SOCCER—CHAPTER
TWELVE
This is subject to all the usual provisos:
Graphic sex follows.
I'm not responsible for you reading this if you are underage.
The contents are purely fiction and all characters are figments of my
imagination.
This story is copyrighted and any reproduction requires the explicit consent of
the author; i.e. me.
AIDS/HIV and other STD do not exist in my fiction but do in reality-if you
attempt to live the lifestyle depicted please take precautions.
"If you lack the maturity to grasp this disclaimer, then
under no circumstances read this story without guidance of someone more mature
(to quote Deirdre)."
© 2007: This work may not be reproduced in any format or
medium without the permission of the author.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Being a
much bigger club my team in
The first
time I noticed Beate was among a flock of adolescents after a youth game. I
think the club had given out free passes to boost the crowd. After we showered
and changed there were a hundred or so teenagers, slightly more girls than
boys, waiting outside the locker room between us and the bus. As we made our
way to the coach they cheered and patted us, and some shoved pieces of paper or
notebooks to sign.
I pretty
much ignored the whole thing since I was one of the less known players, but
someone grabbed by elbow.
“Bitte!
Holden!” shouted a voice, “Kannst du unterschreiben?” She pushed an autograph
book and pen into my hands. I was pleased just to be recognized. She looked
pretty like a typical schoolgirl and initially not all that pretty. A squarish
face with a pointed jaw and marred by a couple of pimples. She wore glasses and
her nose was thin and angular. Her black hair was long and tied back and
braided into two ragged plaits that framed her face. Still I was pumped that
someone knew who I was.
“Wie
heißen Sie?”
“Beate.”
I wrote in
English ‘To Beate’ and scrawled my name on the empty page of the notebook and
gave it back.
“Dankeshön
Holden” she swooned.
“Verdammt
Autogrammjägerin!” swore the unlovable Karsten knocking the autograph book out
of her hand. I picked it up and gave it back to girl.
* * *
The next
time I saw her was one of those dark wet evenings. I’d eaten with some of the
other foreign youngsters and we had a mandatory German lesson. I was planning
on walking the few blocks home but at the exit of the fence around the stadium
were three or four figures. One of them was Beate, bundled up in a thick anorak
against the Artic cold.
“Das
gehört dir.” She pushed a small package into my arms and ran off into the
shadows.
When I got
home I looked at the package. It was in a plastic bag to protect it from the
rain, and inside was a book-size box wrapped in yellow paper. There was a card
that I opened. Inside I read “Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag!
Leidenschaftliche Liebe, Beate.” I had to get a dictionary out to translate:
Best wishes on your birthday, with deep love, Beate.
Inside the
package were two types of cookies, chocolate chip and something from oatmeal. I
ate a couple. I hadn’t even remembered it was my birthday. I pretty much
finished the lot off before bed.
“You have a
fan,” observed Frank the next morning looking over the card, shreds of wrapping
paper and crumbs in the cookie tin.
“I guess.”
* * *
A couple
of weeks later, it must have been late October or early November, I was
trudging home around eight. There was a bus shelter on the street outside the
apartment I shared with Frank but my roommate was out of town playing a game in
As I ran
past the bus stop a female voice cried out for to wait in German: “Wartezeit”
I turned
and peered into the inky shadow of the shelter.
“Was zum
Teufel...?” What’s going on, I asked. There was silence. “Wer ist da?” I tried
again, asking who was there.
After a
moment of silence a plaintive voice said “Beate.” She emerged from the shadows,
her hair matted down from the rain and shivering despite the thick navy-blue
anorak.
“Was ist
los?” I asked her what was going on. She didn’t say anything. The rain streaked
across her face.
“Come,” I
commanded and headed toward my front door. I pulled out my key ring and
searched for the key. I could hear the click of shoes on the pavement behind
me.
“Herein!”
I said once I got the door open and gestured for her to go. I followed her in,
hit the light switch, and shut the door behind us.
Beate
stood shedding a pool of water around her feet. I was doing the same. What I
thought were pimples weren’t. Well some of them were, but she had a freckled
complexion.
“Kann ich
Ihren Mantel nehmen?” She unzipped her anorak and handed it to me. I hung it up
with mine in the closet.
“Do you
speak English?” I asked.
