Lost Match, Crowd Still Entertained

'Lino' referred to within this story is slang for linesman, the former name (still in widespread common use) for an assistant referee in football.

Should you like my second story, please follow, message or add comments as it will encourage further submissions. It would be good to hear from you.

I would like to thank Todger65 for his support in editing guidance and grammar checking this story.

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"Where are my flags?" Emma couldn't find them, and she was going to be late to the ground at this rate.

"I put them under your bed," her mum said, "they were in the way down here."

Emma was quite old to still be living at home with her parents, but her stubbornness that no man was good enough had proved the downfall to many a relationship and thus she had not moved out.

Emma sighed and ran upstairs to locate them "I'm bound to be late now, and this is my big match." She quickly grabbed her boots on the way out.

Emma was 28, a brunette with a shapely figure. She had always been one of the prettiest girls in college and one of the most popular with the boys, but didn't reciprocate their friendship. Sometimes she used to tease and flirt but then humiliate them with a slap down in with a comment or a back turn.

Emma had thought for a long time that she was at least equal if not better than all men. She had been delighted in recent years when the MeFree movement had erupted, with women using their views to legally challenge perceived unfairness. It was generally accepted that there was nothing wrong with fairness all around, but women now tried to regularly prove that they were better than men at all the roles men had usually taken, and the movement had taken matters too far.

Male sport was one of those roles.

Arriving at the ground Emma approached the 'Private' parking barrier and an official approached.

"You're in the wrong place love," he said, "public parking is round the other side of the ground."

"I am not the public; I am a professional woman and officiating at this match." Emma scorned. "I demand a space with the players parking."

The volunteer official was annoyed at the outburst but looking at the indignant Emma he raised the barrier and pointed to a space.

"Thank you, Mr parking attendant," Emma smirked.

He nearly dropped the barrier on her car as she drove through but thought better of it.

Woman linesmen! What was football coming to he thought and returned to looking at his Sun newspaper, focusing on the topless Page 3 girl.

Once parked, Emma quickly retrieved her sports holdall from the car boot and rushed towards the Officials Only entrance. In her keenness to reach her destination she quickened her pace and pushed through the now gathering crowd.

"Out of my way!"

"Come on, move, out of my way!"

An elderly couple were edging towards the concessionary turnstile. Emma arrived at their position with speed and found herself placing her hands on the old man's back and pushing him to steady herself but also an attempt to make space to continue her path. The old man, with a stick to aide his walking, lurched forward, stumbled, and crumpled to his knees.

Emma looked back as she continued past and the old man's wife was staring at her.

"Hey, don't push him," the old woman said with a growl, "can't you see he's got a stick young woman?"

"I'm in a rush and you're all in my way." yelled Emma as she disappeared into the distance to get to the pre-match briefing.

The old woman shook her head and tended to her husband, slowly helping him to his feet. They continued their way towards the entrance turnstile.

Emma reached the entrance for match Officials and joined the Referee and a male linesman already in the changing room.

"Hello Emma," said the referee who knew she was expected. He was unhappy at being the lead official at a game where a woman was to run the line, had sent his concerns to the Association, but had been somewhat rebuked. It was the way the game was going.

"The opposition has a black stripe in their colours today, so we are wearing yellow shirts. Briefing in 10 minutes on the pitch edge."

Emma looked around the changing room. One room, one shower unit, one toilet.

"I can't change in the same room as men," she whinged. "Where's my female changing facility?"

"There aren't any separate facilities Emma," said the referee, "football has always been a man's game and that's the way it's set up to be."

"Huh! not now, women are just as good as men, I demand a separate changing area."

The referee sighed and spoke with the other linesman. Already changed, they decided to leave the room and let Emma change in private.

"You have 10 mins," the referee snapped "See you at the pitch side, and don't be late."

Emma looked for a door lock, but there was not one. She stuck her head out of the door and beckoned a nearby ground official to her.

"I want you to stand outside the door and not let anyone in," she stropped, "I don't wish to be on show whilst I'm changing."

