Sex Game For A Pro

Big Joe Thompson had other things on his mind besides the upcoming championship game with the Lakers-and one of them was Arlene Wright, the girl who pleased him so much with that little girl act in his Reno apartment. He wondered if she were-in Los Angeles. Maybe they could get together after the game for some more fun and frolic.

Dialing her apartment number, Big Joe was a little surprised to hear a sleepy feminine voice answer. Perhaps she had been out on a date and was sleeping late, Joe thought to himself.

"This is Big Joe, honey," he said. "Remember me?"

"Oh hi, big daddy," she said. "I'm so sleepy I can hardly talk plainly-and I think I'm a little woozy from drinking, too."

"That's all right, my dear," Joe said as if he were talking to a child. "How about my coming over, or better yet, you coming over here this evening?"

"Oh....oh but my head hurts," the voice said. "Don't know if I'll be alive by that time if this keeps up. Why not call me back later? After I've had some coffee and toast I'll feel much better-I hope."

"Never mind all that, my girl," Big Joe said. "Hold on for a few minutes and I'll pick you up and we can have dinner together at some cozy place and come here afterward, if you would like."

"I couldn't possibly eat a big dinner now," Arlene said a little incoherently as she struggled to make words come out right. "I might have some orange juice, coffee and toast but I don't think I could hold down any more than that."

"I know just what you need," Big Joe said mischievously.

"Oh, daddy, let's not think of that right now. I've got to wake up first. That character I was out with last night really tied one on and insisted I do the same. I poured him out at his apartment about 3 o'clock this morning and went home by myself." She almost shouted, "Hey, it's 9 o'clock ... honey that's the middle of the night for me!"

"Oh come on, my girl." Big Joe soothingly tried to tell her he would see to it she woke up in bed, thought better of it and just let her ramble on while she tried to wake up.

They finally agreed to meet at a small restaurant near his apartment in an hour. She wasn't sure when he hung up the phone if he wanted her to put on the act she had before or not. She decided just to be on the safe side, she'd put the little girl clothes in her bag. They were so skimpy they fitted in easily.

Big Joe busied himself getting ready for his date, putting on his better clothes for he wanted to look his best, and straightening up the apartment. He even brought a child's bed and put it beside his own, laid out sheets and pillows and pillowcases, all ready for use.

Some child's candy and some pop were placed around the bedroom, and he laid out a sheer pink nightie on the unmade child's bed. He looked at it with satisfaction as his eyes roamed over every detail. He hoped it looked like a child's bedroom. A screen was placed around his portion of the room to hide his bed.

Big Joe was right on the dot at the restaurant entrance when Arlene, cutely decked out in the best fashions for women, drove up in a taxi. They kissed as she took his arm and went inside. Her fragrance was exciting, womanly and stimulating.

After small conversation over a light lunch, which Arlene seemed to enjoy despite her heavy-lidded eyes from lack of sleep, Big Joe leaned back in his chair to study his beautiful companion.

"Are you going to go back to Reno?" he asked.

"Well, not right now," me answered, running her fingers through her hair as he continued to stare at her body. The lifting of her arm brought out her rounded breasts against her tight dress.

"You see I am kind of tied up personally here, and this has been my home for several years. My friends are here-including you honey. I liked it in Reno, and if finances made it possible I might go there."

"What would you say if I set you up in an apartment in Reno, with the clothes you need, an expense account at the stores, a maid, and maybe that Thunderbird you wanted," Big Joe asked quietly.

Arlene looked at him in surprise. She had been propositioned many times and in many ways, but this was the first time it had been done in a public restaurant. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching or listening, but everyone else there seemed only interested in their companions or themselves.

"I'll think it over," she told him non-committally.

They left the restaurant by taxi for his apartment a few minutes later to find some happiness in each other's arms. Arlene didn't tell Big Joe about the little girl clothes she brought, nor did he tell her of the nightie and child's bed he had arranged for her.

So when she walked into his bedroom to freshen up, he followed close behind and as she stood looking at the bed and nightie, he came up behind her, put his arms around her waist and whispered:

"How does my little girl like that?"

"Oh, daddy, that's cute," she shrilled happily, trying to act as a little girl would with a new nightie and bed.

"Well, it's just for you and when we move to Reno you can take them with you-just for us. How's that?"

"I just love it," she said as she picked up the short nightie and held it up to her. It barely went below her hips and there were no panties to go with it.

"Can I try it on now?" she asked innocently but eagerly as she looked up into his eyes with a shy smile.

"Oh, it's too early for you to go to bed, dear child. You want to stay up a while and talk to your daddy, don't you?"

"Yes," she said shyly. "Just a minute and I'll put on my more comfortable clothes and I'll come out and sit on your lap. Wouldn't you like that, daddy?"

"You just go ahead and do that, honey," Big Joe said impatiently as he watched her struggle a bit with her tight dress. His hand just itched to lend her a helping hand, to run his hands over her body and especially her hips and breasts. But he held back and went out of the room to wait.

She drew the pretty nightie over her head and smoothed it down as best she could to cover the hip area. The tops of her breasts looked like half moons in the deep V, but when she tried to close the gap she found the gown too tight. As she looked down at herself to the waist she saw her full hips filled every inch in the flaring bottom of the nightie.

Arlene blushed a bit as she thought how she would look to Big Joe when he saw her standing by the bed waiting for him to take her on his lap. Maybe he would have a story to tell her innocent ears, or perhaps he would find some excuse to spank her.

She rather liked that spanking in Reno and hoped it would happen again. Her buttock cheeks burned for days after that, giving her a sexy glow.

She arranged herself in a stiff standing position by the big bed, as a child might while waiting for her father to come in and say good night. A bit apprehensive about what he would do but eager to give him a good night kiss before he tucked her in.

"Daddy," she called softly.

"I'm ready for bed and for your kiss," she said as he seemed to tease her by pretending not to hear her in the next room.

Arlene put her hands behind her back, thrusting out her chest and waited, her eyes looking at the floor and even a faint blush touching her cheeks.

Big Joe came slowly into the room, seeing her for the first time out-lined against a lamp near the bed. Her graceful figure looked almost naked as the sheer nightie not only barely covered her curvaceous figure, but its sheerness was such that you could look through to her full breasts, womanly hips and the juncture of her full thighs with her cunt out-lined beneath.

He held out his arms to her as he entered, murmuring something about how he liked her new nightie on her. After a deep kiss that stirred things up for both of them, her breasts straining against his chest, and their tongues sparring greedily, she stepped away.

"You are beautiful, my dear," he said, gazing up and down her figure as she turned this way and that to give him a complete view.

"Oh daddy, it is so pretty," Arlene said, "but honey, you can see right through it and it is so short, you can see almost everything on me. I wouldn't dare wear it for anyone but you!"

"Well, you just keep it for me, my dear," he said. "It will be our fun gown and only we will see it."

He glanced down at her hips and legs. He strode over to her and pulled the nightie up, noting she had on no panties. He spanked her behind as she stood there mute.

"Shame on you," he glared at her. "No panties and a big girl like you going around without anything covering you there," he said pointing to her hips. "Come here!"

Arlene recoiled at the coldness in his voice and held back.

He strode across to the bed but before he could reach her, she quickly ran to the other side of the bed. Her breasts heaved as she fought to keep control of her emotions and almost escaped her nightie. She managed to keep them inside the bodice with one hand as she tried to push a chair out of the way to get out of Big Joe's reach.

Big Joe, even at his age, was pretty agile. He kept between her and any escape route. It was only a matter of time before he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him.

As he sat on an overstuffed chair, he pulled her down across his knees, raised the nightie to display her buttocks and with no wasted motion, slapped the first spank down on her bare bottom.

She kicked her legs wildly and tried to get away but his other arm around her breasts held her firmly. The stimulation of the spanks and his hand on her breasts was enough to quiet her motions, but these changed to moans as the spanking and stimulation continued.

When she started to cry-real tears, too-Big Joe let her up to sit on his lap. His hands continued to wander over her lush body. Her moans of delight were barely audible and she sought his lips to stifle the sounds. Their passionate kiss ended with both of them out of breath and clinging to each other.

"Arlene, my dear, you are a naughty girl to kiss a man like that," Big Joe said like a father would to his daughter when he caught her kissing a strange man.

Arlene mumbled something incoherently as she fumbled with his clothes and found his cock. His response was immediate as he jerked upright from the contact. His cock for a man his age surprised the lovely girl as she fondled him. She loved to feel the power of it expand. His eyes closed for a few moments and once again their lips met.

