by PN Books
Lauren closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them, Cara was gone.
No, she wasn't gone;she was walking down the tunnel with Cody's huge arm around her shoulder.
What happened? Lauren said to herself, confused and hurt. Things had been going so well between them. How could she just walk off like that? Before Cara disappeared down the tunnel with the big beefy quarterback, she glanced back at Lauren. Tremors of pleasure rippled through Lauren's body. She could feel her pussy getting wet. So wet.
*****
When Lauren finally got to her locker, there were about a hundredreporters waiting for her. Their microphones looked like knives sharpened with blood lust. She trembled, swallowed hard. And then the barrage began, questions flying at her skull. The reporters, most of them men, most of them despising her from day one, had revenge in their eyes. This was the moment they’d been waiting for. This was their chance to put this bitch in her place, once and for all.
“Do you think that a male kicker would've made that?”
“Do you still think that you deserve to be on the team?”
“Do you feel like a phony?”
“Is it true that you're currently dating several professionalfemale athletes?”
Dazed and confused during this onslaught of insults and insinuations, Lauren was nearly knocked out by that last question.
Was she currently dating several female professional athletes? What the hell?
Two hundred supersized, sadistic eyeballs glared in at her, hungry for a juicy headline-making response, their gluttonous mouths gaping open.
They would swallow her whole. Or maybe they would slowly carve her up, plucking the hairs, removing the bones.
“No, I'm not dating anyone,” Lauren said. “And I've never dated a –”
“Okay guys, that's enough for today,” Jeffrey, the team's Director of Media Relations, cut into the brutal interrogation.
He was red-faced with anger in his eyes. There were plenty of reasons for everyone on the team to feel upset. But he seemed particularly bothered by the treatment that Lauren was receiving.
At least, that's the way it seemed to her.
But this pack of jackals and hyenas didn't go away without a fight. They groaned that no player, whether she was a woman or not, deserved special treatment.
That kind of stuff always pissed Lauren off. When people talked about her as if she was just a token, a phony, a fraud, she would simmer with anger.
She’d had to fight all her life for everything. Everything.
When the reporters had finally dispersed, Jeffrey turned towards her.
"Thank you," she said.
He nodded his head and stared at her, grim-faced.
"Is something wrong?" She asked, her voice trembling with worry. She’d never seen him look like that before.
"The team is bringing in two kickers for tryouts on Tuesday," he said.
"What?" Lauren said, helplessly.
"I'm sorry," Jeffrey said. “But this might be your last game."
*****
Lauren drove home in a daze. This was by far the most disappointing day of her life. She'd missed the kick that would've won the game, nearly been outed by a reporter, and on top of it all, she’d found out that the team would be bringing in other kickers to compete with her.
That meant that next week she could be cut from the team. If that happened, there was no telling, when, if at all, another team would sign her. Next week it could all be over – everything she’d worked for. It could all be gone. If that happened, she would have barely lasted two months as a professional.
It seemed so cruel. But that's the way the game was played. There was no sense complaining. This is what she’d worked for, had sacrificed for, had given her blood, sweat, time, and tears for. She much preferred to be in the ring, fighting it out with the other gladiators, her bloodthirsty competitors, ready, willing, and able to take her head off. She loved competition. She lived for it.
Yet she couldn't lie to herself. She didn't appreciate the fact that the team seemed to have so little confidence in her. She’d posted a solid kicking percentage so far. And this was her first last-second miss. That being said, it was also the first such kick that she’d had all season. So it might not have been the best omen.
Lauren pulled into her driveway and cut off the engine. All the lights in her home were out. The place looked like some sort of creepy, haunted house – five bedrooms, six bathrooms, a backyard, pool, marble floors, and chandeliers. She was the only person living there. Well, she wasn't exactly alone – a female pit bull and a male boxer roamed around the house, hungry for food and mischief while three cats staked out the massive basement area and a blocked-off section of the massive backyard.
Everyone in the home seemed to have an intimate companion. Except for Lauren. Still in the car, still staring at the dark, cavernous house as if it belonged to someone else, as if she still didn't quite believe that she’d come this far. It was hers. All hers. She never stopped wondering what her parents would have thought of this place. They might have both fallen dead from shock. Unfortunately, they’d both fallen dead with needles in their arms.
After feeding the dogs and cats, Lauren went straight to the shower without turning on her TV, laptop or radio, like she usually did. She didn’t want to see or hear anything about the game or anything about football in general. She needed time to decompress and get some perspective on things.
As the warm water cascaded down at her, Lauren kept her eyes closed and massaged the lavender scented body wash into her well-toned, slightly tanned flesh. She had the body of a female soccer player, small breasts, well-defined arms, six-pack abs, and muscular legs that look like they could run and run and run forever. She was quite the spectacle, lathered up like that. Many guys would've loved to slide in there with her, push their hard cocks into her tight, well-trimmed pussy.
