I hate to admit the site of dozens of really cute, buff guys (usually, with their shirts off) is more fun for me to watch than the actual game. I've often wondered if the university charged admission and let the female students sit in bleachers, closer to the players, how many might show up? I'm guessing they might be surprised. I'd buy a season ticket! Soooo much eye candy!
On this day, however, I got busted. One of the student assistants saw me leaning against the fence, watching practice and smiled.
"Wanna come in and watch practice?" he said."Uh, no," I stammered. "I'm just supposed to meet my girlfriend here. As soon as she gets here, we're supposed to leave."
"It's okay," he smiled. "She'll still be able to see you when she gets here."I blushed and shrugged. He walked over and opened a gate in the fence and motioned me in. I felt a shiver up my spine as a walked closer and stepped forward onto the spongy, soft grass of the practice field.
I was nervous as a cat and thought somebody would start yelling "hey, what are you doing here?", but nobody paid any attention to me. There was lots of running and yelling, it was all very confusing, but I stood with the guy who'd let me in (his name was DeMontez) and watched as he patiently explained to me what was going on, the purpose of the drills and who the star players were.
It was all very exciting and I wondered if I would end the day with a great story to tell my girlfriends at Happy Hour. A couple of the players would occasionally glance my way and a few of them actually smiled at me, but the level of intensity and focus they devoted to their drills was a little frightening and at the same time very sexy. The warm sun made the sweat glisten on their bodies and I started to feel like a little girl in a candy store. Which one did I like the best.
You could tell a lot about the various guys by how they practiced. Some were slow moving and lackadaisical, some were serious and determined and some were cocky and joking. My guess is about 80% of the guys on the field were black and they were the ones that drew my eye. I couldn't help staring at them. They were so graceful and so comfortable with their physicality. It was all so easy for them! I couldn't understand how they could make such complex moves so easily, while for me, just hitting a tennis ball across a net seemed to require too much physical coordination for such a gawky, little white girl.
After about 30 minutes, my host asked me if I wanted to see what it looked like inside the field house next to the practice field.
"Can I do that?" I asked nervously.
"Sure," he said. "We give tours all the time."
"Okay," I grinned.
We walked inside the large, sunlit atrium of the building where the athletic department offices were located. Down a corridor, DeMontez open doors to show me the auditorium where team meetings were held, classrooms, a video library and a computer lab where the athletes would study or watch tapes of opponents. It was all very sleek and modern.
He looked at me conspiratorially and whispered. "....and this is the locker room..." and ushered me through a double door.
"I can't go in THERE!" I hissed.
"Sure you can," he said. "They're still out on the practice field." We slowly crept into the wide, carpeted room, surrounded by wooden lockers around the edge. Across the upper third of one wall was a mural of the university's name and mascot and on various pillars there were inspirational mottos saying things like "play like a champion" and "if our destination is success, the journey begins now."
Suddenly, there was a rumble of noise behind us and my escort looked at me. I could see the panic in his face as he took my arm and quickly pushed me to a corner of the locker room where a wire cage stood with shelves filled with tape, bandages, pads for various body parts and spare shoes and helmets. The cage was dark and in the shadows, we hid, hoping that no one would see us. But in the brightly lit locker room and the showers beyond, I could see everything clearly. I was shaking as the players began to file in, laughing, joking and begin to strip heavy layers of tape from their hands and ankles.
"Don't make a sound," DeMontez whispered. "If the coaches find out I brought you in here, it's the shit for both of us!"
Slowly, the players began stripping off their practice uniforms and I began to shiver as a succession of men in various states of undress filed past, right in front of me. Some of them laughed and joked in their tight, tiny little spandex bike shorts, the outline of their penises clearly visible through the sweaty, soaked fabric. Others stripped completely naked and simply strutted around the locker room, unabashed, completely comfortable with their nakedness in a way neither I nor any girl I knew would ever be.