“Some
little… “ she said hesitantly.
“Would you
like some hot chocolate?” She nodded. I put the kettle on and found a couple of
mugs. While I waited for the water to boil I went back and checked on her.
Beate was still standing by the front door. I sat on the couch and asked her to
join me. She sat in one of the easy chairs opposite.
“What can
I do for you?”
She had a
plastic bag in her lap and opened it. Out came a replica shirt for the club I
played with. Unfolding it I saw it had the number the team had assigned me at
the beginning of the season. 37. Definitely not close to the first team. The
shirts were expensive, fifty or sixty bucks in the stadium store plus she had
to pay for the numbers to be ironed on.
“Can you…”
she struggle for the word and went to German, “ …unterschrift?”
I shook my
head to indicate I didn’t understand. She was flush and carefully formed her
words as tried again, “ …signatur.” I nodded in the affirmative.
She wasn’t
wearing glasses this evening. The kettle started whistling so I went back to
the kitchen and fixed the cocoa. When I got back she had laid the shirt on the
coffee table and was sitting on the couch. I looked her over as I put the mugs
down. She was wearing white knee socks and a plaid skirt pinned with an
oversized safety spin. She wore a dark blue v-neck sweaty and a white boys
shirt under it. Obviously a school uniform. I tried to guess her age and
figured she was 15 or maybe 16. She was plain but also kind of cute.
“Do you
have a pen?”
She nodded
and went to the closet and searched through the pockets of her coat. She
shivered as she proffered a thick felt pen.
“Are you
cold?” Beate nodded. I felt the wool sleeve of her sweater. It was damp from
the rain.
“Can I
take your sweater?” She looked at me blankly. I searched for the word, “
…Pullover?”
She nodded
and pulled the sweater over her head. As she struggled to free her head I noticed
that the moisture had seeped onto her shirt and these stuck to her skin. The
white outline of her bra was visible through the damp patches. Beate had small
but noticeable breasts. I took the sweater when she freed herself from it and
laid it on a dry towel on the radiator. I could see she was still shivering and
turned up the thermostat before sitting down.
I signed
my name flamboyantly on the back of the shirt. Beate carefully folded it up and
put it back in the plastic shopping bag. I handed her a mug of cocao. I wondered
what she was doing here. More I questioned why I had invited her in. She didn’t
seem much older than Zair or Lindy and that had landed me in trouble. Beate had
this puppy-dog look when she glanced at me.
“Mögen Sie
“Yes.” I
said slowly. “I do like you.”
Beate put
her mug down on the table and hugged me around the neck. She kissed my cheeks
enthusiastically and found my mouth. I clasp my arms around her shoulders and
kissed back. Beate was a good kisser. She had plump soft lips but didn’t press
them hard against mine. Her tongue tantalizingly probed but didn’t force itself
deeply into me.
Her legs
didn’t have much flesh and while she was bony Beate wasn’t as bony as Zarah.
She let me stroke her thigh under the tartan skirt but firmly closed her legs
when my hand ventured too high. She rubbed my chest urgently through my
sweatshirt. I fondled her breasts and met with less resistance though she
stopped me when I tried to undo a button. Then her wristwatch bleeped.
“What is
it?” I asked.
“Nine
hour. I… Ich muß gehen.” She had to leave. “Can I here come tomorrow?”
I thought
for a second. Frank would be back but since it was Friday he was likely to go
out in the evening. I nodded assent.
“I come
here five hour?”
Frank would
still be around, so probably that wasn’t a good idea.
“Maybe we
should go to dinner. At six?” I gave the name of a pizza place that wasn’t too
far away. Beate grinned at the invitation.
She tucked
her shirttails into her skirt and fussed with her sweater. I noted she had a
tight little ass. I helped her put on her coat.
The
weather outside was still horrible. She started down the path with the hood
covering her head.
“Beate,
bitter,” I called out after her, “Wie alt bist du?”
She turned
around. “Siebzehnjährig.”
Seventeen
years old. She didn’t look it. And that was over the age of consent.
* * *
We met for
pizza the next evening. Beate was wearing her school uniform, only a green
sweater instead of the blue one. She was a year and half away from finishing
high school; there the normal graduation age was nineteen. Beate knew a lot
about me and asked me questions about
She had an
older brother and sister but they were much older and no longer lived at home.
