It's a Sunday in autumn, so I have football on the mind.
Yes, football. American football, specifically (though there is something to be said for those South American yummies in their short shorts playing futbol in the hot hot sun). Ahem, well then, as I was saying: football. Now, don't you dare clickity: this post is erotica-related. I promise. Not only is football replete with all those delicious metaphors that stimulate the intellectual sixth sense (tight ends, touch downs, and huddling over balls, yeah?), it's also the entry drug to a whole bag of fantasy goodness.
Exhibit 1: The salty smell of smuggled-in hooch. Say you're lingering in the stands during the third quarter of a game that is, to all intents and purposes, over. Surrounding you are a dozen or so nubile uni boys. Half of them are shirtless. The other half are tanked. Not a girlfriend in sight. And then, filtering through the stench of popcorn and spilled soda, you catch it: the whiff of smuggled-in hooch. You turn to the dark-eyed stranger on your right, the one with the white letter T smeared all over his perfect pecs, and ask him for a sip. Deepen the conversation by asking exactly where and how he smuggled in his flask, and the game is suddenly much more interesting.
Exhibit 2: The under-blanket one-hander. Nothing says autumn like a cool night at the game with your hunny. Only, by the time you’ve nibbled the hot-dog-on-a-stick (not nearly as titillating as it sounds) and buffed your nails and hollered a little and texted your BFF, you’re getting bored. At the same time, Hunny is way into the game and has rebuffed all your attempts to distract him. That’s when you remember the stadium blanket. Of course! You draw it up snug over the both of you and take the chill off your ungloved hands in the warmest place you can think of. Once Hunny has forgotten the game entirely, you can gently remind him that the blanket is on your lap, too, and you always did enjoy a tie ballgame. Voila: you both have something to cheer about.
Exhibit 3: Sunday afternoon overtime. He’s watched two games already, and now it’s getting dark outside. You’ve been patient with him all day, even nodded sweetly when he invited Nick and Andre over to watch. And after being a good girl all day long, you’ve decided that’s a splendid idea. The watching, that is. You nip into Hunny’s closet and find his last-year’s lucky jersey, the slippy polyester one in extra large. You put it on. And take everything else off. You slink into the basement viewing cathedral with a beer in hand and smile on your face. Time the boys to see how long it takes each of them to notice that there’s a half-naked woman among them, lounging on the beanbag. If they mention it, remind them that they’re only here to watch. Unless you’re game, of course.
See? Football is very sexy. Now get out there and score.
Viv is an erotica and erotic romance writer. She's cross-posted this bit to her personal blog. Her erotic goodies are available on Paper Bag Press.