But that's not what Lauren was into. Her mind drifted back to the game, but not to what had happened on the field or in the locker room. Her mind drifted back to the encounter with Cara in the tunnel after the game. One hand began to slide down her body, past the six-pack, past the auburn landing strip. Then her fingers grazed her bulbous clit head, already engorged and sensitive. Lauren moaned as she thought about moving her hands all over Cara’s slim body, running her fingers through her buttery blonde hair and, shoving her tongue deep into her mouth, lustily sucking on her poutylips. Goddamn. She felt so good. So fucking good and wet, dripping wet. She could feel the juices oozing out of her. She pushed two fingers in and out of her pussy.
“Oh, Cara. Oh, Cara, fuck me,” she cried out loud, her body beginning to quiver as she came closer and closer to the edge of a powerful orgasm.
*****
The next day, bright and early, Laura had a Skype conference call with her New York publicist. She hated dealing with that sort of crap in the morning, especially first thing. She didn't really like interacting with people at all in the morning. She needed to get about 90 minutes of hard, sweat-inducing, arm-pumping exercise under her belt before she could have contact with another human being.
That morning workout routine was something she’d done since she was a little girl. Running, playing, exercising had always been her ways to escape the misery of her circumstances. When she was active, especially engage in a competitive activity, she was able to focus one hundred percent, be entirely present in the moment, blocking out any and all distractions.
Football made sense to her. Competition made sense to her.
All of this stuff about image and branding that her publicist and agent were always talking about confused the hell out of her.
Lauren had expected that the meeting would only be between her and her publicist Cindy. So she was very surprised when she found herself staring at a room full of people on her Mac screen.
What the hell is going on? She asked herself, bewildered. It was far too early in the day for this.
Was missing the kick really tha
t serious? She found out over the course of the meeting that the kick she’d missed in the previous day's game, did not really concern them at all.
“There's no way they're going to cut you,” her publicist said. “They’d get killed in the media.”
“What?” Lauren replied, feeling as if she'd been punched in the gut. So this whole thing was a sham after all? She was, in fact, as so many of her critics alleged, being given special treatment because she was female? She could feel her blood beginning to boil. The next several moments of the meeting were a complete blur. She couldn't get over those words. They continued to rattle in her brain.
The whole team had the day off. Only the coaches would be at the practice facility. As part of the special teams unit, she wasn't required to report to the facility until Tuesday. She would be sure to get there first thing, and she would be sure to tellwhoever was willing to listen that she wasn’t in the least bit comfortable with this sort of arrangement.
If she was going to be paid like a professional athlete, then she wanted to be treated like any other athlete in the ruthless, cold, cutthroat world of professional sports. Before the meeting ended, she tried to bring up the subject once again, but nobody else was interested in talking about that.
“Lauren, we don't have any problem with your on-field performance,” her publicist specified.
“Then what's the point of this meeting?” Laura asked.
Why did she have to wake up early and throw off her routine, if they weren't worried about her on-field performance?
“The reason we're here today,” the publicist began, only to be cut off by a man in his early 40s who looked like a complete asshole.
“Let's stop beating around the bush already,” he said.
There were a few snickers and giggles in the room. He cracked a slight smile himself, obviously impressed by his clever pun.
Lauren immediately sensed what was going on. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned, narrowed her eyes, and shook her head from side to side.
“This is fucking bullshit,” she muttered under her breath.
“We know you don't like talking about branding and imaging, but I'm afraid you don't have a choice,” the man said. “You have major sponsorship deals in the works –Sprint, Optimum, Hilton Hotels.”
“Yeah, so what?” Lauren snapped.
“So they don't want to open up the paper one day and find out that an athlete they gave a $15 million endorsement deal is a dike, or whatever you call yourself.”
When he said the word "dike," there was an audible, collective gasp in the room. Heads turned. Hands covered mouths. A few giggles and snickers escaped.
“What Mark is trying to say,” the publicist said, glance angrily towards her male colleague. “Is that we need to make sure that we’re all on the same page when it comes to the image that you're projecting to the public."
Lauren sighed and rolled her eyes. She was so sick of having to hear about this sort of crap. And she was even sicker of having to hide who she was. She was sick of having to pretend that she was something that she wasn't. Straight?
No! She’d always been attracted to girls. And girls only. She'd already overcome so much to make it this far. It didn’t make sense for her to try living a lie. How could she go around talking to groups of young women, getting paid a hefty sum of money in exchange for inspirational words of wisdom, if she were living a lie?
“So what are you actually trying to tell me?” Lauren asked. “And please don't beat around the bush.”
A few of the people in the meeting room turned to each other.
“Touché,” Mark said. “I told everyone before the meeting that we could count on you.”
“I’d like to be able to start my morning workout,” Lauren said. “You do remember that I’m a football player, right?”
“Of course, when you come to New York this week for the game against the Giants, we’d like for you to go out on a few dates.”
