Monday Night Football

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This story is completely factual. Since it happened over 3 decades ago, some of the details are a little hazy, but the overall “thing” itself is still crystal clear in recollection.

November, 1980. I was 22 years old, living in an apartment with a couple buddies in my hometown. I would be moving to Texas in 4 months, but didn’t know it at the time. What I did know, what I lived and breathed for, centered around partying and sports.

It was the 6th year in a row that I had season tickets to the Cleveland Browns games. I lived 90 minutes from there, on the Pennsylvania side of the Ohio border, but the majority of my relatives were from the Cleveland area, so I was a fan. Huge fan. So were many of my friends, 3 in particular who had season tickets with me. The 4 of us rode together, partied together, watched the games, partied some more, drove back together, usually late in the evening. Good times.

Our tickets were in the top row of the stadium at the 30 yard line. Behind our row, circling the stadium was a 4-ft tall concrete retaining wall. Glancing over the wall, one would be looking at the vast expanse of Lake Erie.

We liked our seats for several reasons. We could stand whenever we wanted, with no concern of obstructing the view of someone behind us. No one was behind us, except for the seagulls. They usually weren’t into the games, just the crumbs and morsels left behind.

It was the 70s, the 80s, it was a different, looser time. We smoked joints during most of the games, sitting above the crowd of 80,000 fans. We blew the smoke behind us, but the breeze often came in from the lake, which blew our smoke down over the crowd below us. Not once in the 6 years we had season tickets did anyone say anything about us and what we were obviously doing.

We were much more into smoking than drinking, but we usually each had a flask for the games too. If nature called and we didn’t feel like (or were too stoned to) making the long trip down and up the steps to the restroom, we would mount the retaining wall and relieve ourselves right over and out of the stadium. That wasn’t a frequent ritual but it happened often enough that it was spoken as a perk to the location of our seats.

The game that is the focus of this event was a Monday Night Football affair. This was pre-cable, pre-satellite, pre-social media, and Monday Night games were still a huge attraction, the most watched game every week. Howard Cosell and Don Meredith called the games for ABC. Cult-legends.

The Browns were poised to take on the Bears in a hotly contested matchup. We all looked forward to it. A week or so before the game, one of my ticket buddies told us that he had family coming into town and they were going to the game too. They had endzone seats, which in those days were on long, wooden benches that were numbered and marked off for butt width. Close to the action, but the angle was poor and the seats were uncomfortable. He asked if we would consider swapping our season ticket seats for their endzone seats, just marmaris escort for that game. Sure, why not, so we agreed.

We left our hometown around 5:00pm and smoked our way to Cleveland, knowing it would be much more challenging to light up in the middle of the bleachers compared to our regular crow’s nest. The temp was in the low 70s when we departed, and none of us checked the Cleveland weather. A front was coming in from the lake, bringing light rain and a chilly wind. We weren’t prepared with the right clothing, but we each had a flask of killer homemade elderberry brandy.

We made our way to the endzone seats, just about right in the middle, surrounded by a raucous crowd spurred by a good season in progress by the Browns and the spectacle of Monday Night Football. It started getting much colder before kickoff, the wind kicking up, rain swirling and blowing around the stadium.

Sitting directly in front of us were 4 women, seemingly right around our age. They had blankets, lots of them. We had flasks filled with something that helped take the chill away. They asked us first, “What’s in the flasks?”

A buddy told them we had homemade brandy. The women huddled for a minute, whispering.

The brave one spoke, “We’ll share our blankets if you share your brandy.”

Prophetic. We were all in.

Here’s what we did. The women gave each of us a big, thick blanket. They had more for themselves, covering their laps. Then they leaned back into us individually, one woman for each guy, while we put the blanket over our shoulders and down over them as well, wrapping around the girls, creating 4 cocoons of warmth. We shared the brandy with them, huddling to keep each other warm. My partner was especially fond of the brandy, she was downing it in large gulps. It packed a wallop, though, and I wondered how she would react when the alcohol hit her.

Of the 4 guys, I was the least likely candidate for anything unusual to happen. I was 6’2″, around 185 pounds, average in every way, while my buddies were all high school football stars, one of them also playing college ball. I was the quiet one. The unassuming one. The one who didn’t get the girls.

Keep in mind that we were at a professional football game, literally surrounded by thousands of screaming fans.

The gal huddled up with me was cute, in a girl-next door way. She had medium dirty-blonde hair, blue eyes, around 5’4″, not particularly well-endowed. She seemed like she could be a tomboy; that is until I felt her hand behind her back, moving to my groin. Except for our heads, we were completely blanketed. What she was doing, only we knew, for a while.

It was a close game, but I wasn’t paying much attention to it. Instead, I was laser-focused on my blanket partner’s exploring hands. She found my hardening groin and began to rub me, rhythmically. Inside my jeans, I was rock hard. She turned her head and we kissed, long and deep. This was crazy!

Of course my hands started exploring too. I targeted her breasts first, kneading her marmaris escort bayan stiffening nipples, extolling moans of hunger from her moist lips. I was prepared to stop as soon as she stopped. But she didn’t stop. Neither did I.

