Secret Mascot

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

I fell in love with Dani Reilly before I ever met her, and long before I had any inkling of her seriously kinky proclivities – or even my own.

I moved to this Midwestern suburb from upstate New York just prior to my last year of high school, practically the day I turned eighteen in fact. It had been the home of my wealthy grandparents. As their only descendant other than my dissolute father (whom they’d long since disowned) they’d left me everything.

This amounted to a fantastic house and an array of dependably lucrative investments, plus bank accounts and trust funds in the millions of dollars. The estate was structured however in a manner designed as much as possible to keep my parents from getting their hands on it – or even me from doing the same until I was mature enough not to be corrupted by it.

My asshole old man had been raised with every possible advantage. In consequence, he became a lazy, shiftless drunkard addicted to every vice conceivable. He also had an attitude of arrogant entitlement that made him habitually abusive. My mother was little better, and once cut off from the gravy train they’d succeeded in swiftly impoverishing us. My grandfather had hoped growing up poor would teach me some responsibility, and lead to a proper appreciation for my inheritance when it finally materialized. And of course, he wanted it to still be there for me when that time came. Thus it was that I got nothing until I turned eighteen, whereupon I suddenly came into possession of the house, a trust to cover my college education, an initial sum of ten thousand dollars and a living allowance of two thousand a month. The rest is still being withheld (and accruing interest) until I turn twenty-one.

The first thing I did was move the eleven hundred miles here to Centerville and cut off all ties. Still sporting the black eye I received as a parting gift from my father, I then bought my first computer, a TV and entertainment center and a whole new wardrobe. Then I enrolled in the local high school to start my senior year, and hopefully establish some kind of social life for once.

Alas, new clothes and resources do not immediately make for a new man. I was still rather short and slender; good-looking enough but not in any ruggedly masculine way. And as a result of being bullied all my life by both my domineering parents and contemptuous classmates I’ve always been meek and shy, devoid of any personal assertiveness or social graces. I was the original dateless wonder: cut from every sporting team I tried out for, rejected by every prospective girlfriend and ostracized as a ‘fag’ and ‘sissy’ even though I’ve never doubted my exclusive heterosexuality for an instant. They say there’s no such thing as a geographical cure, and apparently that’s as true for personality and socialization as it is for addiction. Even out from under the shadow of poverty and parents and with practically unlimited financial prospects, I soon found high school the same lonely, friendless ordeal as before. In fact it was even worse in some ways. This was the Midwest, where football was king. My preferred sport, soccer, was considered effeminate and even politically suspect: too European, smacking of socialism, worldliness and sophistication, part of that whole elitist, intellectually subversive plot to undermine American values. When it became known I was an Easterner and atheist too, forget about it. I considered myself lucky to get through each day without being lynched.

So school was out when it came to developing a social life. And in fact it seemed much of the entire community also revolved around the high school – at least one aspect of it. As I said, this was the Midwest, where football was king. People cared about their high school teams to a degree that was astonishing to me.

The local sportscasts actually led with the scores of teenagers bashing their heads together. Granted, the nearest NFL franchise was over a hundred miles away, but high school football even took precedence over the nearby university team. Of course, this particular squad wallowed in the dregs of Division II, so perhaps people wished it would just go away rather than continuing to embarrass them. On the other hand I grew up in Buffalo Bills country, where the fan base remained truly fanatical despite decades of the cruelest disappointment. It was all a mystery to me in any case. But then almost as an afterthought one night the local sportscast reported that the women’s college soccer team had just won its twelfth straight game going back to last season, and hopes were high that they might repeat as champions. It seemed they had a remarkably dynamic midfielder who was proving her scintillating freshman year had been just a foretaste of what was to come.

Well, Cade State University was a little less than ten miles from my fabulous new house. Tired of rattling around its dozens of empty rooms like the last peanut in a multi-chambered can, I jumped at the excuse to get out and mingle with some other people, particularly people who might share some of my interests for a change. The next home game was Saturday afternoon. I spruced up, hopped on a bus and soon enough was paying a token five bucks for admittance to Cade Field, one of only a few hundred spectators interested in seeing this championship team and its sparkplug sophomore strut their stuff.

