11 comments/ 41575 views/ 45 favorites The Franchise By: DrSqueaky I dribbled, keeping one eye on the defender, shielding the ball with my body, looking for one of the other players to come open in the middle. But there was someone in the lane every time one of them made a cut, and the shot clock was winding down. Time to make something happen. I focused on my defender, saw his eyes watching me. I feinted to the right; he took a half-step to cut me off, but didn't over-commit. He was a good defender, so he expected me to fake one way then go the other. I gave him what he expected to see—I crossed over to my left hand, and took a step towards the inside. Now he bit, moving strong to cut me off and going for the steal, coming up with nothing but air as I deftly executed a spin, switched back to the right hand and drove through the space he had just vacated. Seemingly in slow motion, the center left his man as did the forward on the wing, moving to intercept me on the way to the hole. I was giving up eight inches to one and four to the other, but that was OK because I wasn't shooting anyway—they just didn't know that. I took one more step and elevated, looking like was going to drive on the center. I thought he might jump up and go for the block, but because he thought I was driving he stood his ground, thinking to take the charge. That just made it easier for me. I didn't drive; I jumped straight up. The forward coming across hadn't committed, and now jumped, trying to reach his hand into my face to block a pull-up jumper that never came. Instead, I softly lobbed the ball high to the left of the basket, where the center that was now left undefended was already going up. He received the ball and slammed it through with a two-handed tomahawk jam. The crowd jumped to its feet screaming, whereas I calmly backpedaled on defense, low-fiving the center on his way by. I ended up the game with only 16 points but 12 assists (my season averages were 21 and 8). More importantly we won the game, improving to 8-2 in the conference and tied for first place. People tell me I get my ball skills from my mom. I think I get my quickness from my mom, a former pro cheerleader and still an amazing athlete in her mid-40s, but I think that my dad deserves more credit than he gets. I think I get my shooting and basketball smarts I get from BOTH sides of the family. Either way I won the genetic lottery; a four-year starter at a big-time program, a virtual lock to be all-conference for the third time, projected to go in the mid-first round in the June pro draft. That is, if I'm drafted at all. See, there's a bit of a problem: Association rules prevent anyone from having a significant interest in more than one franchise. That rule almost never comes into play, but it does for me. My name is Davis Rutherford IV, and I am the heir to pro basketball's Jammers franchise. Ever since I was able to walk, I have lived and breathed Jammers basketball. Even if there weren't a rule, I've made it abundantly clear that I will NOT play for any other team. If someone else drafts me trying to blackmail my dad (as GM) to overpay for me, I've already said I have no problem sitting out and working in the front office until I can play for us—but it would piss me off bigtime. I passed up the chance to play for the very best teams in the country coming out of high school, opting instead for a medium-size private college that allowed me to stay in town just to be close to the Jammers. Not a bad consolation prize, because it's a historical basketball school (no football program anymore) that plays in the powerhouse Eastern Major conference. Now that I was a senior, we were the best team the school had seen in 30 years. I almost wasn't part of it; I wanted to declare for the draft a year early because the Jammers need a point guard, and that's what I play. We hadn't had a good one since Marshall Jacobs retired when I was a kid. I'm already better than current starter Casey McKutcheon—I know, because I kick his ass whenever I scrimmage with the team. But my dad insists that the long-term future of the Jammers is more important than one year, and insisted that I get my degree first. I'll need it to run the team someday, and I know he's right. As the team was huddling at center court to celebrate another win, I was sneaking a peek at the sidelines, as often I do, watching my favorite cheerleader: Kelly Callahan. Long straight red hair, long lean legs to match, and a killer body in-between. Jumping up and down, holding her pom-poms over her head celebrating, naturally widened the separation between the two pieces of her uniform, showing even more of the fine porcelain skin of her midriff, and the delicate curve of her waist... wouldn't it figure, the girl I really want is about the only girl on campus that won't give me any play. We even have a class together, a low-probability coincidence at a major college, especially since she's a year behind me and in a different major. I sit behind her, and while she's always polite, she's also clearly standoffish. Everyone knew that her cheer partner Chad was her boyfriend, but they also didn't look like any boyfriend and girlfriend I've ever seen. They never seemed to show any affection, and he seemed more uncomfortable lifting her than the other guys that aren't lifting girlfriends. He kept an eye on everything she did like a hawk, though—a little scary, that dude, but most guys didn't take him to be too serious of a roadblock. Kelly, on the other hand, cold stymied any other guy's ambitions on her—especially mine. I became aware that I too was also being watched. Glancing to my left, I saw one of the other cheerleaders giving me the eye. Megan was blonde, cute, short, bouncy, she had endless energy on the court--and in bed. When our eyes met, she winked, knowing that I was going to drop by her apartment later. Yeah, Kelly is the girl I want, but what am I gonna do? Sit around and mope about it, or drop in on Megan for some guaranteed pussy? Easy call in my book. Yet I also know that attitude is the main reason why Kelly consistently gives me the cold shoulder. My dad says that when he went to college, most people just knew him as "Dave" and had no idea who he was. Hell, my mom was a Jammer Spirit girl and dated him for a month before she found out. I know he tells me that because he thinks I should do the same, but I can't—even if I wasn't the heir to a basketball team, everyone on campus would still know me because this is a basketball school and I'm the biggest star this team has had for a long time. That alone makes me very attractive to a lot of girls, so I get LOTS of unsolicited offers—and frankly, I don't see any reason why I should turn them down. My mom despises my "womanizing" and my dad worries about the financial implications of my knocking some girl up. He has a valid point, which is why I buy condoms in industrial quantities. I think maybe girls just assume my family is swimming in money because we own a basketball team, but the reality is my branch of the family inherited the team, and all of the other Rutherford assets went to the other kids to balance things out. Thus the team is all we have; we NEED the team to turn a profit every year to stay solvent. A couple of bad years in a row and we might be forced to sell the team great-grandpa founded, which would be devastating. But the helpful girls that spread their legs for me don't know that, and I don't see any reason why I should tell them. Hey—I make no bones about the fact that I'm taking advantage of these girls. But in my defense, I never lie about my intentions; if a girl wants to know if she'll mean something to me if we go to bed, I come right out and tell her I'm only in it for a good time and usually that will be that. Most girls don't ask about that up front, though, and sometimes when they do it can lead to hard feelings. And unfortunately, that turned out to be the night that Megan wanted to talk about us, and since as a matter of principle I won't lie to get a girl in bed, my visit was very brief. And I felt bad because Megan did come away from it with hard feelings—but my nuts were also aching to twitch if you know what I mean, so against my better judgment I called in Plan B. Simply put, Tanya was my booty call girl. A member of the current Jammer Spirit dance team, she was bound and determined to land me for herself. I don't think there's anything she wouldn't do if she thought it might improve her chances of "landing" me. She always sent me a text after my games saying how good I played; usually I just ignored the, but tonight I replied: Thx. Going out to the Distillery to celebrate. I didn't drink during the season because it was against team policy at my school, but I still liked to go to bars because the women that went there did. I knew that once she got my text, Tanya would be at the bar within the hour, looking for me, barely dressed and ready to go. I imagined she'd wear fetish-height heels, a scandalously short skirt, and an easily removable top that provided a good view of her luscious cleavage. She'd take me to her place, and I wouldn't be one step in her door before she was on her knees sucking my dick. I'd let her deep throat me for a while, then I'd take her to sofa or maybe the bed... I thought I'd probably head straight for the lube tonight. I knew where she kept it--a tube in the living room AND in the bedroom. I'd grease up, and then I'd shove my dick between the tight cheeks of her ass, forgoing her pussy altogether. I'd fuck her like a porn star--and tomorrow I'd feel guilty about it. Tanya's ambition made it SO easy to manipulate her; she just didn't get that letting me fuck her like a whore was not the road to becoming Mrs. Rutherford. But for me, on a night like this, it was also very fortunate. ------------- "Hey Kelly," I said in casual greeting as I took the seat next to her in class on Monday. She gave me a stare that could freeze lava. "Whoa? What did I do?" I asked, having a pretty good idea of the answer. "I think that what you did to Megan was despicable," she answered coldly. "Oh? And what exactly do you think that I 'did' to Megan?" I challenged. "You know what you did," was the frosty response. "You're right, I know what I did--and you don't. The facts are quite simple: she invited me to her apartment; I went. She invited me into her bed; I accepted. She invited me back; I accepted again. There was never any talk relationships or anything until Saturday, at which time I told her straight up that I wasn't looking for anything serious. I really am sorry that there was a misunderstanding; I wish she had said something sooner if she was looking for more, and the whole thing could have been avoided." Kelly regarded me skeptically. "Oh right, and you're completely innocent of course. She was the spider, you were the fly. You NEVER put the moves on her, gave her a line, you never led her to believe something that wasn't true..." "No I didn't," I replied stonily, "I never do—I don't have to. Everyone on campus knows who I am, and a lot of girls find that very attractive. Some girls will go to great lengths to attract my attention." "I am not impressed with your money or your connections," she sneered. "I know you're not," I agreed, "and that's just one of the reasons why I find you so intriguing. You're not satisfied to know that I'm Dave Rutherford, basketball star. You want to know what kind of guy I am, and I like that about you. "I can see what kind of guy you are, Davis Rutherford, and you disgust me." "Dave, please. Or Davey. And no you don't--you have no idea what I'm like. I would ask that you give me a chance to show you who I really am before you go about judging me." "And what's that supposed to mean?" "It means you should let me take you somewhere and get to know me a little. You'll find out I'm not what the sports pages and rumor mills say I am." "No thanks. I have a boyfriend," she added sourly. "So they say. Don't take this the wrong way, you two seem to have about as much affection as two boxers in a ring." I immediately regretted saying that, because I figured I had just pissed her off and put her in the position of having to defend her boyfriend. To my surprise, she simply looked away. I thought about saying something else, but just then class started. She bolted out the door as soon as class ended, so I never had the chance to follow up. For the next few weeks I only saw Kelly on the sidelines or in class. I always tried to get to class early to get in a few words with her; she did always talk to me, and after that confrontation she didn't seem so hostile to me. Then came tournament time. The conference tournament was first. We went in as a two seed, and survived a tough semi-final before winning the conference tournament, guaranteeing us a bid in the Big Dance (although at 25-6 we would have gotten in as an at-large team anyway). We were a little miffed that after winning the tournament in one of the most competitive conferences in the country we were only the two seed in the Midwest while the regular-season champion we had beaten was a one. We took that anger out by steamrolling our first three opponents. We weren't really tested until the conference final; but we were closer to closer to home than the one seed, and with help from a partisan crowd eked out a squeaker tin win the region. We were one of the last four teams left in the tournament, would be travelling to play for a chance at the national title the following week. That