Football Buddy Part One
- 1 year ago
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A Football Sunday free porn video
Copyright © 1994 By Roxanne L. Green
I grew up with Ray, but he'd gone to a private school so I didn't know him very well. That was a situation I'd recently resolved to change, but hadn't had much success. I was surprised when he invited me to a Sunday bar-b-que and football watching party. I quickly accepted his invitation.
We were to gather around 10 am, for the first game. The bar-b-que would be during half-time of the early game. Then we'd all sit around and talk and snack and drink and watch the second game, before the hometown team played in the 5 PM Sunday night game. We'd fire up the bar-b-que again during halftime of the night game.
It was a chilly November day. I dressed three times before settling for a mid-weight wool sweater, not too low cut, and matching brown slacks, jogging shoes and brown wool socks. I rang the bell at 10:15.
Ray let me in, we exchanged hugs, and he gave me a peck on the cheek. He helped me off with my jacket and hung it in the hall closet, then escorted me down the four steps to his den. It was a very nice room, with a 35 inch television set against one wall; and a large C-shaped seating pit of attached couches -- the kind that appear to all be one piece of furniture -- opposite. One wall had tables with cheeses, chips, veggies and dips and other assorted munchies. An ice chest was open next to the table with an assortment of bottles and cans on ice. Coffee was brewing on a sideboard. To the right of the television set was a fireplace, complete with a roaring fire. Out the glass door on the patio was a gas grill, and a table with plates, glasses and utensils. Beyond the patio was a pool and hot tub.
There was nobody else there, but clearly Ray had prepared for more. "Who else is coming?"
"My twin brother Red and his wife Ellen are bringing Dave and Norma from the old neighborhood. They'll be here about 11."
I'd never met Ellen, but I knew Dave and Norma from high school, where they'd been sweethearts.
I filled a plate of veggies and dip and took a Coke; then settled myself at the end of the couch nearest the fireplace. Ray sat across from me. The early game was on, but neither of us were really watching it. We talked about "the old days" in the neighborhood. We talked about nothing, and everything.
The first half ended; the phone rang simultaneously. I was amazed the time had passed so quickly.
Ray answered the phone, groaned, and returned to the couch. "That was Red. He and Ellen had a fight; they're not coming. Dave and Norma got involved in it too, and they aren't even speaking to each other."
I briefly considered if I wanted to spend the whole day alone with Ray, in his house. Sure, I quickly decided; he was a nice guy, and we'd had such an interesting conversation, and I did want to get to know him better. "I guess that means it is just me and you. Would you like help putting away some of the extra food?"
We spent half-time putting away food in a surprisingly well equipped kitchen. I noticed a platter-full of steaks and a salad in the refrigerator, and the entire bottom shelf had more cold beer, soft drinks, juice and wine.
"It looks like you were ready to feed a big group."
"Yeah. Too bad for them, they'll miss a nice feed. Shall I fire up the grill?"
"Sure, if you're hungry. Otherwise, I can do quite nicely with the snacks on the table until dinner."
"OK. Shall we go back to the game?"
This time, I sat in the middle of the couch, and Ray sat next to me. The conversation turned to the game. We got to discussing strategy, and I decided I knew at least as much about football as he did. Of course Ray had played the game, so he didn't think I knew all that much.
It was third and seven, the ball on the opponent's thirty, midway through the third quarter; the visitors had the ball, eighteen points behind. "OK, Ray, this is a passing down, what do they do if it is incomplete?"
"Easy, they go for a field goal."
"A dollar says they are in four down territory and they go for a first down, if the pass in incomplete."
Obviously, he thought I was easy pickings. He took the bet, the pass fell incomplete, and they passed on fourth down, ending up on the seven yard line.
We spent the next little while making bets. That dollar passed back and forth a few times before I had to get another when I lost two bets in a row. We were having a good time, making silly little side bets, on a meaningless football game.
