[:::: Authors Note ::::]
I've written what I believe are quite a few emotional rollercoasters over the past year. They take a lot of time to write, to see each scene in my head and try to translate that into words on the page. I've got a few more of those up my sleeve, but I thought it might be nice for a break. Do something a little lighter, and perhaps a little shorter. Thanks to TexDom for the pre-read and feedback.
[:::: Watching the Game ::::]
Once a month, my good friend Andrew and I headed to a local pub after work to grab a burger, a beer and shoot the shit while watching Friday night footy.
Tonight, we were watching the Brisbane Bronco's verses the Melbourne Storm. As Queensland natives of course both Andrew and I cheered for the Bronco's. Before the game started, we'd ordered food. Andrew had a steak while I had a wood fried pizza and both of us were enjoying the digestion over a second pint. Well, I was enjoying a pint of beer, while Andrew was on soft drink as opposed to beer since he was on call. He was a senior constable with our local police station, having gotten a transfer six months ago from headquarters following a messy divorce. Me on the other hand, I was a lawyer, I had just made partner where I worked, was married to the love of my life and thought I was an all-around good guy despite my profession.
Andrew and I were arguing the strategy or lack thereof, of kicking the ball into touch after halfway on the field when he got a call.
"Sorry mate," Andrew told me a minute later as he put his phone down. "I've got to head in. Raincheck for next Friday?" he asked me.
I waved him away when he tried to hand me fifty dollars to cover the meal as he stood.
"Don't worry about it," I told him. "Bring a bottle of something nice to my place next Friday night when we watch the Cowboys stomp the Tigers."
He smirked putting the money back in his pocket, grabbed his jacket and then gave me a serious look before letting his gaze linger over my shoulder for a moment.
"Just take care of yourself. I take it you have noticed ol' roid boy with the hard on for you. He's been staring since he came in five minutes after us?"
I nodded, taking a swig of my beer. "Yeah, he's hardly taken his eyes off me," I replied. "I know I'm a good-looking bloke and all, but he's not really my type."
Andrew laughed, "Don't stress. Joe's got your back if you need a hand," he said nodding towards our barkeep who had known us for a few years. I didn't turn and look, but I could assume that Joe would have returned Andrew's gesture.
A minute later, Andrew was out the door and I leant back in my chair with my nice cold beer and focused on the game.
In my experience, Australian Rugby League is a fairly unique game as far as national sports go. They don't pad up like they do in American Football. And the side is pretty much the set for most of the game. It's a full contact sport where teams complete in full on battle in two forty-minute halves.
It was a close game tonight. Melbourne had the hometown advantage and this season they had been doing a lot better than the Broncos. But tonight, I hoped that we could pull one out of the bag with the way the Broncos were playing. Currently they were ahead.
I was watching the fifth tackle kick that Melbourne did from their own twenty-meter line when the guy that Andrew had noted was watching me, sat down in the seat Andrew had vacated. We had chosen a bench in the middle of the pub floor tonight, perfect for two people to eat and chat. Andrew had called him ol' roid boy and that was what he looked like. He looked like he was one of those guys that worked out at the gym almost three times a day, pushing his body to extremes, he had bleached blonde hair, no neck to speak of and even while relaxed, the veins in his arms could be seen clearly like he had been working out for the past three hours.
I gave him a cursory glance in his tight white tee as he sat down with his tonic water. Likely a mixer with gin or vodka and I tried not to snort at the visage of the stereo typical meathead as I looked back to the game. I cursed as I watched my team fumble the football resulting in a forward pass and a penalty against them.
"You know I'm fucking her," ol' roid boy said to me suddenly and without introduction. His eyes never glanced at the game or anyone else they were solely locked on me.
I glanced sideways at him.
"Sorry?" I asked liked I hadn't heard him.
"You heard me," he told me as a huge grin spread over his face. "I told you that I'm fucking your wife. I'm fucking her and she loves it,"
For a moment I said nothing as I gave him the eyeball. He did nothing but smirk back at me. Oh and he flexed one of his biceps, the not so subtle hint that he would wipe the floor with me if I tried anything.
I looked at him another moment, before the noise from the game distracted me. The Bronco's had just made a beautiful play and made it to within twenty metres of the try line.
I grunted, a little disgusted, "Good try dickhead."
I turned my full attention back to the game and took another swallow of my beer.
