The Interview

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Football player combines workout and in-depth interview.
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I hate off-season workouts. I hate them with a passion. I mean, I know I have to stay in shape even when the team isn't playing, but that doesn't mean it's a whole lot of fun. Trying to stay on a team when you're my age is tough. All these young kids figure they can come on in and kick the old man's ass. The only way to keep it from getting kicked is to be in better shape than they are and use your smarts to beat their youth.

And smarts is where it's at. You don't have time to think about things. You just have to react and make the right moves when the openings present themselves. Of course that goes for everything in life, and what happened recently made me hate off-season workouts a whole lot less.

I've been with the team since they've been around, and that's a pretty long time. After nearly 15 years, I'm the next thing to a coach, so when the off-season comes around I can work out whenever I want since I have my own set of keys to the place. I can come in during evenings and do the things I need to do to keep my aging body from collapsing once the season gets here.

That night I had just finished a really punishing upper body workout. Curls, chest press, butterfly, the whole nine yards. I was totally wasted out, sitting there wearing nothing but compression shorts and sweat when I heard the door to the locker room open up. I looked up to see who the hell would walk in this time of night. Wouldn't be anyone from the front office, since 9-to-5 is their deal in the offseason.

And it wasn't. This woman walked through the door, carrying a notebook, a small tape recorder and a digital camera. I still have manners, so I stood up as she walked through the door. She was on the short side, but not little, built like I like 'em. You know, nice tits, not some skinny little thing but a woman that looks like a woman. And even better, she was about my age. The young ones look good, but they're a waste of time, since they can't carry on a conversation and likely couldn't carry on much else when it comes down to it.

Ah, the reporter's notebook. Great. I hate dealing with print types, since they ask the dumbest damned questions, and keep asking 'em over and over, then they misquote you when they write their piece for the paper. On the other hand, she looked way better than the usual run of print weenies we see during the season. I liked her auburn hair, and the confident way she walked, and oh yeah, nice rack. Just being up front here. She certainly was.

She came up to me an introduced herself as a writer for a website that I'd never heard of. "We're trying to break through the noise by being a little edgy," she said. "In fact, womenontheedge.com is about women looking for new and exciting things. I have to be honest. I'm trying to break through and get a more prominent role, and I immediately thought of you."

That had me confused. "How in the world am I on the edgy side of things?" I asked. "I mean, I'm not exactly a kid here. I'm in my 40's playing on a minor league indoor football team. I'm not exactly pinup material. We're talking a gray-hair playing football here. How's that going to get women excited?"

"That's my job to create the excitement," she said. "You underestimate yourself. You've become an institution in this town, and it's a tough town to bond with. You're good at what you do, and you're better looking than you give yourself credit for." She smiled.

Oho, I thought. The game's afoot, to misquote Sherlock Holmes. I realized that this could get interesting before it was all said and done. "Okay, we'll see where this goes. Yeah, I've been around a while and I'm pretty good at what I do, and I've been doing it in the same place for a very long time. Fire away."

She sat on one of the benches, so I sat on the same bench facing her. She started the recorder, set it down, then got out a pen and opened the note pad. "First off, why are you still playing after all of these years? Football of any kind really takes a toll on the body, and you're still going pretty strong, and the body seems to be in pretty good shape."

"Thanks. You're not so bad yourself," I said with an eyebrow wiggle. She just gave a half-smile, but I could tell my remark had the desired effect. "Listen, to play the game this long means you have to love it. It's in my blood. And quite frankly, I have the perfect body type to play interior defensive line."

"How's that?" she asked. "You're big but not all that tall."

"When you're filling the inside hole on the run, height can be a disadvantage. It's about leverage. Too big doesn't work. What you need to fill it up inside the line is girth. I'm wide and strong and that's what fills the holes on defense. When I play inside, that's what I'm there for, to fill the hole properly to get the job done."

She bit her upper lip slightly while she took notes. I could have sworn she was sneaking a peak at my compression shorts. If she was, she could tell that I was getting somewhat interested in our conversation and whatnot. Especially the whatnot.

