A Jacks: Passion_s Her Game

God, I wanted a drink. In the worst way. My throat felt dry and my fingers felt tight and nervous. I had been one year on the wagon. I was scared to death of having a drink. It would start everything all over again, chasing pussy and swinging. I had ruined myself in pro football once. I mustn't do it again. But could I stand. or sit in a bar and order a Coke or Seven-Up, without giving in to the impulse to have a drink and pick up pussy? Well, maybe now was the time to find out, before I went to Brinks' office. Because if I didn't have the guts to go into a bar without getting hammered and winding up in the sack with some strange broad, I was finished here in Des Moines. And now was the time to find out. Now or never, old buddy. Either I was going to get back into pro football or I wasn't.

So I stopped and parked near the first bar I saw. It was dark and cool inside. I could hardly see the bar at first because the sun outside had been so bright. I bumped against the edge of a booth. At least it felt like a booth, and I put my hand on the back of it and sat down.

"Well, pardon me," a woman's voice said.

I couldn't see her at first. It was that dark in the room. Somewhere a jukebox played an old Harry James tune. The record people were really punching hell out of the 1930's these days.

And then I saw her. I got up to leave. She was small, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes and a smooth soft chin. She was wearing a yellow miniskirt and a bluish-colored sweater. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but that wasn't all they had adjusted to see clearly. The miniskirt had hiked up her thighs as high as it could go without revealing her nylon panties. I stared for a long instant at her soft creamy thighs which were crossed and I couldn't stop thinking and seeing in my mind that sweet little pussy and all that soft downy hair that was just above the edge of her skirt. Almost instantaneously I felt my cock get out of control, change into a stalk. Down boy, down boy. But it didn't want to go down. No way. It wanted to slice right between those beautiful soft, creamy thighs, and slide right into that fresh young pussy. It was as if all I had to do is close my eyes and I could feel my prick going into this juicy young piece of quiff. Right then I decided it was time to cop out.

I got up. She didn't look more than twenty. I could see her real well now. Maybe she was a couple of years older in the daylight but this wasn't daylight.

"Wait a minute," she said. "I want to talk to you."

She didn't sound like a hooker, nor did she look like one, but who can tell these days with so much hot pussy running around.

"I gotta go," I said. "Take it easy."

Her hand caught my wrist. "Please." There was a pleading tone in her voice. I told myself not to sit down, but damn it, the next thing, of course, I was sitting down. Maybe you just can't change old tomcats completely, especially when birds land right in front of them.

She was wearing a little lipstick. The trouble was right there, she smelled nice. I liked the soft odor of perfume in her hair.

"O.K" I said, "what's the gimmick?"

"No gimmick." She was still holding my wrist. Her fingers were cool and slim. Her finger stroked the vein in my wrist, and I felt the blood rush up my arm and the vein pulse and jerk like a hooked worm.

"What'll you have to drink?"

It was the waitress, standing right behind me. I turned my head and looked at her over one shoulder and heard the blonde speak: "Rum and Coke, please."

"Seven-Up," I heard my voice say mechanically.

"Seven and seven?"

"No, plain Seven-Up."

"Hmmmmph," said the waitress and went away.

"Are you sick?" said the blonde. She peered at me strangely.

I didn't say anything. I was looking at her boobs. Her sweater was too tight, a cardigan, and she was braless, and the top button of her sweater was open. Her breasts were high and hard and the nipples pressed firmly. I could see the nipples outlined right through the sweater, and the closeness of her flesh and body struck me like a bolt of sunlight. God, I hadn't screwed a woman in more than a month, not since I had gone out on the abandoned farm on the prairie alone and trained and trained, throwing hundreds of footballs every day, running five miles, then sprints. Hell, I didn't need a woman out there. I ran myself into the ground every night. But like somebody said, if you don't see pussy too much, it doesn't bother you, but if you're going to hang around it, you're bound to want as much as you can get. Right now I wanted some of this. But first I must see Binks. I hadn't sweated a year out of football to blow my chances on the first bar pussy available.

"Seven-Up straight?" She wrinkled her nose. "Feel okay?"

"Never felt better," I told her. "What do you want?"

"Well, now! I haven't even thought about that. But September's sure nice here, isn't it?"

"That's a reasonable statement."

"You live here?"

"Not yet," I said. "I'm from all over."

"All over what?"

"Wherever I can hang my hat."

She smiled. "What do you do?"

"Stockbroker," I told her. I didn't want to talk football to anyone until I saw Binks.

Her face lit up. "Jeez, you must be rich!" She laughed softly, but I couldn't tell whether she was serious or kidding me.

"Maybe you haven't heard about the market lately," I said.

She looked up. The waitress was there. I paid her and she went away and the girl said, "Which one?"

Now it was my turn to stare stupidly at her. Which market? What the hell. There was only one market. Now who was pulling whose leg?

"Stock market," I said.

"Oh," she giggled. "I thought you meant supermarket. That's what I do."

God, I thought, get out of town, Matt.

"I'm a check-out girl at Larson's Supermarket."

"What's the forecast in groceries?"

"I bet you can't guess my name," she said.

"I bet I can't."

"Mary Beth. I bet you'd never guessed it. Practically nobody does."

She sat there looking at me as if she were going to say now it's your turn to tell me your name.

"Mack Norton," I said, which I often used when picking up a strange pussy.

She didn't say anything for a minute. We were sitting in one of those round leather-padded booths and she suddenly moved over and said, "Come on, sit in here," patting the leather beside her. "You're going to trip a waitress sitting way out there on the edge."

Don't be a sap, I told myself. You've got a job to get, don't get mixed up with strange pussy. Don't be a sap, but those long, beautiful creamy thighs looked appealing. Even if I couldn't see her pussy there in the dark, I felt my body moving me over and I couldn't stop thinking about that sweet, little cunt. I had such a hardon I had to squeeze my legs together, but I got over next to her. Hell, it wouldn't hurt to line her up for a future shack-up, after I got squared away here with the team.

"Mind if I smoke?" she said.

"Nope."

"Mind if I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"This sounds crazy, but does it get you hot looking at pictures of naked girls?"

"Yeah, you might say so."

She shook her head and sighed a little. "I bet you'll think I'm crazy or something," she said. "I bet you never met a girl it does the same thing to."

"What?" I looked at her, amazed. "Pictures of girls?"

"No, no, pictures of men. God, I get so hot I can't stand it. I mean those pictures of guys in those muscle magazines. My box just starts jumping."

"It's a little dark in here to read the menu."

"But do you know what I was doing before I came in here?"

"Let me guess," I said.

"God, I feel hot right now," she said. "I keep seeing those pictures in my head."