Robofootball: Doublespin

“Wow, what a beautiful Victorian home, right on the outskirts of the embassy district,” Isabelle remarked with her mouth half open.

“I suppose it was more of Annie’s doing than mine.” Lenny held the large 8 foot wooden door open for her, everything was on a massive ornate scale. “Wait one sec,” he added as he keyed in the alarm code on a wall panel in the entranceway. He signaled back to Ron with a wave. Ron waved back and moved the car to an attached 4-car garage. Ron’s apartment was above it. Lenny walked in and flipped on a few lights.

“Look at that medallion in the floor, it’s an octagon, looks like some sort of odd Masonic symbol.”

“You know Izzy, you’re probably right, I’m not sure what it represents. It was here when we bought it and I’ve never really given it much thought. We had a Persian rug over it for awhile.”

“I love the woodworking, the floor planks are 6 inches thick. I suppose they’re original? How old is the place? How long have you lived here?” She fired question after question in rapid succession after boldly walking in and scampering about.

“Whoa there Missy, I’m the one who’s supposed to do the interrogating, remember?”

She smiled and kissed him lightly as he took the wrap from around her neck and placed it on a hook back in the entranceway. He took his own suit coat off as well and then stripped off his tie.

“I guess most of what’s here is original to 1877 when the place was built,” he went on, probably touched up, refinished, and restored god knows how many times. We’ve, or wait, I’m sorry, I’ve been here about 6 years now, but maybe only a year and a half with Annie, not much time to create that many memories.”

“What about your daughter?”

“Emily?”

“Is there any others?”

“No, not at all, Emily spends more time back home, at least in Pennsylvania where I, and she too I’m sure, consider as home. But now she’s off to college and only 17 at that.”

“You told me that before, I guess there are a lot more accelerated programs these days where kids can graduate early or at least concurrently enroll in a college in their later high school years.”

“Right.”

“And having a bigwig for a father aided her in getting into Harvard?”

“Right again, not only being a grad myself, being a congressional member does come with a few occasional perks as well.”

“I suppose so, but what can you do for me senator?” She smiled mischievously.

“Hmm, close your eyes and open your mouth a little and I’ll show you.”

“Big talk,” she grinned but did as she was told.

He bent down and kissed her with several pecks around her cheeks and then the corners of her mouth teasingly as she tried to lock on to something more permanent in wrongful anticipation as he artfully avoided her lips.

“Stop that,” she commented in a voice that said no, but meant yes. She cheated by squinting her eyes partially open and then finally anticipated one of his faints and scored a direct hit. Their lips locked, opened, closed together, moved, and the tips of their tongues touched.

“Whoops,” Lenny had to catch himself stumbling slightly as his right knee pitched a little. “Let’s maybe sit down on the sofa shall we?”

“Yes, sounds good.”

He slipped a hand away from the smooth skin of her back that resembled much like that of a deeply tanned Caucasian woman. The little black dress with the wrap gone left her delicate shoulders and several inches of her back exposed.

“How about a little wine?” He offered.

“I don’t know, I had my rationed 2 glasses at dinner.”

“Uh oh, is there a problem?”

“Oh god no, I’m not a heavy drinker and 3 might make me a bit woozy, maybe a little wild and uninhibited on 2nd thought,” she smiled.

“Hmm, what would 4 do?”

“Pass out probably.”

“Then I’ll shoot for 3! I don’t drink that much either.”

“All right then, maybe one glass.”

“I’ll be right back, make yourself comfortable.”

She sat back on the bright white but immaculately clean sofa. Obviously he didn’t have pets or young children, probably a daily housekeeper she surmised. She heard some rummaging in the kitchen, a tell-tale pop, and two bubbly glass hurriedly on their way in each of his fairly large pro-receiver like hands with slim agile fingers nonetheless.

“Sorry, all I had were lots of reds but I managed to find a bottle of Moet & Chandon champagne. I hope its not too old.”

“The same French vineyard that makes the Dom Perignon right?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I got a chance to visit eastern France once, you know we taste tested the two and I’m not sophisticated enough to tell a difference. They did tell me that a bottle of champagne is good for about 20 years as long as you keept it out of direct sunlight.”

“I suppose that’s good then.”

“Yes,” she sipped it delicately, “Very good in fact, thank you.”

“You’re very beautiful you know.”

“You are too,” she answered. Aside from being tall, he had a full head of dark brown hair with a hint of premature gray, some wrinkles filling in, and that rugged Marlboro Man look without his somewhat nerdy big circular framed scholarly glasses.

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I want to be beautiful, it seems more suited to women you know, words like pretty, elegant, beautiful, and so forth.”

“How about handsome?”

“I can live with that, but now that I’m passed 40, seems like those lines are growing ever more pronounced under my eyes and forehead. The gray is coming in too if you haven’t noticed.”

She laughed, “Been there done that, we of the female persuasion are just much better at covering up, hiding, and dyeing that stuff.”

“Really, you dye your hair?”

“For many years now, don’t you?”

“No, my campaign manager says that the gray looks good on me, gives me a bit more maturity given that a man in his early 40’s is well below average for a senator.”

“So your campaign manager gives you fashion and grooming advice?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “He and his team are constantly considering the little details, they tell me I’m fat too.”

“Really? You look pretty good to me.”

“Well, not in so many words, you’d be surprised. Whatever shirts or pants I wear that might look tight or too loose seem to disappear the very next day.”

“You don’t look fat to me.”

“Well, I’d like to drop maybe 5 pounds, I feel like I’m getting a little softer with age. Finding time to work out can be a bear at times.”