His hands in the meantime kept up a constant caress of her body, particularly on the breasts, nipples and tummy. His lips bent to do homage to her nipples and she lifted her nightie so he could reach them easier. His teeth nibbled and sent an electric thrill through her entire being such as she hadn't felt in years and years. She clung to him like a child, kissing his lips and ears in ecstasy before the final climax hit them both simultaneously as they brought each other to orgasm by hand.

For a few moments he lay back against the chair's back and she relaxed on his lap in a sitting position. Her nightie had crept up to her waist, revealing the lovely womanhood at her thighs and the full breasts that peeked partly through the deep V at her neck, and partly under the folds of the nightie.

"God, honey, that was wonderful," Big Joe said as he kissed her full on the lips.

"Me too," she said quietly, her eyes shining and her body still reacting to the tense love-making they had gone through. She snuggled up to him coquetishly as she asked: "You liked that, daddy?"

"Here," he told her, "You'd better get down before things begin over again for you. I've got to rest awhile. She smiled as she got down off his lap, smoothed down the nightie and then turned her back on him as she removed it. He watched silently as she turned back to him, stark naked and still trembling from the climax. Her exquisite breasts rose and fell quickly, her hands cupped her breasts and then patted her thighs and tummy.

But her teasing was not enough for him, and seeing he was still not ready for another love bout, Arlene turned away and started to dress. Her womanly clothes were tossed around the room a bit as she had been in a hurry to make hot love, so she did some walking naked to pick up each item. Her out-thrust breasts hung delightfully as she bent over to pick something off a chair or the floor.

Big Joe noted how they stood firm when she came back to a standing position, with just the hint of a bounce to them as they settled back in place high on her chest.

She had some trouble fastening the tight bra around the mounds and Big Joe got up to help. His hands caressed the distended nipples slightly as he helped her cover them with the lacy bra and then he fastened them in back without much trouble.

He turned her head for a deep kiss as he finished the job and she pouted: "Oh, daddy, don't do that again. We're not ready. Mmmmm let's keep that for another date with your little girl. Mmmmmmmmm....please Big Daddy....not now....not now....please....."

So with a final deep probe of her mouth with his hot tongue, he released her reluctantly and she finished dressing without help. He lit a cigarette and when she was finished he ordered a cab and she left. Big Joe had other problems . ... the Sunday football game included.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ron's planned tactics for the championship game never once encompassed the idea of a defeat. If the Pros were thumped solidly by the undoubtedly good Cleveland club, then Ron's conscience would be clear.

He could even perform at his best in such a contest and in good conscience pocket the twenty-five thousand. But the idea of losing came hard to the veteran quarterback, and he dismissed it as un-likely.

As Ron saw it, the game might well be controlled to a three-point margin because of the double weapon he combined, the arm and the toe, the forward pass, the three-point field goal and the extra point or points he might kick.

Ron thought he could employ either weapon as he chose-with Collins once again the head coach. Ron would be given complete freedom of play choice. Henderson would not have permitted this, following the widespread custom in pro football of shuttling in messenger guards with signals from the bench. A guard would come in for one play with a play from the bench, and then would go out. This could continue for several plays by alternating guards. Every pro team did and expected its opponents to do the same.

Collins was a rarity among pro gridiron coaches in that he preferred having the quarterback playing the game use his own judgment and Collins rarely interfered. His figuring was that the quarterback playing the game knew much that the coach might not see or notice from the bench. He could consult with the coach on the sidelines during a time-out if either had questions.

That was still another reason why Jessup insisted on the immediate reinstatement of Hank as head coach-it gave him the necessary latitude of plays, the kick, the pass or the run and the stall. Great athlete that he was, Ron was aware of the complexity of the job he had assigned to himself. But he was confident he could perform it.

As he saw it, the key to one or two-point Pros victory revolved around a missed conversion point, the point which in pro football is almost automatically kicked after each touchdown. When such a point is missed it is a rarity, usually the result of a charging defense lineman who blocks the football.

The kicker seldom misses, and this Ron knew well. He would wait just long enough for a Cleveland lineman to legitimately tip or block the football. No one could possibly suspect a fix situation on such a play. Ron's plans called for him to miss his first touchdown conversion attempt. He would make all the rest. With that one point deficit, he would then manage to keep the Pros even in the scoring, matching the Lakers touchdown for touchdown, field goal for field goal, but always one point behind.

Then, in the final minutes he would lead the Pros downfield to within easy field goal kicking distance. Kicking that crucial field goal would put Los Angeles in front by the necessary two points.

It was a bold, almost recklessly confident plan. The Lakers, a rugged, well-balanced organization, figured to score at least two touchdowns and were probably also good for a pair of field goals. Perhaps they might even make three touchdowns. Jessup was certain he could march the Pros to three touchdowns, perhaps four.

Ron could kick field goals with great accuracy from inside the 20-yard-line and hit for good percentages from as far out as 45 yards. Without this special ability, he doubted if the kind of point conversion he contemplated could be achieved.

The one big thing which worried him the most was the possibility he would not be able to throttle back the Pros offense. The club was never better, and now with Collins back, it was reaching an emotional pitch which might be difficult to control.

These weren't new tactics for a pro football quarterback, whether the pass was thrown by him or another player. It was part of professional football strategy, especially if a momentary timeout was needed by the offensive team. A play was dead after an incompleted pass and there was usually a minute or two before play resumed. Time enough as a rule to consult with fellow players for longer than they had time for in a huddle after a play.

The veteran quarterback recalled one game when the Pros were playing Cincinnati, that twelve passes went incomplete in the first quarter. But the Pros took advantage of the final one to engineer a drive through a hole in the line one of the linemen had found that paved the way to a one-sided triumph for Los Angeles. The lineman had noticed the opposing tackle often moved to the left when the Pros player lined up in a certain position.

This move to the left left open a possible play the Pros used not often, but when it did come, it usually worked. The key to the play was that the opposing lineman had to be in a certain position.

When this Cincinnati tackle moved about a foot outside his normal position, the Pros player spoke to Ron and suggested what had come to be known among Pros players as the "key" play. Ron ran it that time and twice more, all three of them leading to touchdowns and demoralizing the Cincinnati team so that it fell apart.

But as Ron continued to think of his strategy against Cleveland in this "big one," he wanted to avoid as much as possible bogging down the Los Angeles offense in anyway as he knew it could throw the Pros off stride and might lead to a defeat.

And then, too, the veteran quarterback wanted to make the victory honestly, in his own way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was a Saturday night, the night before the big game and Ron lay stretched out on his bed, smoking-thinking. He had telephoned Jack earlier in the day, asking to see him that night, alone, at his apartment on very urgent business.

The door buzzer shattered the quiet. Ron glanced at his wrist watch. It was eight o'clock.

"Well," he said as he opened the door for Jack Fisher, "at least you're punctual. I suppose that's a habit you developed from meeting newspaper deadlines. Come in. I'm glad you could make it tonight. I've got some important things I want to discuss with you."

"I'm sure there must be," Jack said. "My, you look very cool and collected for a fellow with the weight of the football world on his shoulders. How do you do it, anyway?"

Ron smiled. "If that were all, I wouldn't mind," he replied. He motioned toward an easy chair and settled down in one himself opposite his friend. They smoked for a minute, each with his own thoughts. Jack couldn't understand what Ron would want at such a time and Ron wasn't just sure how to tell his story.

"What I'm going to tell you," Ron said, "would probably knock you off your feet. So you better stay seated. First of all, let me ask you about the newspaper you were seeking. Did you find out if twenty-five thousand dollars would swing the deal for us?"

"Why, yes, Ron. I've checked the whole thing out. I drove down to Sunset Beach yesterday and I had a long talk with Stan Carver. Stan's asking one-hundred grand for the works, the newspaper, the equipment, the office. I went over his circulation figures, his books and the records and the whole picture looks very good.

"Stan told me twenty-five thousand down would handle it easily because the bank will finance the rest. Over a convenient period of time we could work the balance off nicely on anticipated income. I'm not a business man, but I know Stan and I can see the development possibilities of the whole beach community. In ten years that little newspaper will more than double its present value."

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear," said Ron, "because we're going to buy that little newspaper next week."

"You're kidding, Ron!"

"I was never more serious."

"How'd you get the money?"

"That's what I'm going to tell you about now. Maybe when you hear about it, you won't want to go into partnership with old Ron Jessup, but you hear me out first and see what you think."

"I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather be in business with than you," replied Jack emphatically. "We have always gotten along well together, what I don't know about business you do, we have many of the same kind of ideas-we are close friends, and you know what I mean."

"Maybe, Jack. I'm going to bankroll you with 'fix' money."

"Fix money!" Jack shouted.