Sunday night two of the cheerleaders held a party in their apartment to celebrate. The players were invited, and most of the cheerleaders were there—in fact, the only one I can say for certain I didn't see was Chad. I almost didn't go because I was so far behind in school from all that travelling, but I went anyway just in case Kelly was there. I didn't really expect that she would be, and was very pleasantly surprised to see that she was. She congratulated me on my play over the weekend, and of course we were all excited to be one of the last four teams standing. I mentioned how behind I was in all my classes. Of course she was too, but the cheerleaders hadn't gone out east for the conference tournament so she was at least a week ahead of me. I asked if she could help me catch up on what I missed. She agreed, and in the spirit of the moment she volunteered her phone number. "Great, I really appreciate it," I teased, "but now that I have your number, can I call you for other reasons too?" She frowned but didn't really seem unhappy. "I have a boyfriend, remember." "Oh yeah, that's right..." I pretended to have forgotten. "So where is Chad, anyway." "Chad doesn't approve of parties," she answered curtly. "Doesn't approve of parties? What's there to not approve of? We're all athletes and cheerleaders here—no one's even drinking because of the athletic policy!" "I know," she answered ruefully, "sometimes I think he's a little TOO uptight about things." "You THINK?" I exaggerated. "Let me confirm that for you, 'kay?" She looked away, a little embarrassed. "So what's it gonna take for you to give ME a chance to show you how to loosen up and have a little fun?" She frowned lightly, but her eyes remained alive. "Dave, I hear about the things you do. I'm not interested in being another notch on your holster." "Who said anything about being a notch on a holster?" I argued. "Do you really think that I'm only interested in you to sleep with you?" "You were only interested in Megan to sleep with her," she pointed out. "But YOU are not Megan!" "Oh right, and you tried to convince me you didn't use any lines," she accused. "What do you call that?" "The truth," I said seriously. "See—that's exactly what I'm talking about. If you don't realize that I'd be quite happy to stick to one girl if I found the right one, you obviously don't know me." "Oh right, and you're trying to convince me that maybe I'm that one," she scoffed. "I can tell you this—I'm interested in you in a way I never was with your friend." I think she could tell from my tone that I was being dead serious, so she did not argue the point. That's when we really started to talk. It was a major breakthrough; I had her attention for a good hour, and we found out a lot of things about each other. I told her about my family, she told me about hers. She came from a big Irish Catholic family (I could have guessed that). I think I surprised her by being more interested in hearing about her than in telling her about myself. Eventually, as the party got too loud we headed out on the balcony to keep talking. For the first time, I felt like maybe she was actually listening to me, giving me a chance. Then, without even realizing it, I put my arm on her shoulder. We were talking, getting to know each other, it just seemed natural. Kelly immediately froze up and removed my arm. "Please don't," she pleaded. "I just don't feel comfortable with that kind of thing. You know, I came to this school because it was Catholic. I guess it's opened my eyes to find that most of the other girls here don't seem to take that to mean the same things I do. But that's still the way I am." "The bible never says thou shalt not hold hands," I pointed out. "No, it doesn't," she agreed, "but I don't believe in intimacy without commitment. Even things that a lot of people wouldn't consider intimacy. I'm sorry." "I can respect that," I agreed blandly. I continued to look out at the street. Kelly looked at me, seeming a little surprised. I caught her, and she quickly looked out towards the street. "What?" I asked. "Oh, nothing," she replied. I gazed at her. "You thought I was going to bail on you when you said that, didn't you?" I accused. The look in her eyes was defensive, then softened. "To be perfectly honest, yes." "See? It just goes to show that you don't know me. Why won't you give me a chance to set you straight? Go to dinner, lunch even, maybe a movie..." "Dave, I DO have a boyfriend." "Kelly," I replied, "to be perfectly honest, I hug my sisters with more passion than I see him show you!" She looked away with a complex look I didn't understand. "I didn't say he was a perfect boyfriend, but he is still my boyfriend. Look, I really should go," she suddenly added. "I'm sorry. Since I didn't run away from you, are you now feeling the need to run away from me?" She opened her mouth to say something, then swallowed the sound before it came out. "I really need to go. Good luck next week." She patted me on the back. "I'll see you Monday. And I look forward to seeing you on the sidelines at the semifinals." She just smiled, then turned, left the balcony and headed out the door. I was still standing out there; I saw her emerge from the building a few minutes later and walk briskly away. When the turned the corner at the sidewalk, she snuck a peek up at me, trying to make it seem like she was just watching where she was going. I wasn't sure what to think. ----------- In the semis, we played one of the Mid-Atlantic powerhouses that I had turned down in order to stay close to home. Their guard and I both played well and more or less cancelled each other out. We had the size to match them, but our bigs didn't have their quickness. Our guys got in foul trouble early; even I had to sit the last five minutes of the first half with two personals. We were down a dozen at the half. We cut it to within three a few times in the second half, but never were able to turn the corner. It was a great game, but we lost, and just like that my college career was over. As I sat dejected on the bench, I noticed our cheerleaders huddled up, teary and consoling each other. I saw Kelly, a tear in her eye, looking sympathetically my way. She knew I was done; she had another year. Of course, the team wasn't going to be anywhere near this good, but she could at least hope. And there, in background, standing unmoved but watching her like a vulture, was Chad. I couldn't help but think there was something seriously wrong with that guy. The Franchise Ch. 02 I was so fucking hard I thought my cock might explode. Kelly was sitting on my dick, bouncing up and down rhythmically. Her red hair and her pale breasts bounced gently each time she landed on my pelvis. He hands held the soft curve of her hips, helping her keep her orientation but mostly just to feel her toned midsection. She still wore the top of her Jammer Spirit uniform, of course helpfully pulled up so that I could lovingly fondle her wonderful breasts. The hot pants were on the floor, but she still had on the white knee boots. This was the Jammer Spirit's new uniform for this year, and Kelly and I were, uh, road-testing it. She knew well that while I loved to make love to her anytime, anywhere, I got especially excited when she was dressed as a cheerleader. It didn't matter if it was the old college uniform in which she first caught my eye, or now for a second year as a Jammer Spirit Girl, as long as it was cropped short and pulled up. I watched my penis disappear behind the tiny patch of red pubic hair she kept (being a professional cheerleader necessitated shaving the rest), feeling her warm tightness grip and excite me. I glanced up at her face; her eyes were closed, lost in a world of pleasure. I was distracted by her jiggling tits; hungrily I grabbed them, held them in my hands. She gently held my hands in hers as I felt them, letting me know that she liked it when I touched her. And I think she could sense my extra-stiffness, because she kept driving harder and faster. I gazed at her lovely face... the fine cheekbones, the understated features. The sensations from my eyes, my hands and my penis converged and sent me over the top. I stretched upwards with my dick just as it exploded the first time. Kelly felt me cum and slowed, grinding on top of me, stimulating me yet retaining penetration. She opened her eyes and gazed at her fiancée climaxing inside her. That's right, fiancée—Kelly and I were engaged to be married as soon as the season ended in June. When she felt me finish, she bent over and kissed me with red lips I never grew tired of kissing. "So," she whispered, "did the new uniform pass the test?" "Results inconclusive," I smiled, "I think we need to run the test again." "It felt pretty conclusive to me," she smiled knowingly, millions of sperm swimming inside her. She kissed me again. It was the beginning of my third year in the league, and hopes were high in Jammer country. Last year we had made the playoffs for the first time in five years and won a first-round series before losing to the eventual conference champions in seven games. We spent most of the year with Leroy Jackson and I playing the double-point offense, and the power forward we picked up in last year's draft helped make it even more effective. This year we didn't pick until 27th overall, and we used it to pick up Giovanni DiMarco, a smooth-shooting PG/SG from Italy. Last year Jackson was injured late in the season; at 36, it served as reminder that Jackson wouldn't around for much longer and we needed a contingency plan. It was during that stint that I took over as the team's primary ballhandler, a role I did not relinquish upon his return. After a year-and-half as Leroy's understudy my apprenticeship was complete; this was my team now. The season started out great, bursting out of the gate like gangbusters at 12-2. The seats were full, the team was making money, and I could always admire my lovely fiancée dancing on the sidelines during commercial breaks. Kelly was also helping out in the front office part-time; like the other Rutherford wives before her, she had every intention of taking an active role in helping run business side of the team. But she really liked cheerleading, so I supported her decision to come back as a Spirit Girl for one last year. Besides, that way I got to fuck her while she was wearing that uniform. It was so fucking hot! As the New Year got underway, however, teams started to figure out how to play the Jammers. We fell off from our early hot start. Leroy was playing fewer minutes because of nagging knee problems, and while Giovanni DiMarco had a sweet shot, he wasn't as quick as he needed to be for a pro guard. When Leroy wasn't in the game our problems on defense were exposed. We were still almost unbeatable at home, but suddenly the Jammers were just a .500 team on the road. We would almost certainly make the playoffs, but we seemed to be a piece or two away from being a real contender. With the February trade deadline approaching, my dad came to me and asked my opinion on a possible trade. Marcus Canterbury was past his prime but still a viable center, especially on defense. But to get him we'd have to give up our center AND our first round pick next year. "It would put us in better position for a run this year, but it will really hurt any chances of improving next year. And Canterbury is a free agent; we might not be able to re-sign him." "I think we need to go for it now Dad," I replied solemnly, "because I don't think Leroy Jackson will be back." "No?" he asked with surprise. "Now he hasn't said a word about it, but I think he's contemplating retiring. I think that his knees are bothering him more than he'll let on." "He could go on the DL, and rest them a while..." I shook my head. "I don't think so. I think what he's got is degenerative and won't get any better. Watch him in practice sometime—he just seems to be really frustrated with himself in a way I've never seen before. I think in his head he wants to do things on the court that his body just can't anymore. Oh he's still a great player, but he's not as great as he feels he should be and used to be. That's why I think he's going to call it a career when the year is out." I think my dad was leaning towards not making the trade, but after our talk we pulled the trigger. Almost immediately Marcus Canterbury made a huge difference. Our best offensive set was when DiMarco, Jackson and I were all on the floor, but like any three-guard set it was an undersized rotation. Teams had been shooting over the top of us and killing us on the boards; Canterbury's rebounding fixed that problem. He also gave us a big target to hit with entry passes and with a little shot blocking thrown in, we started winning games in bunches again. Teams tried to adapt by going zone against us, and that's where DiMarco proved deadly. Against a zone all we had to do was overload one side, let DiMarco spot up for the three behind one of our guys, and feed him the ball. He wasn't quick enough to get himself open, but with his feet set and an open look he could hit better than 50% from beyond the arc. He had 42 points in one early spring game, after which teams gave up on that strategy. We rolled into the playoffs and steamrolled our way to the Eastern Conference championship, the team's first since the merger. We beat our first opponent in five, the next in six, and the finals in six also, winning every home game and a couple of road ones along the way. It also meant that, for