When she was certain no one would disturb her, she changed quickly into her linesman clothes and tied her shoulder-length hair back in a bunch.

The match started and Emma ran the attacking sideline for the home team. It was an event-less first half as the home side were doing most of the defending. Whilst standing on the halfway line, with the ball and most players in the home teams defending half, Emma heard one or two catcalls from the crowd. She ignored them.

"Nice ass on that linesman." Followed by "She could run my line any day."

The first half ended, and the home side were losing 1 - 0. During the half time break, Emma again demanded that the referee and the other linesman, leave the room whilst she used the facilities. They were not best amused.

The Second half started and it began to drizzle with rain. Halfway through and the home side started attacking. Emma was needing to run up and down the line to keep up with play. With the increased running, she noticed that her feet appeared to have more movement in her boots, and given a pause in the play, looked down. She wondered why they were loose. The laces were tied, all seemed in order.

The ball was kicked up-field and Emma was on the move again. The ball went out on her side, and she raised her flag giving the throw-in to the opposition.

The crowd screamed abuse - the ball had come off one of the opposition players.

The home players surrounded Emma and the referee. The referee, from what he saw, was sure the crowd and home players were correct, but had no choice than to support Emma who was adamant that she was right.

The players, still annoyed, returned to the game.

Emma was on the move again. This time she had to turn and run back quickly to follow the path of the ball. In changing direction, her foot, loose in the boot, stepped out and she needed to complete her run with one boot missing.

"Can't even tie her boot up properly!" someone in the crowd yelled. There was a bit of laughter.

With the game constantly in play, Emma had no time to retrieve the boot and her socked foot became muddier and wetter from contact with the ground. Eventually the game stopped for a foul, and she looked at her drenched sock. She stared at the other boot and noticed that it had a blue flash on the side. They were not her boots. She must have picked up an old pair, maybe not even hers. That was why they were loose. She cursed herself for rushing earlier.

The game restarted and more running the line meant the remaining boot joined its 'partner' by slipping off her foot. Emma continued in her socked feet. She was, after all a professional.

The game progressed and Emma forget the fact she was running the line bootless. A couple more throw-in decisions and jeering from the crowd followed

"Oh look, she got that right." And "Wear your glasses for that one, did you?"

The home side pushed forward and there was a muddy scramble in the opposition box. There were 5 mins to go. The ball was back and forth as home players fought to stab it in the net and score, and opposition players fought to defend. The crowd yelled and the home players spun away celebrating that the ball had gone over the line. Emma flagged.

The referee speaking through her earpiece, which connected the officials, suggested she lower her flag. However, she held firm and waved her flag again. The referee had no choice but to run over to her, quickly followed by the home players.

"What?" snapped the annoyed referee.

"There was a foul. The home teams' number 10 kicked out at a defender which stopped the defender blocking the ball." said Emma firmly.

"I didn't see that, and It looks fair to me," replied the referee not wishing to reverse the decision and annoy the crowd further.

"Well, that's why I'm running the line, to spot what you miss." Emma proudly enthused.

The referee glared at her; the players glared at her. The referee blew his whistle and disallowed the goal. The crowd went mental and those around her hurled abuse in her direction. The game ended and the home team had lost.

Still fresh in their mind, as the opposition left the pitch, the home players ran towards Emma, and soon hands came up and pushing started in the jostling that ensued as they all tried to say their thoughts about her decision making.

Emma looked around for the protection of the Referee, but he and the other linesman had already left the pitch to avoid any trouble from the angry players and supporters.

The club officials will help me she thought. She looked either side but only saw the car park gate official close by and he was ignoring her request for assistance.

Slowly she found herself backing away from the angry players and backing towards the crowd. The crowd too were angry. With little choice, she continued to back towards them and eventually was standing in front of the first-row spectators. Further jostling and a final push and Emma found herself falling backwards. Hands came up and she was supported from hitting the concrete base of the stands, but equally, her feet came up with the motion and she was being carried by a sea of hands.