"That's right," Ron replied. Jack shook his head in disbelief. Ron Jessup would never fix any game.

"I don't believe it," he said.

"Here's the way it is. Our mutual good friend and this town's number one Pros fan, Mike Herring, has made it possible."

"Mike!" repeated Jack. Again he shook his head. "Tell me how it happened."

"It seems Mike is hooked up with a gambling syndicate of some kind, out of Reno I think, but I'm not sure. Mike has many trips to that city and I kind of suspect that's the syndicate's headquarters. Anyway, they got big money out on the points. They're betting the Pros don't win by three or more. My job is to protect their interests."

"And did you take the money they offered?"

"Not exactly. They're too clever for that. They delivered the money here to the apartment. Stashed it in the apartment while I was out-talking to Mike as a matter-of-fact." He went on to explain the auto trip, their conversation and the revealing of the plan by Mike as he and Ron sat on that quiet street.

"Did you agree to deliver?" Jack asked still not believing the story, or at least not wanting to believe it. He hoped Ron would end the story by saying he had rejected the offer, even if the money was in his apartment.

"Not in so many words," replied Ron. "I told Mike I would try to bring the Pros in by one or two points. That's all."

"Did they accept that?"

"Mike said they would regard it as a solemn pact."

"Do you?"

"No."

"You mean, you intend to keep the money regardless of the way the game turns out?"

"That's right," said Ron. "I have no scruples in dealing with bastards like that. Besides, if I don't deliver, do you suppose that twenty-five grand would be here when and if I get home after the game? That's why I want you to take the money now. Regardless of what does happen tomorrow, we'll be that much ahead anyway."

Jack looked at his friend incredulously. He must know that is the most dangerous kind of game to play, the newspaperman thought to himself. But Ron seemed very serious and looked Jack straight in the eyes as they talked.

"That's dangerous, Ron. Those fellows play rough. You know that," Jack said. Again a dismayed Jack shook his head. It was too much for him to believe of an old friend. "Ron," he said, "I think you ought to return the money right away. Or report the incident at once."

"I've been giving it a lot of thought," Ron admitted as he got up to walk around her nervously. "Maybe you'll agree with me, maybe you won't. But I think I can win tomorrow by the right score. It's going to be hard. You know pro football. The ball can bounce a lot of funny ways, as the saying goes.

"But I have a plan and I think it will work. There's one thing I do promise you, though. The Pros won't lose tomorrow."

Jack placed his head between his hands and stared at the floor. Ron continued to pace up and down thoughtfully, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders sagging slightly as he bent over.

"Then," Jack said, "if you cross up those gambling bastards they will kill you. Why don't you return the money to Mike now, right away-before the game. That way, you'll still be in the clear."

"No," replied Ron. "There just isn't any way out for me now. There probably never was any way out once they decided I was their boy and they planted the dough here. I believe from that moment I was hooked. They're clever. I couldn't have proven a thing against them."

Ron resumed his seat opposite his friend. "Mike didn't plant the money. I would be out twenty-five thousand bucks, have my name mixed up in a messy scandal and be running the rest of my life wondering just when and where they were going to hit me.

"You know what I mean-an accident at night, on the highway, forced off the road into a concrete abutment. Something like that. It could be an accident and if I were alone at the time it would be hard to prove it wasn't an accident. And you can bet your bottom dollar if they did pull something like that, Jack, they would make sure I was riding alone on a seldom-traveled back road.

"Such guys have long memories. Who the hell are they? I don't know. Maybe it's the Mafia. Maybe it's Syndicate. Who knows? All I know is they got me, one way or the other. And I don't mind saying I am scared whichever way it works out. All I can say is you will get your twenty-five grand. I hope I live to see it pay for the paper."

"But there has to be a way out," protested Jack.

Ron smiled. "Don't worry. I've got every thing worked out. You don't know what to tell me to do, but I know what to tell you to do. You see that attache case over there beside the dresser? It holds twenty-five thousand dollars in fives, tens and twenties.

"It wouldn't be healthy for you to talk out of here with that case under your arm. But I think we can adhesive tape the whole amount all over you. I want you to take the money. Keep it. Buy the newspaper with it the first chance you have Monday morning. And don't say anything to anybody about it, where you got the money or how!"

Ron almost pleaded with his friend. The quarterback felt sure he would not be around tomorrow night to pay it whether the Pros won or lost, or by how much. He felt certain the syndicate wouldn't let him live for fear he would spill the story to the police, win or lose. Ron wanted Jack to use the money rather than let the syndicate get it back. The Pros veteran player saw this as a chance to get even with the gamblers if the Los Angeles team and he was eliminated, or if the Pros won as the syndicate wanted, a kind of payoff by Ron of money that could be called crooked but still useful.

"Ron, I can't," Jack said. "I can't take the money."

"Because it's fix money?"

"No. Christ, Ron, if I take that money I'd feel like I'm taking your life. I'm afraid of those bastards out there. I know what they'd do to you. And it wouldn't be pretty to see."

"They'll do it anyhow unless I deliver the game their way tomorrow and I'm not too sure they won't do it anyway. They may not want me around to squeal on them to the cops. They're not particularly interested in that kind of chicken feed dough in that case. Take the money," Ron urged him. Jack sat rooted to his chair.

"Don't you want me for a partner any more?" Ron's voice hesitated, and almost broke. For the first time in all the years Jack had known him, Ron's face betrayed emotion-a kind of little boy lost look, troubled, pathetic, strangely sad.

"I promise you, Jack," he added fighting for control, "the Pros will not lose tomorrow. By any number of points."

"I know they won't," said Jack, "I know they won't."

"Thanks," said Ron.

"I'll take the money," Jack said firmly. "I don't suppose those guys will intercept me."

"No, it's me they're watching. They are only interested in where I go and what I do. I don't think they'll bother you any, and even if they do stop you, being a newspaperman you would have many excuses for being around here-an interview, covering a news story-you know. And I doubt if they knew you visited me particularly because all they could see was you entering this building where theyre are over a hundred apartments."

"I'll see you then in the dressing room right after the game tomorrow," said Jack.

"Everything is going to be okay, Jack. Don't worry. You wait and see. Monday maybe we'll all drive down to Sunset Beach together-you and me."

Jack managed a smile and suddenly thrust out his hand. "Shake," he said.

"There's one thing more," added Ron, a twinkle in his eyes. "When we get that newspaper, I want to be sports editor!"

"Okay. Just learn to write as well as you can pass a ball!

Ron slept well after Jack's departure, awakening at 7:30. He immediately checked the weather. It was dry and sunny as predicted. No sign of rain, which was good. A quarterback can make things work as he wishes better with a dry sky and ground. Not so much danger of fumbles, dropped passes, bad punts and the like. The crispness in the air should help the boys keep keyed up, on the alert.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Arlene took Saturday night off to visit Reno, flying there with a friend who planned to return early Sunday in time for the big game. There was something about Rita which attracted the younger girl to the manly woman who ran the clothing store.

She wondered if Rita could get free for a few hours, for a few drinks in Arlene's hotel room-or whatever. Arlene felt sure the Reno woman had ideas about her. She remembered how Rita looked her over so closely when they first met. Apparently Rita knew Big Joe's ideas on sex for she seemed to think nothing of what Arlene bought that day.

"I wonder if Rita also goes for such things," Arlene thought as she settled in the private plane for the short trip. She hadn't phoned Rita but would when she got to the hotel. It would seem unfair and kind of an unnecessary trip if Rita were busy. But maybe Rita had a friend or two she could recommend.

As the plane set down at the airport in Reno she noted a little snow on the ground, even though it was only late November. But she recalled the difference in elevation and the time of year and so it was not surprising. The only trouble was in her haste to leave, she had forgotten to bring any heavy clothes.

Grabbing a taxi, she hurried into the warmth of the cab and sat back for the trip into the city. She blushed slightly as she thought to herself, maybe Rita would help keep her warm.

Her A.C./D.C. sex makeup will show up tonight or this afternoon, Arlene smiled to herself. She thought of past clinches with the manly fair sex. She had to get used to it, but once she was turned on, she loved every moment.

She thought if she had paid strict attention to this kind of sex instead of messing with the men she wouldn't be pregnant as she was now, and she would still get plenty of living.

The so-called gay bars of Los Angeles were known to her. She did not patronize them very often but she did drop in once in a while to look over the gals who also had their eyes out for likely sex prospects.

Arriving at the hotel, Arlene hurried in to register and go to her room, actually a suite of connecting rooms in which she could entertain or be entertained.