the first time in team history, the Jammers were going to the finals--but the West had been much stronger than the East all year, and we were big underdogs in the Final where we met the defending champions: L.A. For the first time in a long time, the league had decided to return to the 2-2-1-1-1 format for the Finals. Helped by the weaker Eastern Conference schedule, we had the better overall record and home field advantage. They caught us by surprise in Game 1, though, breaking our home winning streak with a double-digit win. We were down at the half in Game 2 as well, but found our swagger in the third quarter and earned the home split. But now we had to find a way to steal one in their building to win the series--which we did in Game 3. Maybe they were too sure of themselves being home; we got off to a fast start and held on despite a furious rally. They took Game 4 easily, so we were headed back home all square. Game 5 we owned from start to finish. That put us one win away from the finals with a chance to win on the road, but if not we had a home game left in our back pocket. We were feeling pretty good about things. Game 6 was scheduled for a Thursday in LA, and then back home for Game 7 on Saturday if needed. Thursday morning we were scheduled for a practice in their Arena. We got off to a normal start, and we were playing pretty well. I remember I had just gone to the sideline and grabbed a water bottle when all of a sudden the ground started rumbling. Everyone froze and looked around. The shaking grew more intense, and all at once the ground seemed to leap under our feet. I was thrown into the first row of seats, and a number of guys were knocked over. A dusting of plaster cascaded down from the ceiling, prompting one of the assistant coaches to yell "The roof is collapsing." All of us bolted for the tunnel, where there was an additional layer of protection should the roof cave in, but in fact the worse jolt was now over. In a few seconds the rumbling stopped, and while there were aftershocks periodically throughout the afternoon, they were only enough to rattle some glassware. The big one had been a 7.0 earthquake, however, and it had caused widespread damage. We all headed outside, which was the first clue we had how bad the quake had been. A chunk of the road outside the Arena had been sandwiched together and raised more than a foot. Water shot out from broken mains underground, and a few old brick buildings appeared to be heavily damaged. As we stood out in the street, no cars moving, gaping at the scene around us is when I first noticed that my wrist was bothering me. The sound of sirens, more and more all the time, rose from every direction. Coach decided we should walk the two blocks to the hotel to get out of the way of rescue efforts. Luckily that facility wasn't damaged at all. Damage in LA was extensive, however, and the freeway system had taken significant damage. Needless to say the game was called off. We sat around in the hotel for two days, anxiously awaiting word from the league on the reschedule. The Arena had been deemed safe, but there were problems with parking and infrastructure and road closures. There was talk of relocating the game, but that didn't seem fair given that it was their last home game of the finals. In the end it was determined that everything would be pushed back a week; we would play the following Thursday, and Game 7 would be the following Saturday. There was only one problem. Game 7 now conflicted with my wedding. My dad and the Jammer front office tried everything to get the league to move Game 7 to either Friday or Sunday, but the TV contract wouldn't allow it. "I'm so sorry," I told Kelly on the phone. "It's not your fault... you couldn't have predicted an earthquake. Heck, the Jammers haven't even been to the Finals before." "I know, but this is our wedding... our special day. Now it's ruined." "If you win on Thursday, we won't have any problem," she said hopefully. Unfortunately, my wrist had been sprained when I fell into the stands during the earthquake. I played, but it hurt, and I couldn't hit the broadside of the barn with my jump shot. I also committed an uncharacteristic six turnovers, to the point that Leroy had to run the offense for much of the second half. Marcus Canterbury was a monster in the middle and did everything he could to pick up the slack, but in the end it wasn't enough and we lost by five. The team was upbeat; on the road, with me injured, we had still come so close to winning, and now we got to go home. I on the other hand was dejected. The dream wedding I had wanted for Kelly was going to be ruined by Game 7. I just felt like I had let her down. "I'm sorry honey," I groaned on the phone. "We'll have to postpone the wedding..." "But we have so many family coming in from out of town," she sighed. I frowned. "All right, then we'll just have the wedding. The Jammers will have to win without me." "Are you out of your fucking mind?" she snapped with a ferocity that surprised me. "Well, we can't have it both ways," I moaned. "Don't worry about it yet. Just get some rest on the flight back home. Your mother and I have been looking into some things... let us see what we come up with, OK." "OK," I said with a mixture of hope and fear. My mother and my fiancée were both pretty potent organizers; they could have moved the Himalayas to Manhattan if they set their mind to it. "I just feel like I let you down." "Stop worrying honey," she reassured me. "As long as you say 'I do' whenever we do walk down that aisle, you won't be letting me down." "I'll say I do right now," I promised. "I love you," she said more brightly than I felt. "I love you too." Mom and Kelly were waiting for the plane when we landed. Dad and I happened to get off the plane together. "Uh-oh," he whispered to me. "I know that look. You mother and Kelly have been up to something." They had indeed. We went out to dinner and they laid out the new wedding arrangements. All I could do was shake my head in awe at the arrangements they had hastily pulled together. At their insistence, I spent Friday with the team as I normally would, getting ready for the biggest game in franchise history, while mom and Kelly called every single vendor and guest on the list. But after that dinner I didn't see Kelly again until the wedding. She was superstitious about not seeing the bride before the wedding. She was also afraid that the wedding night wouldn't be special since we had lived together for more than a year. Thanks to the goddamn earthquake, I went into my wedding day not having had any for nearly two weeks. Saturday arrived, and mom and Kelly's hastily rearranged plans unfolded flawlessly. Our wedding, originally scheduled for 2:00, was held at 10:00 AM instead. The banquet that was to have started at 5 was held at noon—and the entire team was there, our reception now doubling as the team meal. Then we jumped into a limousine and went to the Arena, where the wedding party posed for our pictures right there on the hardwood. And then with a kiss of longing, Kelly and I went to our separate locker rooms to prepare for the game. Just before game time, Mom came and found me and asked what I thought about a little idea she had for the pregame introductions. I decided it would be fun. We went through our pre-game warm-ups like usual, but then before introduction I slipped over to the sidelines where my mom was holding my tuxedo jacket and a top hat. The lights were out in the stadium, so no one could see me slip them on over my uniform, while Kelly snuck over to the bench. The other four starters were introduced, and then the PA announcer said. "And finally... ladies and gentlemen, today is a very special day in Jammers history. Earlier today, your starting point guard was married at St. Mary's Church. And so let me introduce to you the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Davis Rutherford IV!" The spotlight shone on us, and we walked out to center court, Kelly in her wedding dress, and me in my uniform with the tux and hat over. The crowd first laughed then cheered. The cheerleaders started a chant: Kiss... Kiss... Kiss. The crowd quickly caught on, and soon the whole stadium was urging us to kiss. All the players on both teams joined in. In the spotlight, with everyone watching, I turned to her and she to me, and we slowly reached towards each other, getting closer... closer... and then just before our lips actually touched, I suddenly threw off my hat and jacket and Kelly whipped the wedding dress off over her head, revealing her Jammer Spirit uniform underneath. The music kicked in, and Kelly started doing the usual pre-game dance. The other cheerleaders all raced out to join her, and the crowd went wild. She cheered for the whole game with one additional accessory augmenting her uniform--a bridal veil. Game 7 turned out to be an all-time classic. Both teams came to win; the lead changed hands over and over. My wrist was still not right and I didn't take many shots, but it no longer bothered me so much that it affected my ballhandling. I dished the ball off to my teammates, and DiMarco's hot shooting kept us in the game in the first half. We rode his hot hand and went to the locker room at halftime trailing by one. As expected, LA made an adjustment at halftime to keep DiMarco from getting so many wide open looks. We responded by playing our three-guard offense; my wrist didn't interfere with my ability to make wide-open layups. Leroy Jackson was on the floor for more minutes than any game all season--there was no tomorrow to save him for. It was an epic struggle. Leroy and I alternated dribble penetration, sometimes taking it to the rack, other times kicking it out to our shooters. They would get a stop or two and pull ahead, we would respond with a steal or a Canterbury block and storm right back. For the whole game, no team ever led by more than five points. The clock was in their favor, however. They hit a jump shot to take a two-point lead with 40 seconds left on the clock. We hurried downcourt, not wanting them to be able to hold the ball for the last shot. But they played great defense, and by the time I got the ball to Canterbury for a turn-around hook there were only 26 seconds left. LA brought the ball up; we would get the ball back, but they could hold it long enough to reduce us to a desperation heave. We all keyed up anxiously as they dribbled the ball at the top of the key. At 10 seconds, they set their play. The ball went right, then back across. We had them trapped in the corner with the shot clock going down, they had to try a desperation shot... and lucked out by getting a terrible foul call against Canterbury. Coach went insane; I went over and pushed him back to the bench. "Yeah, it's a bullshit call, but we can't afford for you to get a T right now!" They went up to the line and calmly drained the first charity shot to take the lead. Coach called our final time out as soon as the second free throw went. 3.4 seconds showed on the clock, and we had to go the length of the floor: two to tie, three to win. We set up two plays, one for if they guarded the inbounds pass one if they didn't, but we expected they would. Everyone knew the Jammers were most dangerous in the backcourt. We set up. Canterbury screened my man, and Jackson inbounded the ball to me sprinting up the sideline. But they had expected exactly that; and two defenders converged on me as I approached the half-court. I didn't have time to go around them; I would have to pull up and attempt a jump-shot over their center from about half-court. Maybe if my wrist weren't bothering me and I'd been in the zone shooting, I might have taken the shot. But even if I was feeling it, there was probably only a 1% chance of hitting that shot. I was looking to pass the ball, but time was slipping away. I looked down court; DiMarco was setting up outside the three-point like he was supposed to. But the clock in my head told me we had less than two seconds, and DiMarco was a spot-up shooter. He would catch the pass and then begin his shot--and the clock would run out while the ball was still in his hands. I glanced cross-court at option B, but their forward had stayed in to guard our forward, so there wasn't a clear path to even pass the ball that direction. But I could see four of their guys in front of me, and I knew the fifth had been rubbed off on Canterbury's screen and was chasing me from behind. Instinctively, I knew what I had to do. When I thought about it later, if my instincts had been wrong I might have looked like the biggest fool in the history of the finals. But after playing with Leroy Jackson for three years, my instincts weren't wrong. I could see from the defense that they had elected to leave Leroy Jackson unguarded. Not a bad idea; most players would have just stood there after making the inbounds pass, mesmerized by the pressure of the moment, watching with the rest of the world as the final three seconds unfolded. But Leroy wasn't like most players. He'd played enough street ball to know that crazy things can happen, and I'd never known him not to give his all on every play. I just knew that he would have charged onto the court after inbounding the ball, realized that no one was guarding him, and would have continued streaking right down the center of the court. The Franchise Ch. 02 I couldn't see him, I couldn't hear him, but I trusted that's where he was going to be. The only question was how far behind me was he? I didn't