Throughout the day, he kept getting sideways glances, even from the most attractive females in school, the kind of glances that made his cheeks burn and the hairs rise on the back of his neck. What was going on?
It was a bit of a relief when the final school bell sounded and everyone began filing out towards the school entrance. For a moment, he assumed Rick would probably forget about going out to the golfing range, and things would slowly turn back to normal as the football captain generally lost interest in his ‘lifesaver’. But no: there he was, waiting with a couple of girls at the school gate, tossing his car keys up and down in his hand.
“Hey, bud, how’s it going? You ready to smack some balls, huh?”
“Yeah,” Tom couldn’t help but smile. Heck, while he was in favour, why not enjoy it?
They drove out to the driving range, a fairly new place out in the suburbs. While in the car, Tom remained fairly quiet while Rick excitedly went through details about the football game the next day. It seemed it was a big one, against a nearby high school whose team was said to be dabbling in illegal drugs and steroids. The football captain was obviously fired up, and he admitted to Tom that this was usually the case the night before a match.
“That’s why I come out here,” he said as they drew into the parking lot of the driving range. “You have no idea what a great way to relieve stress hitting golf balls is.”
“Yeah – you don’t have to aim, you just swing and connect. If you get that perfect hit…man, it gives you that little shiver down your spine…it’s like a mini-orgasm, man, I swear.”
The two girls giggled at that – they really didn’t seem to have much in the way of brains.
“You ever done this before?” Rick asked as they lined up their first shots.
“Never,” Tom admitted. “I’ve never really been one for sports,” he added.
“You don’t seem to be the competitive type,” Rick lifted his club and swung through, cracking the ball, which soared and curved through the air like a tiny missile.
Tom swung at his ball and connected with the top of the ball, sending it trickling along the grass embarrassingly. “Nope, I guess not,” he smiled.
“Relax,” Rick said, and somewhat surprisingly, didn’t laugh at Tom’s poor shot. It was surprising to Tom that this guy wasn’t the typical prick out to inflate his ego at the expense of others. It was completely against the stereotype of the captain of the football team. “Don’t think of it as sport, man,” he said, “think of it as leisure. You’re not up against me, your up to have a great time. Just relax, keep your eye on the ball – it’ll come.”
And so it did. Having the two bimbos watching was embarrassing at first, but after a while, he just ignored them. It wasn’t as though he was attracted to them, anyway. The evening turned out great, and he had a really good time driving golf balls out into the sunset. After half an hour or so, he’d got the hang of it and was connecting almost as sweetly as Rick.
Rick even dropped him off at his house afterwards – it was a truly wonderful evening.
“Hey, bud,” the footballer said, “why don’t you come watch the game tomorrow, huh?”
“Oh well…” Tom was unsure. He’d never really found any kind of interest in football.
“Go on – you’ll have fun. And afterwards, you will come out with us, won’t you? We’re having a celebratory party.”
“Celebratory? You haven’t won yet, Rick,” Tom smiled.
“We’ll find something to celebrate – even if we lose. You’ll see.”
“Hell, why not?” Tom said, getting out of the car. “I’ll do it.”
“Great. You won’t be sorry, man – I’ll see to that, I promise.”
With a little screech of the tyres, Rick was away, and Tom was left scratching his head. What was going on? He had just agreed to actually go and watch a football game. Lunacy: total lunacy.
“Oh God, fuck me, Tom!” she cried out as he thrust into her wetness. It wasn’t dignified, it wasn’t civilised, it was hard, rough and like nothing Tom had ever done before. He leaned back, held her knees apart and pushed inside her, the tip of his cock pressing upwards to stir her g-spot.
He could see his shaft disappearing into the tidy scarlet bush between her legs, squeezing inside her soft pussy lips to fill her and then just as quickly withdraw, quivering inside her trembling vagina.
He couldn’t tell if she was anywhere near orgasm, because she hadn’t stopped moaning since the beginning, and it didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. It almost seemed as though she was faking…was she?
“Oh, come inside me. Come inside me, Tom – please.” She was pleading now, biting her lip as though on the brink of a colossal orgasm. But he felt it wasn’t entirely genuine, like it was something she’d learned to please the many guys she’d been with.
He did as she asked, letting himself go, flooding her with his hot seed, but somehow it wasn’t like it should have been. He was making love to a stunning cheerleader, a redhead with the brightest brown eyes…but there was something missing. As the sensation faded from his loins and he rolled over to lie beside her, he felt…vacuous somehow. She hadn’t really enjoyed any part of what had just happened – she’d faked it. She’d obviously learned that football players like to think they are the best thing that ever happened to womankind, and that his pleasure at being such a stud would somehow rub off on her reputation. He would think he was a great lay because of her reaction, and he’d tell all his cool football friends what a great lay she was. But the reality was that Tom virtually faked it, too.
A lot of women are under the misapprehension that men can’t fake orgasm. They’d be wrong, of course. Admittedly it is always easier with a condom to fake it, because then a woman can’t actually tell that he hasn’t released anything, but a guy can force himself to ejaculate without it actually being much of a pleasure. No real orgasm.
This is what Tom did then. And he did the groans and the moans, just like Meg Ryan in that film. And Kitty was satisfied that she was a great lay.
But Tom felt empty.