Chapter 8

Mike personally drove Jim O'Flanagan to Arlene's hotel, with the promise that he would pick him up at 9:15 p.m. That was necessary so Jim could be in bed by 10 p.m. back at the team headquarters. The curfew was rigidly enforced by Collins, and Jim never violated rules.

Jim didn't think it strange that Mike should take such a personal interest in his affair with Arlene. He thought Mike was just a fine fellow, a real Pros fan and a friend. It was 7 p.m. when Arlene opened the door to her room to greet him.

"We've only got a couple of hours together," said Arlene, "so we might as well make the most of the time. She had given Jim a perfunctory kiss but was unable to put any enthusiasm into it. Mike had warned her to go all out, to simulate passionate, clinging love-but somehow Arlene just couldn't make the grade. It wouldn't make any difference she was sure. Just a few crumbs of attention and she would be able to lead him by the nose.

Arlene had showered and added sweet scents to her body following her bed session with Mike that afternoon. So instead of dressing, she had remained comfortable in a blue fluffy nightgown, over which she wore a sheer lounging robe so that it was quite possible to see the outlines of her legs against the table lamp and her full breasts as they pressed against the material. And Jim was taking all this in.

"My, but you look beautiful," Jim mumbled, fighting the rising, strong passion in him. His old-fashioned upbringing made sex taboo. It was only fit for married people and even then only if children were the end product. Mike had warned Arlene that Jim was a man of strong morals. She was now going to melt them.

"Oh, I don't think so," said Arlene. "What's a good-looking body? Why dozens of girls walking around right there in the street have just as nice as mine."

"They have not," replied Jim with conviction. Then he fell silent. The art of conversation was not one of his strong points. Now he was struggling for control of his feelings and groping for words. The combination made him tongue-tied.

"What's the matter, honey, don't you have anything to say?" asked Arlene. "After all, I flew all the way to Chicago just to talk to you."

"I know, Arlene. It's just that when I see you I get all tightened up." His eyes roamed over the scantily clad body, taking in all the delicious curves that made his maleness respond.

"Good thing you don't get that way in a game. Say, how about the Pros? Are they going to win Sunday?"

"You bet we will," said Jim. Then a swift, troubled expression came over his face.

"What's the matter, don't you want to win? You look positively unhappy," remarked Arlene scanning his face and trying to nonchalantly display more of the thinly covered body.

"Well, I shouldn't be telling you this. But I trust you as I trust myself," said Jim. "You see, we have some dandy trick plays to use Sunday. One of them is called 'Kid Stew'. It works like a charm. I think the 'Kid Stew' call will win us the game!"

"What's that? Kid Stew sounds like a funny name for a play."

"Well, Kid Stew is what bothers me. You see it makes me a hero at Ron Jessup's expense. Ron is the greatest quarterback in the world, in my book."

"Don't you want to be a hero?"

"Gosh, not at Ron's expense. It's all Jess Henderson's strategy. He's the assistant coach. Well, in this Kid Stew signal, old Ron is sort of a decoy. He starts the game, calls a series of plays over and over designed to lull the Milwaukee defense. I come into the game and toss a pass that has been set up by Ron's previous calls. Ron looks bad, and I look good."

"You sure Kid Stew will win the game?" asked Arlene, mindful of Mike's instructions.

"Absolutely," replied Jim. "We'll beat them by two touchdowns!" Arlene sighed with relief. She had the espionage phase of her chore out of the way now. With that information, Mike could provide the Reno boys inside information.

"Does anybody know about Kid Stew outside of the Pros?"

"Absolutely not," said Jim. "Coach Collins has ultra-secret wraps on this play."

"Well, you can be sure I won't tell anybody."

Jim laughed. "I'd trust you with anything," he said. Arlene moved over closer to him on the couch. She rubbed her leg against his and playfully stroked his cheek. When Jim fidgeted and squirmed about, she snuggled closer to him. In her heart she was unenthusiastic, but it was a job, and maybe a mink and a Thunderbird would be the reward. Besides, there was always Mike. What did it matter if she threw away a little love on this hick? She'd have plenty left for her real lover!

She felt his biceps. "My you are strong," she said, somewhat startled by the steel-like tone of the muscles.

"Yeah," said Jim, "but around you I feel pretty weak."

Arlene laughed, leaning over, with both hands on his shoulders, she brought her lips close to his. Meanwhile the robe and nightgown separated from her breasts and these large, luscious fruits of womanhood fairly poked Jim in the eyes.

Their beauty and excitement flamed his blood and compounded his passion in one instant. He wanted to grab Arlene and explode his feelings with her in one mighty, masculine embrace. Yet he fought the drive. In his own simple mind he wasn't sure Arlene meant anything by exposing her breasts this way. He thought she wasn't aware of it. So he clenched his fists and averted his eyes from the tempting, pink-tipped morsels that swung out from her chest as she leaned over.

Arlene laughed a low throaty chuckle. "What's the matter, don't you like me?"

"God, I like you. I love you," blurted Jim.

"I feel like dancing," said Arlene. And she flicked on the radio by her big bed, tuned in some sound with the big beat, snapped her fingers to it and then began to twist. It had always shook up Mike, so why couldn't it tumble this bumpkin?

Jim watched her now, his will power fading fast. There were those incredibly shapely legs, so visible against the lights, and those fantastic breasts that swung to and fro as she danced. Arlene hummed and smiled at him. Then, after several minutes of twisting, she flung herself face up on the bed.

"Boy, I'm tired," she said. Jim sat rooted in sweat and chaotic lust on the couch. His face burned with the heat of his passion, his hands clasped and unclasped in desperation as she moved silently but sinuously on the bed. Arlene noted his male reaction with amusement. What a difference between this jerk and Mike!

"Come on over, honey," she said lowly, seductively. Jim got up unsteadily and with evident male arousal, and sat next to her on the bed, as she continued to move around, exposing more of her body.

"Do you think it's wrong?" she inquired innocently. "Jim, it's only because I love you. You don't think I'd do this for you if I didn't really love you?"

She flipped off her sheer robe and lay back on the bed waiting for the athlete to make his move. Her breasts were heaving, her body arched in anticipation, her body twisted in hope of a masculine lover. The Pro quarterback slowly settled his rigid body over her, kissing with awkward ardor. Then Arlene kissed back, her tongue plunging into his mouth, to play games with his. This had never happened to Jim before and the effect was monumental. He lifted Arlene completely off the bed, gurgling with passion and gripping her so hard it hurt and bruised.

He tore off her thin nightgown and crushed her nude body to him in spastic embrace. Then he loved her with the simple, crude, premature climax of the very young. Arlene lay indifferently, barely aroused by it all. At least she had done her duty. She slipped her robe back on and lit a cigarette.

Arlene smiled. "Darling, don't worry. You'll get better with practice. It's all new to me, too, you know. And next time we both will be naked and can enjoy ourselves even more."

"I know, I could tell," said the quarterback. Arlene laughed.