have any more time to think it through; I took my next step, transferring the ball to my left hand, and as I planted my foot I lobbed it blindly to my right, towards the middle of the court. I kept my eyes fixed on the basket as if I was about to shoot to help sell the play; I couldn't see where Leroy was anyway, but if I timed it right he would get to the ball with eight or nine tenths left on the clock, no one in his way and a full head of steam heading towards the basket. The last 1.3 seconds of the game played out for me like the whole world was in slow motion. I remember the center seeing me pass unexpectedly, raising his arm trying to block as pass long after the ball was gone. Once the ball was out of my hands I turned to watch how my blind pass turned out. It only took Leroy a split second to realize the ball was coming to him, and no time at all to know what to do with it. The ball was a little in front of him, but he speared it with his right arm. He stepped with his left foot, gathering the ball into shooting position. He planted his right foot, raising the ball. He jumped, lifting the ball gracefully to begin its arc to the hoop. I heard the buzzer sound, but I could tell the ball was a couple of feet clear of his hands when it went off. If the shot went, I knew it would count. The whole stadium was silent; no one dared to breathe. The hardest part about a shot like that, taking it on the dead run, is gauging how hard to shoot. Your forward momentum is transferred to the ball; that's why so many last-second shots clang hard off the backboard but aren't ever really in danger of going in. Leroy knew this too, and so he rainbowed the ball as high as he could. The shot seemed to hang in the air forever, arcing high above the court, then slowly beginning its descent. As I tracked it towards the basket, the line looked pretty good. As the ball kept going, the line looked better and better--but maybe a little strong. It seemed to be minutes later that the ball approached the target. The whole stadium watched as the ball kissed the backboard, red backlights glowing to indicate that time had expired. But with the big arc on the shot, it deflected back just a little, while gravity now had the ball screaming back towards the earth. It ticked the edge of the back rim as it fell. It bounced outwards, but it was falling to fast that by the time it hit the front iron, the ball was more than half down. The front iron instead killed most of the ball's momentum. The net settled, and the ball fell calmly through. A flatter shot would have missed. Leroy's moonball did not. Time, which had seemed to move so slowly during that last play, seemed to triple to make up—as soon as that shot went down, so much happened so fast I couldn't process it all. Pandemonium exploded everywhere. The stadium erupted in a roar loud as a jet engine, but I was only dimly aware of that. I was focused on Leroy Jenkins, still standing where he had landed, almost dumbfounded that he had just made the shot of his life. For maybe two seconds, because that's all the time it took for me to race over to him and tackle him giddily to the floor. In seconds, all of the Jammers were one tangled mass of overly-tall humanity, exuberantly hugging hero of day Leroy Jackson. As they should, the officials had immediately raced to the sidelines to check the replay and make sure the shot was good. The crowd murmured as the scoreboard had not yet registered that the shot had counted. They looked at it for about a minute; the collective roar from the home crowd told me that the officials had signaled that it was a good basket. The Jammers won the game 99-98--and with it, the title. Down at the bottom of the pile, Leroy's hand somehow found mine in a bro handshake. Tears filled his eyes. "We did it man... we DID it!" "You did it Leroy," I corrected, "you hit the shot of the century!" "Don't be so modest, man. I only had a chance to make that shot because of your crazy motherfucking no-look pass!" I smiled. "We a team, brotha. I knew you was gonna be there." "We were a team brotha," he corrected me soberly. "That's it for me. I'm done. That was my swan song, man. I can't never top that." "Man, we'll talk about this later. We just won the CHAMPIONSHIP! WOOOOOOOOOO!" And with that the screaming and shouting began. I felt hands try to unpile us, and the TV guys trying to get an interview with Leroy. I got up and looked around. There were people jumping up and down and screaming everywhere. Coach came up and hugged me. Then I saw my dad, standing by the sideline, misty-eyed. I went over to him and hugged him. I hadn't seen that my mom was behind him, tears in her eyes, but when I did I hugged her too. Then I looked for Kelly. Some of the cheerleaders had been bouncing up and down like pogo sticks from the second the shot went down. Kelly was standing like a statue, hands pressed together in front of her face almost like she was praying, staring like she simply could not believe what had just happened. I picked my way through the throng towards her. Kelly saw me approaching. She lowered her hands, and was wearing the biggest smile I have ever seen. "Oh my God, that was unbelievable! You won! You won!" I smiled and put my arms around her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and we hugged so tight I lifted her completely off the ground. At last we exchanged the kiss we had been denied at center court. The rest of the world melted from my consciousness as my wife and I embraced and shared a lingering kiss. Eventually the growing clapping and hooting from the people in the sections behind us brought us back to the moment. Kelly was a tad embarrassed, but I wasn't. It was my fucking wedding day! Right about then I felt hands grabbing for me again, hustling me towards center court. The commissioner had been presenting the trophy to my dad during all this, and now the team was passing it around. I took my turn kissing it, then we all posed for pictures. Thousands of them. Most of the crowd stuck around too, enjoying the moment. When that was done the players finally could let loose. The champagne was supposed to be for the locker room, but someone had brought it out onto the court and next thing anyone knew everyone on the floor was dousing everyone else with it. I got soaked, Kelly got soaked, even mom and dad got soaked. But no one wanted the moment to end. So we extended it. The plan all along had been to go back to the hall after the game and have an abbreviated post-game reception. In light of our winning the championship we simply moved the entire party with us. All of the wedding guests who had watched the game from a very crowded owner's box, all of the players, even a lot of the cheerleaders—we all headed over and continued the party at the reception. It was a most unusual wedding reception. No one even wanted to take their uniforms off, so no one did. The dance floor was dotted with Jammer player and Jammer Spirit uniforms all night, and a large percent of the other guests were sporting hot-off-the-press Jammers championship hats and t-shirts. And the owner of the hall, a big Jammers fan as it turned out, opened up the bar on the house to celebrate, so everyone was well-lubricated (I later returned the favor by sending him my signed, game-worn road jersey. The home one I kept for myself). It was, for one night, the hottest party in town. All good things must come to an end, however. The party went on long after when receptions usually end, but when bar time came around we all had to go home. I remember thinking how quiet it was when I opened the door to the condo. Everyone else in the building was asleep, and after the loud cheering and the loud music, it just felt strange to hear no noise. I waited for Kelly to lay her dress out on the sofa, then I put my arms around her waist. She put her arms on my neck and had a dreamy look in her eyes. "At last we're alone," she purred. I responded by kissing her, of course. I let my hands gently wander along the bare skin of her back. With a twinkle in her eye, Kelly said "I have some nice lingerie from the shower that I was going to wear for our wedding night. But why do I think you'd just as soon I stay in these clothes?" "Mmm hmmm," I agreed and kissed her again. "I guess it's safe now. I won't be wearing this uniform anymore. Or any uniform." Fortunately my big head still controlled enough of my blood supply to catch that she was hinting at something. "You mean like, this was your last game as a cheerleader?" She nodded wistfully. "Yup. Your mom's been talking to me, she wants me to work with her in PR—apprentice, really. I don't know what her timeframe is, but she wants to hand it over to me when she decides to retire. So I guess my career as a cheerleader is over." "You might be able to do both?" I suggested. She shook her head. "No, now that I'm MRS. Rutherford it doesn't seem right. Like I should be more dignified or something—or at least more dressed." I nodded. "It's just weird... I've been a cheerleader ever since the 6th grade. I've spent so much time at practices, and games... it's a big part of my life that's coming to an end." "You and Leroy both," I agreed. "What?" she asked with surprise. We hadn't discussed my suspicions. "Leroy is going to retire. I've suspected it for a while, but at the bottom of that pile after he hit the shot... it's the first thing he said. I don't know when he plans to announce it and my dad will try to talk him out of it, but I'm sure it's a done deal." "Wow, that's too bad. I meant it's probably good for Leroy, but it's too bad for the Jammers." "Yeah. It's kind of weird really—probably the two most momentous moments of my life, and all happened in one day. No matter how long I live, no day will ever top this." "I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "I'm not. Because it's an ending, but it's also a beginning. It's the beginning of you and me and maybe a family. I've longed for this day since the moment I set eyes on you. I wouldn't trade it for a dozen championships!" She smiled, pleased. "It's kind of unbelievable, in a way. I really didn't like you at first—I thought you were arrogant, self-centered and cruel. I would have never thought that I'd be so wrong about you, and that one day I'd be Mrs. Rutherford! I'm just so glad that you didn't give up on me along the way... Lord knows I gave you plenty of reasons to." "I would never have given up on you. You... are... the most... beautiful... woman... that ever lived." She giggled. "Oh yes... thank the Lord that you're blind as a bat too." "I am not," I insisted, and kissed her before she could retort. "It does feel kind of sad," she commented some time later "all of these things that we've spent our lives working toward... now we've done them. It kind of makes you feel like, now what?" "Well, the way I see it, our wedding isn't over yet. In fact the best part is still to come." "You're incorrigible," she accused, but kissed me with an eager, darting tongue. We stood, bodies gently grinding against each other. If we had stood any closer, we'd have melted into one. "It's time to carry you across the threshold," I breathed lustily. "Weren't you supposed to do that at the front door?" she accused. "Besides, I already live here." "Front door shmont door," I replied. "I'll carry you across the threshold that really matters." "Oh, the bedroom is the one that really matters, huh?" she teased. "And what am I supposed to do then?" "Hopefully, the same thing you always do." "Aren't you tired of that yet?" she persisted jokingly. "Feel my pants and tell me what you think." She did, and felt the salami straining to get out inside. "Oh! No wonder you're so impatient." She took a step back and let me lift her. Eyes fixed on each other, I carried her carefully down the hall and laid her down on the bed. I threw off my jersey and shorts; Kelly followed suit by unzipping her Daisy Dukes, sliding them down her slender thighs and over her knee boots. I took off my socks; she unzipped and tossed the boots. I slid onto the bed next to her wearing just my boxer briefs, while she wore panties and her uniform belly shirt. Our arms locked around each other and we kissed. I was so hard, I couldn't stop myself from rubbing against her leg. She relaxed her grip and smiled at me knowingly, recognizing my raging desire for her. I brought my arms around from her back and touched/massaged her flat, pale belly. Back in my younger days I saw a lot of girls naked, and Kelly has the sexiest, most feminine curves in her shapely midsection of any woman I've ever seen. Some days I'd spend a half hour kissing it, admiring its lovely curves--but tonight I was just too horny. I slipped my hands northward, aiming for the shirt. Kelly knew it was coming, it was only a question of when. She felt my hands slide under the tight stretchy material and head right for the breasts. She arched her back slightly, which allowed me to push the fabric up to her armpits. Her wonderful breasts lay before me; pale skin, pink nipples, pushing upward in defiance of gravity with the firmness of youth. I snagged her nipples gently in each hand, squeezing them lightly to maximize their erectness. Then I dove face-first into her chest, lovingly trapping her left nipple between my lips. Kelly softly stroked my shoulders, watching me devour the nipple, sucking it lovingly into my mouth. I let go, ran my tongue all over and around the firm nubbin, then sucked on it again. Then I repeated the process on the