I’ve played enough soccer to sense the moment when overconfidence has gifted me the opportunity to change a game’s momentum. Often, well into the second half, the opposition will lower its guard. Seemingly, boys have been programmed to conclude, ‘She’s just a pussy; a pretty passer without the balls to go for it.’ 

Once again, it’s the same old, same old. I’d been left on the edge of the box, one-on-one with the lumbering defender who’d been abandoned by his mates. They’d become confident I’d been genetically programmed to pass, pass and pass again. So marking-up on the boys I was bound to pass to would neuter our attack. 

Arseholes. 

A shimmy of my hips, the unexpected outside touch of my little-used left foot, and the ball ghosted past the defender’s blindside. And the panicking goalkeeper, having advanced too late, was easily beaten by my careful placement of the ball into the corner of the net. 

They’re a good team; we are too, so the game was tight. That’s almost certainly the winning goal. Yet my teammates' support was muted. No surprise there; boys' reluctance to embrace the success of any girl on their team has pissed me off since I was nine.

This year we’ve been well coached in hunkering down and protecting a lead. So a series of tauntingly pretty passes between me, our two fullbacks, and Jack, the goalkeeper, kept control of the ball until the clock had bled down.

The handshakes post the final whistle were as cursory as always. Except for their petulant captain who refused to shake my hand. Hands on hips, I shouted, “Arsehole,” at his departing back. 

He turned, a sneer on his lips. “Shut the fuck up, cunt.”

Another day, another prick. “The cunt who’s just whipped your arse, soy boy?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw both coaches heading towards us at warp speed. My teammates, even Jack, shuffled nervously. About as eager to defend me as the crowd who’d hung out at the Salem witch trials. 

Coach Carter put an arm around me. “Let it go, Jade.”

“That arsehole started it. Wouldn’t even shake my hand.”

He’s not a bad bloke, Coach Carter. A gruff Yorkshireman transplanted to Sydney. I’ve even managed to turn the other cheek when he calls me ‘luv.’ But, more importantly, he’d gone out of his way to make sure I was on the radar of the coach of the New South Wales under-19 girls’ squad.

Yet, when he glanced meaningfully at the other coach, all he got back was, “Just boys being boys.”

Just another fucking enabler. I couldn’t stop myself. “Show some leadership, you limp dicked …”

Coach Carter brutally interrupted, “Jade, no more. You won us the game, and you're getting today’s man of the match award. That speaks louder than words, luv.” 

Their coach, however, seemed keen to play on. “I don’t appreciate that language, an apology to our team is in order.”

“Get lost, mate. Your guys started it. And frankly they’ve faced less lifetime shit than Jade has to stare down each and every day.”

That said, with his arm still firmly around my shoulder, Coach frog-marched me back to the sideline, with the rest of the team trailing behind out of earshot. “Got that bruise on your arm during the game?”

“Nah. Usual person, usual reason.” He knows my dad can be a bit of a bastard after a few drinks. 

“He hit you? Jesus, Jade.”

The coach can be a bit gauche when trying to be supportive. I guess that’s because he can’t conceive of an alcohol fueled rage. “Yeah, given that escalation, I was grateful for the lock on my bedroom door. He was still comatose when I scarpered this morning.”

“I’ll talk to Miriam.” 

God only knows what good he thought Jack’s mum was going to be. She was one of the few regulars at our games. Younger and undeniably cuter than the other parents, her reward for being so supportive was the guys’ trash-talking behind her back. Even Jack had pissed me off; he didn’t speak up, even when the MILF commentary had reached gang-bang levels of grossness. “I’ll be okay.”

Coach Carter clearly knew a seventeen-year-old fib when he heard it. He quickly spoke to Jack’s mum, and then presented me with the man of the match award. It had become an inside joke between us. I’d privately called him out on sexism at the beginning of the season, and he’d just grinned before replying, “Just imagine what goes through some guys’ minds when a girl gets called the man of the match.” 

Well, that was such a delicious thought that I’d subsequently graciously accepted my occasional man of the match award with a wicked smirk. Once again, though, the guy’s applause, except for Jack, wasn’t exactly fulsome. But nowadays it was sufficiently well judged to ensure our coach wouldn’t have their balls in a vice at Tuesday’s practice. 

Deep down, I was kind of relieved to find myself sitting in the back of Jack's Saab. I had some reflecting to do. Dad had been totally out of order. I needed to sort out the fucking ground rules that’d keep me safe until I was old enough to go to university somewhere in Australia that was far, far away. 

But that thinking clearly had to wait; Miriam had her chatty mode dialed up to maximum. “Well played, the two best players on the pitch.”