Her parents had had her late; her father was some kind of businessman and her
mother worked part-time. The family holidayed in
We
struggled a little to communicate since neither of us had a command of each
other’s language. Her English was better once she lost her nervousness though
the syntax was a little awkward. I’m sure my German was equally awkward. But we
laughed a lot communicating and she had an infectious laugh.
When we left
the pizza parlor we headed back to my apartment on autopilot. Seamlessly Beate
slipped her arm through mine. She was five six or seven, a few inches shorted
than me, and her head came above my shoulder. We totted down the wet pavement.
Frank was
still there. I could hear him singing in the upstairs bathroom. He was a
gregarious character with a penchant to singing opera. Frank was also a bit of
a dandy. I was nervous about how he’d react to me bringing a girl home. And
then it occurred to me that Frank rarely brought anyone home, though he’d
stayed out all night a few times. Was I violating club rules by having mixed
company? Maybe Frank was gay?
I fixed
some cocoa while Beate loitered in the kitchen. We didn’t keep much food about
the place since Frank and I both ate at the club facilities.
“What have
you here?” boomed Frank. He was all spiffed up for a night on the town and
winked at me when Beate wasn’t looking.
I
introduced them to each other. They wandered off to the living room and I could
hear them speaking German too fast for me to understand. Frank into the kitchen
as I was pitching boiling water into the mugs.
“You boys
and girls have fun.” He winked at me again.
Beate and
I sat uncomfortably sipping our drinks. But when I put my hand on her knee she
slipped easily into my arms. Our kissing got kind of sloppy but like I said
before Beate was a great kisser. She pawed my chest and let me slip a hand
under her shirt. Her breast were tiny, barely bumps on her chest. They were
also very soft, almost watery, in my hand. I squeezed them through her bra and
was able to slip my pinkie into a cup. There I found a rock hard round nipple.
It felt smooth against the rough skin of my finger.
I bent to put
it in my mouth. Beate let me nibble the erect nipple through her shirt. I had
pulled the little hill out from the bra-cup but she still had on her shirt.
When I tried to undo a button and make direct contact she pushed me back. We
went back to smooching and I felt her legs under her wool skirt. Again when I
got close to my destination she blocked my progress. I played it cool and
started kissing her neck and face.
Her
wristwatch alarm went off and she pushed me away. It was nine-thirty.
“I must to
home now,” she explained simply.
She used
the bathroom to smooth out her hair and wash her face. I sat on the sofa
waiting for my throbbing hard-on to die down. It felt like I was back in
She
promised to call me Sunday.
* * *
Communicating
on the phone proved more difficult, there’s something about face-to-face
contact that lowers language barriers, but I was able to work out that Beate
couldn’t see me until the next weekend. During the week I realized I really
liked her. She wasn’t the most beautiful girl, Belinda back in
Frank
teased me about Beate in a good-natured way. While it put me on the defensive
it also made more protective or attracted to her. Beate called again in the
middle of the week to confirm we’d meet Friday at the same pizza restaurant as
before. It struck me that maybe Beate was a virgin; maybe that was why she was
somewhat coy. I didn’t even know how to ask her that in German, and doubt if
“losing your cherry” was something covered in her English class. I asked Frank
for his advice.
I was
waiting when Beate got there. I was a little disappointed that she didn’t come
alone. Her friend was a schoolmate, a plump and rather ugly girl called Renate,
who didn’t speak English. I couldn’t work out why she was there. We ate and the
two girls seemed to be cracking jokes about me that I didn’t understand, and
giggling. I was getting quite frustrated if not a little bit angry. After the
meal Beate said she had go home with Renate but would call me later. All that
did was make me more upset and I went home in a pretty pissed off mood.
She did call
late that night. She sensed I was angry but her explanation did a lot to
placate me. She was spending the weekend with Renate and her parents were going
out of town tomorrow. Beate couldn’t risk not being at Renate that night since
her parents were sure to check. Tomorrow the girls had devised some elaborate
ruse, that I didn’t quite understand, for Beate to be free tomorrow. What time
could we meet?
We settled
for three in the afternoon at the downtown market. I’d been there once: it was
an area that was blocked off for pedestrians. We’d meet in front of the church.