I couldn't help but stare. They were big, sexy, muscular guys and I lusted after them like I'd never lusted after a guy before. I wanted to run out of the cage, rip my clothes off and pick the hottest guy I could find, telling him to impregnate me with his sperm, I wanted to have his baby! I could feel my face getting hotter. I could also feel my pussy getting wetter.
Now, I wasn't a virgin, in fact, I'd lost my virginity in high school to my boyfriend in the back seat of a 2006 Toyota Carolla and it wasn't a very pleasurable experience. But, none of the guys in front of me now would even fit in that Carolla and I wasn't sure if any of the penises I was staring at would even fit in me!
Jordan (my h.s. boyfriend) wasn't even in the same species as these guys. I remembered his cock as being skinny and pink. These guys were big and thick and chocolate brown. I wanted them. I wanted to touch them in the ways a woman touches a man and I wanted to please them in every way I could imagine, making love to their cocks with my fingers, my mouth, my pussy. Maybe even my ass...?
I saw one large guy begin to move closer to the cage and my breathing got heavier the closer he got. When he reached for the door, I couldn't help myself.
"No, wait...." I whimpered.
"Motherfuckin' shit!" he muttered.
A couple of the players looked up. "Whassup, man?"
"Dey's a BITCH in here!" he said.
"How'd you get in here, white girl?"
"Um, I'm sorry ...I kinda took a wrong turn..."
"Naw, you took a RIGHT turn, baby..." one said and began reaching around and patting my ass. Another reached for the hem of my tank top and began pulling it up over my head.
"C'mon, girl, 'dis is where we shower, so you got ta shower, too..."
"No, wait...."I said, protesting, but my protests didn't sound all that convincing, even to me.
Quickly, amid gales of laughter, they undressed me, until I found myself standing in the middle of them, stark naked. I looked over to see a large, broad shouldered black guy sitting on a bench to my right. He was staring at me, smiling, wearing his spandex bike shorts. When it stood up, the massive bulge in his shorts protruded, his giant erection straining under the fabric. I thought his cock would poke through the waist band of his shorts.
He was so unlike my boyfriend, it wasn't even funny. A giant, muscular, stud with rippling chest and stomach and thick arms and legs. As he moved toward me, I could see the desire in his eyes. I knew that whatever happened next, he would enjoy it. I wasn't sure I could say the same for me.
"What's yah name, babygurl?" he said.
"Krista," I said. He took my hand and placed in on the front of his shorts. I instinctively grasped his penis, gently massaging him as he looked down on me, smiling.
"You want this, don't yah, babygurl?" he said, caressing my hair.
I hesitated, keeping silent as I continued stroking him.
"Yeah, I want this," I whispered. "I want your cock inside me." A chorus of "yeah, baby" and "'dat's what I'm talkin' bout," went up around me.
He took my hand off his cock and led me over to a white board against the wall. Wiping it clean, he handed me a marker.
"Write your name and what dorm you're in," he instructed. "And write your phone number, too."
"W-w-what for...?" I stammered.
He smiled. "'Cause I'm gon' fuck you, Krista and when we're done, you gonna be wore out. But, 'dese otha niggas gon' wanna hit it, too and we gon' make sure they know the number to call when they want yo' sweet, little pussy..."
My hand was shaking as I wrote my name, address and phone number on the board for all the world to see. But, I knew it was my public statement, my admission that more than anything, I wanted to make myself available for these beautiful, sexy men. I wanted to be their toy, their plaything, their mascot and I wanted them to use me for their pleasure.
I stared at the floor after writing my name, until he took my hand and led me to the bench in front of his locker where he'd been seated when our eyes first met. He put his hand on the back of my neck and pushed me over into a bent position, my hands braced on the bench in front of me. I looked up to see the clothes hanging in his locker and my eyes saw the nameplate above: #58 Washington.
I took a deep breath as I felt him place one hand on my hip and he began rubbing the head of his enormous cock along my ass and against my pussy lips. I closed my eyes and prepared to receive him and I felt a brief smile spread over my lips.