“Thanks, mum. The other team played well. Shame they were such dickheads with Jade at the end.”

“You okay, Jade?”

“Yeah, sadly, I’m kind of used to the disrespect. Makes scoring the winning goal all the sweeter, though. Coach Carter sorted it as best he could.”

Miriam laughed. “Though when he dragged you off the pitch, you were still champing at the bit. It looked like you’d already locked and loaded a few more choice verbal volleys.”

“I’m programmed to meet fire with fire. The only one on the team who’s prepared to call out that shit.”

“Always remember that only Coach Carter has the gravitas to manage arsehole boys. I’ve forbidden Jack from getting lippy with the opposition, he’s had to learn to let the coach deal with the little shits badmouthing you. And also learn to bite his tongue when your team mates mouth off with their MILF fantasies about me.”

“Seriously. I hadn't realised that silence was planned. Sorry, Jack, I misjudged you.”

He turned to face me with a grin. “No worries. The coach can handle the opposition’s disrespect of you way better than I can. It’s water off a duck’s back for mum, given her disinterest in guys.” 

Oh. 

I was still digesting what he’d implied when the Saab pulled up at some random house a couple of suburbs from where Jack lived. 

Jack kissed his mother on the cheek and turned to me. “Catch you at Tuesday’s practice. I’m spending the week here with my dad.” He grabbed his bags and, much to my surprise, hugged a slim, cute-as Asian girl of my age who’d been waiting for him on his dad’s front porch. 

Miriam smiled indulgently. “That’s his girlfriend. She’s totally lovely. Sit in the front with me.”

Doing up my seatbelt, I couldn’t help myself. “Sometimes, when Jack doesn’t join in the sexualised banter at soccer, the others call him gay.”

“Yeah, he told me. I’ve coached him to let that garbage go unanswered. He knows he’s straight, and has the cutest girlfriend. Just like I know I’m gay and won’t be a MILF for those boys. When you know who you are, there’s no point in getting agitated by fiction.”

Tears welled in my eyes. I hadn’t had solid parental advice in such a long time. Miriam noticed me fishing a tissue out of my pocket and dabbing my eyes. “You may think you can do it on your own, and you may well be right. But sharing will make it easier to bear, I promise.”

I’d always dreaded sharing; hated the weakness of showing just how much some of the crap had hurt. But, once we’d arrived at her house, Miriam didn’t press the point. She followed her cheery, “Make yourself at home,” with a guided tour of her four-bedroom bungalow. Clearly a couple of steps of the accommodation ladder above the now tatty Federation terrace home mum and dad had bought just before I was born. 

Sipping on herbal tea in her kitchen, she glanced thoughtfully at me. “You’re a girl.”

I grinned. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“So you’re bound to be in need of pampering?”

“Not even sure I know the meaning of that word.”

“Trust me?” 

My giggles echoed off the kitchen walls. “I’m not good at trust. But, I’ll give it a go.”

“Got a change of clothes in your kit bag?”

“Yeah. Black yoga pants and a grey hoodie.”

“We’ll leave those for another day. You’re a similar size to me, I’ll find you something suitable in my wardrobe.”

I stared meaningfully at her boobs, and we both burst out laughing. 

She took my hand and led me out of the kitchen. “Some of my dresses will suit your itty-bitties as well as they do my c-cups. Let’s go to my ensuite. The main bathroom is too Brut and testosterone for what I have in mind.”

Her pale lilac bathroom took my breath away. Not just designer-magazine pretty but large enough for a choice of bathing options. There was a shower, of course, but also a clawfoot antique bathtub overhung by lush green ferns in white pots hanging on the back wall, and a jacuzzi in the bay window overlooking a wild-flower garden. 

My eyes were drawn to two watercolours hung beside the vanity. A naked woman with a delectable derriere was gingerly stepping into and then swimming in a, no doubt, cold stream. “I like to pencil-sketch. God, I wish I was good enough to draw such a yummy bum.” 

Miriam turned on the bathtub taps and fetched a packet from the cupboard under the sink. “Seems we have similar tastes. Are you into bath salts, too?” 

I must have looked shocked, as her eyebrows furrowed. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Bath salts are a synthetic designer drug. Evil shit, so I am told.” 

“Oh, I’m showing my age. These Epsom salts are definitely for the bath. They’ll ease muscle tension, reduce inflammation, and help you relax.”

“That’s just what I need. We’ve both learnt something.”

“Two things, perhaps, in my case.”

My smirk was more bittersweet than hers while I watched the bath salts dissolve as the tub filled with warm water. My sexuality was my most closely guarded secret. But, for the first time ever, it didn’t feel threatening that my accidental over-enthusiasm when admiring a pretty woman’s posterior had seemingly pinged Miriam’s gaydar.