* * *
On
Saturday we wandered around the old town and then Beate took me down the trails
of a riverside park that abutted the town center. This was the first time I’d
seen Beate wearing anything other than her school uniform. She still wore a
skirt, a maxi one with a grey-cream pattern, and an Icelandic wool sweater
underneath a fleece jacket. Beate also didn’t have her hair braided, instead
having it pulled back. For the first time she also wore make-up, a pale rouge
lipstick and powder. All this—her dress and hair—made her seem older.
It was a
bright cloudless day but a harsh Artic wind soon had us chilled to the bone.
Beate suggested we go back to my place. We warmed up slightly on the bus out to
the stadium and started freezing on the walk from the bus stop to my home. The
first-team were playing away that evening so Frank wouldn’t be back till
morning. We got some take-out dinner on the way to have something to eat.
We munched
on the kebabs and watched the game on television. Frank came on at half time
and the club pulled back a two-goal deficit to tie the game. It was pretty
exciting to watch but we found enough time to play kissy-kissy in the dull
spots. The game was over close to ten. I thought she’d want to leave so I tried
to distract her by holding her tight and kissing her. She let me massage both
her nipples through the rough wool sweater and bra and was amazed how they
could transform from flaccid flesh to hard nubs with the slightest touch.
After
half-an-hour of this she went to the bathroom. I expected her to clean up and
leave, and that thought seemed confirmed when she started rifling through the
closet by the front door. My raging erection had only half calmed down and I
felt blue-balled again.
“Hold-en,”
I heard a voice behind me. She always said my name with a curious inflection.
Beate was standing on the first step holding her backpack in one hand. “Wollen
Sie Obergeschoß mit mir?”
Silently I
accepted her invitation and followed her upstairs to my room.
* * *
Beate was
already sitting on the bed and untying the laces of her boots. While she was
looking stoic I detected nervousness in the difficulty she was having undoing
the knots. I felt pretty nervous too. She looked up exasperated and smiled when
I bent down to help her. She ruffled my hair in thanks when I extracted her
foot from the problem boot.
She stood
up when I did and started unbuttoning my shirt. Beate had a thing about my
chest hair and let her fingers flow through the strands. I kissed her lightly
on the forehead.
“Have you
done this before?” I asked in English.
“Bitte?”
I tried
again in German: “Haben Sie dies vor gemacht?”
“Was?”
I tried to
think of the words Frank has added to my vocabulary earlier in the week. I couldn’t
think of a delicate way to ask but I tried in English. “Are you a virgin?”
Beate
looked puzzled and silently mouthed the word ‘virgin’ trying to get her lips
around it. I tried in German knowing it sounded grotesque and crass. “Hast du
Jungfernhäutchen?”
Beate
looked down. I thought it was with embarrassment but she was smiling when she
looked back, almost like she was suppressing a giggle.
“Nien… und
sie?”
I shook my
head.
“Gut!”
Beate declared. She started pulling my shirt out of my pants and took it off my
back. She lay down on her side on the bed. I kicked off my shoes and lay facing
her. We started kissing again. I was half naked and Beate’s hands were all over
my upper torso. She was still fully clothed but I was able to get my hands
under her sweater and caress her breasts. It was tight under the sweater and
eventually she pulled it off but kept her bra on. I nuzzled her nipples through
the nylon cups and started working on thighs. When I got close to her panties
she grabbed my butt and pulled me closer.
It stopped
my hands getting to her crotch but it also meant my erection pushed against it.
Beate unbuttoned my jeans and half unzipped the fly. My meat strained to be
released. We kept kissing and feeling over each other’s bodies. I got the straps
of her bra off her shoulders and exposed her breasts. Beate’s tits were tiny; I
could squeeze the whole volume of each into the gap between my thumb and
forefinger and point the nipple into my mouth. She had tiny aureoles, almost as
pale as her skin and like a boys’. Her nipples were small and hard and hurt
when I bit them with my teeth.
Beate was
haphazardly rubbing my groin. Most of my privates were still shrouded in jeans
and underwear, but the top couple of inches of my prick were exposed. Deliberately
Beate seemed to avoid making direct contact with the hard flesh. Her rib cage
seemed tiny and thin. My hands reached the belt of her skirt and struggled.
Beate reached behind and unhooked and unzipped it at the back and wiggled out
of it. She was wearing panties that matched her discarded bra.
