Necessary Roughness 3Rd Quarter

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. It involves both real and fictional people and organizations. It is not necessarily an accurate depiction of how the real people depicted are in real life. The real people used are mainly background characters there for context. The central characters to the story are primarily fictional. Any portrayal of a real person has an element of fiction to it and is in no way meant to be an accurate representation of that person.

This story plays out similarly to a sports movie, and sports movies are my primary inspiration. I set the story around an NFL team, specifically the Miami Dolphins. I am basing the team loosely off the 2015 team, including the roster and list of opponents, but some players and coaches - and the schedule itself - will be fictional.

Also, this story depicts very rough sex and a lot of crass language. If you are offended by that or do not wish to read about such topics, I suggest you stop reading now.

Furthermore, this is the third installment of a four-part story. I will get the stories out as quickly as I can. Enjoy.

*****

(November 10, lunchtime, Beacon Hill Elementary, Miami Gardens, FL)

I half expect my phone to ring while I'm eating lunch - today it's from a taco truck that's surprisingly close to my daughter's school - but the call I get today catches me way off guard. That's because it's not from a coach or even a player - I guess the good news is that my starting left guard didn't break his ankle slipping on an oil slick or something.

It's much worse - it's the secretary at Isabelle's school. I recognize the number.

"Mr. Garrett?" she begins - no one I ever want to speak to addresses me as Mr. Garrett. Even Isabelle's friends all call me Coach. So right away, my mind goes straight to oh-shit mode. "I'm sorry; I know you're busy, but I need you to come get Isabelle. She's been extremely disruptive."

I'm not an emotional guy, but as I drive over to the school, every emotion overcomes me - sadness that my daughter's acting up, occasionally overcome with anger, a sense of revenge to whatever little bastard put her up to it, but above all else, just a profound sense of confusion.

I know Isabelle's in a bad mood - and I think I can trace it to yesterday. Gretchen and Crystal seemed pretty happy that Aisha's a part of my life now. Isabelle? She's barely said three words to me since then. She didn't eat any pizza, instead picking at the same piece of garlic bread the whole evening. I know the whole Aisha thing is bothering her. I'm just not sure why - or what it has to do with this.

So I sign in and make my way to the office - go figure; she's waiting, her head slumping, while the principal awaits. I take a seat, a little unsure of why I'm here. Isabelle doesn't even look up.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Garrett," the principal begins - again, a reminder that I don't want to be here any more than Isabelle does. "Normally Isabelle's a great student, but today something's wrong. She's been talking back to her teacher all day, and she got into a shouting match with a few other children on the playground. From what I heard, she used some inappropriate words to describe another child."

I guess I have to put on my dad hat. I turn my chair toward my daughter. "Isabelle, can you tell me what you said?" No really, I need to know.

She doesn't answer me, just angling her head even more. I repeat my request - nothing. Now I'm mad. "Isabelle Lurleen Garrett, you tell me right now what-"

"I called her a fucking bitch, OK?" she shouts - middle name works every time. Granted, she hates her middle name - to be honest, I hate it too, seeing as how Andrea insisted on it when she was born - but whatever works. "I called her a fucking bitch because she is one!"

The principal tries to interject - I put up my hand to stop him. It actually works - may have to do with the fact that I'm 6'5" and ripped. "Can you tell me why she's a bitch?"

"Because she threw a banana peel at me and told me to give it to your girlfriend." Wow, good news travels fast. I look over at the principal - clearly he's unaware of that part of the story, and if he has any sense, he'll agree that this girl got off easy just being called a bitch. He wastes no time - that girl's in the office within minutes.

She knows exactly why she's in the office right away - and it seems to be everything she can do not to piss herself. I'm not here to make mincemeat out of a fifth-grade girl, though, but I admire Isabelle's restraint in not doing so.

I'll try not to act like I'm in some kind of after-school special here, but the last time I had to deal with a racist shithead, it ended up just being a matter of calling the front office, cutting his racist ass, and letting him self-destruct on his own. But Ronnie Vickers is probably beyond help.

She sits down - turns out her name is Brooke. "Brooke, Isabelle told me what you said to her-"

"Look, I'm sorry, OK?" she snaps. "I didn't mean it. Some kids put me up to it." And with that, I let the principal handle it from there because this is a much bigger issue than just one girl and a banana peel. "And Isabelle spit at me." I give Isabelle a hard look - turns out the spit didn't land and Brooke retaliated in kind. Yeah, they're both getting detention - and Isabelle's getting a talking-to.

