I pushed my cock deep into her mouth as I came hard. Sheila always knew how to suck my dick properly. I shot several spurts of cum down her throat. She swallowed it all in one gulp and then continued sucking on my sensitive head until there was no trace of any cum. We hadn’t fucked in like a week and I was getting agitated.
I looked around the seedy coach’s office. Probably nobody knew about what I was doing. Sheila stood up and we kissed as I groped her small breasts. I sometimes wished they were larger.
She broke the kiss and said, “That was hot, boyfriend.”
“Damn right, babe,” I replied.
We both laughed and I pulled my football shorts up. It wouldn’t be a good idea for the captain of the college team to be found pants down fucking a cheerleader at halftime.
She organised herself and cleaned off the spit on her face and we quickly walked out. I locked the coach’s office and headed to the dressing room. Sheila blew me a kiss. I grabbed it and placed it in my heart.
She had been mine since the first year and now in the third year, we were still madly in love.
“What the hell man!” a voice shouted at me.
I turned to see coach, a big muscular bearded man in his 50s. “You took too long. The team is heading out for the second half. We need you to be 100% focused. You’re the goddamn captain for fuck’s sake. Get your head in the game. We need to dominate the midfield. You’re the anchor of the midfield.”
“Yes, coach,” I said. “I always give my best for the team.”
“Now get out there and win us the game.”
I ran quickly into the pitch and caught up with my teammates.
The game started a few seconds later. A few minutes later, the striker passed to me and as I prepared to hit a long ball to one of the wingers, I felt someone shove into me and I fell down. I tried to stand up but the referee blew his whistle.
Suddenly, I realised all my teammates were running toward me. What was happening? I felt dizzy. My world was spinning. There was a burning searing pain in my elbow. I looked at my left hand just as I felt it. My hand had snapped into two. Halfway between the elbow and the wrist, my hand was fractured. Somehow during the fall, it had snapped like a twig.
My teammates surrounded me. I could see one of the defenders confronting the opposing team. The medical doctor arrived with a stretcher. The last thing I saw was the referee surrounded by several players brandishing a red card. I passed out.
I woke up several hours later in a hospital. My hand was bandaged. I could see coach and my mother seated on a bench near my bed.
“Hey, Mom,” I spoke softly.
She jumped up anxiously. “Oh my god, Brad. How are you feeling? I’m so sorry. I thought I was gonna lose you.” Tears were welling up in her eyes.
“I shouldn’t have played football, Mom.” I said struggling to keep my emotions in check. “Now I won’t play professional football again. This injury has ruined it for me.”
“Don’t say that, kid,” Coach said stepping up to my bedside. “It’s just your hand and you play football with your legs. You can still make it as a pro. You’re just 20 anyway.”
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