Turning the tap off, Miriam turned to me. “Wanna get naked and get in the tub?”

“You say that to all the girls?”

“Nah, only the ones I like.”

I felt myself blush, and nervously glanced at the shocked look on Miriam’s face. “Forget I said that, Jade. Coach Carter asked me to look out for you. I’m sure he didn’t have flirting in mind. I’ll let you be.”

Having quickly shed my clothes, including my now damp knickers, I slipped into the warm, soothing water. Closed my eyes with, ‘Fucking hell,’ running through my mind. Not only was I into girls, but I’d also had an intense masturbatory crush on a certain soccer MILF these last two football seasons.

The maelstrom of emotions that rippled through me was interrupted by her knock on the bathroom door. “Is it okay if I collect your football kit for the laundry?”

I took a deep breath; with one of Coach Carter’s attacking football sayings—in for a penny, in for a pound—reverberated through my mind. “Only if you promise to come back and keep on pampering me.”

“Deal.”

When she returned, Miriam sat on a stool she’d placed behind the top of the bath. “First, let’s wash your hair. Sit up a little more for me.”

As I wiggled back in the tub, my boobs broke the surface. A moment of truth for my confidence, as Miriam surely would spot my engorged nipples. I took another deep breath and, for once in my life, simply let someone else take charge of the reins.

Her hands massaged floral-scented shampoo into my hair, softly kneading my scalp until the suds slid down my neck and floated around my islanded breasts. She took her time, seemingly intent on cleansing my hair strand by individual strand. It felt divine, so deliciously different from my quick, functional haircare. Though that did present me with a new issue to manage, the squirming as the tingles from her touch were threatening to ransack my clit. 

Having rinsed the suds from my hair, she asked about the conditioner I used. I was too embarrassed to say we hadn’t had any in the house since my mum had been killed. Miriam didn’t push for a reply, just reached for her favourite—the lemongrass one—and firmly massaged that into my hair.

Then she rinsed again and wrapped my hair in a towel. Having dried myself. Miriam suggested I sit on the stool in front of her vanity mirror with a towel around my hips. I’d never consciously put my boobs on display, but I took a deep breath and recommitted to Coach’s mantra of: in for a penny, in for a pound. 

Miriam dug out a tub of arnica from the vanity drawer, and coated a bruise she’d seen on the back of my left calf with the cream. I remembered getting that one; a clumsy defender, disgracefully unpenalized, had slammed into me with studs up during the game. 

Then, without saying a word, she gently spread the cream over the fiery welts Dad had left on my left arm and the corresponding, more subdued, bruises on my right arm. That done, she carefully blow-dried my hair. When she finished, there were tears in my eyes. I had no idea it was possible to get that much body and lustre into my brunette locks.

Miriam added a little make-up, understated blush and eye shadow which accentuated my olive skin. It was a glimpse into an alternative universe, one where I could complement my no-nonsense practicality with a dollop of feminine prettiness. I loved what I saw; it felt like a down payment that something better could indeed be on my horizon. 

She suggested I stand, and, as I did so, the towel slipped from my hips. Behind me, Miriam was holding a yellow and purple stylised floral dress. I slid my arms into it, and she watched as I did up the buttons, almost all the way to my knees. With a new confidence, I smiled at her in the mirror. “In life, not every button needs to be done up. Thank you, I feel cared for and beautiful.”

“That’s not a new look, pretty one. I’ve drawn out what was always there. Go sit in the family room. I’ll get changed and we’ll chat there.”

When Miriam turned up there, I shamelessly stared. She’d touched up her hair and make-up. Changed too, her summer dress was like mine, albeit with red roses on a cream background. Obviously braless, her boobs bubbled against the silk material. 

“Would alcohol help?”

“Not into the alco-pop shit most of my mates do. But, occasionally, I’ll have a glass of pinot noir with dad. Sunday evenings on his territory, if that makes sense. Not knowing when to stop isn’t genetic, thank God.”

Miriam grabbed a bottle from her wine rack and poured two glasses of red. She sat beside me, and we sipped our wine. I felt as mellow as I had in the longest time. Which didn’t last long as she took my other hand in hers and our fingers entwined. “What do you want to tell me, Jade?”

“Actually, nothing at all.”

She squeezed my hand. “I understand. So, what are you going to tell me?”

I could hear my sigh echo off the walls. “Everything. The wine is really good. Softer, fruitier, I’m guessing a different price point from where dad buys.”

“It’ll help, but don’t have too much, sweetie. And don’t change the subject, either. I’m in your hands.”