I ask the principal to excuse us to what appears to be a small conference room - Isabelle follows, slightly less angry.

"Look, sweetheart," I exasperate, "I know you're upset. And I know Aisha has something to do with that. What's going on?"

At least she doesn't expect me to get back with Andrea. "I don't need another stepparent who doesn't care about me," she blurts. "I thought I was the most important girl to you."

"You are," I immediately reply. "And I don't want to bring just anybody around you."

"She's like a princess, Dad," she seethes. "What happens when she expects me to wear dresses and paint my nails like Eddie does? Mom was cool until she started dating Eddie."

And there it is - Isabelle sees Aisha and thinks Eddie. Thankfully I don't - Aisha's far more attractive, for one. And smarter. And classier. And more steadily employed. And she doesn't smell bad. And she's-never mind.

I sigh, a little unsure how to answer. "I get it," I open - I only kind of get it, but let's go with it. "But I promise, Aisha's not like Eddie. She won't expect you to wear dresses or paint your nails or stop playing basketball." And if she does. well, she can stop dating me. "I wouldn't date her if I didn't trust her."

"You just like her because she's pretty," she fires back.

"That's not true," I counter, trying not to sound like a cliche. "I mean, yes, she's pretty. She's beautiful. But she's a lot of other things, too. She's smart, she's hard-working, she's got a good heart." Isabelle at least agrees with the last part, since Crystal likes her.

"She also dresses like she wants to be Beyonce," Isabelle snaps - OK, she's right about that.

"Look, honey," I continue. "I just want you to give Aisha a chance. I promise she's nothing like Eddie."

"How do you know?" she snaps again. "You just started dating her!"

"I've been spending a lot of time with her," I reply. "I spent the night at her apartment after I got back from Houston." Wait, she doesn't know that - oh shit.

"You told me you slept at the office!" she fires back. Damn, I did, didn't I? "You remember when you punished me for lying about basketball practice running late?" I remember that one - she actually was just running out with her teammates for ice cream. I didn't mind that; I just wished she had told me the truth. "You made me write a four-page essay on why I shouldn't have lied." That's true - and since then Isabelle's actually been extremely honest, and I've tried to do the same. Until now, that is.

"All right, sweetheart," I chuckle. "I know where this is going." She looks at me smugly and folds her arms. She's got me - and I've got my daughter back.

(November 15, Sun Life Stadium, Dolphins vs. Patriots)

"OK, honey; enjoy the game," I say to Isabelle. "And the suite. And the free ice cream. Don't make yourself sick. Love you." I hang up with Isabelle - and right on schedule, it's Aisha.

"Well, hello, stud. Are you done being grounded?" A playful look on her face.

I laugh. "I got my essay done, and I already gave it to Isabelle." I'm actually a pretty good writer when I need to be - yes, Isabelle demanded an essay on why it was wrong to lie to her. She insisted that it be eight pages instead of four, since I'm a grown-up and should have known better. She also asked to come to the game - she hasn't been to one yet this year, and her punishment at school was up on Friday with a week's detention. I was never really mad at her for what she said to Brooke - if anything, I was proud of her for standing up to a group of bullies acting like a bunch of ignorant racists. And since she aced her math test and agreed to have lunch with Aisha, I upgraded it to a suite - turns out Isabelle and Aisha like each other. A lot.

"Good. Homework first, then fun after that." And to think Aisha has no children. "And when we have fun," she teases, her hand heading down south, "we have fun."

She grabs my hardening cock and leads me by it into our hiding place. "Damn, Neil," she almost shouts - good thing the door's shut. "How do you wear pants like this with a monster like that in there? I've got to get you dressing better." I've had these pants for years - I just don't buy clothes.

Then without another word, she unzips my pants and kneels. Just as quickly, she takes my cock and starts sucking it. Damn, she's good - just her hands and a few words get me hard. Her mouth all over my cock? She has me at her mercy.

With my pants partway down, she has ample opportunity to dig her nails into my ass cheeks, her usual go-to move when sucking me. I fucking love it - the sting from her nails mixed in with her hard-working mouth sends shivers of pain and pleasure up my spine through my whole body. I don't know where she learned to suck cock - but she's better at it than anyone.