I wasn’t disappointed.

Though small the crowd was knowledgeable and boisterous, friendly and eager to welcome anyone interested in both the sport and the team. It was also about eighty percent female. And among the families and contingents from local youth and high school teams there were plenty of attractive college girls there too, who generally responded to my questions, remarks, and conversational sallies with forbearance and even enthusiasm. Of course, it helped that Cade State put in a superb performance from start to finish, lending an element of euphoria to the proceedings. I learned the team’s history as a perennial powerhouse, the identity of their major rivals, heard all about the various merits and shortcomings of the coaching staff, athletic department and other powers that be, and was naturally educated as well concerning the names and attributes of the leading players. Gratified as I was by this immediate acceptance however, and indeed enchanted by the willingness of good-looking girls my own age or even older to actually interact with me, I found myself by halftime hopelessly smitten by that celebrated midfield star everyone was talking most about.

As advertised number ten was a dominating presence.

A juggernaut that never stopped running, she was all over the field, pressing relentlessly forward on offense and tracking back tenaciously to defend, as bruising on the tackle as she was deadly in attack. Blessed with blazing speed, she also used her formidable strength, low center of gravity and implacable determination to outmaneuver and outmuscle much bigger defenders when she couldn’t just blow past them. She won every ball that came her way, and when she wasn’t terrorizing the opposing team with her inspired runs and blistering shot she carved them effortlessly up with her incisive and intelligent passing. She was both a brute force of nature and poetry in motion. And of course, she was wildly attractive to boot.

Her corn-rowed braids hung almost halfway down her back from where they were knotted at her nape, and with big, expressive features in her small dark face she was lovely even from a hundred feet away. Even tightly contained by a sports bra her breasts were distinctively protuberant, yet as I’ve indicated it was her tree-trunk legs and bulbous ass that really got to me. Before long I was fantasizing madly about her even as I shouted myself hoarse chanting her name along with the rest of the crowd.

“Dan-nee Reil-lee, Dan-nee Reil-lee, Dan-nee Reil-lee, Dan-nee Reil-lee!”

By the end of the game that little black dynamo had four goals in a six-nil win and was clearly the player of the game despite being only a sophomore. When I saw her stop on her way to the locker room to sign autographs for a gaggle of young girls I hurried down to lurk behind them, eager for a closer look.

From fifteen feet away Dani was even more stunning than I’d imagined. She was the most attractive black girl I’d ever seen. And I do mean black – she was extremely dark-skinned, seeming even more so against her white uniform, muddy and grass-stained as it was. Her teeth too shone shockingly white in the huge smile she kept flashing, and for some reason this stirred me even further. Perhaps it was more rebellion against my parents – my father was a confirmed racist who couldn’t see a black man on TV (particularly the president) without reeling off a string of drunken curses and slurs. As far as I was concerned, the blacker the girl who’d won my heart, the better. In any event I eased closer as she signed programs, jerseys, ticket stubs and other items, always with a personal word for each admirer.

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Laura.”

“What’s your favorite position?”

“Forward.”

“You like to score, huh?”

“I sure do!”

“Me too. Here you go.”

“Thank you so much!”

Dirty-minded me, I had my own answers to those questions rolling around my head. I loved to score – or at least I would with her, or almost anyone else for that matter, virgin that I was. And my favorite position would be whatever she dictated: missionary, doggy-style, but particularly female superior, with Dani Reilly flashing that brilliant smile down at me while she straddled my hips with those amazingly muscular haunches and rode me like a rented pony. Oh she was so hot, and yet friendly and approachable to her fans: humble, gracious and infectiously vivacious. Instantly charmed as well as further impressed and aroused by her I watched until she at last finished up and jogged off to the showers, not quite daring to join the queue myself. I needed to learn (and dream) about her a whole lot more before I risked even the most inconsequential approach. Far more than just infatuated, I hurried home and fired up my new computer, eager to discover everything I possibly could about this incredible woman.