“What?” Lauren said, nearly banging her head against the laptop screen. “You have to be kidding me.”
“Nope. This is real,” her publicist said. “We've got three guys that we’re currently reviewing. We’ll work out all the details by the time you get here.
“What's the point of all this?” Lauren asked. With a look of despair on her face.
“Lauren, there are a lot of rumors swirling around about your sexuality.”
“Oh yeah?” Lauren asked, raising her eyebrows. “I bet there’s been a lot of whispering going on in your office. Isn't that right?”
Lauren could feel the bite coming back into her voice. She could feel the temper that she'd inherited from both her parents welling up inside her. She would like to be in the same room with all those well-dressed corporate people who were sitting in judgment of her, plotting and planning some imaginary fantasy life for her, creating a character that she was supposed to act out for the public. But lying had never been her thing, especially at this point in her life, after overcoming so much prejudice and discrimination in order to achieve her dream of playing in the NFL. It had never been her desire to be the first female to play professional football. It had never been her intention to break down walls, smash through glass ceilings, defy and overcome stereotypes.
Unlike other gay athletes who’d come out of the closet, proud and triumphant after years of living in the shadows, she didn't see herself as a hero for the LGBT community. All she ever wanted to be, and all she'd ever thought of herself as was a football player. A damn good football player.
But she was beginning to realize that despite what she wanted, despite how she wished the world was, she was going to have to face some hard truths about herself and who she really wanted to be. Maybe she’d been blessed with the hunger and desire to develop her talent to such a high level because she was destined for something greater, more important and impactful, than just being an athlete. Maybe she was being forced to confront the fact that she might have been blessed with the gift of kicking a football because she was supposed to be an ambassador for the LGBT community.
It was all so much to think about. It was all such a distraction from her craft, which was the only thing that she really cared about. Her craft was her refuge. Always had been.
“We don't want tokeep you any longer,” Cindy said. “I’m glad you understand the need to do this.”
Lauren shook her head and snickered. Then she cursed under her breath. What a hypocrite!
“Dating any new 18-year-old artsy girls?” Lauren asked her publicist with a sneer.
Cindy looked momentarily flustered but she did a good job of quickly regaining her composure. She was a better actor than Lauren had ever been.
“I can't wait to see you next week in New York,” Cindy said.
“Neither can I,” Lauren answered, clicking the screen closed.
*****
Lauren was relieved to get back to the practice facility on Tuesday. All of those good vibes died down as she walked onto the practice field and saw the two male kickers, her competition, laughing and joking with several coaches.
Before approaching them and breaking up the apparent male bonding session, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No need to panic, she told herself. Just calm down and put your foot through the ball. Hard and clean. Right through the uprights.
And that's exactly what she did. For the next 40 minutes, she put on a kicking clinic, kicking the ball better than she ever had, beating out the two male kickers, easily. By the time she got down to the last few kicks of the day, all of them long ones over 50 yards, players from the offensive and defensive units sauntered over to watch her kick.
There were oohs and ahhs when she knocked the 55-yarder through the uprights, and there were hoots and howls and loud hand clapping when she hit a 60-yard right through the uprights. It probably could've gone another 10, maybe 15 yards. She couldn’t remember ever having kicked the ball so far in her entire career. A bunch of the guys came up and gave her
high-fives and pats on the back. Excitement and energy surged through Lauren's body.
“Not bad Pulkowski. Not bad at all,” Coach Matthew said to her as she walked off the practice field.
Lauren smiled. “Thanks, Coach,” she said, her voice full of pride.
Coach Matthews was known for being very lean on praise and extremely heavy on criticism — scathing, sometimes humiliating criticism. Getting a compliment from him in front of the rest of the team gave her just the boost of confidence she needed. But seconds later the sucker punch landed flush in her guts.
"You miss another late game field goal and you'll be trying out for the women's national soccer team, next year,” Mathews said.
“Yeah, they're looking for a replacement for Abby Wambach,” another one of the coaches chimed in.
Then several other coaches turned to each other and giggled like schoolboys. Annoyed, fists clenched and ready to fight for her pride, Lauren managed to keep her emotions in check long enough to get back inside the training facility and out of earshot of her coaches. They seemed to take particular pleasure in taunting her, constantly reminding her that she was a woman not a football player. She was a sideshow, a circus freak, like the bearded lady or the juggler who had no arms and legs.
An hour in the sauna was just what she needed. She would have it all to herself because the guys had their own room in a different wing of the facility. Sometimes being the only woman on the team had its perks, she said to herself.
Lauren sat with her eyes closed, a white towel wrapped around her body, as the sauna’s enveloping warmth calmed her body and relaxed her mind. Since she knew that she had the entire room to herself, she took off the towel and exposed her naked flesh to the soothing heat. Finally, she had a moment for a bit of rest and relaxation. It was incredible how good it felt to be alone, naked, and sweating.