After putting on a provocative, deep necked dress and using some new perfume a girl had recommended, she went down to Rita's shop in the lobby. Arlene tingled with anticipation and wondered if her nipples were as jutting as they felt beneath her tight dress. She felt sure everyone would notice her hard nipples and it made her blush slightly, just in time for Rita to see her.

"Well, my dear," Rita said kindly as she shook her hand, "what can I do for you today?"

"I was wondering....well, could you

. ... will you....."

Rita looked at her calmly for a moment and then took her hand. "Come into my office," she said.

"Now, honey, sit down and tell me what you have in mind," Rita said as she took Arlene's light coat and hat. She motioned to a deep cushioned sofa opposite her desk.

Rita sat at her desk where she could have a close intimate view of her visitor. Arlene crossed and recrossed her long legs, hiking the flared skirt up higher and higher. Rita couldn't help moisten her lips as she watched the younger woman. Arlene's long eyelashes swept up and down her eyes in nervousness. The store owner could see her visitor was embarrassed so she went over to sit beside her.

"Come now, Arlene-I may call you that may I not?" Rita asked.

"Oh yes, please do," Arlene said.

"Well, good-now what is it you would like. A new dress, a pretty nightie or baby doll, lingerie, or what? You can charge it, you know. Big Joe has given you an open account with us."

"But it isn't that, although your clothes are lovely and the little girl clothes were darling. He loved them on me and I kind of liked wearing them after the first few minutes I was with Big Joe."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Rita said. "They sure fire him up and he really shows what he can do. It is surprising how much virility he has for a man his age."

Arlene blushed. "Now, honey, don't let that bother you. I know what he likes. He tried to rope me in on it. I don't like men to manhandle me. To put it bluntly, I don't like men-in bed or out."

"Now, what did you have in mind?" she asked.

Arlene blurted out her wishes and hopes and looked up to see if Rita understood. The big woman stood up, pulled Arlene up with her and without a word they went into a close embrace, their lips meeting with a sucking sound as their tongues played with each other. Rita kept her hands around Arlene's waist but pressed close against her.

Arlene broke free first, looked up into Rita's moist eyes and stepped back as Rita moved in closer. Rita started to pull open the buttons down the front of her dress. But Arlene nodded no.

"Let's go to my hotel suite where we wouldn't be interrupted," she urged.

"I can't get away right now, honey," Rita told her young friend. "I am short of help and have to be nearby. We could have a few minutes of loving right here. The sofa is comfortable and I'll be comfortable in a few minutes." She continued to unbutton her dress.

Arlene hesitated. "Maybe you know someone who would visit me in my suite for a while until you can come."

"Oh, there are many girls who would love you," Rita said shakily, "but I want you just for myself-and soon. Wait a minute-don't go way . ... I'll check with the sales girls and see if I can get away now." Rita left hurriedly and soon Arlene sat alone wondering what would be happening next. She thought of telling Rita of her pregnancy and asking her if she knew of an abortionist in Reno. The pregnancy was not very old, Arlene felt sure, and it probably could be ended with little trouble.

Rita was gone for about ten minutes. She returned with a young blonde girl whom she introduced as Peg, saying Peg would keep Arlene company until Rita could return. Then the older woman left without another word, quickly closing and locking the office door.

Peg and Arlene looked at each other closely. Peg was a bit on the chubby side, probably only 20-years old, nicely built with big round breasts, wide hips, a cute childish smile. Arlene liked her immediately, and Peg seemed to return the liking. She went over and sat down by Arlene on the wide sofa. It was embarrassing for them both to know what to say or how to begin. Arlene wasn't sure whether Rita had meant them just to talk or to follow nature's desires, or both.

Peg made no move toward Arlene, except to gaze at her admiringly from head to toe, and Arlene returned the frank gaze. Somehow Arlene thought it was up to her to make the first move.

"Do you work here?" she asked.

"Yes," Peg said shyly. "Where?"

"I work in the stock room."

"Well, it's too bad they hide a body like yours in a stockroom where we gals can't see you. How long have you been here?"

Peg blushed and looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "About two weeks," she said.

"Do you like it here?" Arlene was trying desperately to find something the younger girl would talk about.

"Oh yes, I love it," Peg exclaimed, her big blue eyes opening even wider and her face breaking into a big smile.

"Rita must be very kind to you," Arlene said.

"Oh, she is, she is! She treats me like a daughter. She keeps the boys away, says they are terrible and I should stay away from them. They can get me in trouble." Peg seemed genuinely worried over what boys might do.

Arlene smiled to herself and stifled a laugh as she listened. It sounded as if Rita was preparing another victim to her desires. She wondered if Rita had approached Peg sexually.

Arlene thought she had better play safe and not make any sexual move toward the lovely blonde girl who sat rather demurely, her full skirt pulled down as far as she could to hide her pretty thighs.

They chatted on about impersonal things until Rita returned a little out of breath. Peg bid goodbye, shook hands quietly with Arlene, and almost curtsied to Rita as she left.

"She is very nice," Arlene said, "and so innocent looking, too."

"Yes, she hasn't had much experience yet. Her family was killed in an auto accident a few months ago and she was left alone. I took her under my eye, gave her the job and watch to see she behaves as a young girl should." Arlene again stopped a laugh but smiled at the mannish woman and gave Peg less than a week of innocence. Maybe Peg would never know the love of a man's lips, fingers and masculinity, but Arlene would bet many a dollar she would know a woman's love.

Rita scurried around her office, gathering winter clothes for a trip into the outside cold and making a few phone calls. Arlene sat quietly on the sofa, watching the older woman bustle about, showing off her masculinity with long strides and a deep voice. Rita talked off hand about various things as she moved, but made no mention of what she had in mind for their rendezvous.

As they left the store Rita grabbed Arlene's hand firmly and almost steered her out the door to a waiting limousine with a chauffeur and a robe held by him to make them warm.

Arlene noted with some amazement the chauffeur was a woman-a masculine-looking woman about Arlene's age. She wondered what kind of a part in Rita's life this girl played, aside from driving. Maybe they held four-way love bouts, or something. Arlene admired the young girl and her manners, such as a chauffeur should have.

The ride to Arlene's suite was a brief one. Arlene opened the door and helped Rita with her coat and hat. The chauffeur followed close behind with a box apparently containing liquor. The chauffeur said not a word, but set the box in the kitchenette and left.

She came back to Arlene, standing in the middle of the living room, her hands folded demurely in front of her. Rita moved in close to her protege, lifted her face and planted a firm kiss on the already quivering lips. Arlene's arms went around the older woman's waist and they stood for several moments testing each other's firm bodies with their hands, their lips with their kisses.

Rita was strong, very strong for a woman. She almost squeezed Arlene as she held her close. Without a word Rita lifted the younger girl up in her arms and carried her easily over to the scented, big bed that occupied much of one corner of the room.

It was oval-shaped, with a pink shaded covering that set off Arlene's lovely white body to perfection as Rita dropped her in the middle and then stood looking down at her.

Arlene laid with her eyes closed, twisting and turning in her need for love. Her long legs crossed and uncrossed, opening her firm thighs to Rita's gaze. Her full breasts heaved spasmodically and the nipples became hard points, easily visible beneath the thin dress covering. Arlene was on fire.

"Please, oh please...." she moaned.

"In a minute, darling," Rita said softly.

"I just want to look at you. You're so beautiful, so desirable."

Rita took off her manly jacket, revealing a man's shirt open at the throat. Removing her skirt, she revealed a half slip and men's shorts underneath. When her shirt came off, no more than bare tips of breasts were visible on her deep chest. No bra was necessary and when it was bared, her chest looked much like a man's.

The men's shorts soon followed and she stood naked except for a pair of sox and low-heeled shoes. A smile crossed her face as Arlene opened her eyes slowly and gazed on this he-woman who gazed at her in awe and admiration, mixed with some fear of what may happen. Arlene had never seen a woman built as Rita was. She had heard and read of them, but had never seen one. She looked Rita over carefully as she sat up, still dressed and quieter than when she first laid down.

Rita drew her to her feet and slowly, tantalizingly undressed her. Her hands caressed lightly but firmly as she removed each item, paying particular attention to the breasts, hips and inner thighs, until Arlene once again was moaning in pleasure.

She parted her thighs as Rita removed her panties-her bra was already lying on the floor-and the older woman's hands marveled at their fullness and firmness. As Arlene stood naked by the bed, Rita once again picked her up in her huge arms and this time they both landed on the bed, making it shake with their ardor.

"Oh, God, help me!" Arlene murmured as she felt Rita's body close to hers and her hands and lips began exploring her body. Her breasts were already hardening and expanding. When Rita's lips took one of the nipples, Arlene jumped and moaned with the lovely sensations.

