Dolly On the Sidelines

Dolly “On the Sidelines”

 

I’m a rarity in the stratosphere of elite club soccer – a volunteer coach.  “Paying it forward” became a way of life for me after law school, and honestly, I couldn’t have imagined a better reward than the fulfillment of coaching.  Meeting Dolly was a whole different kind of reward…..

 

I decided halfway through college at an elite Midwestern private university that I’d been given a set of unique gifts: a sharp analytical mind; an athletic body and a physical tool set that led to a full ride at a perennial Top-10 soccer school; enough charisma to keep me high on the school’s list of fund-raising assets; and a set of (I’ve been told repeatedly) stunning blue eyes in a reasonably handsome face.  When I decided, at 21, that law school was my future instead of professional soccer, it was clear to me that while soccer wasn’t a future for me, it clearly had put me on a track to a better way of life, and that “giving back” was an obligation.  Luckily, it soon became a passion.

 

Five years after law school, I’m 29, settled into a great job with a small but prestigious Dallas firm (thus maximizing my income but with reasonable hours for a young lawyer) and five years into coaching for one of the best boys soccer clubs in Texas.  The boys I coach are sixteen, prime college recruiting age, and we were in Orlando – Mickey’s House – for a five-day tournament involving some of the best  soccer teams in the country.  It’s a big-time event and well attended – who doesn’t want to make a family vacation out of a soccer tournament in Orlando.  I’d even scheduled four days at the end of the week for a little unwinding of my own.

 

Soccer tournaments are colorful events and this was no exception – 26 full-sized fields, 52 teams on the field and 52 warming up to play; referees, golf carts, sponsor flags, banners, concessions and countless spectators – mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, college coaches, and tourists.  It is a manic environment, not quite like a crowded central market in a third-world country, but close – lots of noise, continual movement, very crowded side-lines, and the occasional eruption of excited cheering when a team scored a goal or a ‘keeper made a great save.  

 

And it was girl-watching heaven.  Soccer moms, female college coaches, and the hangers-on at any event in a great location like Orlando, make for some of the best girl watching short of a July evening on the beaches of San Diego or a Playboy photo shoot. And as I would later learn, there needed to be a “big sister” category, too.  Tall, short; blonde, brunette and redhead; white, brown, olive, black and shades thereof; MILF, jock, ex-jock, surfer-babe and GND, they were all there, and dressed for winter in Florida – not a lot of skin showing, but no bulky coats and shapeless jackets either.  The mid-60’s weather contributed to an imagination-rich environment – tight tops with tight jeans and literally hundreds of nice-looking women straining their wardrobe to catch a little winter sun.  

 

I spotted Dolly the first day.   Even if I wasn’t a dedicated girl-watcher – and I am -- she would have been hard to miss.  She was tallish, blondish and beautiful (no “ish”).  Lime green runners’ shoes, straight-leg faded denims and a you-fill-in-the-blank triathlon t-shirt that was just tight enough to stop traffic but not tight enough to cause wrecks at the intersection.  The kind of woman that makes drop-dead-gorgeous an understatement – stunning is a better word.  She was walking toward us, confident, smiling, but searching the crowd for something.  She walked past me and the lads while they were dressing for warm-ups, and 19 heads turned as if on a single swivel.  It wasn’t a strut – one look at her and it was clear she understood intrinsically that she didn’t need to “strut”.  It was more of a “I-don’t-mind-that-you’re-staring-at-me” walk – you know, a couple steps beyond confident.

 

Normally, I would have said something edgy to the hormone-emboldened 16-year-old star-gazers, but my brain was in overdrive, and I was in no condition to speak.  Finally, 20 seconds later, as the faux-diamond encrusted pockets of Dolly’s jeans disappeared into the thick maze of the sidelines, I turned back to the lads.  Noticing that all 18 heads were staring into the crowd at the last remnants of Dolly’s blonde hair, I said “Put your tongues back in your mouth, Gentlemen, and let’s get ready.  You’ll never see her again, so we might as well take care of our own business.”   It was very cool that I was wrong….

