Protein Shake

by Alexis Angel

  Sammi: I see a grin on your face. Care to tell us what the video is?

  AJ: No, I think it’s best that you wait for the surprise. Because when the world sees this, I have no doubt that the media circus that’s going on will get even worse. And that the Commissioner will personally come on air and suspend both Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford. And then order Julianna to sell the team to anyone - for any price.

  Sammi: It would have to be something terrible.

  AJ: Remember, this woman has a history here. In the last week since the second sex tape became public we’ve seen her ex-boyfriends who have come forward showing how sexually dangerous this woman was. How she had no regards for the feelings of men at all in the bedroom. How it was always about her. How she would talk about other men and their bodies when in the company of women. How she would objectify men’s bodies - they didn’t have to be there, but the fact that she was doing it was enough.

  Sammi: Isn’t that what women have to put up with everyday?

  AJ: It’s not the same thing. This fixation with her own pleasure first that her ex-boyfriends complained of was a symptom of a greater problem. The unraveling of the moral fabric of our nation. This woman has risen too far, too fast. And she’s let the power go to her head. It’s about time someone show her what flying too close to the sun can do.

  Sammi: Still won’t tell us what’s on the video?

  AJ: You’ll just have to wait and find out, like everyone else. I will say one thing though. For too long, Julianna Heaton has been the bad girl of the NFL. It’s high time that she brought back down to earth and taught a lesson that if this league and this nation has no patience for bad girls.

  Sammi: And there you have it folks. Stay tuned as we continue our breaking news coverage of the New York Nailers.

  Colt

  You ever hear of a shit storm?

  Yeah?

  Well, that’s kind of what my life is now like.

  I’m watching the rerun of the SportsNation broadcast in the team lounge. The lounge that just a few days ago I had the fucking greatest sex ever. With the baddest girl ever. And the only other bad boy thats ever mattered to me, apparently.

  The other players are looking at me as the television goes on and on, zooming in to show my hand on Ethan’s cock. Yeah, they blur that shit out. They can’t show Ethan’s cock on national television.

  But they blur it in such a fucking way that literally nothing is left to the imagination.

  You can tell exactly how long and how thick that giant fucking cock is of his.

  Fucking Christ. I had no idea this was on endless loop until I walked in and sat down with a plate of food.

  It’s not like I can get away from it either. This shit is going to be blaring from the corners. People in some small African country without internet are somehow going to fucking find out about this.

  “Hey playboy,” DeShawn comes up to me with a fucking grin, “You been holding out on us or what, man?”

  Fucking Christ. These guys are going to pound the shit out of me.

  They’re going to fucking think I’ve been staring at their cocks in the shower or some shit like that.

  I mean, I know I’m not gay. I’m not attracted to these men. I’m like not drooling over DeShawn. It doesn’t matter that I think personally my body is ten times more attractive his. It’s just that I like women.

  And men - sometimes.

  I had one other experience with a dude back at Ole Miss. But that was after like 24 beers and with another brother in the frat. I never really took that as a sign of anything.

  Now these guys are going to hate me.

  Yeah, I know what you’re going to say.

  I’m going to say ‘I’m Colt fucking Stackford and I can handle anything’ or some shit like that.

  Because you're tired by now of what an arrogant fucking prick I am.

  Fucking Christ, you’re not going to be far off.

  I don’t say anything to DeShawn as he looks at me, and I’m not going to say anything to you either.

  Because you’re fucking right. You’re absolutely 100% right.

  I deserve whatever is going to happen to me.

  What, they’re going to kick the shit out of me. I mean, Ethan’s the one that got the fucking handjob. I’m the one that gave it out.

  I’m not ashamed. If given the opportunity I’d do it all over again. It unlocked something in me - something that I think I knew for the longest time - but still something that needed to be let go.

  But these guys?

  The ones that watch me strut and swagger and preen every fucking day.

  The ones that read about how I fuck super models and actresses and see me with a different girl at each fucking event.

  They’re going to fucking tear me to shreds.

  Starting with DeShawn.

  I sigh and get up off the chair that I was sitting on and sigh out loud.

  “Look, DeShawn,” I begin. I don’t know where to fucking start, to be absolutely honest. For once in my entire life, I have nothing to say and don’t know what to do.

  I’ve been hit with media blows before. Hell, you don’t become the most motherfucking badass payer in the NFL without some scandals.

  But I always knew those scandals were making my rep in a way, you know?

  Like fucking look at me, I just banged this hot piece of ass. Now another. Now another.

  It didn't really matter to me what was happening to them because I was just doing whatever I wanted to. I was going for a ride and they were each getting their 15 minutes of fame.

  At least that’s what I thought until the tables turned and now I’m being trampled on by the same fucking press.

  I sigh again as DeShawn looks at me, waiting for me to complete my sentence.

  “I don’t have any excuse for my actions man,” I say loud enough that the people around me can hear.

  Every fucking eye is on me. I can fucking tell I’m under the microscope.

  Add to that, Coach Karl comes out and he’s standing on the far end of the room.

