“I dare you.” I stared at the words again and they seemed to take on a new meaning, the letters morphing of their own accord into different shapes and sizes and colors. This couldn’t be real.
I glanced up at the locker room full of players shuffling to get their gear on, talking, laughing, ribbing, and looked for any sign that one of them was more interested in me and my flashy red paper, but no one seemed to care. Weird. My eyes drifted again to the text, and for the twentieth or thirtieth time, I read the words.
“You work so hard at every practice. I admire and respect that about you. The showers are very calm after everyone is gone and you deserve a little treat. Stay later tonight, cutie, and enjOy yourself. I dare you ;)”
The cursive writing was impeccable, smooth in its flow. A dark blue fountain pen must have been used and the expensive-feeling red paper had a faint smell of something. Vanilla, I suddenly realized. Maybe the desired effect was seductive and bold, but I found it a little endearing. The “cutie” sort of negated everything daring about it.
But it was the way the word “enjOy” was written that kept me mesmerized. It was clearly italicized, with a capital O in the middle. The connotation was hard to miss. This… person, whoever they were, was asking me to enjoy myself in the showers after everyone was gone. Here, at the club. I snickered to myself thinking that I had a perfectly nice and private apartment I could do that in, at no one else’s command, so why would I risk it here? But there was something about that “I dare you” and the winking face that followed it that made my mouth dry and my insides growl. I brushed the thought aside. No, I wouldn’t. Would I?
The locker room was calming down. I looked up and saw only three players remained. I recognized Oksana, because oh well, who wouldn’t recognize Oksana, but the other two were still among the mishmash of faces, names, and jersey numbers that I hadn’t memorized yet. Number 7 and Number 12. However, none of the three was paying me attention so I started wondering if it was a coincidence that they were still here or if one of them was my… what do you call a person who secretly dares you to do something risky? Naughty instigator, perhaps?
I carefully placed the red paper in the side pocket of my gym bag and finished getting dressed. Socks, shoes, hair band and tie, everything was automatic. When you’ve played football – I refused to call it soccer like everyone did – for as long as you’ve been able to walk and been in teams since you were allowed to join one, the practice and match preparations became second-nature. There was a point where I thought I’d be doing this on a professional level, but a knee injury in the middle of my high school senior year plus a letter of acceptance to law school meant that my dreams of being the next Maldini or Cannavaro, female edition, were thwarted. Now I had to console myself by playing for a local team in a local league and feel like my past talent had been squandered. But at least I was back doing what I loved and it didn’t conflict with my day job.
With one last glance at my gym bag and the mysterious letter within, I closed my locker and shook my head. Maybe someone on the team was trying to get into my head. I did grab a starting position in less than a month when many had been with the team for a few years, so maybe the other defenders weren’t happy about it. No one had shown any bitterness though; quite the contrary, they were very helpful and welcoming. Plus there was that “cutie.” It definitely wasn’t a bitter one.
Practice was tough. Usually, when my feet hit the green grass, I found a way to get into my warrior mode. Block out the external stimuli, forget everything outside the field, and just give it my full concentration and effort. But today was different. My mind kept wandering back to that red paper, to that faint smell of vanilla, and to that daring message.
Who could have slipped it in my locker?
With each practice drill, each movement, each run, I found myself looking at my teammates more and more, scrutinizing their behavior. Was it Bree, the goalie? We had gotten along rather well on the field and, by virtue of our positions, she had a nice view of my backside most times. Maybe she liked it a little more than she let on? Or was it Kiara, the other central defender? We had easily found a harmony together, moving in tandem to cover the penalty area, not stepping on the other’s toes, and having each other’s back. When you’re a central defender, chemistry with your teammate can make or break your play, and Kiara and I had a lot of effortless chemistry and understanding. It was as if we’d been playing together forever, and maybe she did want us to play other games too. Or could it be Brooke, the team captain, miss congeniality without even trying off the field, and our own version of Iniesta on the field? She had been welcoming from the day I joined the team and always tried to get me involved with the group banter and off-field activities. During practice and matches, she had eyes everywhere, so maybe she had been eying me out without me even noticing. Or was it Oksana? The tall blonde goddess with Russian descent with whom I butted every time she stormed our defense during practice? We did have a bit of a quirky rivalry going on and maybe that lead to some attraction on her part. It was easy to imagine her daring people to do things and them bending over backwards to obey any order coming from her perfectly kissable lips.
