| Straight: Celebrity: My Footballing Fantasy (1/4) |
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This fantasy is about Tottenham Hotspur's number 5, David Bentley. For those of you who don't know him, google him, he's gorgeous, LOL. First story, hope you enjoy it! ___________________________________ "Damn!" I hang my head in frustration at the missed chance, knowing it cost us the Co-Ed Rec Football League championship. I know I need to at least pretend to have a decent excuse, so I reach down and adjust my laces, and I can feel the eyes on my ass in my little football shorts. This gets me squirming a little, but I shake my head clear and focus on the match at hand. "It's ok, keep your chin up," I hear from Rachel, one of our midfielders, who gives me a reassuring tap on the rear and we move on with the game. A few minutes later, I redeem myself. A ball squirts out to me on the edge of the box from a corner, and I slam it home, giving us the lead. This proves enough to win it, and the Rangers are the city champs! After some congratulatory hugs and high fives, we agree to meet out our favorite pub to celebrate. I walk over to my car, which is parked way off in the corner of the lot. I glance around and don't see a soul, so I strip off my sweaty jersey as I reach my old clunker in favor of a t-shirt sitting on the backseat. "That was some finish back there," I hear from behind me. I wheel around, and am stunned with what faces me. Precociously mussed up brown hair atop a thin, but obviously muscled body, and a confident smile. Flustered, I barely stammer out "Ar...are you...?" He laughs and nods his head. "I really am David Bentley, not just some imposter. But as I was saying, that was a hell of a finish out there." "Thank you," I say, suddenly remembering the fact that I was standing in front of one of my idols in my sports bra. I blush deeply and reach into my car for that shirt. David continues explaining, "I was just out on a run around the park, and couldn't help but to stay and watch the match. You're a fiery little winger, aren't you?" I blush again (or is it still?) and murmur "Thank you, I've played all my life in that position and...." David steps a little closer to me and whispers, "You know, you didn't need to put that shirt on, I rather liked that bra on you." My head is truly spinning at this point; do I really have one of the sexiest footballers in England coming onto me? I feel his hands on my hips, fingers toying at the hem of my shirt, and I know for certain that I do. I let myself go, and reach up to his lips and kiss him, pressing myself into his strong chest. He slides a hand down to my bum and gives it a squeeze. "Did I mention that you're damn sexy on a pitch too?" he smiles at me. I break away and ask him for a second, ducking behind the car. David looks puzzled, but likes what he sees when I come back: I rid myself of that shirt he didn't like, and yank off my cleats and shin guards. "Better?" I ask, |
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Hmmm
