Tackling the Team (The Vassi Collection)

by Marco Vassi

  “Does it hurt, baby?”‘ Sandy asked.

  And for the second time that day I started to cry. “Yes, it hurts,”‘ I said, holding her hand, but I wasn’t referring just to my ankle, but also to a deep ache in my heart.

  That night I dreamt of Tony. He stood before me naked and I knelt in front of him, his erect cock close to my lips. It began to throb, and he started to cum. But instead of sperm, hot scalding tears cascaded from its single blind eye.

  Seven

  The ankle wasn’t broken, but before I was able to use it again, I had missed the following week’s game. I began to understand the significance of what Roger had told me about the cohesiveness of the team; it was like being part of a large family. I was pampered, sent flowers, and reassured by everyone from the President to the water boy. I spent ten days back in Sandy’s and my apartment, recuperating, and when I was completely healed flew from there to Los Angeles to meet the team for their third game. They had won their second match and had become the sportswriters’ favorites to take first place in the league and go into the superbowl with the champions of the Eastern Division.

  During the time I was laid up I had plenty of opportunity to think about my life and where it was heading. The encounter with Tony had proved to be profoundly unsettling especially since I received no word from him since. My feelings about him remained formless. I had always thought him attractive, but only as one of my potential sexual conquests. Now that he had revealed the deeper level to our relationship, one which I hadn’t even been aware of, I didn’t know how to think about him. It was difficult to differentiate guilt from desire, and I wasn’t sure how much of what was troubling me was from my own sense of self or from the images he had imposed on me.

  One afternoon, I stood for some time in front of a full-length mirror, examining myself to find what it might be in me that Tony had responded to. It was a foolish exercise, and yet what is time for but to experiment with? “What is it, Julie?”‘ I said to my reflection. “You’re obviously pretty and have a sexy body and a good mind, but you’re not that much different from a thousand other women who surrounded you on campus. Jeff certainly had no trouble finding anyone he wanted to go to bed with him, yet why was he so taken with you? And Tony is turning out to be an extraordinary man who has at least three beautiful women chasing him; what makes him find you so special?”‘

  I lifted my tits and pushed them forward, watching them swell, the smooth white skin bulging around my dark pointed nipples. “Is it these? These sacs of fatty tissue?”‘ I brought my hands down to my cunt and parted the lips, exposing the pink interior. “Or this? This tiny wrinkled slit?”‘ Spinning around I tilted my ass up and saw it in the glass, the twin round globes iridescent around the dark soft crack. “Or this? Evolution’s practical joke?”‘ I walked up to the mirror and pressed my lips against it, licking the glass with my tongue, making pools of mist with my breath. “Or is it my mouth they desire?”‘

  I stepped back in consternation. None of that made any sense. Those were things that any woman possessed, some in a more aesthetically gratifying way than others, but on that level we were all interchangeable. Was it then some quality? Many of the men had commented on my wildness, my capacity for lustful frenzy. That had turned Jeff on, but Tony had relegated it to the category of the incidental. I remembered his saying that it had no importance if it became the plaything of every man who came by.

  No, there was something that was more than the sum of my parts, and I could only call it my uniqueness, my individuality, my me-ness. In the way that the mirror could not see itself, so I could not be aware of that essential aspect which was so utterly myself that I must remain blind to it. Only another could see me in that space, and it was precisely the person who did perceive who truly loved. For he or she then called an entity out of its condition of formlessness, who, in a very real sense, created a conscious human being where before there had only been an instinctive functioning.

  This train of thought brought to mind passages from various texts I had studied in my philosophy and psychology classes, and for the first time I realized that I might have done myself real damage by leaving school. While I believed that the experience I was gaining on the team was invaluable, I sensed that I could derive more benefit from it if I had the tools of analysis to assist me, and the writings of people who had pondered life deeply to guide me.