I began my research with f*******:, where it seemed she was quite free with information and friended every fan that cared to submit a request. She also corresponded quite intimately with many people of both sexes and all races, which was encouraging as well. More encouraging still was that she gave no hint of a boyfriend anywhere. I continued by searching through school websites and news and sports publications, finding a great many local and even a few national articles including several in-depth profiles and extended interviews. Everything I read about her seemed designed to entice and encourage my naïve dreams.

It seemed despite our differences in race and age we had much in common. She was raised in poverty like me, though in the city rather than the suburbs. Another only child, her father was serving a lengthy prison term and her mother lived on government support. Dani made no secret of her estrangement from both of them, and behind the disappointment she expressed in her parents I sensed the same differences that had motivated me to move far away as soon as I came of age. She was at school on a full soccer scholarship naturally enough, and studying psychology. She was interested in a career in social work once her playing days were done, and dreamed of being selected in the Women’s Professional Soccer league draft and for the US national team like her idol Natasha Kai.

Well, suddenly I knew where I wanted to go to college myself, and what my major would be. I hadn’t given much thought to a career beyond dreams of someday becoming a paleontologist, which had been rather scuttled by my inability to pass even introductory Latin. In truth, I was in no necessity to settle on anything right away thanks to my inheritance. And Cade State might not be Harvard or Yale, but it had something no other school in the country could boast: the enchanting Dani Reilly. From their website I downloaded and printed out the necessary applications, and promptly began filling them out. Then I began pursuing all other avenues in my extremely unlikely quest to court the girl of my dreams, whom I’d only known about a few days and seen in the flesh once.

I established my own f*******: page and submitted a friend request. This was promptly confirmed, giving me a grand total of one friend – the only one I wanted. Then I began attending every Cade State soccer game within travelling distance, becoming a fixture in the crowd and their most ardent fan. It seemed after every home game (and even the away ones where it was indicated) Dani lingered to sign autographs. Finally, I summoned the guts to get one myself, and at last meet this dream girl face to face if only in the most perfunctory fashion.

First I chose the most flattering on-line photo of her in action. I re-sized this to fit on a standard sheet of paper, printed it out and fitted it into a clipboard with a folding cover to take to the game. After yet another resounding victory I waited behind the usual crowd of breathless teen and pre-teen girls. As the last ones were dispersing I hurried forward, flipping open the picture and holding it out. My hands were trembling and my heart pounding, and I stumbled through my carefully rehearsed approach.

“Um…hi, Miss Reilly. Could I... I mean to say, may I have your autograph too? I’m a huge fan, and I can’t wait to see you on the national team some day.”

“Sure.”

Dani didn’t banter with me or even ask my name as she did with the kids. She didn’t honor me with any personalized message or even make eye contact – she merely gripped the bottom of the clipboard, momentarily linking us through an inanimate object as she would eventually do so often, and scrawled her name across the photo.

“Thank you so much!” I gushed.

“Sure,” she said again, and jogged off.

So much for our first inauspicious contact. I watched her go until she was out of sight, treasuring the size of her active thighs and butt. Then I hurried home, deliberately not even glancing at the photo that held her likeness and signature until I was sprawled naked on my enormous new bed. Then I held this in one hand and gripped myself in the other. Avidly devouring her image (both that on the signed paper before me and the one in my memory of her jogging away from me) I jerked myself quickly to orgasm, crying out her name as I climaxed. From then on this would be a daily occurrence.

The rest of the season passed in a fever of euphoria for me, as Dani Reilly once again led Cade State to the division championship. I no longer even cared that I was ostracized at school and lonely at home. I had acceptance at the soccer games, the shared exuberance of the drive to the title and my worshipful adoration of Dani, albeit at a distance, to keep me going. After that winter followed, and basketball season. While not the dominating force she was on the soccer field, Dani was still an effective part of the team, and I duly went once again to every game to see her in action and get my fantasy fix. I was cheered greatly by my routine acceptance to Cade State for the following year, and come spring I was once again a fixture at the more poorly attended track meets. Dani distinguished herself as a sprinter and miler both, a rarity, and my obsession with her deepened relentlessly. Finally, after an interminable summer, I arrived on campus to begin my freshman year, and the pursuit of the girl of my dreams in earnest.