by Alexis Angel
"You go first. I'm going to see what SportsNation has to say this morning."
"You're more sadistic than I thought," Colt laughs. "If there's anything that can ruin a perfectly good day, it's that fucking trash TV. Good luck with that."
I shrug him off and press the power button on my 70-inch flat screen television. The screen glows to life, and I navigate to the station I am looking for. The show is already in full swing. A banner flashes across the screen that reads, "Elite football players rumored to be gay: hot athletes Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford exposed in secret same-sex love affair."
I hear the first analyst speak. "Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford shouldn't be allowed to play in the NFL. Not only are they the kind of role models that we don't want young men and boys to emulate, but you know, another issue is that I don't think it's safe for NFL players to have to share locker rooms with gays."
"You're absolutely right, Bob," agrees the second analyst.
"How do we know that they aren't coping secret feels on the field? During a tackle it would be easy for them to say, oops, didn't mean to grab you there. How can they stay focused with so many men around them during the game?"
The second analyst chimes in, "Instead of Man Crush Monday, Bob, I say we start a new trending search on social media called No Gay Thursday." Both men laugh as if it is the funniest jab they had ever heard.
How the fuck are these men getting time on National television to talk such hateful trash? It just seems unfathomable. I can feel my blood reach the point of boiling. I have to take a few deep breaths to quell the burning rage building within me. Keep it cool, Julianna, I remind myself. I can't let the media get away with this, especially not when they are trashing the two men I love most. It is now clear to me that everything I've been told is wrong—the lawyer, the consultants—everything. How can I throw Colt and Ethan under the bus, further empowering this idiotic media? That's what they want, isn't it? They love it if I can help them spill more blood. The answer is I can't. I won't. But what I can do is bring out the gloves. If the media wants to keep dragging them through the mud, they are fucking with the wrong people.
Julianna
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll take your seats, the press conference will get started, J. Henry Edgar states into the microphone as I stand to the side. “Once started, Ms. Heaton will deliver a prepared statement and then take your questions.”
The press folks sit down. I’ve invited literally every major media outlet this afternoon for a major press conference to finally address these questions once and for all. By myself, I can take whatever slings and arrows that the media might throw at me. But when they go after Colt and Ethan, that’s when they cross the line and need to face my wrath. There’s no way this is just sports story anymore. I’ve invited The News of the Times, as well as all the major news sources in the country. Word got out that I was having a press conference and all of a sudden the Nailers Press Office started getting requests from even more. Now, I have journalists from at least 10 different countries sitting in the Press Room at Nailers Arena - what the media has started to call Julianna’s Sex Dungeon - looking at me as I take the mike.
“Thank you everyone,” I say and look out and then back at my notes. “I will have a prepared statement that I’d like to read before I take your questions.”
There’s a few flashes from cameras and it quiets down. I’ve never seen it so quiet. Everyone wants to hear what I’m going to say.
I clear my throat and begin, “I want it to be clear, from the very beginning, that I’m not here to apologize. I don’t believe that I’ve done anything that merits me having to stand here and apologize, nor will I entertain a discussion on doing so.” There are a few uncomfortable shifts in the audience and the cameras start up again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Commissioner standing there. He’s come over also and he’s watching me - getting a pulse on the situation.
There’s nowhere to go but forward, and I plunge ahead. “However, I believe that it is possible that I have not been as completely forthright with the public as I should have.” Good. That gets everyone’s attention. “And that is the following. I intend, going forward to aggressively litigate against any future breaches of my privacy or the privacy of anyone within the Nailers franchise.”
There are camera flashes now as I continue. “And I will personally respond to any maligning of character that occurs based on these invasions of privacy as I view them as a direct assault on the New York Nailers. If you choose to ignore me, or if you choose to test me, then please be prepared for the full weight of the New York Nailers to come down upon you.”
Again, it’s quiet as I finish my last sentence. “Thank you,” I say and the entire floor erupts.
The reporter from the Chicago Sentinel has the loudest voice and I turn my head to his question, “Ms. Heaton, do you believe that you’re a role model for young girls across the country and that you should therefore temper your actions?”
I look the reporter straight in the face, “I never wanted to be a role model, but I’m flattered if someone thinks of me as one. And I try to live my life every day the way my father wanted me to. And that’s to be true to what I believe in,” I say. “And I believe in myself. I’d want young women to follow those words the same way I have.”The reporter seems mollified by this answer but I know there’s more coming.
It starts getting harder with the next question.
“Ms. Heaton, how do you respond to claims from some people that you lack the moral fiber to be an owner in the league?” Chris Grimsby from the New Orleans Herald asks me.
I’ve heard this question thrown around the airwaves, and I can’t say that I’m completely ready for it, despite having rehearsed the answer this morning in the shower. “I believe that I have the moral fiber to lead this team and lead this league,” I say in answer and there’s a collective gasp that goes through the crowd. “If I didn’t have the moral fiber needed, I would have never made my fortune working at an investment bank, saving and leveraging my earnings until I was able to start my own company.” The room goes quiet as I turn my entire boy to face the reporter. “I wouldn't have been able to purchase the team in the first place, let alone manage it successfully. So, to answer your question, yes, I believe I have the moral fiber to lead this team and eventually lead the league itself.”