  As though we were in telepathic communication, my father sent me a letter which I received the very afternoon of the day I stood wondering about my life before the mirror. I had written him about my quitting school and becoming a cheerleader, and had mentioned Jeff, speaking about him as a lover, but had not gone into any details concerning my extraordinary sexual activity. His note was brief and, although acid in tone, comforting.

  “Dear Julie,”‘ he wrote, “Asininity is a prerogative of the young. So is a sense of independence. Guard against early marriage, pregnancy, and venereal disease. Your mother, as usual, finds your vicissitudes too boring to comment on. Should you desire to return to the academic structure after this complex fling, we will honor our pledge to see you financially through your Master’s. I have never offered you the false security of assuming that my wisdom is any greater than yours. I have simply observed more patterns than you, that’s all. Should you falter, you will always have a refuge here. We are not effusive, as you know, but we care deeply for your welfare. Your brother has gone mad, but since he is expressing his insanity in a socially acceptable format, he is enjoying himself immensely. I find some slight vicarious titillation in imagining the orgies you must be attending. Remember that intelligence is the highest good, and the rarest accomplishment. Affectionately, Carl. P.S. We shall watch the next Seattle game on television to see how well you have learned to leap.”‘

  My period of isolation and the knowledge that my family, if they did not precisely approve, continued to accept me as a daughter and would sustain me if things got too rough, restored my sense of well-being. I decided to put the incident with Tony on a shelf at the back of my mind. He seemed to show no inclination to follow up and I wasn’t going to lay myself open to him in any way. I felt healthy and sane and looked forward to the further developments of the season. I didn’t know what the future held, and that was exactly what I found so exciting. As far as the notion that I was becoming the slut that Jeff had branded me, I was ready to pursue that to its final conclusion. Already it was apparent that this was a phase, and I knew that unless I cycled through it completely, I would regret my timidity for the rest of my life.

  In short, I had integrated all that had happened up to that point, and was ready for more action. I had no way of knowing what that would be, and if I had had any suspicion of the horror in store I might not have made my decision so jauntily. As with so many things in life, I began a new round with enough renewed vitality and sense of integrity to bring about an explosive erotic evening. So delightful was it that it made me too sure of myself, of my ability to control the forces which were already swirling about my feet.

  The team was met by a particularly tough Los Angeles squad, and the ensuing game was punctuated with penalties and fistfights. There were few fireworks as the players settled down to a grueling ground game, each side rarely able to even churn out a first down. That, coupled with my sense of pleasure in being in Los Angeles again, plus the welcome-back attitude on the part of everyone on the team, catapulted me into an inspired cheerleader performance. I threw my heart into my movements and shouts. And when, with four minutes left to play, our quarterback called for a kick from our thirty yard line and instead uncorked a surprise pass to Jeff, the crowd went wild, lifting me up with them. Los Angeles was taken completely off balance by the fake kick, and when. Jeff caught the ball midfield, there wasn’t another man near him. I screamed myself hoarse as he hit his stride and began speeding downfield, bounding over the earth like some mythical steed. And it was with a thunderous roar in my ears that I w
atched him cross the goal line with what proved to be the winning touchdown.

  The final few minutes involved perfunctory play as a re-charged Seattle defensive team came in to hold Los Angeles to no gain. The gun went off as three of our line-backers swarmed all over the opposing quarterback and smashed him into the ground with the ball still in his hand. Since I had been fucked by each of the men in that play I felt an especially personal thrill in the victory.

  My ebullience was augmented when, as I was coming out of the dressing room after changing, I was approached by Larry Plains, the fullback, a gorgeous black with enormous shoulders and a waist almost as narrow as mine. He was called swivel-hips because of his ability to spin away from would-be tacklers, and I had had my eye on him for some time. Although I was not consciously prejudiced, there was still that part of me which wondered if and how a black man would be different in bed. And from the look in his eyes, I figured I was about to soon find out.

