat. And unhealthy. And prone to heart disease. And...fun.) I know you won't eat it all, but hey, I'm here to help you! That's just the kind of guy I am! And I haven't had an elephant ear in AGES.

The band comes marching in and files up onto the field, forming a corridor coming from one of the goals out almost to midfield, then turning towards the home crowd. Cheerleaders hold a huge paper sign up, a good 15 feet across, with a message about smashing the Tornadoes, and almost as soon as they get it held up, the Rebels smash through it and run to their sideline, to the cheers of the crowd. Right afterwards, the Alco team does the same thing from the other end, to an only slightly lower roar. Alcoa has won the majority of the state titles in their classification (3A), and while they are dwarfed by Maryville in size (6A), there are never any safe bets on this game.

"So, who do you think will win?" you ask me, but we are interrupted by the announcer asking us to rise for the national anthem before I can respond. A vocal group from Maryville sings our difficult national anthem and does it very well. I can see by the way you're looking around that perhaps this show of patriotism might also be a bit new for you, or maybe just nostalgic. Following the anthem, a student offers a prayer for the safety of all of the players tonight, and then we are seated.

I turn to you, not wanting to broadcast my prediction, especially given our surroundings.

"Personally, I think it will be Alcoa. Maryville's big, but they're a little cocky, and Alcoa is hungry and on a good roll."

"Really? You'd bet against the bigger team? Seems like they're not just bigger in the size of the school; look at some of those boys!"

I smile. There's a lot more to this than just size. It's about heart. "No, I have a pretty solid feeling about this one. Alcoa has a lot of heart, and that's a huge part of this sport. Just watch, you'll see," I tell you with confidence.

You frown a bit. "No, I don't think so. I mean, you can talk about "heart" all you want, but you must be realistic. These boys are brutes, and there are twice as many of them," you point out, comparing the two sidelines.

I sigh...and ALMOST make a big mistake. Part of me wants to explain to you WHY you're wrong, and explain that MY understanding of this sport is a lot greater than yours, and you REALLY should just sit back and listen...

And then I see it. The smirk.

"Well, then, I suppose you don't mind putting your money where your mouth is, then?"

"I'm sorry? My money where my mouth is? What does that mean?" You smile.

"It means, are you ready to make a wager on that?" I challenge you.

"Well, I would, but regretfully, I don't seem to have any money in my pockets," you tease, making a show of patting all of those pockets.

"Uh huh. Well, I suppose..." I draw the word out, as IF I had any hesitation on this idea, "I could be persuaded to offer you...an alternative..." I say, smirking right back at you.

"Really? Now, that would be most sporting of you," you reply. "Pray tell, what did you have in mind?"

I lean in and, cupping my hands to make a space around your ear, whisper loudly my terms.

"Really now! Do you really think I'm that kind of girl?" you reply.

"Well, I'm kind of counting on it..." I counter.

"So, in return, if, I mean WHEN I win, what do I get?" you challenge me.

"You tell me. What's it worth to you? I mean, not that you're going to win, but...just for the sake of having something to laugh about later..." I taunt you.

You respond by mimicking my actions, your hands cupped around my ear as you whisper your terms. Of course, I didn't nibble on your ear after I gave you my terms, but I'm not complaining. I mean, you know I'd give you pretty much anything you asked me for anyway, so this is a win-win for me any way I look at it.

"Oh, you fight dirty. Well, I'm pretty confident, so I'll take your bet. And I'm going to enjoy collecting," I reply cockily.

We sit back and watch as the game starts. I have to give you a running education about the game as it unfolds, which is kind of amusing to me. This is the spunky side of you that I adore: You're willing to make a wager on a game about which you aren't even terribly familiar. Not that either of us will complain if we lose...

Up until halftime, you're still keeping up the taunting, especially as Maryville goes into the locker room with a 10-point margin over Alcoa. "Hmmm, looks like all that "heart" isn't enough after all, is it?"

I just smile, knowing what a difference even a quarter can make, much less an entire half. All I offer you is a "We'll see."

You thrill to the marching band and flag corps demonstration during halftime; such an array of young people working with precision and talent. As the 2nd half begins, you're on a cloud of confidence.

By the end of the third quarter, you're still confident, but two things have changed. The temperature has dropped, and the margin has narrowed to just 3 points. Now you're a bit more subdued, partially because you're huddling close to me under the blanket, and partially because you're not quite so confident in your "big" team.

The two teams trade touchdowns, but Alcoa daringly goes for a 2-point conversion after theirs, and the gamble pays off. Now we have only a 2-point margin. The battle rages back and forth, both teams just trading a few yards around the middle of the field. With just one minute left, Alcoa gets the ball back, and in four plays, gets down to the Maryville 32 yard line. There are now only 4 seconds left on the clock. You start to get a little cocky again.

"Hmmm, looks like somebody's gonna owe me-" I hold my hand up to silence you, and point to the field.

Alcoa's place kicker is a small guy; about 5'10", probably doesn't weigh 180 pounds with rocks in his pocket. What he is about to attempt is a 47-yard field goal. This would be a long field goal even in the pros; very rare in high school games. The kicker puts so much of himself into the kick that he actually ends up on his back. The buzzer sounds while the ball is still in the air. The kicker crambles to his feet just in time to see the ball make it just about 1 foot inside the goal posts. Alcoa wins 39-38.

You just stand there, watching, open-mouthed.

"Did he just..." I nod my head, smiling.

"Does that mean..." Again I nod, and I know my smile has to be coming quite close to my ears.

Your shoulders slump as it sinks in. I know you don't mind what I actually won in the wager; you just don't like losing, do you?

*****

It takes a while to get out of the traffic, which is fortunate, at least for you, because it has gotten quite chilly, and this gives time for the Beast's heater to warm up the interior. By the time we get out on the open road, it's plenty warm for you as you strip off your clothing in the passenger seat.

You tease me a little. "You know, I'd have given you this anyway, if you asked," you taunt me, as you remove your top and unhook your bra.

"Do you realize, I'd have given YOU what you wanted, too?" I shoot back at you. "ESPECIALLY if you did this for me!" I chuckle, struggling to keep one eye on the road as the other takes in the delicious sight of your little striptease. You wriggle out of the jeans, and pause, looking at me. Testing me.

"Uh uh," I say, shaking my head. "The panties, too. The deal was "naked," if you recall," I say, shaking my head. You smile at me; you were going to take them off all along, you just wanted to tease me.

Leaning over towards me, you admonish me: "You just keep your eyes on the road. This is NOT how I want to die." Your hands fumble a bit in the dark, but soon I am raising my hips to let you slide my jeans down a bit. I hit the switches and slide my seat back even more, and lean it back, giving you plenty of room to work.

As you begin to do what you do SO well, I can't help but think, for the 1,000th time...

I love high school football!