Rooster: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (3 page)

This bar’s alright, but there isn’t much in the way of options. I came in because it looked smart enough from the outside but not too wanky to make me feel well out of my comfort zone. I earn a decent whack, but that doesn’t mean I want to piss it all away over forty dollar cocktails. Give me a good pint of Guinness any day of the week.

Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. Maybe all the loose woman are draped all over the posh bars waiting for rich men to come in and spoil them, while all the real men are here, and none of the girls want to put out.

I’m about to give up entirely and head on home when I see what could be the final possibility of the night stride confidently into the bar.

I almost don’t go over at all. I wait to see if there is anyone about to join her, and then I wait to see what she orders and then I almost pussy out because I’m sick of getting rejected, and anyway, she looks like she wants to be on her own.

In fact, when she’s halfway through her pint and someone else from the bar goes over tries it on and fails spectacularly, I figure she’s probably going to be a harder nut to crack than anyone else I’ve already tried this week.

The problem, however, is two-fold. I haven’t seen anyone as beautiful all week, and if there is anyone who likes a challenge, it’s me.

I can’t let this one go. She’s so fucking sexy, I’d be kicking myself for the rest of my life. We don’t get girls like this in Ireland. We get echoes of girls like this, but nothing that comes anywhere near. I’m not convinced that American women, in general, are all that attractive, but this one, she’s like a fallen fucking angel. I can picture us both going at in now, and the image is making me salivate.

She’s not looked over this way once either. Didn’t clock me when she walked in, so has no idea what she might be missing out on.

I can’t be responsible for that. If she turns me down, fine, but if she hasn’t seen me, that’s just not fair.

I wait until she’s almost finished her pint and then I head over. If we’re going to make a quick exit, I want to make sure she’s ready, if she needs a bit of convincing first, better that I get a full pints worth of time with her.

At the bar, I sit alongside her without saying anything at all first. I want her to get a good look at my dimensions, at my size, the muscles on my arms, my tattoos, just to get an idea of what’s she’s working with. If she doesn’t leave I know she won’t mind me talking to her, if she does, I’ll know I won’t even have to bother chasing.

Even sat down I can tell she’s small. Small girls are fun when you can throw them around.

Without even turning to her I say.

“Are you a modern girl who doesn’t like fucking, or are you a real girl who likes real men?”

There is a moment of silence while she gives me the once over. It lasts long enough for me to think she’s about to leave. It’s not the approach I always take, but for what I want to do, it’ll cut through the bullshit and get straight to the point. If she’s keen I’ll soon know it. If she’s one of these girls that gets easily offended, I’ll get a drink thrown into my face.

I’m aware I can be a little intimidating, but I’m not the kind of guy to push it if I get any kind of sign she’s not on the same wavelength.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her finish her pint and then spin the bar stool around so she’s facing the exit.

I feel like I’m about to watch her march away when she turns to me, claps beautiful brown eyes on mine and says challengingly, without a single falter in her voice, “Show me a real man and I’ll tell you.”

Izzy

This is not the kind of thing I do, not because I’ve never wanted to, but because these are the kinds of things that don’t happen in real life. What I was talking about earlier, that idea of a macho man showing me exactly what he wants to do to me, that kind of thing belongs between the pages of a book, the seedy screens of a late night cinema, the corners of filthy minds and yet, here I am, hidden in the shadows of an alleyway off a busy street in the lower east side, a dumpster the only thing blocking our bodies from view.

I’m not looking for a casual hookup, but when something so irresistible presents itself, what else am I meant to do, but welcome it with open legs and arms?

Finally a real man. More than that, a fucking sports star. Tattoos, muscles, a mouth as filthy as his mind, and a dick as big as a baby’s arm. No pleasantries now either, no beating around the fucking hipster bush. No hiding what we want from each other and no stopping it once it’s started.

I waste no time in pulling those properly fitted jeans down to slide it out, into my hands momentarily just to gauge the not insubstantial heft and weight of it, and then towards me purposefully, my panties already torn away, my pussy so wet I can feel my juices seeping down my leg.

I’ve never done anything like this before and it’s making me super fucking horny. I’m not the only one. He’s so hard and so eager to get up inside me, I wonder who’s going to last longest before they come.

I want his cock so deep I can taste him. I want to feel his weight slam me against the wall and his balls make bruises on my pussy lips I’ll be able to feel for weeks. More than that, I want this to be over in seconds and the sensation to last for an eternity. A quick, dirty fuck neither one of us will ever forget.

Rory the Irish sports star and Izzy the homegrown slut filled to the brim with his hot dirty cum.

My clit is so swollen it looks like the tip of a thumb. I don’t even need to pull the skin back around to expose it because his cock is so big and so potent that every time he slams it inside me, I get stretched to my full extent.

I’m already on the edge and moaning hard, my legs tight around his back to lock my body in place, a receptacle for him to fuck.

Rory is every bit as virile as he promises, every bit as dirty. I grab his arms, his chest, put my hands around his neck, and beg him to do the same to me. I force myself onto him and scream as he works his way up inside me, pushing buttons I never even knew existed.

I feel lightning bolts explode out across my skin, I feel a heat rise from deep within my pussy and burn my insides all the way to where he has his hand around my neck and I feel pleasure descend on me I’ve never before experienced.

I spend two hours with Martin and I want to go home, I spend ten seconds with Rory and I’m enjoying the best fuck of my life in an east side back alley surrounded by filth.

He doesn’t know anything about me but my name and he’s making me feel like nobody else on this earth ever has, or perhaps has the ability to. My pussy aches and tingles and my clit throbs at the edge of an almighty orgasm and still Rory pumps away like an animal in heat, so hard I feel like I’m going to explode.