I kissed
her flat belly and tickled her navel with the tip of nose. Beate was tousling
my hair and rubbing my neck. My fingers gripped the elastic waistline of her
panties and pulled them down, revealing a thin patch of dark public hair. It
was almost as scant as Zarah’s and for a moment I thought Beate lied about her
age. Inspecting it closer I could see the roots were thick but her bush neatly
trimmed. Her legs remained locked closed but from between who thighs I could
see her clitoris’ hood. I stroked around it at the apex of her pubic patch.
“Haben Sie
mit vielen Mädchen geschlafen?” she asked. I counted the number of girls I’d
fucked in my head.
“Vier.”
For some reason I said four and then wondered which was the one I wanted to
forget. “Und sie?”
“Mädchen?”
She laughed. “Keine Mädchen… Zwei männer.” No girls, but two men. She started
pulling down my pants and underwear. My thing flopped out and she stared at it
as shook of my remaining clothes.
“Das ist
so groß!” she exclaimed. I got a kick of her being impressed with my size. Her
eyes narrowed.
“Erschrickt
es Sie?” I asked if the bigness frightened her.
She shook
her head but then said “Ein wenig…” some. She frowned and then said almost
defiantly, “Wollen Sie ficken?”
Did I want
fuck?
“Yes,” I
said plainly in English.
Beate sat
up on the bed and pulled down her panties from mid-thighs and started looking
for something in her backpack. I could see her profile and just the hint of
curvature of her breasts, the nipples pointy and aggressive. She pulled out a
condom package. She tossed into my hands, “Sie müssen dies tragen.”
I
struggled to open the foil and while I was fumbling she took it from my hand.
Carefully she placed the latex disk and rolled it down the length of my dick.
She smiled when she had finished. It was the first time she touched it directly
with her hands.
I took her
wrist and pulled her me. She fell easily on top of me. I kissed her cheek and
neck and then we lip-locked, our tongues swirling round one another. I caressed
her buttocks and felt between her legs. She was dripping wet.
Still
kissing her I rolled on top of her. I pressed my cock into her crotch but it
slid atop her pubic ridge. I tried again but couldn’t find my aim. I reached
down and held the base of my prick and blindly directed into where I thought
her opening should be. It caught and slid into canal. Beate gasped as I entered
her and her nails tore my back.
The whole
seven-plus inches were embraced in that first thrust. There was no reluctant
tightness—just the firm grip of her cunt muscles on my member. Somehow I sensed
I had to go slow. Beate didn’t want to be fucked; she wanted us to make love.
And so we did.
I pushed
in and out of her with gentle strokes. Beate’s body heaved with mine,
to-and-fro. Her nails tore at my back while I bit her shoulder and nuzzled her
ear. I tweaked her nipples and that made her gasp. My other arm wrapped behind
one shoulder and clasp the other. We kissed and could judge the urgencies our
bodies needed. I moved into faster, feeling the glow of her desire
intensifying. Her body quivered and then shuddered and she clung onto me
harder. Her tension fed into mine and I started fucking her harder, I could
tell she was close to coming and realized I was too.
I watched
her upper lip curl, as is in slow motion, over the thicker lower one, the
lipstick slightly smeared from all our kissing, her front teeth then bit her
fleshy lip. Her hands no longer clawed me but were fisted and beating a tattoo
on my back that matched the deepest thrust of my prick. Her eyes rolled over
and she yelped as the first of four or five automated climatic thrusts of my
dick machined into her, spilling seed into the latex sack at the end of the
rubber.
Our timing
innately matched. Our bodies entwined, slick with sweat, and cooled as one.
* * *
“War das
gut?” Beate asked.
We were
lying on our backs and her headed rested in the crook of my arm.
“Yes…” I
exhaled satisfied. “Was it good for you?”
“Ja… das am
besten.” Beate snuggled even closer to me. I tried to count the freckles on her
shoulder. There were small ones and large ones scattered like constellations on
pale skin. Some were black and some were reddish.
Beate’s
reached for my groin. My dick was limp but stirred as she touched. She pulled
back the sheets and examined my groin. The condom loosely sheathed my member
and she carefully removed, tying the opening in a knot. She pulled a blanket
around her, modestly, and went to the bathroom. I heard her tinkle and then the
faucets being turned on. It seemed to be five minutes before she came back and
nested on the sheets.