  But he invited me to Frank Williams’ house, to have dinner with Frank and his wife and three other couples. Frank was the star quarterback who risked so much calling the fake kick deep in his own territory, and as far as I knew he didn’t fuck around at all. For an instant I wondered why Larry was inviting me to what appeared to be a staid evening, but decided that he might want to spend some time with me socially before fucking me, and that was enough of an oddity to intrigue me.

  Frank and his wife had apartments in a number of cities so they could be, as Laura Williams explained, “at home wherever we go.”‘ Their place was surprisingly chic for what I imagined was a square couple. The dining room was sparse, and we ate out of bucketsful of Kentucky Fried Chicken, washing it down with a good red wine. The other couples were relatively strange to me, all the men forming that small percentage of the team which seemed to be, if not happily then at least, securely married. I was on nodding acquaintance with all of them, but had never met their wives.

  The meal went cheerfully, with everyone recounting anecdotes of the day’s play. At one point Larry slipped his hand under the table and stroked my thigh, and I breathed a bit easier with the feeling of being on familiar ground. After Tony, a man who wanted nothing more complicated than to slide his hard cock into my randy gap provided welcome relief.

  After eating we went into the living room, which proved a real surprise. There was nothing in it but deep pile rug and large throw pillows. The lights were so low that it was difficult to make out another person’s features at a distance of more than five feet. Music came from somewhere, a drum recording which sounded like Olatunji underwater. Given the texture of my life, I don’t know how I could have missed what was happening, but so strong is the power of pre-conception that with my notion of these people as married squares I was completely blind to the purpose of the evening.

  I sat on one of the pillows, resigned to another hour or so of chatter, when Melanie, the wife of Harvey Engram, sashayed to the middle of the room and began doing a slow bump and grind. For an instant I didn’t perceive it as anything but a bit of spontaneous dancing, but in a few seconds her movements began to be more sharply defined. Her broad ass, caught in a tight velour dress, circled suggestively, while her shoulders shook back and forth, causing her full-bellied breasts to sway. I guess I still didn’t understand until she brought her hands up and slowly peeled the dress off her shoulders, letting it slide down her sides. And before I could grasp the fact that she was stripping, her creamy and pink-tipped tits were totally revealed.

  “Bravo,”‘ shouted Jim Reynolds, one of the other players.

  I half-turned toward Larry, to confirm the suspicion that had formed in my mind, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Melanie, who had now eased the dress down her thighs, showing the full bristling bush which covered her thick-lipped twat.

  “What’s the matter, Julie?”‘ Frank called out, “your eyes are popping out of your head. You act as though you’d never been to a party before.”‘

  “But, all you people are . . . married,”‘ I said, the last word slipping out before I realized how foolish it sounded.

  The laughter that met my remark, however, was good-natured, and Larry reached over and put his arm around me. “Honey, these people are all swingers,”‘ he said. “I thought you knew that.”‘ He looked at me for a moment and then went on, “You didn’t think I was inviting you to just a dinner party, did you?”‘

  I nodded. “I’m afraid I did,”‘ I said.

  “Well, hell,”‘ Larry sang out. “I’m flat-out flattered!”‘

  And once again the room rang with laughter. By now the men had begun to remove their shirts and unhook their belts, while the other women were shrugging themselves clear of their dresses.

  “It’s O.K., isn’t it?”‘ Larry said in a low voice. “I mean, I assumed that you would be into it.”‘

  “You mean, with my reputation?”‘ I replied a bit acerbically.

  But I didn’t give him a chance to continue, wanting to get the flow of the event moving. I had, of course, heard of the phenomenon of swinging, but had never given it any detailed thought, and now I was curious to see how these couples operated in their effort to have their cake and eat it too.