I took the deepest of breaths. “When I was thirteen, Mum dropped me off at soccer practice. Dashed across the road for groceries. Got murdered by a car when she headed back across the pedestrian crossing. And everything just turned to shit.”

“Your dad started drinking?”

“Yeah, he’s actually a high-functioning heavy drinker. Still puts in the hours at work, but, when he’s had one too many in the evening, Doctor Jekyll turns into Mr. Hyde. Dad won’t even come to my soccer games, he blames my playing for Mum’s death.” 

“Has he hit you before?”

“No. It’s a fine distinction, but he didn’t hit me yesterday. Grabbed me by the arms and shook me after I said something he took the wrong way.”

“You can always leave, you know.”

“Never. I’m the only life raft he’s got.”

Miriam put her arm around me. As I snuggled against her breast, her finger tips brushed my nipple. “Sorry, I want to support you, not confuse you into thinking I’m hitting on you. So often you’ve had to be the adult in the room. What would you like to happen next?”

“With my dad or your fingers, you mean?”

Her laugh was so rich and sonorous. “You really have been forged into a force of nature. When I was seventeen, I was so skittish about my desires. Pregnant too, which was my wake-up call.”

“Regrets?”

“None, I love my son. His dad was great too. He understood the weirdness that was me fucking him to prove to myself I didn’t want to fuck guys.”

“I'm totally sure I’m into girls … You’re actually the first person I’ve said that to.”

Miriam softly kissed my forehead. “You really are mature beyond your years. So tell me what you want to happen next with your dad?”

“I need him to keep to some ground rules, firm limits on his behaviour.”

“Would you like Coach Carter and me to discuss that with him?” 

“Why involve Coach?”

“One of those rare occasions when I need a man, sweetie. Your coach was a successful amateur boxer. He’s apparently knocked out more than his fair share of Lancashire lads; whatever that means.”

I sipped my wine, feeling as calm as I had felt in the longest time. The sun had set as we’d talked and the room was now dappled in the rising moonlight. I put my glass on the table, snuggled back against Miriam’s soft breast, and felt her fingers slowly twirling my hair. “I’d like you to talk to dad.”

Having clarified my thinking about dad, I was suddenly aware of just how damp my pussy had become. And that the woman next to me was totally responsible. “Now, about those fingers of yours.”

“The ones playing with your hair?”

“Those ones. I totally respect why you won’t seduce me. But if I’m doing the seducing, that would make a difference, right?”

“Of course, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. And I’ve admired you from afar for the longest time. But I’m duty-bound not to seduce or be seduced if my home needs to be your safe place, should things get worse with your dad.”

“I have a couple of friends who would help out. Friends whose mothers aren’t MILFs.”

We snuggled together on the couch for the longest time. The knot in my stomach had started to throb when Miriam broke the silence. “You’re absolutely sure?”

Sighing with relief, I stood and undid the buttons of my dress until it slipped from my inflamed body and puddled on the floor. “In the car, when Jack implied you were gay, it felt like my masturbatory fantasies might become real. So, I absolutely want to. Not as confident that I know how to.”

Miriam stood, and traced my cheek with her finger. “You’re a dab hand with a button. Start there.”

A wicked smirk told me her double entendre had been intentional. My conspiratorial giggle relaxed me a little, and I slowly undid each button of her dress until the silk slipped from her shoulders onto the floor. She was gorgeous, not as firm-bodied as I was, but those buxom womanly curves were so licking-my-lips enticing. 

She wrapped me in her arms. The long-anticipated feel of another’s downy skin against my body, and her full soft boobs crushing into my perking nipples were more sensual than I’d ever dreamt possible. I melted even more as Miriam whispered, “We’re taking our time, after all we have all night.”

I’d kissed a girl and liked it. But those furtive, nervous pashes were nothing like Miriam’s. Slow and luscious, her wet tongue playfully teased mine. For the longest time, we kissed and kissed, increasingly passionately, until I’d built up enough courage to slide my tongue into her mouth. 

Miriam then sat me down on the couch. Leaving a line of butterfly kisses along my jawline, her teeth grazed my skin and nibbled on the nape of my neck. Those heavenly touches fueled my arousal; instinctively, I squirmed, my moist sex grinding against her leg. “You’re so ripe, sweetie. Close your eyes. Wallow in every caress of my fingers and tongue. Your pleasure is all that matters right now.”

She softly kissed around the minute curve of my breast. Her tongue languidly circled inwards, then teased the circumference of my areola. In total control, she knew just when to lick my perky nipples. Again and again her caresses, alternating slow and firmer touches, had me whimpering, then squirming as electric-like shocks began to wrack my clit.