"That makes perfect sense to me, and I'm not all that up on football." She paused. "Next question. You've been a starter here most of the time you've been with the team, but not the whole time. Tell me about how you got your job back a couple of years ago."

"This could take a while. You can tell I just got done working out with weights, right?" She nodded. "You might wonder why I pump so much iron when the season is still four months away. Here's why.

"I started getting complacent about five years ago. I'd been starting for so long I was taking things for granted and started slacking off. I felt like I was still doing a good job and going strong, so I wasn't doing all the things I'd done in the past to make sure that the job was mine. The team was struggling a bit, and things weren't going that well, but I wasn't paying attention to that. I was in my own little world.

"That's when they signed someone that played my spot. He was completely different from me, taller and not as big. He talked a good game, and sure looked good physically. But he was what we call a shells player. Looking good in helmet and shorts is one thing. Looking good in full pads and in the game is a whole 'nother deal.

"Like I said, he talked a good game. He was a big-time bullshitter as a matter of fact, and wound up weaseling his way into the lineup and getting some of the snaps I should have been getting. I had been struggling a little bit, so there he was taking advantage of that fact. Seeing him out there was like a knife in my heart. That was my spot he was trying to take.

"Only thing was, he was struggling even more than I was, but the coach didn't see it that way. He'd gone out on a limb to sign this guy, so he got more and more reps and snaps than I did, and before you knew it, he was in a position to take my job away completely.

"Oh man, was that a wake-up call. I realized how much I had been slacking off and that forced me to take a look at myself. I didn't like what I saw. I'd gotten fat and lazy, and at that point I vowed never to let that happen again.

"So I hit the weight room, renewed my commitment to the team and to playing the game like I should, and I called him out in practice. And guess what? He folded like a cheap tent. He couldn't stand the pressure, couldn't stand the competition. But it took a while for the coach to see it.

"Then I got my break. He'd been talking smack, but let loose a little tidbit and I did some research. Turned out he'd jumped a contract with a team in another league. It wasn't much of a team, and the situation here was a whole lot better for him, but under league rules he wasn't eligible to play. Once I let the coach know, that piece of shit was gone. Jumped on his motorcycle and got the hell out of town as fast as he could go.

"He wound up costing the team big time. They didn't have to pay compensation to his old team. They were so desperate they took him back without question. But there was a fan backlash to what had almost happened to me. I got an apology and a big thank you from the coach for hanging in there and letting him know the real score, and that was good enough for me.

"Since then, I realized that the only reason I was challenged was that I got lazy and made damn sure it wouldn't happen again. So that's why I'm working like a dog four months from the opening of training camp. There is no off-season anymore, not for me."

"Okay then, does the tattoo on your chest have something to do with it?" she asked. She reached out and touched it, running her hand down the length of the artwork which surprised the hell out of me. Not that I was complaining. It sure got my attention. "It's really nice, certainly colorful. Let me get a picture of it." She leaned back and took a couple of shots of my chest as I talked.

"Thanks. It's a phoenix rising from the ashes, as you can see. And you can feel that the artist did a really good job on it. I figured that my close call needed to be commemorated, so every time I looked in a mirror after getting undressed I'm reminded that I need to be on my toes all day, every day to preserve my position. It's my only tat. I figured if I'm going to get one, it's going to mean something." I paused.

"I can also tell you it hurt like hell. Three hours of being rubbed with 100 grit sandpaper is a good description."

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean. Getting a tattoo can really hurt." I took another look at her. She was wearing a Henley-type shirt that showed off her ample chest and left a good amount of cleavage. It also revealed a little heart tattoo on her upper left breast. Nice tattoo. Nice breast.

I pointed at the tat. "Somehow I don't think that took three hours," I said.

She laughed. "No, that one took about 45 minutes to do, and yes it hurt. My other one took a lot longer."

Oh yeah. This was getting interesting. "You have another tattoo? I'd love to see it."

"Now wait a minute. It's on my back above my shoulder blade and I'd have to take off my shirt to show you."