"Thanks," she said to those supporting her. "Put me back down on my feet."

The crowd, still annoyed, decided to have a bit of fun and she was handed from side to side. Then as momentum picked up and more members of the crowd joined in, she found herself crowd-surfed towards the back of the stand.

"Stop this," she said. "I have to get back for the match debriefing."

The crowd were all enjoying the spectacle of the 'annoying official' being passed from supporter to supporter. However, the crowd also found they were getting slapped in their faces by wet muddy socks, which, through their wetness had come away from the end of Emma's feet. They were now acting like a wet towel, slapping left and right as she moved, and the socks swayed, above their heads.

Eventually hands moved to protect themselves from an unwanted wet slap and a few decided to yank the socks away, which helped to pull them off.

"Look the linesman has painted toenails." a few in the crowd mused.

"Delicate feet for a linesman." came the calls.

Emma was somewhat oblivious to her sock removal and indeed her feet were grateful at not being encased in wet muddy cotton.

The sight of Emma crowd surfing brought a cheer from those all around the ground. The players too stayed gathered by the North stand to watch the helpless girl moving up the spectators, then heading back down only to be turned around and begin her journey again.

First just one faint voice, then a couple and then Emma heard a section of the crowd chanting

"Take it off, ...take it off!"

It took Emma another moment to realise that the hands had managed to push her shirt up and her sports bra was now exposed with her shirt held scrunched under her arms. Her sports bra was fluorescent yellow, the same colour as her shirt, as she didn't want it to be seen underneath her shirt as she ran the line. Now it stood out in colour against the dark-coated spectators.

Many more spectators turned to look as the bright colour flashed in the corner of their eyesight. Emma pulled her arms into her chest to gain some control and reposition her shirt. She was riding what felt like a storm wave and battled as she brought her arms in, nearly losing balance and tumbling, but the crowd's hands were strong and she was caught from falling further. As she was being moved across the sea of hands, she was pushed and pulled and found herself turned over from her back to her front. It was on one of these turns that she felt the crowd regaining control of her limbs and her hands were forced back out effectively to support her body weight balance but also rendering her somewhat helpless.

"WHAT!!... STOP!!... NO!" she yelled, but to no avail.

Whilst hands were supporting her from falling, she felt fresh hands grappling for the bottom of her shirt and yanking it sideways. As hands from different directions joined in, her shirt was being pulled taut against her body. The pulling and yanking continued and Emma could feel the material of the shirt giving way.

With a loud rip the shirts tight material tension across her body was released but so were the shirt buttons. Her shirt, now open to the waist was flapping in the faces of those below and, with annoyance at being effectively 'material whipped' again, many hands continued to pull the flapping halves. Eventually more rips followed and her shirt disintegrated. Finally, she felt the cool night air and watched pieces of her shirt also surf the crowd but moving away from her body.

With just her sports bra covering her breasts, she was sure one or two of the hands were now having an unwanted feel as they supported her and moved her up and down on top of the crowd. The bra, being a sports bra, was made of sturdy material but what worried Emma was that the jostling back and forth was having an effect on her nipples. They were beginning to stiffen, which had not gone unnoticed by the wandering hands.

As the game had finished, the crowd surfing official was now being filmed by the Sky camera crew who were providing a feed to the media room The media staff, in turn, had found a way to link the feed with the big screens inside the stadium and suddenly the whole placed roared as the images became visible.

Emma's involuntary surf was not only being streamed to the crowd in the ground but also those that had tuned in to watch the match and were watching on TV.

Whilst Emma had heard the crowd roar, she was unaware that her predicament was being filmed and relayed. She continued to concentrate on maintaining her balance and try to find a break in the hands to descend.

A louder cheer from the crowd and Emma became aware of new hands reaching out for the toggle on her shorts. Her immediate need was to save her shorts and her hands moved quickly to grab the top of the item and grip. She also quickly placed one hand over the toggle bow, and, as she had securely fastened the toggle before the match, it was holding fast.

"PUT ME DOWN!" she yelled at those supporting here, as she fought to keep her hands in place.