 

We were staying at one of those mini-cites that Orlando calls hotels.  I get my workouts in wherever I go, and thought that a 5-miler down Mickey Blvd might be just the ticket, but decided in the end to hit the east fitness center at the hotel (as opposed to the “north” fitness center or the “west” fitness center).  I don’t like treadmills, but I don’t like running in traffic either, and it was high-tourist season out on the streets.  I choose the treadmill with a promise to myself to run at the soccer complex tomorrow to avoid the treadmill/traffic conundrum.  I knocked out six miles instead of five (in 38 minutes), grabbed a bottled water and an apple from the baskets by the mirrored wall, and headed for the door.  Lo and behold, Stunning Blonde walks through the door of the east fitness center (thank you God, for putting me on the east end of the hotel complex).  I smiled at her and she smiled back.  I looked for something inconspicuous to do while she began to stretch in the back corner by the mirrors – royal blue sports bra under a loose sleeveless workout shirt, short black jogger shorts, white (this time) runners shoes (who travels with two pair of running shoes?), and her long blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail.  I decided I needed a “warm-down” and climbed on the treadmill with the best mirrored view of her corner and began a reasonably paced walk.  Dolly, on the other hand, hopped on the treadmill nearest the corner, turned her monitor to CNN and started a run that told me she was serious. 

 

Ten minutes later, my imagination has my unit (which I refer to affectionately as “Jean Claude”) twitchy and she has definitely caught me looking at her through my mirror at least twice.  She smiled the second time.  I figured it was time to go, and happily, she was close to the apple basket.  Of course, I figured that I needed another.  As I approached the apples, I got a really good look at those legs…a runner’s legs, her athletic stride accentuating nice thighs and sculpted calves…and her pace was nearly as impressive as the legs.

 

“Nice pace”, I said cleverly, and immediately realized that while I had been staring at her legs, she had been watching me.

 

“You, too.” Mocking…she was mocking me.  I guess my “warm-down” ruse had been found lacking.  Her eyes were smiling, so I laughed.

 

“Got my workout in earlier, and wasn’t quite ready to leave.”  Ouch, that was even more lame.  And transparent.  But now I get the “Dolly smile” (that I didn’t know yet as the “Dolly smile”) and that makes Jean Claude twitch like crazy and begin to stir.

 

“I saw the sweat on you when I came in, but most folks don’t stop to eat an apple before the cool-down portion of their workout,” she smiled and said.  Now she’s definitely yanking my chain (ooowww, very bad choice of words) and is looking me in the eye as much as someone pounding a treadmill at 6-minute-mile pace while looking through a mirror could look anyone in the eye.

 

“Well, have a great run,” and I headed up to my room to “cool off” and fantasize about what else might happen in a room full of mirrors.

 

Big soccer events position age-groups near one another by field and time, so it wasn’t karma that led Dolly back across my path the next day.  I found out later that her youngest brother was 16 and playing in the same group with my team.  She had taken a few days off to come up from Miami to watch him play and be with her family.  Didn’t know any of this, then, of course – I just thought the girl-watching gods were smiling on me.  It was a warmer day, almost balmy, and Dolly had on raspberry running shoes (who travels with three pair of running shoes?), shorts and a tank top….and now I get the first serious look at what sits on top of the runner’s legs and the formerly-bejeweled derriere.  Dolly is seriously put together.  Big but proportionate breasts, a flat stomach and arms that suggest she doesn’t just run, but gets in some resistance work, too.  She walks by me again, but makes eye-contact and smiles.  She also stops at the next field over in full view from my position.  I’m a great coach, though, and kept my concentration on the game for the next two hours.  Dolly did enter my mind several times that afternoon back at the hotel, and Jean Claude had an appropriate twitch each time.  Sadly, I had to run by myself, though I lingered at the fitness center for several minutes past my run.

 

We had a team dinner late that night, and upon returning to the hotel I slipped away from the group to watch my alma mater in a football bowl game.  I was sitting at the bar, watching the game on a big screen behind the bar, when someone jostled my elbow.