other side, so the other nipple wouldn't be left out. Kelly doesn't understand why I'm so fascinated by her tits, or why I can seemingly suck on them for hours, but she likes to make me happy so she obliges. I went back to the first nipple, making sure it hadn't started to fall asleep while I was attending to its twin, but it most certainly had not. I licked it lovingly, glancing up at Kelly's face. She had her eyes closed, focusing on the sensations created by my attention. Then I looked back at her breasts. At that point I noticed that her chest was heaving slightly, rising and falling with every breath. That generally meant that Kelly's pussy was now thoroughly awakened and eager for its own share of my attention. I was more than happy to oblige. Still sucking on her nipple, I snaked my hand down towards her crotch. Again I didn't mess around--I dove right under the diaphanous fabric and homed right in on the warmth. I easily found the slit that was getting dewy with excitement. I started to stroke my index finger along its length when something registered in my brain--something that was missing. I retraced my fingers up to the mons, but I was not mistaken--the small patch of neatly trimmed red thatch that she usually kept down there was gone. She was shaved bare as a baby's bottom. "Looking for something?" she teased. I raised up and made eye contact with a look of surprise. "You shaved all the way!" I noted excitedly. "Yes. I thought you might like that during our honeymoon. But you are in such a rush, I didn't get a chance to surprise you with it." "Oh, I'm surprised all right--pleasantly surprised." I let my finger slide along her warm slit again. Her pelvis twitched, curling up with a grunt as she involuntarily responded to my touch. Kelly sat up and pushed me over onto my back. "Hold your horses loverboy. You haven't even let me get started on you yet, and you're already diving in for the grand finale." I laid back as she pulled my boxer briefs off. My dick sprung up like a flagpole. "You... are so impatient..." Kelly accused, addressing my penis itself. She laid her hands flat on my thighs, and reached in with her neck. I felt her tongue start with my balls, licking them gently. Then she moved up to the penis, licking the shaft, starting at the bottom, work her way up, kissing the tip, then licking down again. She licked her way up again, but this time when she reached the top, she wrapped her lips around my dick and sucked me into her mouth. I sighed with pleasure--and relief. Kelly rubbed her tongue all over my dick while it was inside her mouth, sliding her lips up and down the shaft to reach different parts. Slowly and deliberately she worked it, trying to touch every millimeter of my penis with some part of her mouth, tongue, or cheek. She glanced up at me, licking the underside of my shaft. "Is this what he's been so impatient for?" she purred." "Mmm hmm." Aaaahhhh... I felt her lips enclose around me again, her tongue bathing my penis in loving attention. It felt, as they say, like I had died and gone to heaven. I mean, she knew I loved it when she sucked my dick and she didn't mind doing it to some extent, but I could feel that she really wanted to make it feel good on this special night. "Oh God that feels so good," I sighed. "Well I just hope you don't get tired of it, because you're stuck with me now." "I could never get sick of THAT," I protested, but I also hooked my hands into her armpits and pulled her up so that we were face to face. "I love you," I declared. She smiled as I kissed her. I realized that her legs were straddling my one leg. I lifted my knee slightly and tried to use it to rub between her thighs. We stopped kissing and she moved to go back to work on my dick, but I stopped her and guided her to turn around. She quickly understood that I wanted to be doing to her what she was doing to me. So she lifted one leg over my head, settling her crotch within easy reach of my tongue. I could smell the lusty aroma emanating from the tender pink slit. Gently prying her lips open with my fingers, I let my tongue drink from the fragrant fountain, exquisite like velvet to the touch. I heard her make a small moan, but then she laid over the top of me, and I felt her wonderful lips encircle my erection once more. We lay there in the "69" position, orally stimulating each others' most intimate parts. Holding her hips firmly by wrapping my arms around her from underneath, I lovingly licked and teased her fragile pink clitoris relentlessly. It stood up, engorged, erect in its tiny way, seemingly reaching towards my tongue, searching for its tender touch again and again. Her hips grew increasingly difficult to contain as her excitement grew, but her mouth never wavered. She sucked my dick with a smooth steady rhythm. I could distinctly feel her tongue lovingly stroking my schwantz when it was inside her mouth. It was amazing. It only because I was concentrating so hard on pleasuring my bride that I didn't pop off right down her throat. My intent was to keep on licking her until she came on my face, but Kelly had other ideas. I sensed from the intensity of her bucking hips that she was getting close when suddenly she sat up. "Oh... that feel so good you're about to make me cum--and I want to feel you inside me when I do." So with a slight rearrangement, Kelly now straddled my crotch instead of my face. She guided my erection into her pussy, knelt her knees on either side of me, and began to grind up and down on my knob while running her fingers up and down the muscles of my chest. I rested my hands on Kelly's slender thighs, watching her fuck me. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back slightly. I watched her abdominal muscles work, curling her pelvis as she ground against my bone. I watched my penis disappear between her legs, then appear again against the smooth shaved skin as she lifted herself, only to grind herself down again. She liked to be on top; I don't know if there's such a thing as a G-spot, but it did seem like she was trying to use my penis to scratch a particular itch inside of her. It seemed pretty clear to me that she responded differently somehow to being on top than any other position, although it wasn't like it was the only way she could cum (not that I'm bragging). But for some reason it was a different experience, which I knew in part because it she always had her eyes closed, which wasn't necessarily true when we fucked any other way. The Franchise Ch. 02 I watched Kelly's face again. She bit her lip. It was sexy as hell when she did that, but she wasn't even aware I was watching. She was in a zone, swimming in a world of pleasure she achieved through my dick. I sensed that maybe she was getting close to climaxing. I decided I would help the process along. I moved my right hand closer towards the middle and stretched my thumb between her legs. I felt my way to her clitoris and began rubbing it with my thumb. "Oh!" she exclaimed, the direct clitorial stimulation adding another dimension to her experience. She leaned forward and opened her eyes and looked at me, yet her eyes were not quite focused. She ground against my penis even harder; I kept stroking her clit. Her mouth opened and hung there, and guttural sounds leaked from her throat with increasing intensity. I knew then that she was right at the edge. I stroke her slit even harder, trying to help nudge her over the top. She pushed against me harder and harder; I pushed back, trying to keep my flagpole as erect and upright as possible to provide the pleasure she needed. And then Kelly exploded into orgasm. Her intense grinding suddenly stopped as she pressed her pelvis hard against mine, taking my penis as deeply as it could go. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and quickly steeled herself by putting her arms down on the bed just as the earthquakes commenced. Her whole limber little body shook with the coordinated contractions of orgasm. I laid back, stretching my penis up and in but mostly just watching the orchestra of beauty that is my wife in orgasmic bliss. Her pale skin takes on flush, especially right above her breasts which suddenly look like embarrassed cheeks. In my mind Kelly has the face of an angel anyway, but when she cums its otherworldly in its beauty. The color makes her look so alive, while her expression suggests a peacefulness, a mystical traversal to an alternate, fleeting plane of bliss. I love to watch her cum. And it was all the more special because it was our wedding night. When the last aftershocks passed, Kelly collapsed onto me, kissing me with a lustful intensity that I only see after orgasm. She tried to grind my penis into her pussy again, but it had been a long day--I could tell she was tired, especially after expending all the energy in orgasm. That's OK--I was so horny, I could certainly drive for a while. I gently tipped Kelly over so that she went from being on top to being at my side. I started thrusting, but my rubbing against the leg pinned under me didn't feel good. So with a slight adjustment she laid on her back, lifting the leg nearer to me up and over my body. I was still lying sideways; I slipped my erection up under her lifted leg and into her waiting pussy. I liked this position; I could kiss her, fuck her and play with her breasts all at the same time. Kelly blinked her thick eyelashes at me; I could see the emotion in her eyes. She would want to hold me tight for a long time--afterwards. But now she wanted to give herself to me until I came, especially since I'd already done her the honor. Kelly was awesome that way--if she had it in her head that she wanted to make me happy, no matter how tired or anything else she was, she would give me her all until I spurted with ecstasy. And I was eager to obtain that climax. I rolled over on top of Kelly. While I liked the other position, it seems hard to thrust hard enough to put myself over the top when I'm sideways. On top I could unleash the full fury of my raging arousal, and I was getting close enough to start the stretch run. Kelly lifted her legs high and to the side, providing maximum access to her vagina. I pushed hard and fast; Kelly put her arms on my shoulders and held on for the ride. Damn, I could feel my balls slapping lightly against her butt cheeks as I rammed my erection home. Unflinching she held herself open for me, receiving the full force of my lust. My eyes roamed, drinking in the lovely sights I so loved--the arc of her breast, the curve of her waist, the shapely flatness of her belly. I glanced up to admire her wonderful red hair, and realized Kelly was looking at me. Our eyes met, a calm eye amidst the hurricane of my fornication. And in her eyes I could see... love. Her eyes were gentle and caring, but also betrayed a sense of wonder that only lovers understand. It is a wonder that stems from the mystery that a person that makes me feel so happy could have been put on this earth, and that by some strange happenstance you had found them. I could see in Kelly's eyes an honesty that words cannot reproduce, and they said that she was happy to be my lover and now, my bride. I smiled, still fucking like a madman, because I loved her every bit as much in return. And in that look, I felt like I could see the future--and in that future, Kelly and I would always be in love and would always want to make each other happy. It made me feel very happy inside. It also made me cum. It was my turn now to stop thrusting and bury the needle so to speak, pressing my penis as far into Kelly's belly as I could reach. By now familiar with this response, Kelly brought her hands down, holding my back at waist-height, and closed her eyes to focus on feeling me cum inside her. My dick exploded; I nut so hard it felt almost like my dick had split down the middle from the pressure. I saw the corners of Kelly's mouth turn up slightly, a satisfaction perhaps at having achieved the goal of pleasuring me. I often wondered what she felt when I came inside her--did she feel my get rigid, did she feel me twitch, did she maybe even feel my ejaculate explode into her with hurricane force? My nuts twitched and my dick exploded again. Three, four, five explosions, each slightly less than the one before, and my orgasm was over. But there nothing to be sad or disappointed about; missile spent, I lay on top of my lovely wife, kissing her. She held her legs open, letting my rapidly shrinking penis remain in the wonderful haven between her thighs for as long as it could, while running her hands up and down my back. "I love you," I said. "I love you too," she agreed with a smile. Then we kissed again. There were a lot of things running through my mind, but nothing else needed to be said. Laying there, lips locked and bodied intertwined, the look on Kelly's face said more than a thousand words could have. ------------- 30 hours later found us lounging on deck chairs on the balcony of our hotel in Hawaii. Kelly was laying on her stomach, head in her arms, the string of her bikini untied. I wasn't sure if she was doing that to avoid tan lines or simply hadn't bothered re-tying it after the last time we made love. I was reading the sports section of the paper, smiling. Leroy Jackson had announced at this retirement press conference that he would be staying with the team as an assistant coach. I reached over languidly and stroked Kelly's back. "Good news--Dad talked Leroy into coming back as an assistant coach." "Good," she muttered sleepily. Her back