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Blake

Updated on September 23, 2016

Blake

I was waiting to see that flash of desire in her eyes. You know, the thing all girls get when they look right at me for the first time. But I swear to God all she had was some kind of disapproving glare in her clear blue eyes.

She looked almost good enough to eat in her strapless red top and elegant black pantsuit. Her hair was long and blonde and her skin was tanned golden brown. She looked a bit like a goddess in disguise; like you’d be able to fuck her back to glory with no problem. She’d obviously not had any action in the bedroom for a while. I could discern this immediately from the way in which she touched her hair and glanced over my physique in a fleeting, give-away moment.

“What’s up baby, what do you want to know?” I said and gave her my most winning smile. I did the trick with my biceps; flexing them in such a way that it appeared to be an involuntary display of magnificent muscle. That would certainly melt the ice queen, I thought as I watched her closely for a reaction.

“How does it feel to be the symbol of male chauvinism to a generation of young men?”

I have to admit she had me stunned there for a moment. No “How do you feel after that magnificent victory?” or “Please explain how you managed to throw that perfect split-second pass that won the match.” Just a straight face as she basically accused me of being a bastard.

I kind of liked it.

I would never say this openly, but I always thought people made a bit too much of football matches. “How does your goddamned football compare to me getting up at four in the morning to go work on a construction site to feed you and your sisters?” my old man used to say and I could hear his voice making that accusation in my head, even as I stood there in my moment of glory.

“Well, well. Quite a feisty one,” I said and noticed that my smile was still having no visible effect on her. I nonchalantly dropped the towel from my waist to reveal eight inches of the most sought after man meat in town. If she did not fall for that she had to be a lesbian, I decided.

It was then that she did the thing that probably hooked me. She looked down and, with only the slightest hint of a smile, she said, “Don’t take out your toys unless you want me to play with them, big boy.” It wasn’t just the relief of finally getting through to her; it was also the way in which she managed to remain professional - and slightly disapproving - while she briefly flirted with me.

I felt the excitement of the chase rising in my chest. This was going to be fun and I was going to take down this ice queen, even if it took me all season. That was the promise I made to myself as I shot some of my tailor-made answers at her, all the while watching the rise and fall of her firm breasts beneath her red little top, which was now beginning to show some signs of sweat.

“Why don’t we go for drinks some time so I can give you a better insight into the wonderful world of Blake Bradley?” I expected her to come up with some scolding remark again, but to my surprise she handed me a business card.

“Call me and we’ll set it up”. She wanted to be hunted, clearly.

“No problem baby, I’ll be giving you a buzz before you know it”. I swear she almost gave me a full-on smile right then; holding out her neatly manicured hand for me to shake. Then she was gone, leaving me highly intrigued and slightly horny.

It was time to go see what the cheerleading squad was up to.

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