"Fine by me," I said. "I have no objection to that. Look at me. We've been talking now for about ten minutes, and all I'm wearing is a pair of compression shorts. Fair is fair. I'm showing you mine. You show me yours."

"You are such a Guy. Fine." She was acting huffy, but she overdid it. I knew she wanted to take off her shirt and show me her artwork. I knew I was going to get to see more, and I was ready for it.

She stood up and peeled off the shirt, and I got a better look at her tits. Oh my. D cups. Definitely what I like. Definitely. She turned after the shirt came off, but I could tell she hesitated so I could get a good look at her first. It was good, and it was a look. And the tattoo was a really nice one, a little devilette on her right shoulder, just above the shoulder blade. I stood up.

"Nice," I said. "Very nice. Good color, great artwork. Naughty Girl, hunh? You've got a little devil on your shoulder telling you to be naughty. I like that." I placed my hand on her back and stroked her tattoo, in similar fashion to the way she had touched me. Her skin was warm, and she gave a little shiver as my hand caressed her skin. And I felt something like an electrical charge run up my arm. It made my breath catch momentarily as the sensation hit me. I could tell she noticed.

She turned around, but slowly, as my hand rested on the top of her shoulder. Whoa. The feel of her skin had me a little bit dazed, and I thought I saw a similar look in her eyes. There was another pause, but then she cleared her throat and retrieved her notepad and broke the mood.

We both sat down on the bench, but this time we were both straddling the bench. I really liked the way the atmosphere had changed. Her body language was much more open, shall we say. And she made no move to put her shirt back on. I liked that, too, a whole lot.

"So, what's made you so successful here? You get the crowds fired up, and the team has won a title recently."

I smiled at her. "Thanks for the compliment. Some of it is working with what God gave me and making the most of it. Some of it is being smart about things. But I credit plain old hard work with most of it. Doing all the little things right and concentrating on fundamentals makes the big things happen"

"I guess the hard work part of it was what you were doing here today."

"Exactly. Pumping iron for an hour and a half can get boring. But you just do what you have to do now so you can reap the rewards later down the road."

"Why don't you show me your workout routine? I can get a few shots for the story while you explain things to me." She stood up and grabbed her stuff.

I got up as well, and began walking to the weight room. As I passed her, I put my left hand on the small of her back to guide her, and she leaned into it just a tad. I really started liking the body language. "We have a couple of machines, and a whole lot of free weights. I'm not going to load things up since I just got done, but I can do a couple of reps on whatever you need so you can get your pictures. Do you need me to change back into my workout stuff?"

She laughed. "No, what you have on now is perfect. This is supposed to be edgy, right? You look good to me."

I walked over to the dumbbells and picked up a couple of the lighter ones. "How about bicep curls? Work for you?"

"Yeah," she said and started taking pictures. I noticed that she backed up a little and was shooting from behind me, getting the reflection of me in the mirror, in what I figured was a head-to-toe shot. She moved around, closer with each picture, the last on one knee about a foot behind me. "Got it," she said. "How about something else, like that one over there." She motioned to the bench press.

I walked over and prepared to do a few reps. As I started, she again began taking pictures. But instead of standing behind me, she stood near my feet, and began backing up. I became uncomfortably aware that I was just wearing compression shorts and that left my bulge prominent, especially from the angle she was standing at. I paused with the weight in the air, and saw her lick her lips ever so slightly. And you can guess what that did to the bulge.

I put the bar back in the cradle. "Like what you got so far?" I asked as I sat upright.

She nodded and walked over to me. "Do you work out as intensely during the season?"

"No. The whole idea is to build up to game day and save your energy for the important stuff. You want to really go hard on the weights early in the week, and go hard on the field on the weekend."

"So I guess, off the field, the idea would be the same during the season, right?"

"Essentially. You take good care of yourself and save your energy for the weekend."

She smiled at me and said "Now we start getting a little more personal if you don't mind." I nodded. "I remember reading that boxers won't have sex anywhere from two to six weeks before they have a fight to maintain an aggressive edge. How do you handle this? Do you do something like that during the season?"

