This story is all SirHugs's fault. This was a gloveslap:
how about this:
Exhibitionist and Voyeur
at a soccer ( football to you) match
900 to 1200 words
include a one-eyed man and a three legged chicken
and a girl named Tex
use the line "fire in the hole"
use a team scarf creatively
However I'm cheating on the word count. A lot. I think I've done quite a good job in getting in all of the elements without resorting to satire and I liked this story so much that I couldn't bear to cut any of it.
Don't forget to send feedback and to vote. If you enjoyed this story then you'll probably like From a Boeing 747 (http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=85100) or X-men: All About Touch (http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=93622). Hope you like.
The entire crowd rose as one to acclaim the Liverpool team. The eleven red shirts flooded out onto the pitch and 60,000 people stood together, forming a wall of noise that ricocheted around the stadium. I closed my eyes, allowing the sound to wash over me. This was why I kept coming back here, despite the team's lacklustre performances on the pitch. It wasn't about the football anymore; I came here to be part of something. When I was here, I was just a small part of a red wall; a huge group of people all focussed on one thing, with one goal. I liked that.
The garish team mascot pranced along the touchline and I sighed in annoyance at being disturbed from my reverie. Sure it entertained the kids, but was it really necessary to have a three-legged chicken as team mascot? It seemed over-the-top to me.
I looked around me. Due to the wonders of the Anfield ticket office, my season ticket got put in a different place every year. Everybody I'd got to know last year had been shuffled around to a different part of the stadium. I searched the seats around me for a familiar face, someone to discuss whether Owen would finally get the support he needed from Heskey this season, or whether Liverpool would be looking for a new striker again. Nobody.
Then I saw something that made me do a double-take. The most gorgeous woman I had ever seen had just folded her exquisite body into the seat next to mine. I raised my eyes to the sky and thanked God. I didn't know what I'd done in a previous life to deserve sitting next to this raven-haired, dusky-skinned beauty for twenty matches, but I was willing to bet that it was something pretty spectacular. I'd never seen anyone fill a Liverpool shirt that well before and the gossamer thin red shorts could have been designed to show off her legs.
"Praying for the result?" Her voice startled me from my thoughts.
"Umm yeah. I know we're only playing Wolves, but every little helps."
She smiled, an impressive flash of teeth. "I'm Tex."
"I'm Jack, but everyone calls me OEJ."
I lifted my eyepatch for a second so she could see the scarred eye socket. "One Eyed Jack. Like in poker. Not tactful, but I've grown up with the nickname."
"Better than being a suicidal king I suppose." Tex smiled again. "Go on, you can ask about my name."
"So were you conceived in Texas?"
"Ooh, good guess. No, my full name's Aztec. People just ended up calling me Tex."
I searched for another topic; most people became a little embarrassed and taciturn after finding out about my eye and I really wanted to keep this conversation going. "So you a big Reds supporter?"
"Have been for years. I like the way the game makes me feel. All tingly inside."
I raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes really. Quite often in that way too," Tex laughed. She leant over to whisper conspiratorially in my ear. "Sometimes it makes me so horny I just can't help myself."
She sat straight in her seat again and started to sing with the rest of the crowd. I sat there with a confused look on my face as the strains of 'You'll Never Walk Alone' echoed around the ground. Usually I loved this Anfield ritual, but Tex's words had driven all thoughts of singing out of my head. I felt like 'Does not compute' was written across my forehead. I must've been mistaken. She couldn't have said that. Could she?
"Don't look so shocked!" Tex was watching me, a cheeky grin splitting her face.
My brain struggled to remember how my voice worked. "Were you being serious?"
The grin widened. "Well I guess you'll have to wait and see." She turned back to the game suddenly as Liverpool kicked off. Owen to Heskey and back to Gerrard. I tried to concentrate on the game, but couldn't stop my eyes from sneaking over to Tex. What if she was being serious?