“Ha! You’re sounding like a woman, ‘I need to lose 5 pounds’,” she mimicked. “Look at my hips, thighs, butt,….”

He stopped her with another kiss, “Shh, I like the way you look.” And kissed her again. “You know when we get to our 40’s, we’re not exactly going to look like our 20’s,” he added. “We’re in the same boat.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she sipped more of her champagne. “Why don’t you show me your bedroom?” She ventured.

He suddenly seemed a little nervous and drained half of his glass in one gulp, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Third date,” she grinned. “But if I’m being too forward….”

“No, no, it’s more me, you know it’s been so long, after Annie, well….”

“Yes?”

“I just got wrapped up more in my work I suppose, didn’t leave much room for a private social life, outside of my public image you know.”

“I see.”

“But I do like you, an awful lot it seems. The first thing I do when I turn my computer on in the morning is to scroll through the emails, seeing and hoping that one is one from you.”

“That’s nice, come on, enough stalling, take my hand.” She held it out to him and he did as he was told. “Lead the way,” she prodded.

“All right, up the stairs, I sleep in what I call the turret room, the rounded upper part of the covered Victorian spire.”

“Can’t wait to see it.”

“All right.” He led her up hanging on the rail a little more tightly than normal and almost slipped.

“Is your leg okay?”

“It’s just my knee, old football injury, I’ll make it though, have to take one for the team!”

“You’d better,” she grinned.

“You sound like my old coach.”

“Play through the pain, right?”

“Something like that, its here, 1st door on the left.” He opened the door and flipped on the light, a Baccarat multi-prismed glass chandelier that cost more than her Lexus sparkled from above.

“Wow! I guess I’ve said that a lot,” she was blinded by the chandelier but her eyes cleared enough to make out an ornate hand carved 4-post mahogany king-sized bed. She sat on the edge. “Come here,” she prodded.

“Okay,” he sat beside her and they kissed holding their glasses outright.

“Here goes!” She tipped her half full glass back optimistically and drained it, “Three’s a charm!”

“So I’ve heard,” as he did likewise though his was down to a quarter full. He took their glasses and sat them on a big heavy wooden dresser that matched the bed.

“Get back here,” she ordered feeling a little woozy.

“Coming,” he said.

“Not yet I hope,” she paused, “I can’t believe I said that.”

“It’s okay,” he laughed. “Kiss me some more.”

This time they went at it more physically, hard, with shared need. She tore at his shirt breaking one of the buttons. The dress was off revealing a black silky nighty fringed in black lace while he sported cotton brief boxers in black.

“Our under garments sort of match,” she giggled as the champagne really kicked in.

“So they do,” and he gently pulled hers off, up over her head. There are few feelings or words for that matter that can ever match the first view of a woman’s breasts. Her somewhat darkly colored nipples were as hard as gumdrops and the rest was as soft as newborn firm pillows. They weren’t large by any standard, B-size cups but he thrust his left hand on one while kissing and lightly suckling the other. She moaned in response, arched her back, and then jerked forward to tear off his shorts, noting the stiff upraised barrier to getting them off cleanly.

“Let me take a turn,” she pushed him off, pushed him down on the bed on his back, and then took his member into her mouth, just an inch or so. She suckled the head while pulling the lower half with his hand, getting a bit more vigorous after a minute or two.

“Stop a second,” he had to lightly pull her head off.

“What’s the matter?” She whispered.

“That feels a little too good, I’m going to have an accident if you keep that up much longer.”

“Oh,” she grinned. “I don’t want that just yet, not our first time. Back down mister,” she shoved him back downward and hopped dexterously on top.

“Oh god!” She said as she rode him into sweet ecstasy. This was good he thought inwardly purposefully trying to lay still; he could last longer this way with a little discipline, concentration and an assist from gravity. He was long past those teenage years of prematurity. As he whirled about back and forth, he licked his fingers and toyed with her nipples. So much different from Annie he couldn’t help but compare. Izzy was almost the opposite in form but it was like comparing a sporty little Porsche in his mind to a Ferrari. Annie was much taller, bigger in the breasts, but less so in the hips. Annie’s skin had been lighter but not by much since she had frequently visited those tanning salons.

Izzy had plenty of hips that he latched on to, a great ass to grab as well, and of course, dark black pubic hair that was well trimmed and more than bikini ready. Since she was shorter, she seemed further away and he had to stretch and pull her a bit closer to access her breasts while she was on top. Izzy’s perfume seemed a bit more powerful, but in a good way, exotic, it was all good, so good, very good. It served to make him last as he thought about these things to her benefit.

With somewhat of a primal scream, she came, and he could feel the intense heat and a little extra moisture pour forth. God, she felt good, this felt good, it had been years, but his thoughts kept him from matching her just yet. As she came closer to a halt like the power going off on a carnival ride, perhaps the Tilt-a-Whirl slowing down but not altogether stopping, he whispered, “Let’s flip.”

“Okay,” she replied huskily.

“Hang on!” He put a long arm completely around her and slid over smoothly on top. She straightened her thighs and hips and applied pressure to drive him deeper. Although caught up in the movement, he had not quite anticipated how much shorter she was then Annie in this particular position too. It seemed out of proportion that his chest bumped up against her face. He leaned upward a bit more so as not to crush her, but his thoughts were now muted. She thrashed her hips wildly and the building heat of the moment forced him into his own rocket blasting off. She nearly matched him and held on to him for a few seconds before he went limp, but not before she experienced a second satisfying orgasm.

“You’re kind of numb after 50 shots to the head.”

Jim Harbaugh