Rita got up on her hands and knees, telling the lovely protege of hers to lie still while she feasted on her naked body. Arlene couldn't keep her body still as Rita lowered her head to take a firm breast in her hungry mouth. The sucking sound could be heard all over the big bedroom as the older woman nursed it like a baby.

"Oh, Rita, my darling," Arlene squealed.

"Don't stop....that feels so......so

....so good...."

Rita liked the sensation too. As she licked the white pink-topped mound, her hands were busy lower down Arlene's body, proving for new thrills and finding a willing response.

"You just enjoy it," she told the quivering girl. "It's all for you. I just love to make you feel good. Some day you can return the favor and I'll be your love slave."

Arlene moaned with pleasure, arching her hips high off the bed and emitting little grunts as Rita's hands touched some sensitive spot. Her silence proved how much she enjoyed the loving care Rita was giving her. No words could express the pleasures.

With eyes glistening, Rita ran her fingers along the inner thigh of Arlene again, savoring the touch of the younger woman's smooth, warm flesh.

Her hands moved from the satiny thighs to the buttocks of the younger girl, drawing them closer to her mouth.

Now Rita forced Arlene back, and moved her body between Arlene's thighs. Arlene knew what was about to happen, and her mind welcomed escape from the passion she felt fanning throughout her body.

Tenderly, gently the lesbian drew apart the delicate, pink lips of Arlene's femininity, having a clear and unhampered shot at the fine, luscious cunt.

She pressed her mouth against the widening lips, then delved her tongue deeply inside the pungent fragrance as Arlene shivered in expectation.

Rita's tongue began driving her crazy with need for total release. Her tongue rode and flicked along the sexual passageway as the younger Arlene quivered and shuddered beneath the working mouth.

"Oohhhhhhhhh...." Arlene gasped, a shudder sweeping through her writhing body.

Suddenly she thrust her hips hard upward against Rita's mouth, and the woman surged her tongue sharply back and forth against the pink, budding clitoris between Arlene's pussy lips. It unhinged the girl completely, and she was off in a sexual orbit, "Aaahahh-hhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaing" all the way beyond the realm of sanity.

With one last full caress the length of Arlene's body, Rita laid down beside her, both of them sharing the same big pillow as they took a breather.

"You have a lovely body, my dear," Rita said. "This isn't the end. I will give you more pleasures after we have rested."

"Rita, honey," Arlene murmured faintly into the older woman's massive chest, "you are the most." Arlene snuggled up to the larger woman and seemed to go asleep. Rita caressed and kissed her like a child and watched her slip off into sleep. Rita too dozed.

When they awoke, Rita was running her fingers up and down the younger girl's firm thighs, followed by wet kisses that slipped in and out of grooves that made Arlene jump with each touch. Rita smiled as she noted the reactions, knowing it couldn't last much longer for either of them.

Arlene grabbed Rita's hand and kept it hard against her lower body, as their lips met in a tongue-lashing kiss that ended with both of them shuddering to a glorious conclusion that left Arlene exhausted, while Rita seemed unsatiated as she continued to fondle her friend intimately and with some success.

For in no time Arlene was responding to the caresses with moans of pleasure and twisting about on the bed that it took some holding by Rita to keep the younger girl in place. Rita's tongue lashed out at the naked flesh, her hands played games with the full breasts and moved slowly across the flat tummy to the triangle, and then her cunt.

Arlene erupted when the store lady's lips joined her hands and fingers at the junction of the thighs.

"Ohhhhh, but that was good," Arlene told her lover, looking up with glassy eyes and a sweaty brow. "Oh, honey, how you can love!"

"It was my pleasure," Rita said as she got up to ease the strain of leaning over the prostrate Arlene for so long. "How long has it been since you had such loving?"

"Oh, never like that," Arlene said lazily. "That was the most."

"Well, just remember, honey, when you want more, let me know. With you I would travel miles. I love it when my friend in love appreciates a woman's loving as you do. It has been months since I have seen a lover erupt as you have today. It pleased me no end."

"I'll come again next week," Arlene said.

"Well, I'll be in Los Angeles for a few days on business next week, so let's meet at your apartment. Unless you have another date, of course. Are you tied up?"

"No, not that I know of now. I have a kind of understanding with a fellow, but it is nothing definite. But don't let that bother you any. Your loving is much better than his ever would be! Besides, you are safe-I mean loving from you won't generate trouble-like a baby or something...."

Rita looked at her closely. "Are you in trouble," she asked.

Arlene bit her lips to keep from crying. Rita took her in her arms, kissed her forehead, still wet from their exertions, and spoke softly into her ear: "I know, honey, I know. I had the same trouble. That's why I'm off men for life. They are so selfish and have no regard whatsoever for their victims. Me for the love of a woman any time, any where!"

Arlene cried softly and clutched her friend to her naked breasts. Rita nuzzled the rounded white mounds as she patted Arlene on the shoulder and tried to kiss away her tears.

"How far along are you?" Rita asked. "About six weeks."

"Well, we can have that fixed. You leave it to me," Rita assured her lovely friend. "I'll contact you as soon as I have made necessary arrangements with a friend."

Gradually Arlene's tears and sobs subsided. They both dressed and before leaving Rita gave her young partner a searing kiss meant as further assurance.

Arlene laid back down on the bed for a rest. The sexual fun and the cry had exhausted her. Then too she must head back to Los Angeles so she would be in good shape to see the Pros game tomorrow.

She wouldn't miss that, with Mike having such a big stake in it. She hoped the veteran quarterback Ron Jessup would live up to what Mike expected. It could mean more gifts for her, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Wild cheers greeted the Los Angeles Pros as they took the field for the game with the Cleveland Lakers Sunday afternoon in the huge stadium where a standing room only crowd awaited the kick-off.

There was a standing ovation for crestfallen, young Jim O'Flanagan, his precious throwing hand tightly bound in massive bandages-but still in uniform. He had wanted to be in uniform that day. Jim was introduced to the crowd, who cheered him again. His brief talk ended just as the last Pros player ran out on the field-Ron Jessup.

The crowd then abandoned all semblance of restraint, girls flung their batons, fans sailed hats, paper airplanes, empty paper cups into the air in a spontaneous burst of exhortation. They knew it was up to Ron Jessup today. "Jessup! Jessup! Jessup!"

The two teams gathered nervously in front of their respective benches while crowd tension continued to mount. No player on either team could escape it-not respond to it. The will of the fans seemed to transfer into the consciousness of the players.

The Pros won the coin toss. They elected to receive-customary in pro football. A burly Lakers player jacked up the ball on a kick-off tee on the Cleveland forty yard line. He went back about ten yards, carefully lining himself up with the football-his teammates already lined up a yard or so behind the ball, from sideline to sideline.

Ninety thousand screaming fans were on their feet. The heavy foot connected, the ball sailed high into the air, down across the Los Angeles 20, 10, and goal line, four yards deep in the end zone. The Pros fleet kickoff return artist, Jackrabbit Marr caught it cleanly and set sail upfield, into a sweeping fifty-yard wide charge of Laker wild men, each determined to personally wipe out the ball carrier.

As they charged, some Lakers were cut down by Pros blockers-out on the L.A. forty, on the thirty, but a half a dozen or so were on their feet and converging on the scampering Marr at the Pros' 20. He veered to the left, circled two Lakers but others sprang up to wall off his route.

A body twist, a slip under a heavy pair of arms, a brush against another, a reverse, a quick sidestep and suddenly Jackrabbit was clear across the 30 and moving fast along the sidelines. Then a Cleveland shoulder caught him at the 33 and he tripped out of bounds-a great runback. The game was under way.

"I'm going to give them 'Kid Stew' first, he said, head down, talking quietly. Pete, you remember it. We haven't practiced it since we used it in Milwaukee. They don't think I can throw the ball as far as Jim can. We've got a chance to catch 'em flat footed.

"Now," he continued, "you guys hold that line for me, give me that extra couple of seconds till Pete gets down there and we'll collect our first six points early in the game.

That should set back the Lakers some, too. Maybe demoralize them or at least throw them off stride and that would be good!"

The huddle disbanded, all the Pros clapping their hands in unison as they broke toward the line. Ron took his stance behind his center in the traditional "T" formation, hands cupped against his crotch almost indecently. On the count, the center would snap the ball back to Ron's hands.

The football slapped into his hands. He sprinted backward rapidly, the wall of men in front of him bowed deeply, the Lakers shoved, elbowed, bulldozed deeply, on their way toward Ron-his two fullbacks stepped ahead, the cup forming nicely to give Ron protection, and he was safe for a few seconds.