  “It’s O.K., Larry,”‘ I said. “I feel like I’ve just been given a surprise party.”‘

  To underline my words I pulled my blouse up over my head and flung it to one side, sitting there with my bare tits pointing out toward Larry’s gleaming eyes. I saw him form the word “beautiful”‘ soundlessly with his lips before he leaned forward and cupped each of my breasts in his two powerful hands. I looked down and caught my breath to see the stunning contrast of his jet black skin against my pale white flesh. The visual impact was even more thrilling than the sensations caused by his fingers rubbing gently over my nipples.

  I must have become lost in reverie because I didn’t notice that the others had all gathered in front of me, and I looked up to see eight naked men and women lying and sitting all around Larry watching him stroke my breasts. I think I may have blushed, for the moment was quite stark.

  “Can we see it?”‘ said Laura Williams.

  “See it?”‘ I repeated.

  “The tattoo,”‘ she said, “we’ve heard so much about the tattoo.”‘

  “Fuck the tattoo,”‘ said Jim Reynolds, “I want to see that young pussy.”‘

  “Don’t be crude,”‘ said his wife Karen, admonishing him as she might a schoolboy.

  I began to reply but before I could say a word a dozen hands were at my waist, unhooking the button and pulling the zipper down and finally snaking the pants off my legs. They all pressed in close to see, and I heard a chorus of muted oohs and aahs as they examined the scarlet stigma rising like a flame out of my pubic hair. Someone whose hands had been fingering the letters ran his hands lower down and began tickling the edges of my cunt lips, causing me to squirm. But Larry dove in and pushed them all aside.

  “My date,”‘ he said imperiously, “and I get firsts.”‘

  He had undressed and his body was even more commanding naked than it had been even with full gear. I had seen him run many times and wondered how it would feel to hold those churning hips in my hands as his cock plunged in and out of my pussy. In the dim light he looked like a smoke demon and I lay back almost in awe as he knelt between my thighs.

  “We can help, can’t we?”‘ said Susie December, the wife of the fifth man there.

  “Just leave me her snatch and you can do what you want with the rest,”‘ Larry said.

  Laura Williams lay down next to me and began caressing one of my breasts, her soft hand stroking the firm flesh gently. “Don’t feel picked on,”‘ she whispered after sliding her tongue in my ear sending shivers down my spine, “it’s just that we’ve been together a hundred times and you’re the new asshole in town. So naturally everybody wants a taste of you first.”‘

  They moved around m
e like a well-rehearsed theatrical group. Harvey put his cock in my right hand and Tom December put his cock in my left hand. Jim knelt by my head and slipped his half-erect cock between my lips. One of the other women began to suck my other breast, and the others positioned themselves in various spots, so that my belly was sucked and my ass fondled. Before long I was covered with attention, my entire body subject to one or another form of touch.

  At first it wasn’t specifically exciting, partially because everyone was so methodical and matter-of-fact, but the sheer volume, of flesh and level of energy wasn’t too long in having an effect, and in short order I was beginning to lose my mundane sense of self to an identification with the erotic current, a tingling warmth which brought my skin to life and slowly burned more deeply into my insides. My breath came more quickly and Jim’s cock swelled to full erection and he pumped it back and forth slowly into my mouth. I licked it with my tongue, wetting it, making slobbering noises, as with each hand I stroked the thick rods that had grown stiff with my fondling.

  A finger went into my ass and I began to squirm, suddenly catching on to the erotic mood like a person climbing aboard a bicycle after many years and suddenly remembering perfectly how to ride. Tony’s treatment of me and the ten-day period of solitude had removed me from a sense of sex, and now, with a grateful rush, I was recapturing it.

  “Get the bitch hot,”‘ Larry whispered. “Get her good and wet and hot.”‘

  “The bitch,”‘ I thought to myself. “There it is again. That’s all I am to him, to these people.”‘ And almost simultaneously with that idea, another voice popped into my head. “This is no time to get finicky,”‘ it said. “You’re here to enjoy a friendly orgy. Be a hot little cunt and enjoy it.”‘