There’s shocked murmurs that pass through the crowd.
“What do you say to accusations that you’re a pervert?” someone shoots out.
“I would ask that person to stand up and accuse me to my face,” I respond without batting an eye. If I’m going to have to answer this, then I’m going to do it facing the person who is accusing me.
There’s silence.
“That’s what I expected,” I say into the microphone, a hard edge lacing my words. “It’s safe for people to stand and hide in a corner as they try to tear someone down, but call them out in the open, and they scurry like roaches in the sunlight.”
“Can you tell us how many people you’ve slept with?” another voice calls out.
I don’t know why but I start blushing involuntarily. I can’t believe they’ve gone there. But I knew this might be coming my way. “Again, I’ll repeat, I would like to know who’s asking these questions. Please stand up so the world can see you.”
And that’s when AJ Ledoux stands up from the middle row.
Fuck. I should have known it was going to be him. Maybe I should have fucked him. Gotten him on board. But no.
I didn’t fuck my way to the top. And I’m proud of that. I enjoy sex, I love it - but I don’t use it as a bargaining chip. Everyone I fuck is for my own pleasure - no matter what the world does to me. But AJ - either he really can’t stand a woman running a franchise or he’s never forgotten about me rejecting him, but the man never has a nice word for me. Remember I told you earlier - even when we met at the ESPY’s last year, he just brushed by me as if I didn’t exist.
“I asked,” he says.
“I would ask how many lovers you’ve had, but I doubt ‘love’ ever enters into a brain like yours, so I want to know how many people you’ve had sex with.”
“Can I ask what business it is that you know?” I ask him back, keeping my voice calm.
“I think the people of the nation who follow football have it in their interests to know if the integrity of their game is being compromised, Ms. Heaton,” AJ says with a sick looking smile.
“And how exactly does the integrity of the game get compromised based on the answer to my question?” I ask. I can’t help but sneer at the man. He looks and seems oily as he smiles at me.
“Well, you were filmed having sex with multiple people on your team, and the ensuing firestorm did end up costing you several games,” he says.
Now this, I’m ready for.
“I’ll admit, we did have a few bumps along the road,” I say. “But I’m not going to dignify that statement by elaborating on it. I will say that it is a private affair and it should remain private. Should any of it factor into how the team plays, that’s something that I believe I’m enough of a professional to prevent.”
“I wonder though, Ms. Heaton,” AJ continues without sitting down. “If you are aware that you may have violated the law in this regard?”
Now that stops me short. Fuck. I had no preparation for anything like that. I stare at AJ.
“Isn’t it true that the combined salaries of both Colt Stackford and Ethan Blake surpass the salary cap for the New York Nailers as stipulated by the NFL?” he asks.
I nod my head. “We are planning on making an announcement on that matter at a later date,” I say. I’m not going to get caught up on a discussion about Colt and Ethan and which one of them to keep or cut. Mostly because I don’t know. And everything that I’ve seen, or that Karl has told me about would suggest he doesn't have much of an idea either. It’s like the two were meant for each other. They’re perfectly joined. They’re perfect together. But I turn back to finish of AJ’s line of questioning. “However, league rules do specify that we have till the end of the season to make a formal decision as to which direction to go with.”
AJ seems to smile, as if he’s got me in a trap. “Based on that, Ms. Heaton,” he says with a smirk, “I believe that you being at a center of power that directly affects the economic wellbeing of both the players in question raises some serious issues with your judgment. Do you disagree?”
Oh shit. I see where he’s going for. “No,” I snap and people turn their heads. They’ve noticed. I need to keep it together. “What transpired between certain individuals and myself was a private affair that had no basis or bearing on what happens on the field…”
But AJ doesn’t let me finish. He goes for the jugular. “Actually, I believe it does, Ms. Heaton, because you placed two de facto employees of yours in a situation where they were unable to deny you consent for sexual intercourse,” AJ says.
Is he seriously accusing me of what I think he is? “In fact I posit that you used your power and influence to coerce two NFL players to have sexual relations with you. And that you forced them to engage in sexual practices that they would normally not have consented to,” AJ says with a triumphant stare. “That what you have is reluctant or dubious consent at best, but rape at the worst.”
I gulp inwardly. I never anticipated nor thought about this line of questioning. I can see cameras start to flash at this point. As soon as the word ‘rape’ started getting thrown around.
“Everything that occurred in my life with other people has always been of a consensual nature,” I say flatly. “To try to paint it in another light is reaching at best, and malicious defamation at worst.”
Let’s see if AJ has anything to say to that.
“I beg to differ, Ms. Heaton,” he says and his eyes tell me that he's coming in for the kill at this point. “I have it on good authority that the players in question that have been filmed with you do in fact believe that they were coerced into actions with you, and with each other.”
This is when the room starts to murmur even louder. People begin talking to each other and wondering if it’s true. Could I have forced two grown men to have sex with me? Could I have forced them to fuck each other?