I’m coming before I can stop it. If I wasn’t holding on to him with everything I’ve got, I’d go weak at the knees and tumble to the ground. As it is, I can’t help but scream loudly, fold myself into him and hold on for the ride. I’ve got goose pimples all over my arms and legs as I come hard, my teeth gritted, my pussy spasming uncontrollably around his cock and my clit pulsing like a ship's beacon.

Still unable to catch my breath, my skin sweaty and my heart racing, I feel Rory’s balls tighten up against me, his cock head swell even bigger and bury itself as deep as it can physically go inside me.

I’m flat against the wall, my pussy stretched wide around his huge cock, a band of frothy cum marking the base enough to make me want nothing more than for him to fill me full of the rest of his seed at whatever cost.

I want him to debase me like an animal. I want him to make me his. I want him to show me how much he can’t resist me and fill me right to the brim.

Rory grunts, and snarls, and grits his teeth. His breathing lilts and falls again, and all the muscles in his body tense.

And then finally, when he’s held on enough and can’t hold back any longer, he lets out a deep guttural moan of desire and emphatically lets himself go.

With one thick arm underneath me and the other to the side, with a look that tells me he owns me, unequivocally, for now, and forever, he bucks, writhes, and orgasms hard, his hot sticky cum exploding deep down inside me.

I come again, hard, unable to hold back, my pussy exploding in spasms of pleasure.

I come so hard that I never want him to leave me, and when he slides his still erect cock out of me, sticky with a mixture of both of our juices and eases me back to the ground, I almost beg him to put himself back up inside me.

I don’t. Instead, I pull my skirt back down over my pussy, remove my dirty panties from where they fell to the floor, ball them up and throw them in the dumpster, and reluctantly accept that the moment is over.

I feel hot and dirty, and while I stand there awkwardly waiting to work out what I’m going to do next, I can feel Rory’s cum ooze out of my pussy hole and weep delightfully down my leg.

“Real girl”, Rory says. “I like that.”

I shrug, already a little embarrassed at what I’ve done, maybe even regretting it.

Rory tucks his barely softened dick away and begins to readjust his belt.

“If I’d found you last week we could have done that way more often”, he says.

I’d already guessed he might be, but I suppose this actually confirms it. “Going somewhere so soon?” I ask.

“Holiday romance”, he says with a hint of disappointment.

“Then I’m glad to be of service”, I say.

“Albeit temporarily.”

I get one last look at those incredible eyes, one last touch of those rock hard biceps. No point in exchanging numbers no matter how perfect he is. The Atlantic ocean is way too much of a commute, even for perfection like that, and come Monday, if I nail this interview, I’ll have my pick of the Rangers front row. As good as that sex was, as fucking incredible, I know there will be more. I know there will be others even better than Rory.

“Don’t I get a goodbye kiss?” he calls after me when I’m halfway back to the main street, his pants not even done up yet, his belt not even cinched across, his beast barely back asleep.

“I’ll give it to you when I see you next. You look like the kind of person who’s more than happy to wait.”

I don’t even turn around to look at his expression, which I know from the short time we’ve spent together will be one of subtle appreciation. As far as I’m concerned that was a one-off. An unbelievable one but a one off nonetheless. I walk home smiling, my belly warm, my pussy hot, his seed sticky inside me.

Rory may have been the first in a long time, but he’s definitely not going to be the last.

One.

One year later…

Izzy

“I can’t believe you are doing this”, I say.

I get a sympathetic look from Alicia, a sigh from Francisco and a grimace from Benjamin as Oscar begins to cry again.

“Look, Izzy, it was a one year contract-”, Benjamin begins.

“Which you’re not going to renew because of him”, I say.

Alicia jumps in. “We’re not renewing the contract because the job doesn’t exist anymore.”

It’s a lie, I know it’s a lie. The job exists, it’s just been renamed.

“I’ve worked hard here. I’m good at my job-”, I protest.

“And now you have other responsibilities”, Benjamin says, eyeballs all over my three-month-old baby. “You wouldn’t be able to bring him into work after all.”

“I’ll get childcare”, I insist.

“I’m sorry Izzy, you know there is nothing we can do”, Alicia adds.

“That’s it?”

I look at all three of them in turn and no-one seems to want to take the responsibility to answer that question. Oscar’s cries echo out into the unwelcoming room.

“Your season ticket will still be valid for a year”, Francisco finally says, as though that makes all the fucking difference.

I gather my things, wrestle Oscar into the buggy, and without another word, struggle out into the corridor. No-one comes to help me, even when the pushchair gets stuck temporarily in the double swing doors.

One whole year I’ve given this team and as soon as they could they’ve gotten rid of me.

Halfway to the exit, the long corridor that sits empty like those that run underneath hospitals I pause, cover Oscar, turn my back to him and scream at the top of my lungs.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

***

“You could always waitress”, April says.

“And who would look after Oscar?”

“Cory and I could do it.”

Not the original Cory from a year ago, a different Cory. April’s been busy since the night I fell pregnant, and while I’ve been concentrating on Oscar, she’s been concentrating on working her way through men from every street in the lower east side. Cory mark 2 is the latest in a long line.

“No we fucking couldn’t”, he says.

“What am I going to do?” I say.

I was worried they wouldn’t renew the contract, but I never thought they’d actually have the balls to do it. I know, technically, I’ve only worked there for seven out of the contracted twelve months, and it wasn’t the best start to a job to tell them three months after I began that I was pregnant, but it was just as much a shock to me. I’ve been on maternity leave for the last four months, hoping to begin again before the end of the year and that’s what I thought the meeting was about today. To discuss the terms of the contract, not tear them up entirely.