Author's note: This is tied for my favorite of the dozen stories I've written so far. It's a slow-paced and gentle exhibitionist/voyeur CMNF tale with a splash of romance and likeable main characters. There is much embarrassment and groping, but no sex. I worked hard on this one and really do hope you enjoy it!
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I grew up in Florida and have been a beach rat for most of my 25 years. You could always find me down at Clearwater Beach until college, playing soccer on the beach by the pier or just hanging out, then later at Siesta Key when my Dad moved us down there to be near a job in Sarasota. I made money giving tennis lessons and running little boat and snorkel tours for families on vacation, and generally enjoyed the easy life. The beaches are awesome, the beauty of the famous Tampa Bay quartz sand exceeded only by that of the rich tourist girls flocking south from the eastern seaboard. I had myself a few flings with those that found a Florida beach bum an intriguing and distracting interlude in their lives, but nothing had developed seriously.
Soccer (more sensibly, "football" in the rest of the world) became an influential force in my life when I was in middle school. I picked up the game seriously and it soon became clear that I had talent and a chance to excel, so I was launched on a trajectory towards becoming a possible somebody in the sport. This fed my dreams for a few years until injuries in high school blocked me from pursuing a college scholarship. First the knee, and then just as I had recovered from that, a heinous ankle shattering-bones sticking out of my skin-from taking one too many stunts on the skateboard. Just like that, I went from a possible somebody to a nobody. I missed two seasons in a row, and that was the end of the college recruiting window. Devastated, I let the sport slip from my life for a few years after that, not even watching the European leagues.
But soccer in my life didn't end there. I went back to it just a couple years ago after being motivated by the World Cup, and started getting traction in local competitive leagues. I love playing the game again, and hanging around the game. Play hard, then smoke a joint afterwards watching the sunset over the gulf. I'm a pretty chill guy and I like the different people you meet in the game and their approach to life. I'll play almost anyone as long as afterwards I can feel the grass or sand between my toes and the sunshine on in my face afterwards. And if they aren't dickwads, of course. We have our share of those.
Down at SCF, State College of Florida, they put in some beautiful soccer fields for the women's varsity teams on a flat marsh, with only a busy street separating them from the beach. A multi-story parking structure on the other side leads into campus. When I got an apartment nearby, I liked to hang out there and try to find pickup games instead of fighting my way to the main fields across town. The women's coaches weren't too happy about us locals coming into their turf, but as they got to know us, they realized we weren't that much in the way, and as long as we didn't interfere with their schedule, they usually didn't kick us out.
One late afternoon, towards the end of the women's season in the fall, I was running drills on one side of the women's field with three other guys. The sunlight took on a beautiful metallic blue tone as it reflected off the ocean. It was one of those magical evenings with the breeze rolling in-cool and dry, even, which is rare in Florida. We broke up when the last rays slipped under the horizon and it starting turning dusky, and my buddies had to take off, anyway. In Florida, it's still reasonably warm on a late November evening but it gets dark early due to the season and they hadn't put lights in yet for these fields.
There was one other group still playing on the far side of the field from us, two girls and a guy. I took a long look at the ocean and then over at them, because I hate to leave when there's more game to be had and also, to be honest, I had nothing else planned that night and didn't want to face going back to an empty apartment. A prickle ran over my skin and I felt an excitement that something unusual might happen tonight.
I sauntered over, standing nearby to watch them casually. You can't be like some tourist rube straight from Ohio interrupting with a dorky, "Hey guys, can I play?" hoping you can crash in.
The dude was legit. I didn't know him and I knew most of the starting SCF varsity men. Maybe he was second string for the varsity, or on the club team. He was a shorter guy, looked to be Southeast Asian, tan and good looking, playing without a shirt in the cool evening air and showing an obvious ripped six-pack and rounded biceps. He was quick. They were running a drill called a "three person passing combination," in which each player passes the ball and then runs to a new position in an intricate pattern over a small rectangle on the field. It was fun to watch players who knew what they were doing execute this drill.
The two women were also well skilled. They were SCF varsity team members, I could tell by the two-toned blue and green SCF swirl tank tops which were dead giveaways. Normally, the women's coach wouldn't allow her players to defocus during the season with random pick up ball like this, but this year State had a unexpectedly poor season and was eliminated from a playoff chance early. So the mood was subdued as they prepared to finish off their last few games. The coach probably didn't even know the girls were out here letting off steam.
I watched a few rounds of the drill. The shorter girl was spunky and slightly built, looked to be of Chinese descent but definitely American-born by her banter. She was probably a quick defender. She looked over at me, evaluating. She might have seen me playing with the other guys earlier, or else she just assumed from my confidence that I could ball. In any case, I must have passed her quality bar because she yelled out to me in a raspy voice from across their little drill rectangle on the field.
"Hey. You want to fill in and play two-on-two?"
"Yeah, love to!" I replied, and jogged over to join the guy near me.
He held out a hand. "Mike."
"Joel," I replied in turn, in usual curt guy fashion.
The talkative Chinese girl waved a hand and said, "Jade". Her partner was tall and dark-skinned, with long arms and legs. I bet she could bend the ball real good when playing forward. I couldn't tell in the fading light if she was Indian or African American. Maybe some kind of combination. She mumbled something that sounded like "Preesha" but that's probably wrong. I never got her name, so I'll just call her that for this story. She was pretty, also with a lean build, and long black hair tied up in a bun.
Both girls were athletic, of course, which is always sexy. Jade wasn't unattractive but you could tell she made more coin with her spunky personality than her looks. She already was in banter mode, with the sass turned on to what I assumed, correctly, was her normal full throttle.
"Joel, see if you can keep up with us. Mike here has trouble keeping his fucking legs moving fast enough, that's what I'm seeing."