The crowd rose as Liverpool attacked, slick passing setting Kewell free down the left hand side. I leant forward in my seat, expecting the cross. Kewell stepped inside the defender and looked to swing the ball towards goal, but a last-ditch tackle knocked the ball behind for a corner. The crowd settled as we waited for the corner kick and in the sudden hush, I heard a weird sound to my right.
I turned my head to see Tex groan again. Her eyes were on the game, but the groan obviously came from the movements of her hand in her lap. I sat back in my seat and looked at her. She glanced briefly at me before returning her eyes to the game where Riisse was preparing to take the corner. Her hand was moving in her lap, pressing through the thin football shorts she was wearing. I wondered if she was even wearing anything underneath them.
One of her hands grabbed mine and pulled it to her thigh. I started, surprised at the sudden movement. She pressed my hand against her skin, pushing it up her thigh. I reacted after a second, sliding my palm over her smooth, warm skin. Her shorts rode up and my eyes flitted to the dark shadow between her legs.
I moved my hand further up her thigh, my fingers nearly brushing against her pussy now and was rewarded with another groan for my efforts. Tex's body shuddered as my finger ran over her quim, dancing over her lips. All around us, people were shouting and screaming at the men in red, too engrossed in the game to give a damn what the people next to them were doing. I took a chance and moved my other hand up to openly touch her tits.
She gasped, taken by surprise as my hand cupped her ripe warm breast, gently squeezing and caressing. I looked around again, expecting to see stewards ready to throw us out of the stadium. Nobody cared. No-one would pay us any attention as long as Liverpool were camped in the Wolves half. Emboldened, I slid a finger into her pussy. Tex yelped involuntarily and her pussy squeezed around me as I curled my finger upwards, aiming for her G-spot.
Tex leant over and started whispering in my ear again. "Oh God that feels good. Please, please, do that again." The rest of her words disappeared into a long passionate groan as I slid another finger into her. Her face contorted with pleasure and I watched as her chest heaved, hard nipples pitching through her shirt as she gasped for breath.
Suddenly Heskey collapsed in the penalty area. The crowd roared for blood as the Liverpool forward picked himself up from the clumsy tackle. Tex yelled with the rest of them. "Come on ref!"
It felt as though the referee had heard her cry. Certainly it couldn't have been anything else; I haven't seen a more obvious dive since the last Olympics. Michael Owen placed the ball on the spot and took his measured steps backwards. I felt her body convulse around my fingers as he stared contemptuously at the keeper. Her eyes remained focussed on the game, but her breathing started coming in short gasps now.
"He's going to blast this one," she whimpered. "Please, keep going. I wanna cum when…" Her words trailed off in another paroxysm of pleasure.
I used my free hand to remove my Liverpool scarf, holding it near the end, where the soft white thread frilled out into thin tassels. Her eyes were still fixed on the game, so I moved very slowly to surprise her. The end of the scarf made contact with her clit and she groaned, her entire body flexing out of her seat. "Oh God. Do that again."
I brushed the tassels against her again and she bucked, her body close to coming at the unusual stimulation. The keeper danced along the line as Owen loped towards the ball, his body shaping for the contact.
"Fire in the hole!" she said out loud.
The ball exploded into the top corner of the net. Tex threw her head back and groaned. I could feel her entire body shake with the force of her orgasm as her pussy convulsed around my fingers. Michael Owen ran and wheeled towards the stands saluting the crowd, completely unaware that two people there were unusually grateful for his goal.
* * *
"You'll Never Walk, Alone! Yooouu'll Neeever Walk Alone!" Anfield boomed to the sound of 60,000 contented supporters singing their hearts out in triumph. Okay, so it was only Wolves, but a win was a win.
Tex and I walked out of the stadium side by side. I wasn't quite sure what to do from there, but I knew one thing. I had to see her again.
She solved my indecision by leaning over and kissing me. "Same time next week?" she asked.
I attempted nonchalance. "I guess so."
Tex laughed at me. "You'd better. I want to show you some of my tricks next week. Can you wait that long?"
"That's what I love about Liverpool supporters." Tex moved away from me and smiled. "They're so used to coming second." She melted away into the crowd.
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