"It's true," he said, sneering at me. "Your beautiful redheaded wife. You know the one with the sterling blue eyes, and the beautiful freckles that run down her back. Or how about I tell you about the little tattoo of the twin dolphins jumping over the moon on her left back shoulder blade?
His statement made me take my eyes off the game and look at him. He smiled triumphantly, knowing he had my attention. Yes, my wife did have that tattoo.
"All right then Dickhead," I asked him. "What is it that you want?" He was now smiling like a conquering hero, But I was looking at him like a used piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. But ol' roid boy never noticed my dark look.
I heard a groan from the room and swore as the Melbourne Storm made a break, running almost the entire length of the field scoring four points directly under the uprights, bringing the score between the two sides within a try of each other. It really was a close game.
"Just that I'm going to take her from you," he told me matter of factly, still not caring about the game at all. "I love her tight body, I love feeling my cock buried deep inside her as she moans for more. I mean, last week I was running my hand over her tight abs as she ground her pussy on yours truly. She is a minx that knows how to fuck. For that alone I am going to take her from you."
His statement caused me to think about Janie. The hours we had spent making love. How I loved staring into those deep blue eyes as her legs were wrapped around my waist and she milked me for all I was worth. The more I thought about her, the more I smiled at Roid boy's description, that feeling of ecstasy I had at the thought of my wife.
Unlike meathead here, I had known my wife since fourth grade when her family moved into the area. Within a week of her starting school, we were best friends. Our mutual attraction too strong to ignore. When puberty and hormones hit, it was a given we would start dating, our families never giving more than a token resistance to our budding romance.
I still recall the day that Janie and I gave ourselves to each other, the awkwardness of our coupling despite months of mutual touching and exploring in the lead up. The wickedness of doing it late at night in an open field out the back of nowhere, scared that we were going to be busted. That knowing look our parents gave us over the following month. They were precious memories to me, to her. This guy had no idea.
I thought of how the giving of ourselves brought us closer together, that since then most of the time, you couldn't get a sheet of paper between us even while we were both studying through university. We were both driven individuals, me studying towards my law degree and Janie with her nursing degree, but never once did it get in the way of our affections for each other. I thought back over our wedding, that amazing day where Janie and I officially belonged to each other, our families celebrating the union.
Then I thought through some of our more recent challenges. But I didn't think we had lost any of our love. If anything, I had thought we were closer. I recalled our last fight and smiled. Janie had started taking off her clothes and I had asked what she was doing. When she told me to undress because we were going to disagree. I only barely hid my smile at her demand, seeing my wife's nudity never ceased to get a reaction out of me and she knew it. Janie had a thing that we should fight naked because nothing would be hidden.
I smiled absently while roid boy watched me, him not knowing I was recalling the discussion and what came after our disagreement had ended.
He must have got tired of waiting and had been snapping his fingers in front of my face for a good ten seconds before it brought me out of the erotic memories and back to the here and now.
As my eyes focused, I smiled at the man who had proudly proclaimed he was fucking my wife. I watched as he lost a little of his bluster, not expecting my reaction.
"So," I said as I took another swallow of beer, "How do you know the woman you're boning is my wife?"
He bustled a little as we sat at the pub bench following my response, then squared himself like he was readying himself to fight.
"Last Friday I saw you and her driving in town," he told me almost a little dejectedly, like it was unusual for Janie to be seen out with me, her husband. "The two of you sat beside me at the lights and were laughing with the windows down in your fucking Mustang, joking like you didn't have a care in the world. It royally pissed me off as you drove away, and she didn't even look my way to see me in my much nicer Mercedes, right beside you."
I watched as he took an aggressive sip of his drink. I noticed the lime in it. Pretty. He smiled seeing me watch him before setting the drink down in front of him in an overly expressive gesture. I glanced back at the screen, not giving him the reaction he wanted.
"So I decided to find you and have this little chat," he told me, pretending I was still looking at him. "Let you know that I'm going to put the full court press on her and that there is no way you will keep her for much longer."
I just about spilled my now half empty beer at his comment. "Full Court Press," I snickered and turned towards him, ignoring the fact that the Broncos were in line for a try on the far right of the field.
"Seriously," I said. "What type of idiot throws words like, 'Full Court Press' out in front of people. You're not some suave Casanova that women beg to take them to bed. Hell, you're not even a pretty boy. You're an over stimulated, drugged up asswipe that thinks too much of himself, spends too much money to get laid and has a dick that is likely so small thanks to your steroid taking that you likely wonder why you can't ever make a woman cum."