Pete had not been so much as brush-blocked at the line and his start downfield was good, deceptive. He tore to the middle, then cut swiftly out to the sideline, getting a step on the deep outside Laker defender. Down he raced while Ron stood his ground in the cup. The Cleveland ends were working in on him. They broke through, lunging, but Ron stepped briskly and safely foward toward the melee which once was the line of scrimmage.

He had gained his added few seconds.

Ron threw the ball as far as he could toward the yellow blur that was big Pete. Pete looked over his shoulder at the Cleveland. He caught the pass without breaking stride on the Lakers 28 yard line and sped the remaining distance for a touchdown.

The unexpected trick call had worked. Pete flung the ball high into the air in the end zone and sprinted for the Pros' bench. There, teammates greeted him wildly, pounding him on the shoulders, shaking his hand vigorously. Coach Collins added his enthusiasm.

Ron's point-control strategy now reached a pivotal stage. His plan called for a missed conversion early in the game. He would try to miss it now.

He lined up with the goal posts, a sure straight angle-easy, automatic for a pro football player with his experience. His ball holder caught the center snap and set the ball down for Ron's toe. Suddenly, untouched, from the side a huge form came leaping-it was Cleveland's big tackle.

He smothered Ron's boot, leaving the ground, a perfect block. It all happened so fast Jessup was startled. Nothing phony about that, he thought. Los Angeles 6, Cleveland 0 in the game's opening moments!

That ended the first quarter. Ron's initial fear of a Pros' runaway was quickly dispeled as Cleveland began to dominate the play. The Lakers controlled the ball most of the remaining time in the second quarter, scoring and converting to lead 7-6. Whenever Los Angeles had possession, the big Cleveland line poured in, getting to Jessup repeatedly.

Ron caught an elbow in the throat which left him speechless for a minute. A cleated shoe worked past his face guard and raised a big welt on the bridge of his nose which began to trickle blood. So far Ron didn't have to control anything. The Lakers didn't need any help.

Cleveland went further ahead in the second quarter when their fleet, strong fullback raced through the middle of the L.A. line 42 yards for a touchdown. With the conversion the Lakers led 14-6 at the half. The Pros' defense was breaking down because Jessup's pass protection faltered. During the first half he had been tackled and manhandled no fewer than eight times. It was no longer a question of his fixing anything.

It was now a question of his keeping the Pros in the ball game.

"Somone's got to stop those Lakers," thundered Collins in the dressing room at the half. Jessup sat on the bench holding an ice pack against his bleeding, sore nose. One of his eyes had started to swell. Pete sat next to him.

"I'm going to get those bastards for you even if they throw me out of the game," he told Ron.

"Do that!" Replied Jessup, spitting blood on the floor.

Before they returned to the field, Collins put his arms around Ron, pulling Jessup's face next to his, rubbing cheeks. "Get 'em Ron," he said softly, a suggestion of tears in his eyes.

Ron felt sick to his stomach and dizzy when the Pros took over on offense early in the third quarter. He began cashing in on the Lakers' rush, calling fullback delays up the middle, and screen passes which moved the ball well.

From the eight yard line, the Pros' fullback bulled straight into the end zone. Ron kicked the extra point, and the Pros trailed by a single point, 14-13.

Late in the same period, a Pros' guard picked up a Cleveland fumble on the Cleveland 34 and lumbered into the end zone. Again Rock added the extra point on a placekick and the Pros led at the start of the final quarter, 20-14.

On one of the plays in the sequence, Ron had slipped, allowing a half dozen Lakers to gang tackle and pile on. One delivered a powerful back elbow thrust which knocked off Ron's headgear. He fell backward heavily and as his bounced off the turf he caught the point of a cleated shoe squarely on the spinal column at the base of his skull.

Ron felt a sharp, unusual pain, followed by a strange tingling sensation which radiated all the way to his toes and finger tips. He lay on the turf, struggling to move but somehow his body just couldn't seem to coordinate. A red glow clouded his vision and large globular colored objects swam before his opened eyes.

He lay quite still, a horrible growing pain crawling down his back. He had not heard the moan from the crowd, nor was he conscious of Doc Barnes working on him. But he struggled gamely to his feet, waved Barnes away and rejoined the Pros huddle. A mighty cheer arose-the old pro was a hard man to knock out of there.

"What is it?" asked a frightened Collins when Doc Barnes returned to the bench.

"Nothing," said Doc, "Just a rap on the head. He'll be okay."

"Sure?" asked Hank.

"Have I ever been wrong about such things?" replied the Doc, his professional dignity offended.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

On the next play, Pete hung back, faded with the rushing Lakers linemen and drove his knee into the nearest Cleveland player's groin. Both men went down together and started swinging. Other players jumped into the melee and a riot boiled on the field for a few minutes. When order was restored, both the Laker player and Pete were tossed out of the game.

"I told you I'd get him," Pete told Ron as he walked slowly off the field.

"What?" asked Ron, staring blankly at his old friend. There was not the slightest indication of recognition. When Pete arrived at the bench he grabbed Hank's arm.

Desperately Cleveland fought back. With four minutes to play in the game they registered their final tally, going ahead 21-20. With the Pros' defensive team on the field, Ron sat on a chair in front of the bench, head down while Doc Barnes rubbed his neck and administered smelling salts.

The Pros returned Cleveland's kickoff to their own 18 yard line, but Jessup continued to sit as the regular offensive unit ran out onto the field.

"Come on, Ron," said Hank. "Come on Ronny. Just a few more minutes is all we have. You can catch them." He lifted Jessup to his feet and shoved him toward the yellow huddle. The veteran quarterback reacted mechanically.

"All right, you guys," he said to the grimy, battered group of men around him. "Let's get this practice over and go home."

Ron could joke even at a moment like this.

"Attaboy, Ronny, attaboy!" They broke, slapping their hands, the powerful, cracking, fleshy sound pealing over the silent, tense throng. If their leader regarded this as nothing more than a practice session, why worry? He'll pull it out for them. They'd die for him if necessary, and they knew he'd do the same for them.

Ron faked a pass and ran up the middle for 15 yards. He went clown hard, virtually every Laker on the field hurtling on the squirming pile that virtually entombed him. Ron was helped to his feet by the officials. Then he passed flat to his ends twice for another first down. The ball was on the Pros 48 yard line.

A little less than three minutes to play again. Again Ron dropped back, looking for a target. All his receivers were covered, at least there was a kind of blue everywhere Ron looked-so he began to run again, his battered old legs moving crazily among the shifting uniforms. Down he went in another heap.

But the brilliant run had moved the Pros to the Cleveland 32. Ron was going it alone. Again he was pulled to his feet. Now his halfback slanted into the right side for four yards and then at the middle of the line for two hards. Jessup passed to Pete for five more and a first down. There were two minutes to play in the game now. The Pros were on the Cleveland 21.

Two line plunges by the Pros halfback gained four yards. The fired-up Pros were working all the angles and playing the hardest of their pro football careers.

Ron would try for a touchdown now. He called a double cross-over, his two ends crisscrossing behind the Cleveland goal line. The ball sailed clearly through the air, a perfect trajectory headed for Pete who was cutting behind the goal post.

The ball struck the goal post and bounced harmlessly, pointlessly to the turf. It would have to be a field goal from the 16-yard-line. That meant a 21-yard kick, allowing for the ball to be placed down 5 yards behind the line of scrimmage.

Jessup stood back swaying, the goal posts wavering, dancing deceptively in his vision. The ball was set down, Ron kicked, and then turned wearily around, starting aimlessly for the bench-oblivious to what he had done, to the cheer of the crowd, to everything but a great horrible, numbing pain. He had never known pain like this before.

Joyously, Ron's teammate along the sidelines seized him, and hoisted him upon their shoulders. Ron's head rolled unnaturally to one side and the red hues surrounding everything turned black. He tried to straighten up but his helmet was too heavy. His strength dissolved, he fell backward, his neck snapping as other strong arms checked his fall.

Ron did not hear the final gun, nor the tumultous shout of victory as the thousands of fans hailed the 23-21 victory, and the new professional football champions of the world, the Los Angeles Pros.

"Here," he bellowed, "just put him down here on the table. Ron, boy, Ron, it's me, Hank!" Collins searched wildly around the room. "Where's the doctor, my God, somebody get the doctor." He spied Doc Barnes approaching.

"Don't you touch him, you bastard," he said. "You lay a hand on him and I'll kill you. Where's the doctor? Ron, boy, Ron, answer me!" He ran his big hand softly through Jessup's hair and patted him gently on the cheek. "Ron, it's Hank, please Ron, talk to me!"