At a point when I held both dollars, Ray said "You think you know so much about football, lets see how smart you are. Is the next play going to be a run or a pass?"
Immediately I said "they want to run the clock down, it'll be a run."
"Sure?"
"Sure."
"Bet you my shoes against yours it is a pass."
"You're on."
It was a screen pass.
Ray hit the remote, turning the game off, and slid to the floor. He untied my shoes, then removed them, squeezing my feet as he did so. With a smug look, as if to say I didn't know anything about football, he sat beside me. We talked more football.
I don't know whatever possessed me, but at the next obvious passing situation, I offered "my socks against your shoes it will be a pass. In fact, it will be a complete pass!"
Ray took the bet, and the ensuing draw play gained twelve yards.
With a big smile, he turned, pushed the off button on the remote, slid back to the floor in front of me, and removed my left sock. He slid his hands far up inside my pant leg, way beyond the top of the sock, and ran his nails down my leg until he came to my sock. When he pulled it off, he gave me a delicious foot massage. He put my left foot down in his lap. I couldn't help but feel a bulge under my bare foot. As he removed my right sock, my left foot was gently moving up and down on his erection.
When he stood up, his erection was obvious.
"You are not much of a strategist. Want to make the next bet one of pure chance?"
"Talk to me; what do you have in mind?"
"The first play from scrimmage after we turn the set back on; will it or won't it gain four yards? You pick it."
"And the stakes are..."
"My shoes against your sweater."
"No Ray, dear, my belt against your shoes."
"No fair, I'm not wearing a belt."
"We haven't established how far this little betting game is going anyway, so your missing belt may not even matter. I'm thinking my limit may be three losses anyway. My belt for your shoes; and I say the next play from scrimmage gains at least four yards."
Ray pushed the button on the remote, and the picture came back on as the offense came from the huddle. The quarterback got sacked.
He pushed my knees apart and got between my legs, pushing my shoulders down to the back of the couch. He brought his hands slowly -- ever so slowly -- up my legs, past my hips and to my belt buckle. Ray fumbled with the buckle for longer than he needed to; slid his hand under my butt and lifted me until I came in contact with his chest, and pulled on the buckle until my belt slipped out through the belt loops. As he put me down, his hand lingered on my behind.
When he sat down and turned the set on, the first game was over. It was a few minutes to one, and the second game hadn't yet started.
I got some cheese and crackers, and this time I took a glass of white wine. "You want something while I'm up?"
"A beer please."
I took a big gulp of wine, topped the glass off, and brought Ray his beer. As I sat down, I said "I'm not sure how far this game is going."
Ray followed up with a line women have been falling for for generations. "We won't go any further than you want to go."
The trouble was I wasn't sure how far I wanted to go. I'd wanted to get to know this man better for months now. In fact, truth be known, I'd wanted to know him a whole lot better when I was about eighteen, but he was going out with somebody from his church. But did I want to know him THAT well today?
When the second game came on, the decision was almost made for me. Looking back, it seems he was trying to give me at least one win. On a first and twenty-five, he predicted "a first down on the next play. My shoes for your sweater."
I knew if I took the bet, there probably wouldn't be any turning back, but this early in the game, it was a dumb bet. Mentally I counted garments, he probably had six -- five after he lost this silly bet -- and I had four. "OK, I'll take the bet, but that doesn't mean I'm going to keep betting all afternoon."
The offense did the logical thing, and took the short pass underneath that the defense gave them, and got thirteen of the needed twenty-five yards.
As I knelt between his legs to remove his shoes, I couldn't help but notice his state of excitement. I could also feel myself getting wet.
The next bet was his socks against my sweater. After a punt runback to the two yard line, I bet the offense would score a touchdown on this possession. Three consecutive runs into the line lost eight yards, and they settled for a field goal. As he removed my sweater, his mouth was all over my bra. I liked that. I liked that a lot!