An opening I wasn't about to pass up. I laughed and said, "You're not kidding about getting personal. Tell you what, I'll answer your question but we're going to have to get on a level playing field around here. I'm sitting here wearing almost nothing. You get rid of those jeans and then we'll talk about this. Not until."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. Let's even things up. You want my answer, don't you?" Here we were -- time to see how this would play out. "It will make your story more edgy, right?"

I could see her face start to flush, and I knew what her answer would be. "Fine. If that's what it takes, what the hell." She gave me a challenging stare, looking straight into my eyes, kicked off her shoes, unzipped her pants and peeled them off and tossed them on the floor. "Satisfied?" she said rather sharply and took two steps forward so she was maybe standing a foot away from me. Her tits were at my eye level. Her breathing had shallowed a bit, either from nervousness or perhaps something else.

"That's much better," I said with a smile. "Much better. Very nice. You might have noticed I'm a little older than the other guys, and that means I'm a little more picky about things. Not being attached to anyone right now means this is more theoretical than anything else, but I stay away from having sex starting the day before a game. Getting laid is great, but I get a little too relaxed and I need to be keyed up just a bit to really cut loose on the football field. I'm glad we're in the off-season right now."

"Why is that?"

"Then I wouldn't be able to do this." I then stood up, put my hand on her lower back and planted a kiss on her lips. At first she tried to push away, but about two seconds in I felt her sigh and lean into the kiss. In fact, her tongue slipped into my mouth first, and then we both stepped up the pace. After about ten seconds, my hand slid down to her ass at the same time she wrapped her arms around me. She pulled even closer and I felt her hand dip past the waistband of my shorts. She let out a moan.

That's when I broke things off and leaned back and looked her in the eye. "I'm sure you'd like to know more about this, wouldn't you."

"Yes," she said rather huskily. "Yes, I would."

"I know what I like. I like woman around my own age because I want to be able to carry on a conversation." My hand moved up from her ass and I unsnapped her bra with two quick motions and tossed it aside. "I also like a woman that looks like a woman. I love tits that are nice and full like yours. They're perfect for sucking on."

I sat down on the bench, pulling her closer and taking her right nipple into my mouth and gently sucking on it. She made a little gasping noise as I began to caress the nipple with my tongue, swirling it around and flicking it while massaging both tits with my hands. I lifted my head and flicked it with my tongue and began swirling it around her areola as her nipple stiffened even more. I then shifted my attention to the left side and repeated the process. She placed her right hand behind my head, pressing me even closer as her breathing became more rapid.

My hands moved to her waist, and I began to slide her panties down her legs. Her arousal was obvious, as the crotch of the panties had a stain, and I breathed in the aroma of her excitement. My head moved down her torso, kissing her belly, tongue flicking out and touching her sensitive skin. She quivered with each touch, her hand still placed firmly on the back of my head as she began pushing it down toward her wet pussy.

I stopped and looked up at her face, flushed pink with desire. "I also like a woman with a nicely trimmed pussy just like yours. It makes it so much easier to taste and lick and eat." She let out another moan. "Do lady reporters like having their pussy eaten?"

"Oh God yes," she said. "Please." I sank to my knees to get a better angle, as she spread her thighs wider while still standing. My tongue darted out, touching her clitoris and she shivered a little. I leaned back and drank in her scent. It was almost sweet and I couldn't hold out anymore and slid my tongue up and down the labia, probing ever so slightly each time I worked it along the slit. I found the hole with little trouble, and with her juices flowing I slid my tongue inside her pussy and began swirling.

Each time I stiffened my tongue and went a little deeper. She again grasped the back of my head with her right hand, her left firmly grasping my shoulders for balance and moaned and rocked at my inroads to her inner being. I sensed her bending her head back, and I stopped, and stood up and looked her in the eye. "Your turn."

She didn't hesitate. Her hands grabbed my shorts and she peeled them down my legs. My now stiffened dick slipped free and extended out to its full near 7-inch length. She finished sliding the shorts to the floor and I stepped free from them as she grasped me and began sliding her hand up and down. "Why did you pick me as a subject," I asked breathlessly.

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