 

“Hey, Coach!  Mind if I sit here?”  Jesus…it was Stunning Blonde.

 

“Mmmm, of course not.  Missed you in the fitness center today.”  Since she so clearly had the upper hand as we parted yesterday, I thought I might go right at her today.  “By the way, name’s Jim”

 

“Dolly.  Nice to meet you, Jim”, and she put her hand on top of mine and patted it.  Jean Claude twitched.   “I don’t run every day.” Which surprised me.  “I swim every other day…did 50 laps in a school pool today.”  Now Jean Claude has more than a twitch problem – Dolly has been out in public in a swimsuit today.

 

I am proud to say that the twinkle in Dolly’s eyes was the dominant focus of my next 30 minutes…I think I only looked at her breasts 15 or 20 times, and I followed every word of the conversation.  That’s my legal training – concentrate when distractions are everywhere….and I mean everywhere.  A lesser man than me might have tried to figure out if her eyes were more beautiful than her lips, if her breasts were pointy or plump and round, and if those pants ever came off for soccer coaches from Dallas.  But my superior concentration abilities learned that she was from Cincinnati but lived in Miami, was up here to watch the youngest of her four brothers play soccer and spend time with her parents, was a financial consultant in real life, and, damn the luck, was going home tomorrow.  I also learned that she was staying in her parents’ suite and since I was rooming on the same floor as my team and next door to one of the parents (damn the luck twice), my mind didn’t linger “there”.  Jean Claude, however, was so far beyond twitching that when Dolly swallowed the last of her beer and pushed back from the bar, I didn’t stand up to say good-bye. 

 

In what I would later come to understand was her most flirtatious voice, Dolly said, “Great to meet you, Jim.  Maybe we’ll see you again, sometime.  There’s probably still great soccer in both of our futures.”

 

“That would be nice”, I offered, and felt sheepish at my inability to stand up.  Then she gave me a kiss on the cheek, a wink, and walked out of the bar with about 40 pairs of male eyes following her out the door.  Lucky me, but somehow, I didn’t feel lucky.  I was sure that lovely ass was walking away forever.

 

The remaining three days of the tournament went quickly and the lads played well.  On the last day, I thought I saw Dolly in the crowd, but it’s a big, busy place and maybe Jean Claude was fuckin’ with the big head.  The lads and their folks all headed to the airport after the last game, and I was ON VACATION!!!  I headed back to the hotel, hit the fitness center, got 5 miles in (30 minutes flat) and headed back to the room to shower and shave for a night on the town – Orlando has some great clubs, and it was the winter high season. 

 

While I was dressing, I noticed that the little red message light was blinking on the room phone.  There was only one message – a muffled female voice saying “meet me in the Tropics Bar for a drink at five”.   I thought about that for a minute.  There’s really nothing to lose – right?  I was going to have a few drinks anyway.  And there were a couple of MILFS that I had seen in the fitness center and in the bar during the week.  Hmmm…maybe a good start to the vacation.

 

I walked into the Tropics ten minutes early because I knew someone was going to have to find me.   I didn’t see anyone I knew and there were only a few golfers and shoppers in the bar at that hour recovering from their day, so I sat in the same seat I sat in on Dolly-night – it had a great view of the big screen and since no one else was sitting at the bar right then, my mystery date would have a good view of me. 

 

I had just ordered a drink and was extending my credit card when a voice whispered into my ear “we meet again…buy a girl a drink?”  Ooooohh sweetness... it was Dolly!!!

 

“Absolutely, and…well, this is a surprise.  I didn’t know you were coming back.”  I said, again showing my instant cleverness to this entrancing woman.  No running shoes tonight – scoop-neck-form-fitting LBD and  CFM stilettos, and as I found out about 30 minutes later, nothing else…I do love a woman that plans ahead. 

