A high school hockey game: that's exactly where I wanted to be on my Saturday night. What a fantastic waste of my time. I was only there to film it for the crappy local news, that makes two things I didn't care about. I would have thought that leaving that shit of a town for my college in a distant state would have freed me from everything associated with my old high school, but there I was, back in my hometown. Of course, it seemed as if no one shared my opinion. The bleachers were packed, the home section spilling into the away section, all of them gaping avidly at the ice. My partner was filming the first period and half of the second, leaving me free to pay no attention.
My eyes roamed the crowd. There were banners waving, posters plastering the walls, a few idiots had brought an American flag out and were chanting, "U.S.A" as if this were an Olympic game. They were enraptured. We were winning for the first time all season, which was perfect since this was our last game of the season. Idiots, all of them, I thought. If only they knew how little their lives meant. The crowd around the edge of the rink were equally as boring. Then I spotted a girl I had not seen in years. What was her name? Amber? Amelia? No, it was definitely Amber.
I had known her back in high school and she was one of the first girls I had ever had a crush on. I never told her then of course but now, now she was more beautiful than I had remembered. Well, maybe not, time is a friend to impressions, always improving them with subconscious desire and fantasy. I hadn't seen her in four maybe five years, she must have been twenty now. Our separate colleges had driven us away from each other, her time away had changed her hair color from the brunette I remembered. But damn, she was fine. Her hair, still dark at the roots of her crown, had sprouted into a golden blonde. It fell around her face, framing her hazel eyes and slightly stretched and plump mouth. She was short, shorter than I remember, and had developed small, hand sized breasts. Her waist plumed into a shallow hourglass.
What was she even doing here? She wasn't paying much attention to the game. Our eyes met for a second - or did they just pass over each other? She was with a few girls I didn't recognize and a big fat guy I knew to be a senior at my old high school a year or two before I graduated from it. I heard a name called behind me. The fat guy lit up and moved away to talk to an old friend. They were celebrating their reunion loudly, slapping each other on the back and joking.
"Why does no one ever recognize me?" said the girl. A strange comment, I thought.
Our eyes met again, she seemed to flash them at me before looking away quickly. It was as if she was suggesting something to me, a hint at what she wanted. Of course that's what it was. She was using her feminine telepathy to give me an order, a tactic all women use, although they know us men are not capable of reading their signals. So I spent the next few minutes trying to think of what to do. Did she want me to go over there? She's still looking at me. I was listening to her, and her friends, talk.
"...Right over there..."
"...I don't care..."
It sounded like they were talking about me, but that could well have been the hormones talking.
Halfway through the first period, we were leading by two. I found myself standing next to her, but I hadn't moved.
"We're winning," she said.
"Yes, we are," I said.
She turned to me. I noticed that she had removed her jacket and pulled her shirt tighter around her chest, revealing a lot of cleavage. She had grown bold.
"Do you remember me?"
I was pretty sure I knew what she wanted now and had to be careful. I didn't want to ruin it by being too forward.
"Yes, Alex, right?"
She got the joke. I think. I loved the look of outrage in her eyes when I had gotten the name wrong. That kind of hatred is but a shade away from a look of love. They accused me, not angrily, but confused and saddened. They lightened instantly when she saw I was kidding. I could almost see her in my arms, looking up at me with her round eyes, blinking, begging me to kiss her. But not yet. Not yet.
"We were in science class together," I said, as if trying to prove that I knew her. "I sat next to you, you stole my notes whenever you were sick."
She smiled, thankful that I had remembered. Her friends giggled in the background.
We talked. I asked her about her school, not really caring. I asked her about her family that I never knew. I asked her about her friends to whom I had never spoken. We were never close. There was only ever a vague comradery between us as partners in that one solitary class. I don't think she realized that we had never been friends, nor did our social circles collide on any points. Finally, at the end of the first period, I asked her the big question.
"How's the love life?"
"Are you asking me if I'm single?"
She's sparring with me, making this difficult. I noticed one hand twirling her hair.
"What if I was?"
"I'd say yes. I am single."
Her friends could hear. They were giggling again. I was stumped. Where do I go from here? But she did it for me.
"I always thought you were so cute."
"Me too," I said. "And you're still ....that is, I...."
"Me too," she said.
She edged closer to me, clearing her throat.
"Um," she whispered, seemingly to herself.
Her eyes were gazing up at me. They were round and wide with expectation, so similar to the stare she had given me earlier. But now this was, if not love, then something near to it. Can I kiss her now? She blinked as if in affirmation, as if telepathy between men and women, that is to say mutual understanding, were possible.
Her hand was sitting on the ledge before the wall of the rink near mine. I reached for it and turned to face her. I looked down at her, she up at me. The icy world of hockey around us became a great white blur. I could no longer hear her friends laughing, but that may have been the roar of the crowd at the home team's goal. My filming partner's eyes may still have been burning into us but the cold air had frozen the weight of his gaze.
My other hand was on her cheek, our bodies suddenly close together. I hoped she couldn't feel my erection. Embracing, we kissed. I think her friends fell silent then. My lips were closed around hers. It was a ferocious thing, as if we had both been offered water after our venture in this frozen wasteland, as if we had craved each other for so long. Perhaps that was it. Our secret longing for each other, buried by real, teenage emotions and years apart had been more serious than we thought and was now realized. When the innocent desires of teenagers grow into real, adult lust, wild animals are awoken inside of us.