On the face of it, I know this is completely bogus.
I mean, Ethan hasn’t been speaking to me outside of in an official capacity because he’s feeling unsure about what happened between the three of us, right?
It has to be.
Because the only other option is that he’s holding himself away because he feels violated.
It shakes me. Because I realize just how much I love Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford at that point that I feel physically ill at the suggestion that I coerced them.
And AJ sees this.
“Are we feeling a bit contrite at our actions there, Ms. Heaton?” he asks with a chuckle. “Are we thinking that we may indeed be supremely unqualified to lead an NFL team?”
I look at the Commissioner. He’s frowning. Most likely at the thoughts of the headlines tomorrow. “New York Nailers Owners Rape Players”.
All of a sudden, I wish I hadn’t scheduled the television stations.
And then there’s another voice that comes from the back.
“Why don't you just leave Julianna the fuck alone?” a male voice calls out.
People turn in their seats and I look past them to the door.
Colt’s standing there dressed in the pre-game suit and tie. He's got a smirk on his face as if this whole thing is just a big game. At that point, I could just kiss him.
But that would probably start a whole new scandal by itself.
“Pick on me,” he says. “I’ve been dying to get in on this for a while now.”
Colt
“I’ve been fucking dying to get in on some of this action,” I say and give my best confident smirk that I have as I walk up the room towards the podium and past the press. They’re staring at me like I’m some kind of a god, and, quite frankly, I feel like one.
I am QB 1 of the New York Nailers and I’m fucking the most beautiful woman alive on the fucking planet. I’m actually doing more than fucking her, actually.
I’m in fucking love with her. She makes me feel ways that I never even knew fucking existed. But it’s not just how she makes me feel when I’m around her. It’s how I feel when I’m thinking about her.
Julianna makes me a different person by her presence in my life. But she hasn’t been alone in causing my metamorphosis. There’s one other person I fucking love.
I’m in love with Ethan Blake.
That goddamn asshole couldn't leave well enough alone. It wasn't good enough for him to try and one-up me everywhere I went. He had to really go stick it to me and make me fall in love with him.
I know for a fact I’m not gay. I don't get turned by seeing dudes left and right. But when I look at Ethan, I almost have this feeling that there’s something about that dude that feels right. That feels like we fucking belong together. Like we’re two pieces of a puzzle. And Julianna is the third.
That’s right. We’re three parts of a fucking love puzzle.
It’s probably taken you a while to read all that but in that time I’ve already walked up to Julianna. She looks at me with one-part relief that I’m here. She was really getting beaten down up there. But the other part of her is looking at me like she’s fucking upset. I guess I can understand that. She doesn’t want me to come in and steal her thunder.
Julianna takes a few steps away from the podium and comes up to me, “What are you doing here?” she whispers furiously. “They’re out for blood!” She’s gesturing to the press folks who are still in an uproar over my surprise entrance.
“Relax, babe,” I say and she winches momentarily. “I got this.”
“Be careful, Colt,” Julianna replies back. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”
Fucking Christ. Could that look of anger from Julianna that she was shooting at me, could that actu
ally be because she was upset that she thought I was placing myself in danger? That she wasn't upset that I was going to steal the thunder, but she was more worried?
If that’s the case, then she’s gotta be feeling the same thing for me that’s been going through my brain for her.
That alone brings a smile to my lips. Even as AJ Ledoux – that fucker from the News of the Times – shouts his question, “Colt Stackford, were you coerced into having sexual relations with Julianna Heaton?”
I seriously want to throttle that man. And considering his mousy features, his fucking skinny as shit body except for his potbelly, his beady fucking eyes, and his oily fucking skin, I could do it in one hand while asleep. But standing there, reporters looking to me to answer his question, and I realize this is his field. I’m just here as a guest.
“I was not forced into having sexual relations with that woman,” I say pointing towards Julianna and doing my best Bill Clinton imitation. I actually get a few laughs but AJ doesn’t stop.
“With all due respect, Colt,” AJ continues. “I think you’re being intimidated into covering up for what’s been done to you, and what you’ve been forced to do.”
Now I’ve really started to have enough. It’s bad enough that this guy is going after Julianna but now he’s standing there and literally telling me what I should be thinking. Who the fuck does he think he is?
“Oh yeah?” I sneer and I feel Julianna place a hand on my shoulder. But I don’t stop. “Why don’t you tell me what the fuck is going on then?”
All eyes are on AJ. Good. That motherfucker can stand there and make accusation after accusation but I’ve put him on the spot now. Now he’s actually gotta figure out something with all this shit.
That’s when I feel Julianna’s hand squeeze my shoulder and her face take on a worried frown.
It’s only when AJ starts to speak that I realize the mistake I’ve made.
“I think,” AJ says and pauses, as if relishing the spotlight. There must be at least 100 million Americans watching and with the newspaper and fucking internet coverage, not a single person in America is going to not know what happened here today. Probably biggest fucking audience this motherfucker has ever had. “I think you and Ethan Blake were coerced by Julianna Heaton into engaging in depraved sexual relations with her,” he says in one quick sentence and the room goes fucking crazy.