She slaps my ass as I moan louder. She slaps both cheeks hard - she spanks me harder and harder as she sucks me balls deep. I have no idea how she's doing this - and I don't even care. I feel incredible. Fuck, slap my ass, baby.

In no time, she has me on edge, working my ass over as she continues sucking me. Her tongue on my shaft, stroking me, she has me ready to cum. I moan, not even caring if anyone hears me. I want to grab her hair but I know better than to fuck with her work.

Finally, I blow my load, and her mouth works overtime sucking me dry. Every stroke of her tongue has me in more pleasure than I can handle. I watch her work her lips and her mouth all over my shaft, not resting for a moment. Damn she's good.

I almost collapse against the wall as she stands back up, licking her lips. "Fuck, baby," I mutter. "Where did you learn to suck like that?"

"If you must know," she answers. "Years of practice. I had a boyfriend who loved blow jobs, so I got good at them. Just know this, babe," she continues. "This mouth only works for you."

"Same for this cock, you sexy angel," I answer as she kisses me on the cheek. "I'm all yours."

"I know," she shoots back. "But I do a lot for you. I think you owe me. We'll talk about it after the game." I think I know what she has in mind. I can work with that.

I head out, sending Aisha to her suite. The game starts off pretty smoothly - clearly this won't be a 45-0 thrashing like last time. I know this after the opening drive, which ends in Tannehill hitting Jake Stoneburner for a touchdown.

Unfortunately, Tom Brady's twice as efficient, and we go into the end of the first quarter down 14-7, and the half ends with the Pats up 17-10. The Pats get the ball to start the third quarter at their own 20. Brady drops back to pass - hits Gronkowski for a gain of twelve. Then he hits Julian Edelman for another first down - we're back on our heels after another big gain.

The Pats get to our 32, where Brady hands it off - no gain. Second down, he drops back - incomplete. Third and 10, looking at a long field goal, and Brady drops back again. Gronkowski is blocking Ndamukong Suh - and Suh pulls off a nifty spin move and has a clear path to the quarterback. Brady sees him coming - and gets rid of the ball. Looks like we hold them to a field goal, which still makes it a two-score game - and what's this? The Pats are going for it. This is a team that likes to take chances, I guess.

It's a pass on 4th and 10. Brady's under pressure from Wake and Suh. He has Gronkowski unguarded and he gets off the pass - but Wake gets a hand on it and it falls incomplete. We get the ball at our own 32.

Ten plays and 68 yards later, Tannehill hands it off to Knowshon for a four-yard TD, and we're all tied up. We trade three-and-outs until there are five minutes left, and we have it at our own 27. I see Deon jogging out to his position - he seems like something's off. I call him over.

"What's on your mind?" I ask.

"No one's given me the call yet, Coach," he answers. "I'll just block, we'll kick a field goal, we'll win."

"Yeah, you do just that and you'll win us the game, Deon," I answer - then I wait until he's out of earshot. "Bill!" I shout to the offensive coordinator. "Get Deon the ball! Trust me on this!"

Needless to say, the first call isn't the Deon. It's to Lamar Miller, who gains eight. Not a lot different for the rest of the drive, as the offense gets to the Pats' 22 with a little over two minutes left. I'm sweating bullets - we're tied with the Patriots at 17 and we can actually win this thing.

First down, and Knowshon gets the give - no gain. Two-minute warning. Second down, and Tannehill to Stills - incomplete. Third down, and we better not fuck this up - otherwise it's a field goal and praying the Pats don't get a TD to win it.

Tannehill drops back - it's a textbook play. The O-line is a wall; no blue jerseys are getting through. Tannehill has all day - and wide open in the end zone is Deon Wright. Tannehill spots him - perfect strike. Touchdown Dolphins, and we're up 24-17. Deon has his first touchdown catch, and it's a game winner against the Patriots - the Pats go down in flames on their ensuing drive, and we win the game. I save the game ball - hand it to Deon. I don't think I've seen a grin on any player's face since...well, ever.

"I think this is the start of something big, Coach," he tells me. I know it is.

"Not bad for an undrafted guy out of a school no one's every heard of," I answer, jokingly - I don't think he finds it funny.

Turns out Ohio University is a little bigger than I thought - it's no Auburn, but it's certainly not some school no one's ever heard of. "I have an idea," he finally answers, the first time he's had one of those as a Dolphin.