She was
completely naked except for a gold chain with a cross. It shimmered in the
half-light of the bedroom. As I played with it the base of the cross just
touched her tiny placid nipples when I stretched the chain, stirring them
awake. Beate giggled as the sharp edge scratched the delicate flesh. As they
got harder I pressed them between my fingers. I grabbed what I could of her
breasts, they were so tiny that it was hard, and began to kiss her nipples.
“Was
machen Sie?” I thought it was pretty obvious what I was wanted to do. Still
alternating the suckling of her breast I ventured to her groin. Before she
pushed me away I was able to dab a finger between her lower lips and
ascertained she was getting wet. While she didn’t like me touching her there
Beate didn’t have a problem rolling me on top of her. My dick was hard and
pressed against her thigh just above Beate’s knee. I nuzzled her breasts and
then slowly scooted up to kiss her chin and then her lips. Her tongue darted
into my mouth. My hard-on rested at the top of her thigh with the tip nestling
in her short, sharp public hair. I tried to steer it toward her opening.
“Nien!”
she exclaimed as I pushed between her lower lips. Fumbling on the floor she got
another condom, ripped open the package and gave me the protection. I rolled
down the length of my prick. It was lubricated and left a slightly oily scent
on my fingertips.
Rolling
back on top of her I entered her. Again there was almost no resistance and my
tool penetrated into her.
“Sie
füllen
Beate
grasped my buttocks and tried to heave me deeper into her. I pulled back to
only the helmet of my prick nestled in the folds of her plush labia and slowly
inserted it all the way back in. I waited, counting to three, and then
laboriously almost extracted myself from again before implanting my meat into
her. Each inward and outward stroke took four or five seconds. With each
deliberate plunged I resisted the urge to stab hard and fast, instead relishing
in the feel of her lubricated cunt. She gripped my buttocks harder and I could
feel her nails cutting wheals into their surface.
“Schneller!”
implored Beate. I picked up the pace gradually. I could feel her canal and the
latex ripple as the sandwiched my pulsating prick. Beate was tingling at my
exertion and her breathing speeded up with my movement. I was dropping sloppy
kisses on her face but she started writhing and swinging her head from
side-to-side.
Her hips
started bucking against me and I clawed at her shoulders to keep riding her.
“Ach
Gott!… ach Gott!” she squealed as orgasms hit her, “Ach Gott Härter!”
My prick
was sliding as fast as I go but with each down-thrust Beate pulled me harder
into her. The load was boiling up inside me and was about to explode.
“Ach ja!”
Beate cried out, “Ja! Ja!” And I erupted into her.
I rolled
onto the mattress beside her. Her cunny tried grip me close and almost pulled
the condom off. Beate rolled onto her side and rested her head on her hand and
twirled chest hairs between her fingers. I stroked her fizzled black hair and
pulled it behind her ear.
“Was that
good?” I asked her.
“Das war
sogar besser.” The second time was even better.
* * *
Beate and I
slept together. I really relished doing that; there is an intimacy in waking up
and hearing a lover breathing, mumbling and stirring in their dreams. Most of
the night she lay on her front with her head pillowed by my armpit while I
rested on my back. In the middle of the night we both woke up and did it again.
It was the third time in a row in the same missionary position but it didn’t
seem old. Each time I picked up different nuances in the way she wrapped her
body around mine and pulled me into her.
In the
morning I wanted to have sex again, but we’d used all the condoms that Beate
had brought. We showered together and while I try to initiate some safe action
by placing my mouth to her sex she would have none of it. I’d find that there
were some things she was strictly conventional about, though in other ways
Beate was quite adventuresome.
In the late morning I walked her
home. Her parents were due back after lunch and she showed me around her house
after I promised to leave soon. It was obvious her parents were well off. The
house was in a wooded suburb and protected from the street by a gate and high
hedges. It was mock Tudor with rich furnishings and antiques. Beate’s room was
neat and organized, but there was a closet that she opened to reveal a desk and
posters typical of a teenager: rock bands, fashion ads, a photo of me from a
game program, and the shirt I had autographed. We hung out in her room and
necked until she started getting nervous that her folks would come home.