 

“I didn’t tell you.  I thought it might be a nice starting point for a second conversation…hope I didn’t interrupt any big plans tonight?”  she said with a smile and a twinkle in those ice blues that let me know all my plans were subject to change, and had just done so.  JC was jumping out of his drawers, and that was BEFORE Dolly put her hand on my thigh and raked her fingernails across the inside of my knee.

 

High-IQ, quick-witted, insightful lawyer that I am, it took me about ten minutes of very pleasant conversation (and that hand moving up and down my thigh) to figure out that Dolly had the evening choreographed and that I could be along for the ride just by asking.

“So, what might we have on tap for tonight?”  I asked, and her answer made me glad that the bar was still lightly populated.

 

“Well, we can go fucking and clubbing… or we can go clubbing and fucking…or we could go fuck and then call room service.  I’ve got the family suite tonight, and the family is back in Cincinnati….rumor has it there is a hot tub in the master bath, and I know there’s a full mini-bar….”  Her head tilted and one eyebrow raised above the other as she smiled and asked, “You have any preference?” Now one hand was on my thigh, and the other one was restlng gently on my shoulder.   Both sets of fingernails were lightly scratching.

 

Now this was getting good.  My breath was short and Jean Claude was growing by the minute, but I held it together pretty well.  I looked her right in the eye and placed a hand on her bare knee with my fingers gently resting on the inside of her thigh, wiggled my fingers lightly – two can play that game.   I smiled and said “Now let’s go over those options again”.  First clever thing I’d said to her all week and I got the Dolly smile.  But she wasn’t giving up easily.

 

“Hmm, should we order another beer while we examine the options carefully?”  Touche.  She’s still in control.

 

“Well, since two out of three choices involve a trip back to your suite right now, why don’t we follow the odds? Uhh, Bartender, could I have our tab, please?” 

 

I nearly didn’t make it back to her room.  We headed out of the bar and out of the building toward the back of the complex…ahh, she was in the gazebo suites.  I remember thinking “I bet it’s a hell of a hot tub,” just before she pulled me behind one of those thick bushes they have in Florida, put one arm in the middle of my back and the other behind my neck and both lips on mine.  It was an exploratory kiss for about three seconds – lightly parted lips, gentle probing of tongues…and then when we were both satisfied that the other wasn’t a mouth-gaping-swallow-your-partner-whole kisser, it became passionate and hungry.  One of those really wonderful first kisses where you discover she’s as good at it as you are and nothing matters besides lips and tongues and the tilt of your head – no groping, no hip wiggling, no hands moving all over – just lips and tongues and passion.   There were a couple of more dark corners before we got to her suite, and there was some hand moving on those stops.  I discovered that there were no visible, or tactile, fabric lines under her LBD, and she discovered that Jean Claude was getting very interested in how much further it was to her room.  When her key card unlocked the door, we were through it in a second and Dolly was ON me.  She pressed me up against the wall of the entry, leaned those large luscious breasts against me, put her lips against mine and had her way with my tongue while unbuckling my belt and loosening my pants.  “Be very, very cooperative,” she whispered in my left ear while nibbling on the earlobe.  “Don’t move.”  Her hands found Jean Claude the same time her soft, sweet tongue slowly reentered my mouth.  As my pants dropped to my ankles, she tugged my jockeys beneath my hips and grabbed my cock with both hands.  “Don’t move,” she murmured again between kisses, and then with me leaning against the wall of the foyer, less than three steps inside her room, she dropped to her knees and just engulfed Jean Claude – the lucky guy!!!

 