(November 21, Ohio University Airport, Athens, Ohio, 8:30 am)

We're fresh off a much-needed win over the Patriots - their first loss of the season, it turns out, not that we needed any motivation to beat those bastards - and now we're only an hour from Philadelphia by airplane. Fortunately, Deon can afford a charter flight even on a rookie salary, and since it's Deon, he got a screaming deal. I'm surprised he didn't use a Groupon. From what he's told me, he's not spending extravagantly at all - he sends money home to family, yes, but but he saves probably the majority of his paycheck. Even compared to me, he's exceedingly frugal.

So a private plane - even one he got cheap - is a rare splurge for a guy like Deon. For him, though, it's worth it, and he had it planned since the start of the year. Joining him, other than me and Aisha, is Jordan Cameron, who's in a wheelchair, and a couple of practice squad players, no doubt thrilled to be on a private charter.

The first stop, after the rental car counter, is the middle of town - I need some damn coffee, and we end up at this place called the Donkey. Everything about this place is weird and quirky - turns out Deon's from here. This kind of also explains the hat - Dolphins logo, of course - and the sunglasses. And the shyness about using his debit card - no need for that; I pick up the tab for coffee.

And for lunch - at a pizzeria called Goodfella's. Like the movie - what a town. Isabelle would love this place, I think, as we continue on in the general direction of the football game - it's Miami weekend, as in Miami of Ohio, alma mater of Ben Roethlisberger. Imagine that - today I'm rooting against Miami.

The game goes pretty well in the first half, with Ohio - the Bobcats, apparently - playing well enough to take a 10-7 lead into the half. Then the halftime show begins - and Deon demands my attention for the show.

I've seen good bands before - but nothing like this. Apparently they have YouTube videos of these guys - they dance, they have insane choreography, it's a hell of a show.

I don't get much time to enjoy it, though - a radio person apparently recognizes Deon, and he gets dragged up to the radio booth. And he takes me with him. I'm not prepared for this.

Neither is Deon. "We're live with a surprised Deon Wright, in town for the game today before heading back to Philadelphia to join the Miami Dolphins in their game tomorrow with the Eagles. Deon, what is it like going from undrafted free agent to starting tight end for the Dolphins?"

Deon hesitates a bit. "I just wish it didn't have to happen like this, with Jordan Cameron going down." Yeah, you and me both. "But it's been awesome. We got a win and we still got a shot at the playoffs."

"Who's here with you?" asks the announcer.

"Coach Garrett, my position coach," he answers, matter-of-factly, as if he'd rather I spoke.

"Coach, how has Deon changed since he got to Miami?"

"Well, he's changing me a lot, too," I answer. "I didn't know there was an Athens, Ohio until last week. And already I've eaten Goodfella's pizza and gone to a Bobcats game. But Deon's come a long way from the guy who dropped a pass from my daughter." He seems stunned - and Deon's embarrassed, covering his face. "He's not dropping passes from Tannehill, though."

The rest of the interview seems to go a lot better - Deon speaks up a bit more, and we watch the rest of the game before heading back to Philly for the game tomorrow. The Bobcats win 20-10, so we leave on a good note.

The plane ride back to Philly is almost too short - I could get used to being carted around on a private plane. The way there, though, Aisha's giving me an odd look. I wonder what she has up her sleeve.

She leads me by the hand to her hotel room - we typically have our own on the road, but it looks like I'm crashing with her tonight. I don't mind a bit; I'll go anywhere with my gorgeous girlfriend.

She leads me into the bed - and instantly whips off my shirt. Then she whips down my pants before I have time to react, though the only reaction I'm capable of is my hardening cock.

"Mmm, I like what I see. I think I'll keep you in these more often." She's referring to my underwear, which she bought me before the trip - a pair of tight-fitting bikini briefs. She's fully dressed, of course - designer business suit with matching heels - and I'm wearing nothing but these briefs.

She reaches into her purse - and again, I can barely even move, she works so quickly. "I told you I need some love, too," she scolds. "I suck your cock before every game. It's my turn, fucker."

Right away I feel a cold snap on my wrists - and I can't move them. She's got me handcuffed, my wrists behind my back. "You think I'm so sexy, don't you?"

"Yes, baby," I answer. "You're the sexiest woman I know. I'll do anything you-"

She slaps me hard. "You talk when I tell you to talk. Now get a good look at this." She strips down, revealing a black leather bra and crotchless panties that show off her ass. She models them for me as I stand at attention.