Wait… Where did that thought come from? I slapped myself mentally while tackling number 14 and grabbing the ball before she could pass it to Oksana. Dribble and pass to midfield… Brooke. She was everywhere indeed. Did she smile at me? I thought she smiled.
What was happening? I shook my head for what felt like the hundredth time and tried to concentrate and get back to my position. But my eyes landed on Number 7 who was stretching and getting ready to join the practice match. Her lunges were deep and showed off a perfect bottom.
“JESS!!!” Kiara’s voice shook me out of my ass-gazing moment and I barely noticed Oksana speeding past me and straight to the goal. Kiara quickly caught up with her and tried to slow her down while I ran toward them and snapped the ball between Oksana’s legs from behind, flipped around, and cleared it with a powerful kick. This should not happen again, I chastised myself, while Kiara was rightfully raining expletives on me and Oksana applauded my swift comeback and teased Kiara for not reacting fast enough.
I got my mind back in the game for the rest of practice, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was on high-alert the entire time, watching every player, their eyes, their movements, their bodies. I had been playing football for as long as I remembered and I’d never looked at another girl’s body beyond just acknowledging her fitness level. But now, other things were popping up as if for the first time. Curves, toned bodies, tensing muscles, sexy calves… The world “bootie” flashed in my head and I couldn’t stop repeating it. This was a buffet of delicious booties, if there ever was one.
But I wasn’t a lesbian. I hadn’t been attracted to girls, at least I hadn’t ever thought I was. This was an all-new territory to me. Could I be reconsidering my sexuality now, at the not-so-tender age of 27? “No,” the smart part of my brain answered. “You’re just affected by that silly red letter, it’s making you think things. And that big O in enjOy, it’s been a few days.” The drive home was going to be agonizing. “But there’s the shower here,” the naughty part of my brain retorted. “The very calm shower, after everyone is gone, the players, the coach, the assi…”
Oh crap! It could also be coach Terry, couldn’t it? Or her assistant Alex? Or anyone of the staff at the club? They all had access to the lockers. I turned to the bench and saw Terry and Alex gesticulating and talking. They were in their mid-thirties, and quite attractive. It wouldn’t be implausible to imagine one of them having a crush on a player. I was doomed. There was no way I could guess where that letter came from.
As the practice match ended and we finished some more drills and stretching exercises, Brooke brought us all together for a huddle and encouraging words. I was instantly aware of the amount of sweaty female flesh touching me and the close proximity of heaving chests around me. The person who dared me could have been among them, bumping against me now, and getting a thrill out of knowing what I didn’t. This had to end, I was going crazy.
With the training over, I knew all the players would go to the lockers to shower and there would be a huge amount of skin on display. Only a few of the girls were comfortable being fully nude in front of the others, but there were a lot that paraded in their underwear between the lockers and showers. I didn’t need to see that today and get more confused, so I offered to stow away the practice equipment.
Alex, the assistant coach, stayed back to help me and we started gathering the various rings, hurdles, cones, poles, and balls, then took them to the storage locker. She didn’t say a word through it all and I was grateful for the silent reprieve from the craziness of the locker room. I couldn’t, however, stop myself from sneaking glances at Alex in her form fitting jeans and red polo shirt. She was cute in an understated way.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you start losing your mind. How could this one paper with barely three sentences confuse me and influence me so much? I had to get a grip. I wasn’t attracted to girls, this was just a silly moment.
“Jess,” I shook myself and saw Alex very close to me, touching my arm. I smiled to try to hide the trepidation in my whole body. She had kind eyes. “You’ve been quite absentminded today, anything wrong?”
“Oh, no, uhm, maybe, yes.” I stuttered. “A case at work, it’s got my attention,” I lied.
