Robofootball: Doublespin

Carly helped him out of his clothes after giving him a ride home from the Meredith game. The 9-year old yellow school bus that had driven the team was accompanied by an older 11-year model that had carried the band to Meredith and then back to Harrison High School. It was 10:45 p.m. when she pulled her bright red Camaro into Jess’s driveway. His father was still gone. Jess had dozed in the car, but since he only lived 3 ½ miles from the school, the drive was not a long one.

“You’re still a little muddy, stinky too,” she sniffed in an exaggerated fashion. “You’d better not be messing up my ride Mr. Robinson!”

“I showered in the locker room.”

“And missed half of your body it seems,” she said as she started pulling off his shirt followed by unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. “Come one, I’ll go with you, let’s do it before your dad gets home.”

“He won’t be here for probably 2 or 3 hours.”

“I don’t know if that’s good, but maybe good for us! I don’t like this silly band uniform much anyway, makes me look like a dyke.” She was undoing the cross buttons on the vest that looked like some old Civil War uniform or maybe from the French Revolution.

“Yup,” Jess laughed but groaned ever so slightly.

“Tough game?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit sore, never all that fun playing in the rain and mud.”

“I can imagine, it was cold and wet on the sideline too.” By now, she slid his underwear off and surprisingly, his member did not spring forth as quickly as it ordinarily did. She fondled and tickled with her tongue until Bingo, it came to life.

“Easy,” he said.

“Let’s get in the shower, I could really use one,” she said as she whipped off her own bra and panties, leaving them in a growing pile of mismatched clothing. The shower was just an attachment to the bath tub and they alternated under the shower head. Jess was tired and braced himself on the one solid full wall allowing Carly to carefully scrub him from head to toe with soap that she lathered up on a wash cloth. He was at least awake enough to admire her dripping wet body, and wash her breasts with the same cloth.

“My god, you seem to have a lot of bruises,” as she tenderly moved around some purplish spots on his arms and legs. “Don’t you have padding for some of this?”

“Just the knees and elbows, there’s some open spots here and there.”

“I see, why don’t you sit down, we’ll plug the drain.”

He did as he was instructed, groaning again as he sat with his back to the far end of the tub away from the shower spray. In the process, the warm water had shriveled him.

“Here, let me see if I can get that started again.” It pays to be short in certain situations and she crawled on him like a cat, rubbing her breasts on his lower abdomen back and forth while the water sprayed on her back and buttocks. Carly took him in her mouth coaxing him forward. When he came back to life with a little tongue and hand work, she mounted him immediately as they both closed their eyes.

To her it was as if she went to another place. It was like a lush tropical rainforest, the warm water striking her, the steam building, and Jess stuck without being able to move much as she did the work, but ever so slowly. As a result, it was as if he had trouble coming to a climax, but she didn’t notice at all. She had closed her eyes and he lasted an incredibly long time. She was off in a foggy dream and his somewhat concussive state slowed him so much that Carly reached a second height that may have exceeded the first time she exploded.

By the time she had had her way, the tub was almost overflowing with water, prevented only be the emergency top drain above the plug release. She worked her way off, unplugged the drain, and cleaned up a little more. These Friday-after-game workouts were working out quite well. It was about the only time she exhibited more energy than Jess, and that was a good thing, especially in the realm of fireworks and the earth movement department.

“What were all the world’s alarms

To mighty Paris when he found

Sleep upon a golden bed

That first dawn in Helen’s arms?”

William Butler Yeats, Words for Music Perhaps, Lullaby, st.1.