Ron's legs and arms were trembling, an odd, uncontrollable quiver jerking his entire body. His lips moved slightly as though he were trying to say something. But no words came out.

"Quiet, quiet you guys," roared Collins. "He's trying to talk." Collins bent over the pale, sweat stained face. "I can't tell. I don't know what he's saying," he moaned. "Ron, it's me, it's Hank. Tell me something, Ron." Tears streaked down the big man's face. Bewildered, he turned around toward his team. "Ron's hurt," he explained. "Ron's hurt real bad!"

"Is it bad, Doc?" asked Pete. "I mean, he's going to be all right, isn't her?" The doctor looked at Pete sadly.

"Ron Jessup is already dead," he replied. "Probably of a broken neck and severed spinal cord." Again he shook his head. "He didn't have to die. But fellows like that never know when to quit."

"It was his greatest game," someone standing beside Jack said. It was one of the Pros' most ardent fans, holding a colorful pennant. "Hail the World Champion Los Angeles Pros."

Jack reached over, without a word, and grabbed the pennant, ripping it to shreds. He threw the remnants at the man's feet.

"Winning isn't the only thing," he said bitterly.

Then Jack walked slowly away, back into the dark empty stadium, out across the football field where Ron Jessup had been killed. The pressbox lights were casting a yellowish glow down upon the strands. Jack climbed the long stair bank and sat down-the patter of typewriter keys echoing across the sunken arena.

He sat for a long time, then gradually became conscious of someone sitting beside him. It was young Jim O'Flanagan. The grief-stricken young star was crying quietly. His eyes were already red from tears and his usually firm hands shook as if in anger.

"Jim," said Jack, "I ought to tell you this. It'll be an education. Football, pro football at least, is a dirty game. You're young and maybe it's still a game to you. But it's a lot more than that. Ron Jessup knew." He paused, groping for the right words.

"Lots of things went on you didn't know about," he continued. "You remember those two guys in Arlene's apartment who jumped you, the ones you told me about? Well, they were sent by the Reno gambling syndicate to crack a couple of fingers on your throwing hand. Arlene was the whore pawn, the lure to set you up. Mike Herring is the middleman. Does it all make sense to you?"

"Then with me out of the way, they got to Ron-made him go along with it."

"Right," replied Jack.

Jim smiled bitterly. "If I know anything at all about that guy, I'll bet a cookie he's back at his apartment now with that whore."

"Arlene?"

Jim nodded. The more he thought about it the more his blood boiled. He stood up. "Jack," he said, "I'm going to get Mike. If you want to come along, fine, if you don't, I'll go alone."

Jack stood up. "I think I'll go along," he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The startling news of Ron Jessup's death did not dampen Mike's holiday spirit. In fact, he had to withdraw from the crush of the Pros' fans following the game in order to hide his glee. Ron's death was just what the syndicate might have ordered. With the veteran player gone, there remained not one scrap of human evidence of a fix. It couldn't have been a cleaner deal!

Mike hummed to himself as he tooled along in his Mercedes to the Sunset Strip and the La Frenzia. He was on top of the world. The fix of the points meant two hundred thousand dollars in his pocket, and a new high ranking position with the syndicate!

They could afford his payoff. After all, they probably cleaned up at least two million on the deal!

Jessup was dead, but Mike had never felt so much alive in his whole life. He was going to give his pregnant little girl friend, Arlene, the full-length mink coat he had in his car. She was waiting for him in his apartment.

"Darling, Mike baby-we won, won!" Then she caught a glimpse of the lush mink on Mike's arm. She squealed and jumped high in the air, her beauteous breasts bouncing, her creamy thighs quivering with the joy of her motion.

She seized the fur and buried her face in the soft pelts. Then she kicked off her nightgown and slipped the luxurious coat over her flawless nude figure as Mike watched, licking his lips. She admired herself in the full length mirror and laughed and cried at the same time.

Mike smiled patiently, taking in every move of this sexy blonde as she cooed and loved the beautiful coat.

"Mike," she yelled, "My wonderful lover!" She kissed him and danced away as if to tease him. He didn't move. He liked to watch her glee, get big glimpses of her nudity as she moved around. And wanting, wanting so much for her to come to him.

"Remember the scene, Mike in that movie? You know, the one where the girl lies on the floor and wriggles around, stripping off her clothes in front of all those men and women. Well, that scene even got me shook. I don't have any clothes on-only my mink. But I'll put on a show for you, Mike lover!"

"Go!" cried Mike eagerly, anxious for new erotics that night as Arlene shut her eyes and pulled the mink tight around her shapely body. She moved her hips, serpentine gestures that combined rhythm and sex in one copious undulation. Her firm buttocks, her slim beautiful legs, her rounded full breasts moved in a sexy dance of love. As she worked her body, she hummed and cried little joyous words of passion.

Then she flung open the coat and let Mike see her alabaster body in all its aroused, womanly glory, nipples extended, breasts heaving, hips gyrating and her long legs opening and closing her firm thighs.

Arlene was a picture of a young girl wanting her lover.

Mike joined his sexy sweetheart on the floor. He too wriggled and buried his mouth in her shoulders and neck. Her breasts felt his violent, biting kisses. The already swollen nipples welcomed his hot tongue along their entire length. The sucking sound his lips made on them could have been a baby nursing.

He stripped off his shirt and trousers, still writhing with his passionate playmate. His shorts and undershirt soon followed and he was as naked as she, his masculine power showing he was ready for love.

Beneath him, Arlene trembled in her own mounting passion, her mind frozen by the sensations emanating from her cunt.

"Ohhhhhhhhh ... Ahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...!" she gapsed, thrusting her cunt upwards violently, sending her tight sheath down around the very base of his throbbing cock.

He squirmed and drove it into her like a man possessed by the devil.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck you, you cunt!" he snarled, demoniacally, lunging into her again and again. Arlene had never before seen him like this! It was as though his prick had never before then known the sweet, clinging warmth of a female's cunt, she thought to herself.

Her breath was coming in great gasps as her breasts danced violently across her chest, in cadence with the violent onslaught of his weapon against her prize.

Arlene saw Jim and Mike first. It was totally incredible. Opening her eyes to look into those of her sexually excited lover, she instead saw Jim O'Flanagan and Jack Fisher towering over the tawdry scene of hot sex.

Arlene screamed, snapping the spell that was propelling Mike and herself to another passionate climax any moment. Mike had laid his head on her breasts and was breathing heavily.

But the scream awakened Mike from his arduous love-making to the more realistic events about him. The startled, sex-confused man leaped to his feet, his body ludicrous. His passion still showing, he made no attempt to hide himself. Arlene laid still, watching.

"Why, Jim," he said, fighting for control-"and Jack. Why, what are you doing here? I guess-I mean, this is a hell of a time to bust in on a guy and his girl!"

"Like it was a hell of a time to bust in on me," Jim said bitterly. "The last time it was me. But the girl-I mean the whore-is the same."

"What do you mean, Jim?" Mike's passion fled. Now he feared for his life. These two knew! He was trapped. Nervously, frantically he tried to talk his way out. He knew he was in a bad spot and he searched his befuddled mind for the right words.

"Wow!" he said, "You fellows must think I've done something. Tell old Mike. He'll make it even. Is it money you want?"

"We know," Jim said quietly. "We know all about you. You killed Ron Jessup just as surely as if you put a six-inch switch blade in his heart. We don't want money, Mike. We want you!"

"But it's two against one," cried the frightened Mike, appealing to a sense of fair play he had never granted. He was shaking from fear now, but his muscles were taut, ready.

"No, it's just me," replied Jim coldly. "And I only have one hand. Remember? That's enough to even the score with you."

Jim turned to Jack. "Now, Jack, I want you to stay out of this. Just watch that bitch so she doesn't stick a knife in my back. I'm going to make Mike a new face-the kind of face girls won't like."

"Please," begged Mike, his composure shattered. "I haven't got anything against you. Why should I fight?"

"You scum," said Jim. "You dirty, cowardly scum!"

Suddenly Mike struck. With a stealthy motion he kicked Jim squarely in the groin. The toe of his shoe sank in to the heel. The sound made Jack sick. Jim doubled over and gasped, his tongue working outside his mouth in agony, his lungs bursting for breath.

Then Mike brought up his fist and caught the quarterback on the nose. Blood spurted and Mike leaped on Jim's back, pummeling and kicking wildly while Arlene screamed encouragement. "Kill him, Mike," she shrilled and aimed a few kicks at the quarterback. Jack grabbed her and held her fast as he watched the battle.

Jack had an idea that within minutes after this was all over, and provided Jim had no ideas about beating her up, that Arlene would be out looking for a man to finish passion.

