Disclaimer
Any similarities to persons and events are purely out of imagination.
*****
It was the business end of the playoffs. The Cheetahs had a poor start but made it up in the middle. Tomorrow was going to be a crunch match with the Wild Eagles. Smithy was going over the practice and the Sheikh was in no mood to sweat it out. It was more the off field action that was always on his mind. He ran thru the score in his mind, fuck, if had I had a wicket for each pussy, I would have had the purple cap by miles.
Nursing a local lager, he let his eyes do the roaming. A couple of mischief gals, an off day for them, returned the Sheikhs appraising glance with a wink and a wave. He returned the wave, and contemplated moving over, to join them. On second thoughts, if they are hotting for my shtick, let they water a bit. He returned to his beer but shifted his ass on the bar stool to better keeping them in the corner of the view. He noticed them looking expectantly at him a couple of times, but ignored them. His reputation outpaced him. At the same time, they were well stacked, and one was a mixed color broad with high rump. Need to keep them on string, he thought, so he rolled off the barstool and swaggered over to their table, and said, Hi dolls, be right back, and found his way to the men's.
Stepping out, he heard a familiar voice call out his name. Turning, he spotted Sandy Babe, in a fluster. Fuck, the romps we had in the last IPL 08, he recalled. Bitch has a hard body and goes long. Sandy looked like she needed a lay right then and there, the way she was heaving. Wassup, babe?, asked the Sheikh. Don't babe me, I need your help, putting her arm into his and guiding him towards the bar. En route the MGs looked shattered, but the Sheikh have them a wink and drool that promised something, enough to get their tickers aflutter. Some juice down under too.
Iced tea for me, ordered Sandy, to the bartender, who was drinking her in. Her recent boy cut and slim down, made her look like a Thai TV, but that was okay. Memories of world cup 2003 was still in his mind, and the daily jackoff with her on TV was like yesterday. Hell, she is here, in front. Wish I could take a break. The Sheikh raised his finger in a crook, and that was his signal to spike the dame's drink. He knew a fat tip lay in store for him.
He went to the back and got the bottle of special tea liquer out and mixed the iced tea. One of them, and any bitch would be in heat for hours. Bringing out the tall glass, along with another punt for the Sheikh, he set down the drinks, and was rewarded by a glimpse of Sandy's nipples. Sheikhs arm was already around Sandy's waist. Wasn't wasting any time, this old tweaker. Sandy was complaining about some unwanted attention from Kameez Pajama bloke. She was almost in tears and red in the face, as she was recounting him groping her in the elevator. I got him in a ball breaker grip, before the mother fucker gave up. He must be having some plastic surgery soon. Hope the surgeon castrates him. Anyway he gets his arse buggered by the Pakee team, bloody fag, she added. Oh Sandy, you are the foxiest vixen here, can't blame the old men, can you, replied the Sheikh, wondering what was really on Sandy's mind. She was a twister, a she devil, with more to it than that came out. She loved to get pampered by lesbians, and was a hard core bi. The Sheikh loved group action and was wondering if she had noticed him with the MGs and wanted in. The kameez story would be the tearjerker entry line, no telling this bitch.
The Sheikh noticed the MGs fiddling in their pockets to pay for their check, and signalled to the captain to pick up the tab on his account. You could tell that the MGs were looking for it, they came over and each gave tweaker a kiss and a hug in thanks. Sit down, whatcha doing later, asked the Sheikh. Oh not much, the rest of the gals are out at sea doing some fishing. Must be the boatman fishing, and not in the waters, thought the Sheikh.
The chocolate one and the blonde occupied stools on either side of the Sheikh and Sandy. The Sheikh could tell that Sandy was in the crossover point, and this was as delicate a stage in the game as the super over. No maidens here, he surmised.
Just then Appam chutiya strolled in, with Prince and Bublee a few yards behind. Ask his age, chuckled Sandy to the Bartender, obviously high already. Appam glared at Sandy and walked off in a huff. Go jerk off, chutiya, behenchod murmured Sandy.