  It’s like the entire group now is using DeShawn to speak for them.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I deserve whatever the fuck happens to me,” I say. Then I sign and run my hands through my hair. Those golden fucking locks that used to get the panties wet. “I’m a total fucking jackass, man.”

  If you’re wondering why I’m apologizing man, then let me break it down for you.

  These are my brothers.

  I did something intimate with Ethan in the one place that we hold sacred. The arena where we perform. For it to be splashed on national television and the brand that we play under to be tarnished because of actions that I partook in is entirely worthy of a fucking apology.

  I didn’t realize that before. But I do now. It’s just probably too late.

  DeShawn looks at me for a long moment and I can tell he’s looking and evaluating what he’s going to fucking say to me. I wonder how he’s going to start screwing the knife in. I’ve never been a jackass to him - but I’ve never gone out of my way to be nice either.

  Fuck.

  After what seems like fucking forever, DeShawn sighs.

  He looks towards the television. I look over too. I’m stroking Ethan’s cock with my hand.

  Fuck. This. Shit.

  “Man, change the fucking channel off if they just gonna be broadcasting garbage all day,” DeShawn says and walks over to the table and picks up the remote. He points it and changes the channel.

  It’s the Nightly News. And I’m jerking Ethan off.

  He switches it to MTV.

  I’m jerking Ethan off.

  He switches it to Cartoon Network.

  You don’t even wanna fucking know.

  Finally, DeShawn just turns the entire thing off.

  He looks at me. “I used to think you’re a prick man,” he says. I remain silent. I can’t fight back. “Walking around here with that whole ‘Colt fucking Stackford’ shit. Y
ou’re an assbag!”

  There are some nods around the room.

  “But shit,” DeShawn continues. “You ain’t never been nothing but straight with us and you play your fucking heart out. So if you’re standing there and admitting you fucked up and you made a mistake by doing something in the locker room, I’m cool.”

  Holy fuck. What is going on.

  DeShawn sees the confusion in my face. “I don’t really care what you do and who you do it with, man,” he says. There are a number of people who nod and agree. “Just don’t get your cum on me, though.”

  I can’t help but fucking laugh. A few others do too.

  “And shit, you might be more famous now than before, if that’s even possible,” DeShawn says. “Everyone knows fucking Colt now.”

  Fuck me. My hearts beating so fast in surprise I can’t even fucking describe it.

  They had me in probably the most vulnerable moment I have ever fucking been in my life. And they showed fucking mercy.

  I could learn a lot from these guys. Like really learn a lot.

  I could learn a lot from Ethan.

  And Julianna.

  DeShawn claps me on the back. “You going to sit down and eat, playboy, or you think we gotta pull out your chair now that you got two sex tapes out in public?”

  There’s general laughter all around.

  I grin and sit down with the boys.

  They’re able to forgive and let go. After my apology about what happened in the locker room.

  Thank God what happened with Juliana and Ethan hasn’t come out yet.

  Julianna

  Twenty-four.

  That's how many hours it takes for AJ Ledoux to carry out his threat. Literally 24 hours from his SportsNation appearance, a video surfaces on the New of the Times website. What's it about? You really have to ask after everything that newspaper has done to us?

  I'm sorry. I'm trying really hard to not be a bitch, but I think I can come across as one. More so now than normal, because, well, you know.

  In case you didn't know what the video is for - it's a 30 second clip of Colt, Ethan, and I having sex in the Nailers Skybox. That's right - the night that I had them both. Someone somehow put in a spycam in the high rollers skybox and were able to capture our liaison in color. After everything I did to close the blinds and take precautions. Someone is always watching, no matter what, it seems.

  I have my theories. But basically, I know two things. The first is that no one individual could have done this. Believe it or not, after the first two tapes, I actually thought ahead of time before I put my hands down Colt and Ethan's pants of whether anyone could record us. I know that there are no security cameras in the skybox - we have too many high rollers come through. And I knew that the windows were tinted to prevent outside folks taking pictures on the inside. So I thought we were safe.

  Turns out I was wrong.

  The video hits the internet with the power of ten thousand suns.

  One billion.

  That's how many unique views have clicked on the website. One billion people on this planet have seen my breasts and my snatch. They've seen Colt's cock penetrating me. Ethan's member in my mouth. Thank God they haven't seen me with my cum covered tits, like I was at the end. Just in the throes of fucking.

  Three.

  That’s how long it takes for the first of the press to start calling.

  Five.

  That's how many minutes I pray in relief that we have a bye week during the week after the loss to the Stepbrothers when this video comes out. At the time, I'm so happy that we'll be able to work this out and then focus on the upcoming game.

  Fourteen.

  That's how many points the Nailers lose to in the game the next week against the Detroit Dom's. They wipe the field clean. Colt gets sacked three times and each time my heart catches in my throat. Not just because I worry about him as a player, but because I'm starting to worry about him as an individual as well. Colt and Ethan, both. I shudder as Ethan gets knocked off the field and immediately the flash bulb of 90,000 cameras is trained on him as the world watches his reaction. He keeps calm, but I can tell the constant media exposure is eating away at him.

  Ten thousand and counting.