felt good; I kept stroking it gently. Kelly turned her head slightly, peering over sunglasses to look at me. "You can't be ready to go at it again already " she murmured. I said nothing, but gazed lovingly at the myriad facets of Kelly's beauty. "Let me rest for another half-hour. I promise I'll make it up to you," she bargained, licking her upper lip sensually with her tongue. Oh yeah--extra blowjob! For that, I could wait. I withdrew my hand and laid back in the chair. Sub-consciously, I tugged at my ring again. I have never worn a ring, and I was finding it an adjustment getting used to the gold band on my finger. Then I smiled; soon I'd have to get used to a Championship ring on my other hand. And both would always remind me of something very dear to me and that no one could ever take away. The Franchise With the season over, there were just a few weeks before the end of school. I was busy catching up on stuff I'd missed during the tournament, prepping for exams, and writing final papers. I saw Kelly in class and met her in the library a couple of times to work on catching up together, but we never had the chance to connect like at that party. And that's how it was, rush-rush-rush, until I walked across the stage in May. And then, after all the busyness—nothing. All of a sudden I had nothing to do but wait a month for the draft. And my last chance to try connect with Kelly seemed to be gone. With too much time on my hands, I did the one thing I couldn't during the season: drink. From graduation until the draft I went out to the bars almost every night, tasting some of the college life I had missed out on by being an athlete. To my surprise, almost as many girls recognized me off-campus as on and reacted to me much the same way; I made out like a bandit. But I was still bored all day long. So when coach came up a couple weeks later and asked me if I would consider helping out with the youth camp, I said sure. The basketball team ran two weeks of camps for 5th-12th graders; the team was always involved as coaches, but many more were needed. Since I was a graduate he offered me a small stipend, but I refused. One way or another, I'd be making a chunk of change before the summer was up. I was happy to help just to get out of the house. When the draft came, dad used the Jammers' first-round pick, 11th overall, to select me. Some sports media called him an idiot for using a high pick on a player he could have had anyway when the team had other needs to address. His response was that everyone in the league knew the Jammers biggest need was the point, and I was the best on the board when the Jammers selected—which was true. He said it was the only fair thing to do. I think he gained even more respect in front offices around the league for choosing the honest route. It also worked out well for me money-wise. I always wondered, had I gone undrafted, if dad would have offered me money equivalent to where I should have gone, or lowballed me with a non-draftee level salary. Now, I was guaranteed a nice rookie contract by virtue of where I was selected. It was quite a press conference when I was formally introduced. My mom was the team's PR director, so she spoke first and then turned the podium over to my dad as GM. My dad then talked about me as he would any other first-round pick. Then before he turned the mike over to me, he said how proud he was as a father. There were tears in everyone's eyes as I took the podium. In every conceivable way, the future of the franchise was in my hands. ----------------- That was an emotional day, but there wasn't much time for reflection because the summer camp for kids started bright and early that Monday morning. When I showed up I assumed I'd be working with the high school point guards, but Coach had other ideas. He had me working with the younger grade school kids on their ball-handling skills. They were fun; they were enthusiastic, admiring, and had seemingly endless energy. It challenged me sometimes to keep all the energy focused on the task at hand, but it was fun nonetheless. Certainly it was better than sitting at home watching TV until the first training camp. What I didn't know was that Kelly was spending the summer working the desk for the youth basketball, volleyball and soccer camps the athletic department was running. I probably walked right past her when I showed up that morning and never knew it; there was a long line of parents filling out whatever paperwork was still needed, and I often hustle past crowds with my head down to minimize the chances of being recognized and waylaid by fans. But she must have seen me. I was with the kids all morning, and then when I got a moment's peace over lunch, Kelly's staff had charge of the kids. It wasn't until my 20-minute afternoon break that I heard a pleasant voice behind me saying "Hey stranger. I'm surprised to see YOU here." My brain instantly recognized the voice, but I whirled around just to be sure. "Kelly! Not as surprised as I am to see YOU!" She was wearing short shorts, tennis shoes and a well-fitting college t-shirt. Her pale legs seemed to be a mile long and I could see a hint of fine freckles on her thighs. Damn she looked fine. "I was looking for work-study to earn money over the summer, so it's no surprise that I'm here. But you're alumni now, Mr. First Round Draft Pick" she pointed out. And it told me she had paid at least a little attention to what had happened to me after graduation. I nodded. "Keep reminding me, because I sure don't feel like it yet. Coach asked if I could help out with the clinics, and since I was hanging around town anyway I agreed to help." "Making a little extra money before you sign your big contract?" she teased. "Nah... I told coach I'd do it as a volunteer, just to help out." "Well, I watched you working with the younger kids, and you did very well. Very patient; I'm impressed." Her voice sounded like she meant it. "Well, thanks. They're fun; you just need to keep their energy focused in the right direction." "Easier said than done," she complained, "I have that group at lunchtime, and they're a handful." "I don't think I could handle them at lunch," I agreed. "But I don't have to. They're here because they like to play ball, and they know I'm a good player. They're a little in awe of me, which I use to help keep them focused." "It's very nice of you to help out." "Yeah, well, Coach did a lot for me, so I'm happy to give something back. Besides, I'm so BORED until training camp starts!" "Tell me about it," she agreed. "I've not stuck around over the summer before—I wasn't prepared for it to be such a ghost town around here! I guess not as many people take summer courses as I thought." "Or they take them online?" I suggested. "Fortunately, this week is going to be better, since the big music fest is on." "Yeah," she agreed, "it sounds awesome. I hope to make it down there Friday or Saturday." "It's running all week—I've got a run of festival pass, I intend to go every day." "Must be nice," she said ruefully, "but I can't afford that..." "No, but I can," I interjected. "By getting drafted in the first round I'm about to be a guaranteed millionaire, so I'm buying. Let's go right after work, we can catch some dinner down there." I knew she was going to protest, so I held up my hand to stop her before she started. "Uh-uh-uh. I know what you're going to say, so let's clear the air on this right up front. I am inviting you to come with me, as a friend, nothing more, no strings attached. Look, I really need a buddy here. If I'm there by myself, people will keep coming up and wishing me well, and I won't get to see any of the concerts. And if women start coming up to me... who knows what will happen..." I pretended to be afraid. "I need someone to keep me out of trouble." The corners of her mouth turned just a fraction, but her eyes were smiling. "OK. I'll go with you... just to keep you out of trouble. But just today." "OK. I'll meet you out front, say 5:15?" "I have to stay until the last kid gets picked up." "You name the time then." "A little after 6:30?" She came out at 6:33, and seemed to be excited. After a moment's discussion, we decided we would just walk down to the lakefront festival park. It was almost two miles away, but we were both athletic and nearest parking might still be almost a mile away. So we started walking briskly, and chatting. One of the first things I asked was "so is Chad going to have a problem with this?" "Chad is back home for the summer," Kelly stated matter-of-factly, "we decided that we should take some time apart from each other." "Really?" I asked hopefully. "Well... maybe it's more accurate to say I insisted and he didn't have a choice." I left that alone, but inside it felt like this day just kept getting better and better. We made good time walking down to the festival. I stood in line to buy her a ticket (I already had mine). I bought her a run-of-show pass like mine. "Hey—what's this?" she accused as I gave it to her. "Your ticket," I said innocently. "This is a run-of-show pass. I said I'd come with you just TONIGHT." "I remember. This way, you can come down here again tomorrow night by yourself," and I named some of the bands playing on Tuesday. "I'm not going to come down here by myself," she protested. "Sorry to hear that," I replied, "I'm coming back tomorrow. Of course, if you wanted me to walk you down, just so you're safe and all..." "Yeah, how convenient," she pretended to scold. "Suddenly I'm feeling very manipulated." "By me? This from a girl that's been dating Chad?" "Shut up," she snapped and punched me in the arm—but she wasn't really mad. We were both starving by now, so our first stop was to get food. I made no effort to buy her food just based on my read of her mindset. We made our way to the main stage, where the most popular acts were going to play. Almost immediately, things started going haywire. I just wanted to go, listen to some music, and maybe get to know Kelly a little more. But every drunken yahoo in the place seemed to want to talk to me, high five me, wish me well, whatever. I can't tell you how many times I heard random shouts of "Go Jammers!" I was doing my best to be polite, because after all the Jammers are ultimately a business, a business that I am going to inherit. I couldn't even see the show, because it seemed like I was surrounded by all these guys. The worse was this one who was probably a roto-geek and was trying to show off by asking all these seemingly penetrating questions about the team, while not apparently being smart enough to realize that even if I knew the answers he sought, I wasn't going to tell him. It was kind of overwhelming, and I felt Kelly shrink away rather than fight these gung-ho guys for position. I reached as far as I could before she was out of range, grabbed her waist, and drew her back in next to me. She huddled in close, uncomfortable with all the attention and the physical press of people; I had hoped that maybe seeing me with a girl would give these guys a hint, but no such luck. Finally I whispered to Kelly to meet me outside the men's room in five minutes, and escaped to the john. That was the only way I could rid of them. "I'm SO sorry about that," I apologized as I came out of the restroom. "Don't be, it's not your fault," she said, "is this what life is always like for you?" "Not always, but enough to be annoying," I agreed. "And I'm in a weird spot; if I was just a player, I could be rude and not care, because my salary was paid and the fans would probably still like the team even if they stopped liking me. But I can't do that; being part of ownership, if I alienate a fan we risk losing them for life." "Wow... I guess I never thought about that." "I wish I didn't have to," I agreed, "but you can't enjoy the rewards of being in my position without having to put up with it. I'll let you in a dirty little secret: my family owns the Jammers, and not much else. The team isn't a hobby supported by a multi-billion dollar business empire; for us, they are our livelihood. " "But the Jammers must be worth a lot of money?" "If we sold them, sure. But it would devastate our family if we had to sell them—plus we would have no continuing source of income. So you might say we have assets, but a liquidity problem. Ah... enough economics. Let's go try to find somewhere where we can see or at least hear the show." "Everyone seems to know who you are. You could probably get us backstage." "Probably. If you really want to meet the band or something, we can try. But otherwise, I'd rather not. I don't like throwing my weight around like that." "Really?" she sounded very surprised. "No...When I became a star athlete people started treating me differently, and I've never felt entirely comfortable with it. Sometimes I will ACCEPT special favors that are offered, I've never felt right ASKING for them. Besides--what if they said no? What do I do then, throw a tantrum like a diva? No thanks." She nodded her head sympathetically, listening closely. "I guess you were right all along—you're NOT the kind of guy I thought you were." "Yeah, well... that doesn't help us get in on the concert..." "We could walk around the back of the stage area. Maybe there's someplace we can see and not be mobbed." I nodded and we started walking, but there was a chain-link fence surrounding the backstage area, and parked semis blocked any possible view. We had walked all the way around to the far side of the stage. There was a walkway, a short strip of