Football Lovers: A Woman’s Guide to Enjoying a Rough, Manly Sport

The pro football season is in full swing, so there’s no better time to talk about the inspiration for “10 a.m. Kickoff,” my mid-morning offering for the pleasures-round-the-clock anthology Morning, Noon and Night: Erotica for Couples, edited by Alison Tyler.

I know there are women who’ve been raised on football and love it for the sport alone, but I’ll confess I’m not one of them.  I come from a family of three sisters, and our preferred activities were dancing, ice skating, and tennis, cute outfits required.  On Sunday afternoons, my father might occasionally sneak off to watch a football game on TV.  Now and then I joined him.  I always asked if he liked the white or dark team better (we had a black-and-white TV way past the time most of my friends’ families had switched to color), and try as I might, I never quite figured out how a first down worked.

I decided football was strictly for boys.

Then I met my future husband in the fall of 1985.  He's from Chicago.  Football fans will know that this was an unforgettable, historic time for a Chicago Bears fan.  He didn’t miss a game that season, although of course, living in California, he watched it on TV (a tiny black-and-white set he’d bought for $99 on a student budget).  I didn’t miss a game either, and I loved every minute of it.  Part of it was because he patiently explained all the basic and finer points of the game to me as we watched.  Part of it was that I came to appreciate the human drama of each player’s story.  Amusingly, I felt a special bond with coach Mike Ditka, who, like me, grew up near Pittsburgh, was an English major and chewed gum when he was stressed out.

But I’ll be honest.  The real reason I came to enjoy football so very much is that the two of us watched it as we lay in bed, skin to skin.  This excerpt from my story will give you a taste of how I became a football fan.  For couples who find themselves drifting apart come autumn--the man glued to the TV, the woman hoping his favorite team does not make the play-offs—well, why don’t you try our method for making football a mutually pleasurable activity?

From “10 a.m. Kickoff” in Morning, Noon, and Night:

The announcer’s voice rose in excitement.  Alex’s body tensed again.  He let out a sigh of victory and relaxed into the mattress.  I used that as an excuse to rock my hips forward, grinding my clit against his leg.

Alex glanced down at me with a faint frown.  He had to be aware how aroused I was.  I could feel my slickness as my pussy skated up and down over his skin.

His hand crept toward me, and I thought, for a stomach-churning moment, that he was going to push me away.  Instead he brushed my nipple through my nightshirt, then took the stiff tip between his fingers and tweaked it.

A jolt of electric pleasure shot straight to my groin. I moaned aloud into his shoulder.

He laughed softly.  Then let me languish there, unattended, while he swore at the ref’s bad call.

How the hell was I going to keep his attention on me instead of that damn game?  Desperate for an ally, I curled my fingers around his hard cock.  It twitched in solidarity.

Alex looked down at me again, as if deciding what to do.  Then he did push me away, rearranging our bodies so I was on my back and he was on his side.  One hand slipped around my shoulders to caress my breast, the other cupped my mons.  Caught in his embrace, I’d lost my power to control my own stimulation.  His cock, too, was safe from the temptations of my wandering hands.

“You be a good girl until half time,” he warned, his eyes still fixed on the TV screen.

I whimpered in protest, but could do little but surrender to my fate.

Which wasn’t as bad as it seemed at first.  Alex didn’t ignore me completely.  He doled out bits of pleasure between plays like single kernels of buttered popcorn.  A palm circling over a nipple here, an idle stroking of my slit there.  Just enough to get me arching up and breathing fast.  Gradually we established little rituals of celebration.  A first down for his team earned my breasts a few hot kisses.  A touchdown won me a spirited clit strumming that brought me almost to the verge—before his fingers retreated to the remote to check the game on the other channel.

After a while, my lust hovered at a steady simmer even through the breaks.  Yet each new ministration raised the temperature a few degrees until my flesh seemed to melt into a puddle of pussy juice beneath my ass.

At long last, half time arrived.....

 

Donna George Storey is the author of Amorous Woman, a semi-autobiographical tale of an American’s sexual awakening in Kyoto, which will change your image of Japan—and erotica--forever.  Her adults-only tales have appeared in over 150 journals and anthologies including Penthouse, Best Women’s Erotica, The Mammoth Book of Erotica Presents the Best of Donna George Storey, and The Big Book of Bondage.