Butterfly kisses then traversed my abs as she knelt on the floor. Her hands gently pressed against my knees. As my legs spread, my sticky folds reluctantly unglued. “Your pussy glistens so prettily when you’re aroused, baby girl.”

I smirked, opened my eyes and ran my fingers through her hair. “Mmhmm, totally your fault.”

That first touch of a tongue sliding through my folds had goosebumps breaking out all over. Then, when she, oh so softly, suckled my clit, I totally surrendered, unreservedly losing myself in the pea-soup fog that is lust. 

She looked up at me, her dewy mouth sparkling in the moonlight. “Your pubes are so lush, sweetie. There’s nothing wrong with that, but if you’d like me to shave them, I will happily do so.”

“Right now?”

“No, silly, right now you’re going to come ever so hard for me.” 

Miriam sucked on my inner lips, gently at first and then firmer, having seemingly decided on devouring my pussy. Still, I craved more, and arched my hips so my sex mashed even more firmly against her mouth. As she started to suckle my button, a sneaky finger smeared my juices against my bottom, and exquisitely teased nerves I didn’t know I had. 

I lost it. Screamed as my release suddenly crested. Exploding in pleasure, I came ever so hard, much, much harder than my furtive masturbation adventures in the shower or bed. 

When the aftershocks in my pussy had ebbed away, and my heart rate had begun to return to normal, I opened my eyes. Miriam was resting her forearms on my knees, smirking up at me. “I take it you liked, baby girl.”

“More like I loved, adored, became addicted to.”

I reached for her, and kissed her passionately. Tasting my orgasm on a woman’s lips hadn’t once penetrated into my masturbatory fantasies. But, after kissing Miriam’s cummy mouth, I knew that was definitely going to change. 

But my cum wasn’t the one I craved tasting. I slid down onto my knees, spread her legs with my hands and paused, inhaling the intoxicating scents of her musky arousal. 

Miriam petted my hair. “You don’t have to, you know.” 

“I’ve wanted to savour the taste of pussy for the longest time. Of course I won’t if you ask me not to. Otherwise …” I reverently kissed a faint stretch mark above her mound. 

“God, girl. So young, so pretty, so empathetic. Of course I want to.”

My tongue dipped into her gooey opening. The bittersweet citrus-like flavours of her pussy exploded onto my taste buds. I focused, copying how she’d pleased me, on kitten-like licks rasped through her folds and over her clit. Slowly, with just the tip at first; then I lashed her button with a flat tongue. 

Her whimpers turned to moans. Her hands grabbed my head. She mashed my mouth hard against her sex. Juices dripped off my lips onto my stiff nipples. 

I was in heaven when she took control and, especially, when she shrieked and soaked my face in its first ever orgasm. Confirming what didn’t need to be confirmed. I was into women, and hers wouldn’t be the last yummy pussy I’d be pleasing. 

Waking from the deepest sleep, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The clock beside Miriam's super-comfy king-sized bed indicated it was close to midday. The house was church-mouse silent, but Miriam had left a message on my iPhone earlier that morning. Apparently she and Coach Carter had gone to visit my dad.

I was sitting naked at the kitchen bench scoffing cereal and berries when Miriam returned home with the only suitcase my dad owned.

“You’re going to stay with me for the week. Coach Carter was really firm with your dad, get some professional help and come to your soccer game next Saturday. Coach and I will write up the ground rules, which your dad will commit to before taking you home.”

“It’s only the first step, isn’t it.”

“Exactly. Dr Jekyll is remorseful, and didn’t even know that he’d physically hurt you. But he totally gets that he now has to prove to you that Mr. Hyde can be controlled.” 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Oh, congratulations too.”

I smiled. “It’s Coach and my secret.”

“He deliberately mentioned your selection in the state under-19 girls squad. Just to emphasise that your dad should be ever so proud of you.”

“Yeah, I really am climbing the football ladder. Super excited.”

“This week, it’ll be just us two. Regular school and work timetable, though. But this afternoon is ours to enjoy. What would you like to do?”

“Well …”

“Out with it, young lady.”

“I was just looking in your closet for a robe.”

“Which you clearly didn’t find. And?”

I looked down at the floor. “Might have accidentally noticed some toys.”

“Not Jack’s old Lego sets, I take it?”

“I’m pretty sure Lego doesn't do vibrators and plugs. Let alone handcuffs and clamps. Other toys … well, who knows. I haven’t the foggiest idea who made them or how you’d use them on me.”

“I see … You know I can’t show you unless you give me total control, baby girl?”

“Mmhmm. I might be inexperienced, but I’m not naive, Miss.”