grass with picnic tables and then the lake. There were some decent-sized trees dotting the sides of the walkway. I stopped; a few more steps would put us by the east exit of the grandstand, where I might be seen again. I looked around, scanning for any vantage point. That's when I noticed the tree situated just behind us had a broad, strong branch that jut out at a gentle angle towards the stage. "I wonder if you can see anything from up in that tree," I wondered, pointing. She turned her gaze that way too. "Maybe... it wouldn't hurt to try." We walked over to it, but from up close the branch was higher than it had looked, maybe 8 feet off the ground. I was just thinking that it would be too hard to try to climb when she said "come on... give me a boost up..." Of course she did—she was a cheerleader. I cupped my hands, she stepped on them, and I lifted her up. There was a good foothold about four feet up, and from there she was easily able to clamber over to the branch. "How's it look?" "You can't see much, but the sound is good," she yelled down over the din. "Great... only how do I get up there?" I mused. Fortunately the gnarled bark of the tree provided good traction; I was able to set my left foot into the bark and push off enough to get my right foot into the foothold. From there it was pretty easy to get up. Kelly smiled as I sat next to her. She was right; you could only see a sliver of stage from the back between the stacks of the PA system, but the sound was clear up here. And wouldn't you know it—just in time for the band's last song. They said good night, and told the crowd it would be just a half-hour until the next band came on. "Aw man," I whined. "It's OK. It's kind of neat up here," she commented, looking around at the unusual vantage point. I nodded. "I'm kind of thirsty though, I guess I have time to run. Do you want something?" "What are you having?" she asked directly. "I was thinking of having a beer," I answered cautiously. "I'll have one too," she replied. That was a pleasant surprise; I didn't know Kelly drank at all. She wasn't in school, so she wasn't having to follow the athletic code either. I crawled down (it was too far to jump in my estimation), got two beers, handed them up to Kelly in the tree, and rejoined her. I took a slug. "Ahh. Nice and cold; nothing better on a hot day!" Kelly was sipping hers, too. "Agreed." I sat pondering about what was up with Chad, and couldn't help but ask. "So what's the deal with you and Chad anyway?" Kelly shrugged indifferently. "I'm in town working, he went home to mommy and daddy, so we're spending time apart." "Oh... but you're still together." "Yes and no," she said, turning an intriguing eye my way. "I told him that we should both see other people. Not that he will." "Will you?" She shrugged non-committally. "You invited me to come along as a friend. Are you changing your tune now, and trying to make this into a date?" "No... no..." I backpedaled. "I'm a man of my word." That ended the conversation for the time being. Shortly after that the next band started playing. We stayed for the whole show, then walked back to campus. I think she had a good time, because I had no problem convincing her to come with me again on Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or Thursday. Every night we sat in that tree, drinking beer and listening to bands (except for one time when a cop chased us down). And best of all, I was spending time with Kelly. I sensed that she was warming up to me, but I was not about to push it. Friday night between bands, she the topic came up again. "Thank you again for taking me to the festival all week. It's been great hearing all these bands," she announced. I agreed. "You said that you invited me along as a friend," she probed cautiously. "What would be different if this was a date?" I thought about that for a moment. "If this was a date, I'd probably you put my arm around you," I suggested. She looked my way again, looking a little nervous, the way you feel when you take someone you know and start moving your relationship a new direction. "You can," she said softly. So I did. She felt a little stiff at first; maybe sitting in a tree didn't help that. But gradually she seemed to relax, feeling comfortable that I wasn't about to make a grab for her tits (not that I didn't want to). The last band of the night band came on. We sat in the tree listening to the music as before, only now my arm was around her shoulder and it felt wonderful. As she became more comfortable she even leaned her head towards me gently. I could feel my heart pounding. Then all of a sudden, her mostly-full cup of beer tumbled out of the tree and onto the ground below. "Oh..." exclaimed, making a last-second grab at it but missing. "The beer!" I kidded, "got to save the beer!" I readied myself like I was going to jump out of the tree to try to save it. Kelly threw her arm in front of me to block me. "No!" she cried in alarm. "You'll break your leg if you jump from here. I'm not going to be in the news as the girl that caused Davis Rutherford to miss the first half of the season!" I wasn't really going to jump, which I think she suspected but not strongly enough to call my bluff. "But the beer..." I pretended to protest. Our eyes met. That moment became one of those magical ones where all of a sudden you feel connection to another person, and things are never the same again. We both froze, unblinking captured in each others' gaze, caught in the spotlight of attraction that could no longer be denied. Kelly flinched; she blinked and turned her gaze to the ground, unsettled by the unspoken intensity of the feeling. I gently touched her cheek, and lifted her gaze back to mine. She accepted the challenge. I'm not sure how to label what passed between us in that moment; it wasn't lust, and it wasn't an a-ha. It was more like someone had opened a previously locked door, and was now holding it open for you to pass through. You might not know what was on the other side, but it was clear that you were welcome to enter. I felt like I had caught a glimpse of the real Kelly that lived under all those layers of protection. I saw Kelly gulp, but this time her eyes did not flinch. "I really, really would like to do something right now, but I think I would be going back on my word if I did it..." I complained. Without hesitation, Kelly craned forward and planted her soft lips on mine. My lips felt electrified by the excitement of meeting hers. Our eyes closed, and for that moment the only thing in the world that existed was my lips touching hers. Lost in the moment, perhaps we forgot we were sitting in a tree. Suddenly something felt like Kelly was slipping. Without thought I dropped my beer and lashed out at her with both arms, grabbing her fast. My sudden motion caught her by surprise; she had momentarily slipped but already caught herself before my attempt to steady her. Our eyes met again at close range as my arms were wrapped around her. "I thought I felt you falling," I explained, but didn't let go of my grip. The Franchise "Thank you," she said simply. She didn't seem to mind being held. Our eyes gazed into each other's inner cores for another long moment. "You spilled your beer," she pointed out softly. "Oops," I agreed, and then we went right back to kissing. I was twenty feet from the sound system but I couldn't tell you a single song the band played. ---------- Two days before my first minicamp, my dad took me aside to tell me that he had signed a free agent point guard. That night I was laying on the floor of Kelly's apartment as she rubbed my back and tried to console me. Although the festival had ended, Kelly and I were spending pretty much all of our free time together anyway. "I don't know why dad went and signed Leroy Jackson," I whined. "Leroy is what, 33? 34? He was all-star--back when I was in high school. He's totally washed up now. But Coach Russell will almost certainly start Jackson ahead of me because of his experience, at least at the start of the season. They must not think I can really run this team." "Did your dad offer any explanation?" she asked sympathetically. "He wanted me to have a mentor. He said I'm not going to learn to be a star in this league learning from Casey McKutcheon, and he's right about that. Then he started talking about not wanting to push too much responsibility on me too soon, because he's seen guys get ruined that way. I just don't think that would happen." "Have you talked to Coach?" Her fingers were as soothing as her voice. "He talked to me. He said that Leroy can still play but not for 48 minutes a game anymore. He says he wants us to each play 20-25, depending on who's better on a given night. Going into camp Jackson will start, although that can change depending on how fast I pick up the system." "That doesn't sound to me like they don't believe in you. It sounds to me like they want to make sure you succeed," she soothed. "I know, I know. My dad wouldn't have spent a first-round pick on me if he didn't believe in me," I moaned. "Exactly," she agreed. "I just... I just think that I'm already better than a has-been like Jackson! It's just a waste of money to bring him in!" "Don't you think if that's true, you'll win the job in camp?" I shrugged. "Maybe." "Aren't you going to need a backup anyway?" "Yeah, but we don't need three point guards on the roster!" "Maybe your dad means to cut Casey McKutcheon?" "I suppose... but he has another year left on his deal... he'd be eating that salary. The Jammers can't afford to pay people to not play." Kelly slid over by my side and put her arm around me. I turned to face her. "Maybe this is a special circumstance," she soothed. Then our lips met and we kissed until I felt better. Kelly turned out to be right. When Jackson arrived in camp, McKutcheon was put on waivers. The first thing Jackson did was come up to me and shake my hand. "Mr. Rutherford, I'm Leroy Jackson. Nice to meet you. I want you to know that I know who you are and what you are, because from now on, I'm not going to call you Mr. Rutherford, or even Davis or Dave. From now on, you're just 'rook.' I was brought here for one reason--to teach you how to play the point in this league. I saw you play some in college--you were pretty good. You're gonna learn that ain't gonna be good enough in the Association, and it's my job to see that you do. So from now on, no more special treatment. You're just a rook, I'm gonna treat you like every other rook, and I'm gonna encourage the rest of the team to do the same. If you don't like it, you can make some calls and run me out of town if you like, I don't care, I'm gettin' paid anyway. But if you want to LEARN, then you need to respect the TEACHER." I was taken aback, but I also respected his attitude. "Yes, sir. I'd actually rather not be treated any different from anyone else, sir!" Leroy patted my shoulder with a big, white-toothed grin. "Ya know rook, you might be all right. I like your attitude. You don't have to call me sir; Teach will be just fine, 'cuz I'm here to school you! But now that we've that straight," he threw his duffel bag on the bench where I was standing, "you can start by unpackin' my bag, rook!" And so I did. I sensed that some of my teammates were watching with interest, especially the other rookies. My old high school coach always said that leading by example was more effective than leading with words, and that's what I was doing. I wanted us to be a team, not Mr. Rutherford and his lackeys. And Leroy had established himself as a team leader right off the bat. Practice started with a little five-on-five, starters and reserves mixed. I matched up on Leroy of course. They got the ball first; he was eyeing me the whole time. He made quick move, but I matched it; he tried to spin, but I tapped the ball out of bounds. He nodded. "Not bad, rook. Back in the day I'd have had you, but not anymore. Not a bad start, though." I thought so, too. Then on the inbound, he took the pass and broke for the basket. I followed, but hadn't sensed that the center was setting a pick on me, and he rubbed off me off for an easy give-and-go-layup. He was jawing on the way down the court, "lesson number one rook-- you gots to play SMART, too." I noticed Coach Russell smiling to himself on the sidelines; Leroy was doing his work for him, and it was better this way. So I of course tried to return the favor. I tried the same double-fake-spin move that had been almost unstoppable in college--only to find myself with nothing but air. Leroy had reacted to the spin and picked my pocket and passed the ball to a streaking forward for a fast-break slam. Leroy shook his finger at me going tsk-tsk with his tongue. "That may work in college, but it ain't gonna work here, boy. Leave the double-spin move stuff for when you're playing one-on-one; you'll get your pocket picked every time at this level." I was fuming now, not at Leroy's taunting but in frustration at my own failure. I wanted to badly to show him up, and instead he was making me look bad. It seemed my dad had been right to bring in someone to mentor me--I could just imagine the boos raining down from the stands had this been the way my first pro game started. So the next few times down the court, I didn't try to score, I just ran the offense, and we matched them basket for basket. But then we made a mistake; I was deep in the corner, shot clock winding down, when the forward that was supposed to be my outlet went to the three-point line on the far side instead