  That's how many pieces of hate mail I've received from all over the world. Mail telling me that I'm destroying the purity of the football game. That I corrupted two of the best players in the NFL. That's I'm some sort of Jezebel and wicked woman who seduced these players as a way to get back at the team that fired my dad. I've received death threats and considered hiring a bodyguard.

  But I refuse to give in and hide in fear. Someone has a problem with me? I relish the thought of meeting them face to face as they try to take me on.

  Twenty-one.

  That's how many consecutive days AJ Ledoux has written a column attacking either me, Ethan, or Colt in his sports column. He's torn into us with the voraciousness of someone who never played sports because he didn't have the talent and is now taking out his jealousy and frustrations on better men.

  He attacks me because he knows that no matter how much he may lust over me, the closest he'll ever get to touching me will be touching the screen on his mobile device as he streams the tapes of me on endless loop. How do I know this? Remember at the very beginning when I went on the field to see Ethan and Colt and get them to run scrimmages I told you about a sports columnist who hit on me when I first bought the team?

  Who do you think was the first man to come over to Nailers Stadium and congratulate me in person after I bought the team? Who do you think fawned over my every word in my office before inviting me to dinner?

  That’s right. AJ Ledoux.

  I saw right through that asshole. I let him down gently, but for a man like AJ - who thinks he has power over masses but all has is an illusion, my turning him down did a lot to pierce his bubble.

  He’s ignored me after that. He pretended I didn’t exist at the ESPY’s. And he’s tried to question me in every single column, intimating that I’m unfit. AJ is the kind of man who can only dream of fucking me - I understand that's where his frustration is coming from.

  Three.

  That's the number of weeks since the final sex tape of the three of us was released. Like I said, we had a bye, and then lost one game. We're going into a matchup with the Pittsburgh Pimps with a team that's in disarray. With the central players of our team hounded by the media day and night - there are some days that Coach Karl simply cancels practice or tells Ethan and Colt not to come. In instances like those, the team doesn't have proper cohesion and nothing gets done. The hopes for taking this once bankrupt team and winning the Super Bowl this season are pretty much in the process of becoming pipe dreams.

  Fifteen.

  This part I can't believe, but it's true. That the number of people I've been with in the past that are coming forward to say that they've slept with me. Not only that, but they're selling lurid details in to the highest bidder amongst the tabloid press. You remember, Barry, or Bill? Whoever it was that I brought home one night that I sent away from my apartment the day I met Colt and Ethan? AJ had the Times of New York just buy his story. I read the whole thing - 5,000 words- where Barry basically stated my favorite sexual positions. He told the world how I liked being on top. According to him, I “desperate shuck myself like some whore on a man until I achieve my orgasm”. And then afterwards, how much I liked it doggiestyle. And as he was about to cum, how badly I wanted him to cum on my lower back. I admit, I love it when guys cum on the small of my back. Your body is very sensitive to the feelings of warm cum right there. Try it sometime after this. Have someone shoot their cum on you right there. It's heavenly. I didn't know that always - my friend Suzy had to teach me.

  Seventeen.

  That's how many times Colt has tried to contact me. He texts me. I don't answer. He calls. I don't answer. He sends me emails and I don't answer. But the more and more I think about it, I realize that not answering is a defense mechanism.
But for the first time in my life, I feel lonely without him. And incomplete without Ethan. I need them. I need them both. I resolve today that I'll do better than answer. I'll go see him.

  Five.

  That's how many minutes long the phone call with Commissioner Horton was today. He just called. For the first time, I felt fear.

  "Julianna," he said, breathing deeply. Despite everything that's happened, he's been patient. "Fix this."

  "I'm trying, Bo," I said, thinking of all the different ways I could do it.

  "Well, try better. You and those two fuck-ups are becoming all anyone talks about when they say NFL," he told me. "I'm going to put you in touch with a lawyer - J. Henry Edgar - he'll help you navigate through this."

  I'll take anything at this point, but I don't need his lawyer. I know what the lawyer will advise me to do. Throw Ethan or Colt - or both of them - under the bus, cut my losses, and preserve my own reputation. I can't do that to the two men I care about. The two men I love. I tell him that I can manage on my own.

  "I'm giving you two weeks to fix this, Julianna," Commissioner Horton tells me as he gets ready to hang up. "Before I come in with my steamroller and decide to fire everyone and start over."

  Two weeks to fix a problem that won't go away. That is staying because it's being perpetuated by a man who hates seeing powerful women succeed.

  I need to think of something. And I need to think of that something really fast.

  Julianna

  I stare at the placard on his desk. It reads "J. Henry Edgar, Attorney at Law." The man sitting behind the mahogany table top taps his pen against the wood and flips through pages of documentation. He is in his 50s and has a smoker's cough, but he still has a head full of hair. You can tell he takes great pride in it. It is peppered with grey, and he slicks it back in what appears to be one, big brushstroke. He is a round man—no, the word round doesn't even begin to describe him. His girth is so profound that he doesn't seem to have a neck, just a head sitting on top of shoulders. Supposedly, he's the best lawyer money can buy. I hope that's true because at $500 an hour, he better be the best.