“Oh, good. Well, not good-good, but good in the sense that it’s probably nothing life-threatening, I suppose.” I nodded.
“You’re an excellent defender, Jess, and both Terry and I saw that in you from your first tryout. But a defender can’t be thinking about other things when on the field. It’s deadly and we’d have to bench you. So I hope it’s a one-time thing. Leave work outside the field.”
I apologized and assured her it wouldn’t happen again. Perhaps I was getting good at this evasion thing as the entire time she was speaking, half of my mind was concentrated on the fact that she was still touching my arm and that the three buttons on her polo shirt were undone and offered a nice preview of her creamy white body.
She smiled, seemingly content with my answer and walked away. I headed toward the locker room, hoping everyone was already in the showers by now. That was the case. If I were honest with myself, I would have admitted that I was a little disappointed I didn’t get to see some skin. I grabbed my gym bag and went into one of the empty showers.
The club had been sponsored by a wealthy businessman who grew up in the community and built like a professional stadium. It was one of the largest I’d played at and they had taken into account not only having over twenty showers, but also including a small changing room inside each one and a door, so you had as much privacy as you wanted.
The sound of the water coming from all the stalls was overpowering, though there was still the occasional shout or small discussion between two players. One by one, though, I heard the showers turn off and the doors open. I didn’t count, but as I was shampooing my hair, I had a feeling only a few were left.
I panicked. Whether subconsciously or not, I had put myself in the situation the letter wanted me to be in. I was suddenly attentive to every sound around me. I didn’t recognize the voices but one to my right was asking if someone could drop her off and another one, also to my right, agreed, and I thought there was one other occupied shower to my left. When the two on my right went away, I turned off my shower and listened. Nothing. I turned it back on and rinsed my hair. Just to be sure, I switched the shower off again, and perked my ears. Nothing. I turned it back on and moved on to wash my body.
I was now painfully aware of the predicament I was in. The coast was clear. I was alone and I could do whatever I wanted. Not that anything would have stopped me before, but well, psychologically, it was easier knowing I didn’t have an audience to hide from. Was I seriously considering it now? This couldn’t be. I needed to get a grip and just get myself home. The letter couldn’t win. Even if whoever was behind it didn’t know that I followed the instructions, I would know. And I wasn’t weak and easily influenceable. No, I was my own master. I could choose not to do it.
My strong resolve lasted the three seconds it took my hand to travel down my body. By the time my soapy finger hit my outer lips, I knew it was a lost battle. I wasn’t just wet, I was soaking. A shudder coursed through me and I closed my eyes and held onto the wall with my left hand. The little voice telling me I should stop was soon drowned out by the thumping of blood in my head, and the remainder of my resistance was washed out with the water running down my body into the drain.
With a heavy sigh, I felt my finger dip between my folds and knowingly reach my hard nub. There was no time to play or tease, I was aching for a release so I rubbed with frenzy, pictures of my teammates swirling in my head in a jumble of soft skin and rounded butts and plush tits. Within less than a minute, my building orgasm came crashing and I barely managed to turn and lay my back on the wall as I whimpered, swallowing the cry in my throat.
The letter had won and I didn’t care. The naughty instigator had driven me to the brink and I had jumped with both feet, one finger, and one very drenched pussy. I heaved slowly, my finger still exploring, not totally content with the speed of this resolution. Soon enough, with my back now supported against the wall, I was on my way to a second, only slightly less frenetic, orgasm. As I was about to hit my peak, I pictured the woman behind that letter opening the door to my shower stall and walking in on me, and I crashed and tumbled with another barely contained whimper.
A few minutes later, as I breathed normally again and felt some strength come back to my legs, I dragged myself back under the running water and finished cleaning up. I should have felt shame for being so easily influenced, but I didn’t. I was owning my pleasure.
“Oh my, last Tuesday must have been intense! I wish I were in there with you.
You’re so hot and the gym room might get a little stuffy today. How about you unbrace yourself before you walk in, cutie? I dare you ;)”