behind me. I was hung out to dry, and Leroy had me blanketed. With no time to wait for another option to open up, I took a step to the inside, just to get him moving, then cross-over and drove hard to his inside. He reacted, but I had the step I needed. I drove the lane; the center moved out to cut me off. I rose up for the J, hitting the iron front, back and front again before dropping through. I put my head down and raced back on defense, but Leroy slapped me on the back. "That's the way rook. None of that fancy shit... power is the way to go, baby! Now, if you were an all star, you'd take that drive one step deeper and draw the foul too--but you'd better work on your upper body strength, or you won't be able to make that shot fall after contact..." It was a good lesson to learn; I dedicated myself to bulking up before the next camp. ------------ By late summer, Kelly and I were enough of an item that I invited her up to my grandfather's cottage for a big family weekend. "Are you working this weekend? Or might you be able to get away for a few days?" "It's volleyball camp this week, but it will be over by 3:00 on Friday. Why?" "My grandfather has this beach house; I've been going there since I was a baby. Well, this weekend is my parents' 25th anniversary..." "Oh, how sweet," she interjected. "Yeah," I agreed, "but being who they are, they preferred to celebrate it with a big group of friends and family up at the beach house rather than a fancy party. My brother and sisters will be there, some of my uncles and cousins, all kinds of people. We're all invited to bring a guest, so I was really hoping you'd came along. I know it might sound scary because you don't know any of these people, but you won't be the only one meeting folks for the first time. And gender separation will be strictly enforced for unmarried couples, so you don't need to worry about anything like that. In fact, my sister Jen is bringing her boyfriend Matt, and it would be perfect if you could share a tent with her and I'd share one with Matt." She was a bit overwhelmed, but listening. "It'll be a blast, I promise you that. Bonfire at night, lying on the beach or using the boat during the day, and non-stop basketball." "Non-stop basketball?" I nodded. "We're Rutherfords! We live and breathe basketball! There's a half-court in back of the place, and since my great-grandfather's time it's been tradition to have tournaments and stuff out there. You can bet my mom will be out on the court, taking no prisoners. And if you don't like to play, you can sit on sidelines, watching and drinking! I don't know which is more fun!" "Wow... that does sound like fun... But I don't even know your sister. Is she going to want us to sneak a switch and be with her boyfriend in the tent?" "My sister will be fine with it," I said confidently. "I'm not so sure about Matt. I was kind of hoping you could help me make sure it DIDN'T happen. Oh I don't care if they sleep together, just not at the cottage. It's still grandpa's, and he doesn't allow unmarried couples to sleep together. Kind of funny, because I guess my great -grandfather didn't have a problem with it—but whatever. I just don't want something stupid to ruin my parents' weekend." Friday night I was driving up to my grandfather's beach house in my old beater sedan with Kelly, who asking me questions about the family. "My oldest sister is Jenny," I began. She's going to be a junior next year, and plays volleyball at State. She's named in honor of my Mom's best friend. Then there's Stanley, who's also going to State starting in Fall. They say he's named after a former Jammers player. Then there's Mira, who's going to be a sophomore in high school. Mom and Dad never explained where Mira's name came from, but my grandma once whispered that it was short for miracle, since she was conceived in spite of birth control, after they thought they were done having kids." "Do Stanley and Mira play basketball too?" "Stanley played in high school, but like my dad he wasn't good enough to get a scholarship. He thought seriously about going to a smaller school and playing D-3, but decided to go to state. I know he hopes to walk-on, but unless he suddenly grows that's not going to happen. And poor Mira has given up on sports altogether already; dance is her thing." "It must be rough for her," Kelly mused. "It's a good thing that she's found something for herself that the rest of us didn't do. But don't feel too badly for Mira," I added. "Why not?" "Because she's probably the most attractive one in the family. If she grows and other inch or two, and there's a good chance she will, she'll be a model for sure." Shortly after that we pulled up to the beach house grounds. There were already a dozen cars crammed along the side of the road, with more to come. Mom and Dad came out as we were grabbing things from the trunk to see if they could lend a hand. I had a tent; my sister Jenny and her boyfriend Matt were already set up. With lots of helping hands the tent was set up in no time and Matt brought his stuff in. As I expected, Matt kind of hinted that maybe we should change tentmates during the night, at least for a while. I could honestly say that my girlfriend was very Catholic and didn't approve of that sort of thing. Knowing my rep, he looked at me like I was from Mars, but didn't push the issue. A similar conversation must have happened next door, because during dinner Jenny sidled up to me and asked me if I was really dating a virgin. "So far as I know," I replied. Saturday morning the basketball court was in use the moment it was light. Just in my family, we would get some pretty competitive games playing me, Mira and Stanley against Jen, Mom, and Dad. But with all the extended relations and guests up for the weekend, we played full teams with all sorts of combinations of players. I stopped to get some breakfast before heading out to play. I sat next to Kelly and asked how it was sharing a tent with Jenny; she said it was fine, but confirmed that there had been talking about switching partners. "Matt, too. I told him you were religious and didn't believe in that sort of thing. He didn't seem to believe that you were a virgin." "I'm not, technically," she said distractedly, "but I'm as close to it as you can possibly get." That was a very interesting piece of information, but something in her eyes told me that as much as I wanted an explanation, it was better just to leave that as it was. After breakfast Kelly got in on one of the basketball games, and I give her credit for trying because Matt was too chicken. She was athletic, but she just wasn't used to handling a basketball and didn't have a mature shot, and in this crowd that just didn't cut it. Even with me on her team we couldn't stop Mom's team's winning streak; they just triple-teamed me if I touched the ball, daring the rest of my team to beat them, and they couldn't. Afterwards Kelly and my sister Mira took up positions one and two as cheerleaders, though. After lunch, Jenny got the volleyball started. She's OK at hoops, but she rules the family at volleyball. She plays D-1 while the rest of us play volleyball, well, like basketball players. Still, it is fun to play in the sand down at the beach for a change of pace. That's where Kelly surprised me by playing Jenny to dead even. Like my mom Jenny's not especially tall (she's a libero). She generally only gets to play attacker when we play for fun, and the rest of us don't play enough to front her effectively. Kelly couldn't jump as high but was taller, and always seemed to be in the right place for the block. She also knew how to hit, especially on a sand court with inexperienced blockers. I found it pretty funny that with an athletic family and all these guys around, the two best players on the court were two girls, and one wasn't even related. I played volleyball with them for maybe an hour. It was fun, but when Stanley started shootin' off his mouth, I had to go take him behind the woodshed (i.e. the basketball court) and put him in his place. Since we play king of the mountain, I was out on the court for quite a while. Next thing I knew it was like 5:00, and I hadn't seen Kelly in hours. I gave up the court and went to find her. I walked around to the other side of the house and soon found out why I hadn't seen her. The volleyball court had evolved into a game of 2-on-6, with Kelly and Jenny playing the pair and kicking the butt of every team of six's that took them on. A gallery had formed on the beach to watch, many of them unrelated people from neighboring cottages, although I'm not sure how much of their interest was in the quality of play. Kelly's hot, and while she's my sister I can look at Jenny objectively enough to know that she's got a great body too. The two of them were looking MIGHTY impressive out there. They were both wearing string bikinis, hair in ponytails, and glistening with sweat. They both had lean legs, Kelly's being longer. They both had sweet, flat bellies; Jenny had the more pronounced definition in her abs, but Kelly had a bigger bust. If only their swimsuits had matched, they absolutely would have looked like they belonged on the pro beach tour. I sat and admired them for a while, until Mom called out from the house that people should start getting washed up for dinner. The crowd started to wander away as the game ended; Jenny and Kelly came right by me, since I happened to be near their towels. "Wow... you girls looked great out there," I commended. "Thanks," Kelly said, taking her towel and rubbing sweat and sand from her body. "I used to be pretty good in high school. If I were taller, maybe I could have played college ball." "Oh, right... you guys played pretty well, too," I joked. Kelly punched me in the arm playfully; Jenny rolled her eyes and started walking toward the house. "Hey, don't get mad at me. YOU were the ones attracting the audience!" Kelly ignored that. She kept rubbing, but the sand was like ingrained from all the diving she had done. "Man... I can't get this sand off!" "I could help..." I suggested. "Eww. I'm all sweaty and sandy." "That's a chance I'll just have to take." She gave me a quick kiss. "No thanks, but I'd rather jump in the shower." "Hey, I could help with that, too." She threw her sandy towel at my face, creating a cloud of dust. "Keep dreaming," she teased and headed for the shower. That night was the formal celebration for the anniversary. My uncle cooked up a cow's worth of steaks for dinner, and everyone listened to stories about mom and dad's lives together. There was a cake, but indicative of my family more than half went uneaten, while the lowfat frozen yogurt meant to go on top was gone in no time. Kelly seemed quiet and pensive throughout, although interested by the stories; I imagined she felt a bit out of sorts barely knowing any of these people. She whispered to me she was going to go for a walk; I nodded, asking "do you want me to come with you?" "No, that's OK, I'll be fine. This is your family, you should stay here and be with them." "OK," I said with some hesitation. Something in her eyes struck me as odd. When she didn't come back after 45 minutes, I went out looking for her. It was a clear night with an almost full moon, and the reflections on the water made it easy to see even at night. I saw a figure sitting in the sand near the water's edge a few hundred yards off to the right, so I headed that way. As I approached, the figure stood up and brushed sand off of herself. It was her. She was wearing flip-flops, her short-shorts and a hoodie now covering her bikini top. "Hey," I said friendly-like as I approached. "Hey," she said. "Why did you come looking for me? Were you afraid I'd get lost?" "No." I came up to her and wrapped my arms loosely around her waist. She wrapped her loosely around my neck. We kissed briefly, then I added "I just didn't like the look in your eyes when you left." She kind of frowned, then looked back out over her right shoulder at the water. "I've just been sitting here, thinking." "Thinking about what?" "A lot of things. I've very confused about a lot of things." "Like what?" I pressed. "Are you not having a good time?" "No, I'm having a great time," she protested, turning her head to face me. "That's part of what's confusing me." "I don't understand." "No... you don't..." she said distantly, looking back out at the water again. I was silent, listening. It felt a bit awkward as the minutes dragged, but I just stood there holding her and waiting. Finally she let out a big sigh. "It's not about you, or anything you've done, it's about me... well, it kind of is about you... I'm not making any sense..." "I'm listening," I said softly. "That's exactly what I mean!" she exclaimed with intensity that caught me by surprise. Turning to me, she said "I guess I'm just questioning a lot of things that I thought I knew. A lot of things... aren't the way I thought they would be..." I stood quietly hoping she would continue. "I heard all the stories about you and all those women. I thought I knew what you would be like based on that—and I was wrong. I would have never thought you were so good with kids; I would have never thought you would still be interested in me if I wouldn't sleep with you; I would have never thought you'd be so attentive and such a good listener. You come from this wealth family, with a basketball team and a beautiful beach house—you're supposed to be snooty and condescending. Instead, you've got the nicest family I've ever met!"