She rubbed my thickness harder, vigorously, very needful. My hands explored lower. She spread her thighs, inviting my touch. I accepted, massaging her groin area, pressing the heel of my palm against her sensitive spots, igniting little cries of passion from her lips. Luck had landed me with the momentarily enthusiastic one of the small group of women. She took her enthusiasm to the next level.

I felt her tugging at my belt. No way was this happening! Not here, not in these circumstances! I looked around, no one was paying any attention to us, except for our other paired trio of friends, who kept stealing glances at me and my partner, looks of utter disbelief on their faces.

“Help me!” my partner in desire whispered in my ear.

I bit my lower lip, hoping no one, nobody, could tell what I was doing. I loosened my belt, undid the button, pulled down the zipper, and kinda wriggled the jeans down a couple of inches, creating a neat passageway for my partner to explore. And did she ever! Her hand sneaked right into the open space, inside my boxers, and started stroking my throbbing dick. I distinctly remember her whispering into my ear, “Oh God I’m burning up!”

She really started to squirm once I got her jeans unfastened and let my fingers explore her drenched heat. I found her g-spot with my index finger and massaged her clit with my thumb. She was coming unglued, leaning hard up against me, undulating in complete desire. She started to pull on my jeans, trying to get them a little bit lower. I helped her succeed. My cock sprang upward, which she stroked with escalating fascination.

“Let’s fuck,” she moaned into my ear. I was too far gone to consider the consequences. I helped lower her jeans and panties; she turned around to face me, scooted up and onto my throbbing dick, sinking down onto it slowly. Our 6 friends were distinctly aware of what was happening. They threw blankets on top of us; we were completely covered under a sea of stitching. She rode me like a wild woman with loud, vocal cries of pleasure. It didn’t last long. Quickly, I felt her pussy spasm like crazy, taking me over the edge with her. We exploded in orgasm together. Covered by a thick wall of blankets. Surrounded by thousands of people. We didn’t care. We were living out a fantasy, fueled by alcohol, zero inhibitions, and whatever was going on inside our hormonal minds.

Our coupling ended. She was collapsed on my lap. I could feel her hot breath on my neck, her arms clinging to my shoulders. It was hard for us to breathe. We had to come up for air. Hurriedly, we rearranged our clothing. She turned back around, sliding back down to her row, from mine. I shuffled blankets away from our heads. We popped up for air, like whack-a-moles in a carnival game.

I strained to look at the scoreboard escort marmaris to see what the heck was going on in the game. I heard boisterous applause, thinking the Browns might have just scored. People standing all around us, applauding. It took a couple of seconds for me and my blanket harlot to realize that no one was looking at the football field, they were looking at us. US!! WE were the subject of the cheering. She and I. WOW!!

Red-faced and sheepish from the crowd reaction plus the fact that we had just fucked in the middle of this sea of humanity, we couldn’t help but to smile along with everyone else. My buddy sitting next to me pounded my back. I was a rock star! A porn star! Me!! The unassuming one. I had just rocketed to the big time. This was bigger than big time. HUGE!!

My partner elbowed me in the knee, looking back at me, a bewildered look on her face. I don’t think she wanted this kind of recognition, but was willing to let it happen around her, around us. Funny thing is, I didn’t even know her name, nor she mine. She was probably the unassuming one in her group, like I was. For one brief moment in time, two modest, ordinary, shy, quiet, average people connected in a way that surpassed anything our much wilder friends could ever imagine. Unreal.

I barely remember the rest of the game. I do recall looking around at everyone, wondering what they had been thinking when my partner and I were doing the dirty deed. Shit, I was proud, damn proud of myself. We hugged when the game was over, but we still never exchanged our names. I think it was better that way. Completely anonymous.

During the ride home, all my buddies talked about was the new STUD in their midst. I was a hero, for the first time in my life I had earned recognition for doing something completely, awesomely insane. They wanted to know everything, so of course I told them. Joints were smoked in my honor. I was riding the pink cloud of a higher state of being. I was one of them, the cool crowd. Hell, I was king of the cool crowd!

Back home, I became a local celebrity among our peers. I didn’t tell anyone, my friends did all the talking for me. Most of the conversations started with, “You would not believe what Joe did at the game!” I embellished with details, glad to assist in my newfound glory.

A hilarious side note to the main event: apparently, when the crowd erupted in applause when my partner and I poked our heads from under the blankets, it was during a fairly quiet moment in the game. The Monday Night Football cameras actually scanned the crowd in the bleachers, seeking the cause of the crowd burst. I never found out if the camera zoomed in on us, but I’d like to believe it did, capturing Joe the Conquering Hero and his Conquest, the mousy-haired gal with no name, grinning in the after-glow of a hot bleacher fuck under the blankets.

Life changed for me that night. Funny thing is, it would never have happened if we hadn’t switched seats with my buddy’s family. Karma.

One more side note: I had as much pussy as I could handle until I decided to move out of state a few months later. Seems that the gals in my hometown, when they heard the story, decided they needed a piece of my action too. I was glad to oblige.

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