I’ll give Dolly rave reviews for style points, enthusiasm, deep throat and attention to the balls.  She also had a very good idea what to do with her hands.  I couldn’t have moved it I’d wanted to…I was helpless.  Her right hand was on my stomach holding me against the wall while her left hand was cooperating with her tongue and lips… licking and sucking and caressing my balls.  Her hand started a rhythmical stroking that complemented her mouth perfectly.  She leaned back, sat on her heels and moved her right hand to join her left hand on Jean Claude.  In a very husky, excited voice, she said, “Cum for me, Baby.  Shoot it right down my throat…we’ve got all night and I want to start it off by tasting you.”  And then she was just fucking her own face with Jean Claude – quite simply, the most amazing blow job I had ever had.  And I unloaded, really unloaded.  When I finished, still leaning against the wall, I took a deep breath and looked down.  We’d been in that room about 5 minutes, she still had on her LBD and both shoes, my shirt was buttoned and my sports coat was still on as were MY shoes and socks, but my jockeys and pants were on my ankles and Jean Claude was still twitching as he slowly, very slowly, slid out of her mouth.  She looked up at me and smiled as a tiny trickle of my cum slid out of the side of her mouth. She stuck out her tongue and scooped it off her lips as she stood up and leaned into me.  She deposited that little drop of cum right on the end of my tongue.

 

I gently grabbed a handful of her hair as we kissed with her still leaning into me.  A slight shift of my hips and I slid my hand between her thighs and slowly and gently confirmed that she had left her panties in Miami.  Her breasts were pressed against my chest, but now her hips shifted slightly and her legs parted to give me clear access.  She was dripping wet, and squirming as my finger slid into her lightly, and slowly traced her female slit from just below her g-spot all the way to her clit.  I did it again and slid my tongue out of her mouth, and then again as she moaned and leaned against my hand.  “A little deeper,” she moaned again, “reach into me deeper.”

 

“Are we going to do this here, or is there a bed in this place?” I asked and she shifted her weight to lean harder against my hand.  “Reach up…right there…ahh…right there.”  My finger was caressing inside her, and her clit was pressing hard against the heel of my hand.  We settled into a slow rhythm where my finger stroked her g-spot while she ground her clit against my rigid hand.  Slowly, her breathing became deeper, more labored.  Her arms and legs were stiffening as her moans synchronized with her grinding movements.  I slowed my stroking and she stammered “no, faster…faster” and my finger quickly caressed inside her and she gasped, stiffened and let out a long slow groan as she came.  Then she sighed and leaned into me.  A very gentle kiss followed as I pulled my hand from between her legs and squeezed her tightly.

 

“Now where’s that bed?” I whispered into her ear, and she finally kicked off her heels, put her bare foot between my feet to help me step out of my pants, and we took our fourth or fifth step into her room after 10 minutes and two orgasms.  We found a king bed in the master bedroom and I finally got to see those lovely breasts.  Nothing dramatic about getting naked…I unzipped her dress and it fell to the floor as I lost my jacket and kicked off my shoes.  A now-naked Dolly unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off my arms while I tried to both cooperate and fondle her gorgeous twins.  I really got to play with them as she removed my socks.  I sat on the edge of the bed and admired that perfect body – perfect – with her standing in front of me.  I pulled her close and let my lips linger at first one breast and then the other, running my fingers slowly over her slim but still womanly ass.  I kissed her stomach and revisited those exquisite nipples.  Then we slid between the covers and slowly, deliberately and sensuously kissed and nuzzled and fondled and groped until I was hard and she was dripping again.  I begin to slowly slide down her body, but she stopped me and pulled my head up to her mouth…”in me, please….now”.  Then miraculously (ha, ha) she found a condom in the bedside table, I covered myself and slowly slid into her from on top...very wet, but still very tight and she let out a slight gasp as she got comfortable around me.  The next ten minutes were the precise opposite of our time against the wall of the entry foyer.  Our tongues gently explored mouths, faces, necks and ears; her hands grabbing my shoulders or pulling my ass tighter into her; my hands tangled in her hair or caressing her breast.  Finally, those long, gorgeous, athletic legs wrapped themselves around the bottom of my ass as we gently and slowly worked to a crescendo.  It was clearly the antithesis of the foyer, not frantic, not panting, but so intense.  It was amazing.   It was perfect.  It was as close to lovemaking as a first time between virtual strangers can be.  We didn’t break contact for a long time after….

 

Oh, by the way….we fucked later…really fucked…for four days.  But that’s a different story. 

 

That was seven months ago and I haven’t seen her since, but I’m really thinking my boys need to be in that tournament again next year…Jean Claude would be up for that…

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