Seeing that Emma was winning the battle, a few members of the crowd collectively groaned.

Composing herself and now feeling more in control Emma was sure that the hands would tire, and she would be let down.

"NO!... STOP!... SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Emma cried out as some of the crowd now decided that the only way to get the shorts away from her grip was to make a distraction.

Emma felt hands clawing at her mid-drift as they attempted to find the lower elastic of her sports bra. She found herself pleading again with the crowd who appeared to be enjoying every moment of her humiliation.

"Let's see your tits," and "Bet her nipples are rock hard." came the crowd calls.

"Please," said Emma now a little worried, "put me down, I ... I won't report anything."

Fingers had now successfully found and latched on to the lower sports bra elastic and again Emma felt a cool shot of air as the elastic was pulled out and back from her body as she jolted up and down in her involuntary movement across the supporters.

A natural reaction, but a wrong one, followed with Emma deciding to let go of the waistband and toggle of her shorts and, move both hands to grab her sports bra and keep it in position.

Immediately she felt herself being turned onto her front and was staring into the eyes of men and women who appeared intent in showing no sympathy. Once on her front, the searching crowd hands found the tied toggle more accessible and, when two separate pairs of hands manged to locate either strand of the tie, the pulling began.

Again, Emma felt the tightness of the shorts around her waist relax as the tie rope was freed from its knot. Now, with no tight hold to the wearers' body, the shorts were effectively a limp piece of material waiting for further instructions from the wearer. However, on this occasion, it was not the wearer giving the instructions.

"NOOOOOOO!". Emma found herself yelling as the shorts were being rolled down her legs.

The jolting of her body as she was moved over the crowd surf made her effectively shake the shorts over her bottom and help the crowd with their desire. The black shorts revealed her fluorescent yellow matching sports boxers underneath, before the shorts continued their descent. They paused at her knees where she had managed to make a bend, but again the crowd had gathered an inner strength from somewhere and she found her feet being grabbed and her legs straightened.

Once her legs were pulled straight it took little time for her shorts to complete their journey past her shapely calves, over her heels and bare feet, and eventually completely off. The stadium roared as the shorts were twirled on the big screen and tossed around between the cheering crowd.

An older couple were watching in the crowd as Emma was passed back and forth. The old lady yelled at those around her as Emma headed on a sea of hands towards them. When she got little response, she grabbed her husband's walking stick and began hitting the metal corrugated iron that was at the back of the stand. The clattering noise made those around her turn.

When enough people had turned and with the attention of the crowd immediately around where she stood, she yelled

"Stop this, bring her over to me," the old lady said as loudly as she could muster. "Over here."

The crowd jeered and turned back to watch Emma's lingerie surfing but the old lady persisted and started hitting the stick again against the metal.

"Hey, be quiet dear," said a young adult standing not too far away. "Isn't it late for you both to be out of the Care home?"

"Don't be so rude young man," the old lady yelled. Then staring at the teenager, she continued "I know you, I used to teach your father Jimmy. You're Tom, aren't you? Well Tom, I put your father in his place a few times in my class and I'm certain I could do the same with you!"

"Now tell those around you to bring her to me - NOW!"

Tom saw the stick wave and thought better of continuing to patronize or verbally abuse the woman. He patted a few shoulders around him, spoke to them whilst motioning at the old lady. Laughed along with then but surely, soon enough the message was passed down and the majority of hands started moving Emma back up the stand towards where the older lady stood.

Emma now felt a difference in the surfing. She was on her front and being passed rather than jostled around. The passing was orderly and less frantic which gave her time to catch her breath. She was relieved.

She saw the older couple, the woman now handing her stick back to her husband and smiling with outstretched arms in the direction of Emma and she relaxed some more. The old lady had come to her rescue and stood up to the crowd mob Emma thought. She felt she would soon be down and comforted by her rescuers. Her journey was slow, partly because the crowd didn't want this fun to end and partly because Emma wanted it to be over quickly and her brain was making the final journey seem very lengthy.