I took her by the hand and led her away, around the rink. It seemed to me then that, although the teams had just reclaimed the ice in the second period and that the home team was tearing it up for the first time in weeks, all eyes were on us. I knew where the home team locker rooms were. They were under the away team's bleachers and they were large and spacious, unlocked and empty.
We were under the bleachers now, the crowd was roaring and stamping above us, cheering us on. But the away team, closer and more potent than my supporters, were her inspiration. They, far louder than the beating of my heart, cheered her on. She slammed me gently to the wall, reaching down to feel the growth in my pants. She was in control.
I let my hand fall on her breast, her shirt slid down and I felt her nipple, erect in the cold of the rink, beneath my hungry fingers. She kissed me, pressing her tongue into my mouth, letting our mouth-worms battle like enraged wrestlers. Our tongues slipped around each other, diving into her cheeks, twisting around my mouth.
"I want you," she said, breaking away from me and standing in the cold, one goose bumped breast hanging out like the great white dome of the sun peeking through the pink clouds of her shirt.
I reached out and slipped the straps of her shirt off of her shoulders, letting both her breasts feel my open gaze. She stood now like a pitiful princess, shivering in the cold air, yearning for my touch to warm her, and half deflowered in the night.
She could take it no longer. "Please," she said, although she needed not to beg and did not stand for my reply. She came to me, clutched to my arm for warmth, and led me into the locker room.
Inside, I was against the wall of lockers, her leg around my waist and her mouth molded with mine. She shrugged off my jacket, pulled off my shirt, and ran her tongue along my chest. I reached into her pants and found her panties. Suddenly, we felt a rush of adrenaline, a fiendish desire for each others' bodies. She tore off her pants, her shirt rolled up around her waist. I let my pants fall and stepped out of them.
She let herself down on a bench. I could see her shiver and wait for my dick. But, seeing her pussy, tight and pink, I could not yet give it to her. I buried my face between her legs, delving my tongue like a snake or a worm into her pleasure orifice. She gasped and swooned, nearly falling off the bench.
Her hand in my hair, mine on her thighs, her nails in my scalp, mine in her legs, I spread her vagina wide with my tongue. I rocked her, I shook her, I licked her. She trembled, her legs knocking against my head, from cold or from pleasure. She gyrated, her pelvis scraping across my nose, from utter joy.
"Oh, fuck me! Oh, FUCK ME," she started to scream over the sound of the crowd outside, "please, fuck me now!"
She took me by the hair, rolled over with her forearms to the cold locker room bench, and stuck her ass into the air. She was like a plump maid, waiting patiently for her medicine, only she wasn't so patient. She shook her ass, round and expectant in the yellow underground lights, while I unfolded my dick from my underwear, dug around my pants for a condom, and finally left the tip poised above her clit.
She looked back over her bare back. "Put it in," she whined.
I conceded, letting my dick slip into her like a engine piston into its socket and immediately began to pump her full of everything my engine had to offer. Her back was arched, a thin indented line running the length of her spine like a trench. Her skin was covered in little mountains from the cold, feeling to the touch like gentle scales beneath my fingers. Outside, the music of Bon Jovi was blasting while the ref called a foul. It quit after three beats of the bass, letting Amber's screeching moan be heard for a split second before the crowd took over again.
I could feel my dick bumping the end of her vagina, my arms wrapped around hers and clutching her shoulders. I could hear my hips crashing into her ass with a wet smack. I bent to her ear and, her hair gathered in one hand, I pulled her head back.
She kissed me, my dick thrusting into her pussy. My other hand clutched at her breasts. They were soft, gathering sweat between them, and fit my hand like a glove. I lifted her off the bench and into a standing position. Now curved like a sickle with her ass on my dick and her head nearly on my shoulder, I filled her with my flesh. Like a rapid fire weapon, I unleashed my fast thrusts upon her. She squealed from surprise or pain or pleasure. All is muddled in sex, there is nothing but passion. All other emotions muted into one red color, fueling the fire of lust.
Now the cold was gone off her back, replaced with a fire on her brow, drenching her back in hot sweaty rivers. It pooled in the valley of our bodies, mixing with the fruit of her pussy. Now she was flat on the floor of the locker room. I bent over her, ramming my dick inside of her, my hands on her shoulders. She lay with her head resting in her arms, her face screwed up, her mouth agape, her hair now bedraggled and falling abut her face like weed in a jungle.
"Do you like my pussy?"
"Yes," I gasped between thrusts.
"Oh, you like my pussy?"
"Yeah? You like it? Yeah! Yeah!"
I turned her over on her back, the sweat rolling off her like rain. I leaned into her, between her hands, and put my head against hers. I stared into her eyes. She struggled to hold them open, filled with tears, as I thrust my dick harder and farther into her pussy. I could feel her breath escaping into my mouth until, finally, she surrendered, letting out a long squeal and shutting her eyes. I could feel her body vibrate underneath be as she orgasmed, long and loud.
She rolled out from underneath me, sitting on my dick and within the space of a second, began riding me. I watched her breasts jump off her skin, splashing sweat into my eyes. Then, with moments left in the period, I came inside her. I pulled out and we lay there for a moment, waiting in the gathering cold for the spirit to leave us. Then we dressed, shivering and breathless, and slipped out the door.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/straight-sex/on-the-ice.aspx">On the Ice</a>