Game Over. Game On - Sex Stories

Game Over. Game On

... trying to work out the age difference between us and failed miserably as I chose instead to take in her perpetual beauty. She’d stunned me all those years ago with her both her looks and her forthright actions, and I found myself once again dumbfounded as she stood here before me. Applause caught my ears. I glanced across to the far touchline where both teams were walking off towards the changing rooms and clapping each other off. “Look, I should be there. Would you mind if I go and see the opposition off and then pop back over? I’d love to chat,” I asked “Sure,” she replied “Thanks,” I said, bending down and kissing her cheek lightly. I turned on my heels and jogged across the pitch towards the cluster of players stood on the far touchline. I was roundly jeered for the last twenty metres, by players from both sides, as I slowed to a walk and went between the two lines of players shaking hands and thanking my opposite number for my last ever lineout contest. As I reached the end of the line, I was drenched in a mix of water from the drinks bottles and beer from cans a couple of the guys had brought down for the event. I underwent five minutes of backslapping and congratulations from players, committee and supporters from both sides. You didn’t play twenty years of rugby in this town and not get well known, especially when you played my uncompromising brand of rugby. After a while I turned and made to head back to where I’d seen Katja, but as I looked up, she’d gone. My ...

... smile faded and rueing a missed opportunity I turned back and headed instead towards the changing room some fifty metres on. I didn’t stop long in the dressing room, choosing instead to take a mug of tea and sit out on the veranda in shorts and socks, allowing the raw burn of abraded shoulder flesh and the aches and pains of the last eighty minutes of collisions to ease away. I sat quietly, looking into the middle distance as the lactic acid in my muscles caused them to start the ache that I knew would intensify over the next two days before easing away. I wouldn’t miss that feeling. My shoulders ached from a mix of scrummaging and tackling. My body ached from just being completely shagged. My skin was covered with a mix of light bruises and abrasions from a few 'ruckings' I'd taken in my swansong, and as much as I was looking forward to a long warm shower, I wasn't looking forward to the stinging sensation as the water washed over these same marks. I smiled at the thought of the pain to come and took another sip of tea. The last of the players from both sides were leaving the changing rooms now and making their way to the club, half a mile away. I rose gingerly from the bench and made my way into the dressing room. It was a mess of tape and bandages. Discarded boots and kit lay strewn around too, items that had served their purpose and wouldn't make next season. Tufts of grass and mud completed the mix and it all sat in small waterlogged patches around the tight central area of ...