I figured this was my last graceful time to stop. If any more clothing came off, I knew there would be no stopping before it was over. My bra was not designed for support; I was firm enough to go without one. It was an almost opaque thin peach colored number designed to show the shape of my nipples under a t-shirt. Exposed to the open air, it gave a good view.
Ray spent quite some time looking at me before he turned the TV back on. The teams were lining up for a kickoff, so I knew something had happened.
Ray said "If there is a runback from the end zone, I'll bet the offense gets the ball outside the twenty."
"And if there is no kick into the end zone, or if there is a touchback?"
"Then there was no bet, and we'll figure out another one. My socks for your slacks?"
"No Ray, let's make this bet an interesting one. If it is to be my slacks, than it has to be against your trousers."
The kick was way deep into the end zone, and for some unknown reason, the receiver ran it out. He fumbled the ball out of bounds on his own thirteen. "YES!"
I got between Ray's legs again, and grasped his penis in one hand while pulling down the zipper tab with the other. As I pulled at the legs of his trousers, his Jockeys came down a bit, and I slipped a hand inside one leg. He was definitely ready.
Now the score was four (socks, shirt, undershirt and shorts) to three (bra, slacks and panties). My bra, being almost transparent, only served to postpone the loss of my panties.
Ray's erection was straining the fabric of his Jockeys.
"Do you want to let the next bet be another pure chance one? My socks for your slacks. Another four yards from scrimmage guess?"
"OK, you pick it," I told him.
"The offensive team will gain four or more yards on the next play from scrimmage" was Ray's prediction.
When the TV came on, it was first and goal from the three. "I'm going to win this bet," I said with a big grin.
Just then, the whistle blew. "Delay of game, five yards," said the zebra. Ray had a big smile on his face as the eight yard touchdown pass was caught in the far corner of the end zone. He turned off the set.
"Stand up," he said, as he offered me his hand.
I did as directed. He knelt in front of me, on one knee. He did as I had, one hand holding my crotch, as the other slowly unzipped the zipper. His thumb massaged my clit as he unsnapped the slacks. My open zipper was right at face level. He slipped the garment slowly down my legs, with his mouth on me, front and center, where it did the most good. He maintained contact, his tongue busy the whole time, as he lifted one of my legs to take my slacks off that leg, then lifted the other, leaving me standing there in just bra and matching panties. As Ray stood up, he knew I was a brunette all over.
I got a second glass of white wine. Ray declined another beer, but joined me at the table for a carrot stick and a coke. I debated taking the carrot from him and deep throating it. I chickened out.
It was a few minutes past five. The Sunday night game was about to begin. Our hometown team was the visiting team. Ray turned to ESPN, and we watched the kickoff, the bet momentarily in the background, but definitely not forgotten.
Our coach was definitely a loose cannon. He wasn't anywhere nearly as predictable as most coaches. As long as his teams won, nobody cared. At least nobody but me, because I was looking for a good bet, and I had a couple of things riding on my bet. We had to punt. We pinned them deep, when the coffin corner kick took a home roll, out of bounds at the two.
We had the league's best defense against the run, and the third-best against the pass. They had a below average offense. "I bet they go three plays and punt. My bra against your socks and your shirt."
"Just my socks."
"I didn't think I could get away with that."
The fullback smashed up the middle and got them three yards of maneuvering room on first down. Predictably, they threw a short pass on second down; completed, to the tight end. He made a great move on a linebacker, and he was gone. Oh shit. Ray was cheering as the safety drove the receiver out of bounds at our thirty-four, a sixty yard completion. A reprieve. The play was coming back. "Offensive pass interference, number eighty-two, half the distance, repeat second down!" The quarterback threw the ball away from the end zone, avoiding a sack by the slimest of margins. Third and nine from the three. I expected them to try and gain a few yards on the ground to give their punter some room to kick. Screen pass, to the right... INTERCEPTED! TOUCHDOWN! Both Ray and I were cheering. What was going on?
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