Microfantasy Monday, week 34 : sports

Ang at Sweltering Celt has given us the theme for our Microfantasy Monday posts this week — Sports, in honor of the USA soccer team doing so well against Brazil in the Confederations Cup Championship game yesterday.


It was a hot game, and not just because the sun was beating down on us and forcing rivers of sweat down my body.  Our teams were well matched, and every advantage was ruthelessly taken.  One opposing forward seemed particularly bent on my destruction.  I could see her eyes on me from far down the field, and even when she wasn’t eyeing my goal, I knew she was intent on getting here as quickly as possible to score on me.  My defense had done a great job of keeping her and her team mates out, for the most part, we were tied at 3-3 going into the last quarter of the game, with countless shots on and saves by myself and the others.

A throw-in from the right sideline went to her at just my side of the halfline.  She wove around a couple of players and looked up, right into my eyes.  I focused on the ball, dangerously aware of her hips, strong thighs and the olive tone of her skin.   She passed to another forward, just beyond the 18.  I knew it could come at any moment. My eyes stayed with the ball, trusting my defense to watch my back.

I shifted my position as the ball was sent wide and braced for the pass-back.  Sure enough, the ball sailed on a trajectory that would take it to the center-right, in front of my goal.  It was too far into the crowd for me to get to directly, I had to hope one of my players would get to it first.  But that’s not what happened, instead it hit my nemesis squarely in the chest, where she neatly trapped it and dropped it to her waiting feet.  She juked around a player and then it was just her and I.

There’s a frozen moment of clarity, the kind of moment I get when I’m completely focused on the game.  Time slows down and my pupils dilate to take in a wide-angled view of the scene.  I dove for the ball, intent on the it, not especially worried about my body or hers.  Stopping that ball was paramount.  I dropped to the ground, slamming against her legs and then the ground, the ball cradled against my body.  My momentum carried me over and I came to rest across her body, suddenly aware of her and the feeling of her under me, the ball almost forgotten under one gloved hand.  I propped myself up, taking my weight off her, then realized she was holding onto the front of my shirt.

“So, you finally got me on the ground, keeper.” she said it in a taunting sing-song, “What took you so long?” and with a plainly lustful look and a chuckle, she pushed me off and got up to trot back to her position.  I picked myself up and punted the ball away, watching her shorts as they ran down the field.

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