Watching the action nearby, Jack saw Jim close Mike's right eye with a solid punch that seemed to start from the floor. It blinded the gambler momentarily and he staggered around uncertainly as Jim calmly, deliberately continued to rain heavy blows on his face, body, arms-wherever he could reach with one hand.

He struck not with wild abandon but with calculated vengeance. A crushing fist caved in the cartige of Mike's nose which now poured blood like an open faucet. His eyes glazed. Jim struck again. And again!

Jack could stand no more.

"Okay," he said quietly, "that's enough, Jim." The young quarterback stopped and turned to Arlene, still held by Jack in a ludicrous position that showed every inch of her curves but in a perverted way. If he had been calmer he might have wondered if Jack was holding her that way on purpose-to shame her.

"He doesn't look so slick now, does he?" he asked Arlene. There was contempt in his voice. Arlene broke from Jack's grasp. She ran crying to her lover, stretched out bleeding and senseless at her feet. She kissed the hamburger that was his face, crying softly, the blood of her lover draining all over her new mink coat.

Arlene was cuddling the injured Mike in her arms on the floor, both of them naked. There was no sex involved now. Just love and somehow to Jim and Mike it was a fitting end.

"Let's go," said Jack. The two men departed without a word to the two lovers. Jim made sure the blanket covered them adequately. Jack made no move to either help or hold back. The two men departed, walking out into the quiet night, the pretty lights of the Hollywood Hills encircling them like a bejeweled theater.

They drove quietly for a long time. Finally Jack said to Jim something that was on his mind.

"Jim, I've get the twenty-five thousand dollars they forced on Ron Jessup. He wanted to be sure I had it in case anything happened to him. Now, I want to share it with you."

"What did Ron want you to do with it?"

Jack explained about the newspaper they were to buy together.

"Let's get that newspaper," said Jim. "I think Ron would want it that way."

"I'm sure of it," Jack replied. "Let's you and I go down there tomorrow and close the deal. I can get a couple of days off from the job. They are coming to me, and we'll spend some time getting acquainted with the community, as well as the newspaper."

"I sure hope it is still up for sale," Jim said.

"Oh, it will be. The owner told me he wanted to sell it to Ron and me for he was sure we could handle it as he would want it run. And now you can take Ron's place. There will be a lot of hard work for you, as I imagine you will want to stay in pro football for awhile now that you are near your peak."

"I do want to stay in. Originally I thought I would play in the pros for three or four years, save some money and maybe go into coaching in high school eventually. I like to work with boys, and with my college education and experience in football I would have little trouble in landing a job."

"Would you prefer that to newspaper work?" Jack asked.

"Well, I don't know. I have never done any writing and I know very little about business.

But I would like to have something concrete, and I have an idea a newspaper venture would be the thing. I wouldn't take any salary from you but, as I gradually learned the business I could earn my pay and it would be worthwhile to pay me then-I hope."

"You're young yet," Jack replied. "You have a good education and a good head on your shoulders. You can learn, settle down in a small town and maybe raise a family. Got a girl friend?"

"Yes and no."

"I knew a nice girl back at college but I have lost contact with her now. She may be married-probably is because she was a beauty. We dated quite often and seemed to like each other a lot. Nothing in the sex line, except a bit of necking-you know."

"Do you know her home address?"

"Yes. I think I have it written down somewhere."

"Well, write to her. Tell her you would like to hear about what she is doing. Maybe something would develop after a few letters. And maybe, she would come to visit you."

"I doubt if she would come here alone. But she does have a married sister and maybe they could make it together with her sister's husband and children next summer."

Jim was becoming enthused about the idea and resolved to write to Jean the first thing tomorrow. He was so tired tonight, all he was interested in then was some shut eye.

Jack patted him on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, buddy, and get some sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Back at the apartment, Arlene heard the siren of an approaching ambulance and hoped it was one to pick up Mike to take him to a hospital. The siren slowly stopped and she heard the screech of car brakes outside.

Two white-clothed men carried Mike out on a stretcher. But before they hardly got out the apartment door, Big Joe Thompson burst into the room, shoving everything aside.

"Oh, Daddy, daddy!" Arlene sobbed.

Then Big Joe noticed the battered Mike for the first time, lying still on the stretcher, his face white as chalk. "Who did this?" Big Joe demanded angrily.

"Jim O'Flanagan."

"I'll get him for this!" Big Joe said. "I'll get him. The dirty bastard! Where did he go?"

Arlene's lips trembled and she nearly passed out as she looked at the towering man. "He and Jack Fisher went out ... somewhere south of here I think ... to buy some newspaper," she said.

"With whose money?"

"I don't know, but I think with the money Ron Jessup got from Mike for winning the game. They talked about twenty-five thousand bucks and that was the payoff."

"Well, see if you can remember the name of the place."

"I can't, Big Joe. They may not even have mentioned it. They just said something about buying a newspaper."

The ambulance crew by now had removed Mike Herring and a siren in the distance told the two in the apartment he was on his way to a hospital.

"It was terrible, Big Joe. Terrible! Jim O'Flanagan beat Mike up unmercifully and all Jack did was watch. I was almost sick watching. I tried to help Mike, but Jack held me fast. I ... I ... I just couldn't yell for help)-us being naked and all."

Big Joe still gazed glazedly around the room, not seeing anything, but nervously scanning all his eyes focused on. The room was a mess with broken furniture, glass, vases scattered around. But that didn't seem to bother him. He could replace it easily.

"Daddy, take me to your place. I need to clean up, get this blood off me, take a real hot bath ... I'll be good to you later."

The big grayish-haired man suddenly looked down on his young protege and finally smiled. "O.K. Honey, we'll do just that. The hell with those two. They had their fun; Mike has suffered but we hope he will be okay. I've got all kinds of extra dough from winnings on that game. So what do we have to worry about?"

With that, Big Joe helped Arlene get dressed in some of her most sexy women's clothes, inside and out, and they quickly left the La Frenzia club apartment for his place. Big Joe was very proud of his young girl friend and liked to show her off. So they walked through the club and bar so his friends could see them.

His apartment was out in the more ritzy section of town-in fact it was so big it seemed more like a house than an apartment to Arlene. She stood in awe looking at the lavish furnishings, the fine paintings on the walls, the fancy furniture and last of all at his bedroom with its huge bed.

She playfully jumped onto the bed and felt it bounce her into the air with its deep springs.

"You look as if you liked this place," he said.

"It is heavenly," she replied. She thought how wonderful it would be to live in such luxury. She wondered if Big Joe was married. And if so, if his wife was away. Maybe they lived in separate places.

"Would you like to live here?" he asked.

Arlene looked at him in amazement. "Are you proposing to me?" she asked, hoping he was suggesting marriage.

"How about a drink?" he asked.

She took the tall glass he ofered and sitting up on the edge of the bed drank it slowly, all the time watching Big Joe as he wrestled with what to say or do next.

"Come on, honey," she said. "Let's get comfortable. I've had a rough day and I could use some shut eye. I'll bet you can, too! Put on your pajamas ... maybe you have something I can wear too. Let's get to bed now."

Big Joe nodded absently. He took some sheer women's pajamas out of one of the bureau drawers, got a pair for himself and proceeded to undress. Arlene quickly donned hers and slid into bed. He was slower, but soon joined her.

She cuddled up to him and he put his arms around her protectively. "You don't have to answer me tonight, honey," she said. "I know you didn't mean it as a proposal of marriage. Think about it. It might be a good break for both of us."

Big Joe looked down at his sleepy bedmate, kissed her solidly on her ripe full lips and turned over to go to sleep. Arlene stayed next to his hard body, wondering if this is what it was like to be married.

Her breasts felt hard against his strong back. Her breath flowed gently into his ear as she leaned over to kiss him. He stirred slightly. As she continued, he turned over and took her in his arms. They kissed passionately, fondling each other over their pajamas. He began kneading her breasts and exploring her full thighs.

She sighed as his hands went inside her thighs and sought her warm secrets. Her lips clung to his passionately as he pulled down her pajama bottom and slowly entered paradise.

Arlene, with a near-fright as she rocketed out into sexual orbit, felt her entire energy plummet into the sheath-like passageway of her cunt, and then mingle with the lava-like molten love juice he was bursting into her.

Her cunt muscles convulsed around the shaft of his penis and a shudder, then another and another roared through her body, leaving her quaking in their aftermath.

Once again they tried to sleep and this time succeeded. The last words she remembered hearing were "Goodnight, sweetheart. Tomorrow we'll get the license!"

He remembered her saying, "Goodnight, my dear."

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