Chapter 19: The Eagles Game

Sunday, November 25th, 2007

Finally, it’s Sunday. In case you don’t know me, I live for football. Well, not strictly speaking, I mean there are other things I enjoy, but nothing gets this gal’s blood pumping quite like a Patriots home game. I’ve been a season ticket holder for 8 years. I got on the waiting list in 1994, fresh out of grad school, and people thought I was crazy. It took five years for my name to come up on the list, and by that time, I had a great job, and could swing the money for my four seats in da house. I haven’t missed a home game since.

I was there for the Snow-Bowl post-season game against the Steelers. I was there for the snow game where we were literally sitting on mounds of snow and tossing it like confetti. Neither rain nor sleet nor snow will keep this Football Goddess from her favorite team.

My dad and brother have come to most games with me for as long as I can remember. Some of the night games are tough for Dad, and the cold ones nearly put him in the ground, and my brother sometimes has to work, but there’s no shortage of people wanting to come with me. Hell, by the end of week three, I had someone at work ask me if I’d sell him my playoff tickets.

Um, no.

Especially not if we’re going to wind up playing Indy, which looks more and more like what’s gonna happen.

So, I woke in great spirits, knowing in my gut that we were going to make it 11-0. Also, it didn’t hurt my spirits any that there was a naked and gorgeous hunk of man warming the other half of my bed, and that certain bits of him were already awake when I opened my eyes. His eyes were closed, and his breathing even, so I figured he was still asleep. I smiled at the awake part that was poking my leg, and slithered down under the covers. It was nice and warm under there and I curled up next to David’s legs, and gently took him into my mouth. With gentle pressure, I moved along his length. David groaned and grabbed my head.

“Jesus, Hath,” he moaned, his voice groggy with sleep. “What a hell of a way to wake OHHH!” His voice trailed off as his legs tensed and straightened. His hands fisted in my hair, and I smiled around him. I increased the pressure and continued stroking him until I was rewarded with my name on his full lips as a long, low moan a second before he exploded in my mouth. I kissed my way lightly up his torso, making him shiver and growl, and he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck, scratching me with his stubble.

“Good morning, baby,” I said to him sweetly.

“It is for me,” David said, and snaked a hand down over my chest to the edge of the nightshirt I had pulled on during the night. He eased his hand under the hem and found my wet heat, waiting for him. “And it soon will be for you, too,” he said as he started massaging my clit.

I moaned happily and kissed the top of David’s head. “It already is a good morning,” I said. “You’re here.”

David continued his teasing, bringing me to the brink then backing off, moving to lightly rub my arm or trail a hand down my cheek. Over and over he did this. I was in agony, but it was wonderful. I would get all wound up and see the edge in front of me, and he would back me away, giving me time to get my breathing evened out before starting in again.

“Hath?” David said, as he kissed my neck, making me tremble.

“Hmmm?” I answered, too absorbed in sensation to form actual words.

“Remember that thing you were trying to hide in your suitcase?”

My heart kicked into overdrive. Oh boy. “Mmm-hmm,” I said.

“Would you show me what you would have done if we hadn’t…” I could feel the heat in his cheeks. For someone who’s probably seen and done more than I could ever dream of (and no, not just the naughty bits, but I am somewhat of a realist), he was getting awfully embarrassed asking for this.

“Really?” I croaked. David just nodded. I lifted his face to mine, and kissed him deeply, then looked him in the eyes. “Anytime you want,” I said, smiling. I rolled to the edge of the bed and opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Nestled in a fleece cover was my little happy stick. I was bit self-conscious about this, but he was looking so hungry, so lustful, that I didn’t even consider changing my mind. Mr. Happy was a thick, knobby, acrylic phallus with a little curved handle on the end. I showed it to David, and his eyes darkened. He pulled back the covers and raised my knee up against his curled legs. He snaked an arm under my waist, so I was laying on his arm, and I held onto his hand with mine. With his other hand, David lifted my nightshirt to expose my breasts. He kissed one breast, sucking on the nipple, and guided Mr. Happy down between my legs. I pushed the tip into me, and hissed. “Shit, that’s cold,” I said before pushing it all the way home. I arched off the bed a little with a groan, and David stopped his assault to lay his head over my heart and watch what I was doing. He traced random patterns on my abdomen, making me quiver more than I already was.

I moved the dildo slowly in and out of me, my fingers wrapped around the handle. I squeezed David’s hand, and released it, snaking my fingers into my curls and massaging my clit. I started moving the phallus faster and faster in and out of me. David could hear my heart racing, and I could feel his breath on me turning shallow. My eyes started to roll back in my head, and David’s hand left my abdomen and worked its way to his cock, which was awake again, and he began stroking himself slowly. I let out a groan and slowed my hands.

David lightly licked at the very tip of my nipple. “Don’t stop,” he rasped.

“You either,” I breathed.

My head lolled from side to side, and my breathing started to come in short little pants. My hands moved faster, and a moan crawled up from the back of my throat, and slipped out; floating through the room like a phantom.

“David?” I said, my voice strained.

“I’m with you, Hath,” he said, panting hard.

“Ohhhh, GOD!” I growled, as the waves hit, and fisted my hand into the sheets. My other hand flew, stroking the toy faster and faster, and I screamed, the orgasm not subsiding at all. David started to tense and he gripped my hip hard enough to leave a bruise. I flung the artificial dick from my hand and grabbed for David. “Come here now,” I hissed. Before I could even get the sentence finished, he was on and in me. I clamped down on him, the pulsing coming back strong. I screamed again as he started pounding into me. He reared up and grabbed my calves, pushing my knees up to my ears. My head started spinning, and everything was tingling. I felt hysterical laughter bubbling up as David just slammed me. The room was wavering, and the soft silk of the sheets was burning my skin. Tears leaked from my eyes as they rolled back far enough to see spots.

“David?” I said again, my voice a mere whisper. I was fisted so tight around him that I thought I was going to pinch it off.

“Jesus, Hath,” he moaned, and stopped moving, sunk in to the hilt. A heartbeat later, I felt him pulse deep inside me, and he moved slowly, rolling his hips through the waves of his own orgasm. His head was thrown back, the cords on his neck straining. His hands were so tight on my calves; I wouldn’t be able to wear a skirt for at least a week. God, it was glorious.

Tailgating

We had a cholesterol appetizer extravaganza planned: onion rings, fried clams, home-made potato chips, and buffalo chicken tenders. We were going to do steaks for the main course and fried ice cream for dessert. We also packed burgers and dogs in case we wanted a nosh after the game. My brother could eat 24x7, so it was mostly for his benefit. We spent an over an hour this morning, after a long nap and a hot shower, slicing onions and potatoes, and cutting and breading chicken tenders, and cleaning the clams and getting them breaded as well. David asked why I didn’t just buy already done appetizers, and I gave him a look. “You’re kidding, right?” I had asked.

“Uh, sure,” he answered. We hung out in the afternoon, watching different games on TV, and soon it was time to pack up. The excitement was building.

Around 3:30, we packed the food and ice cream into one cooler, and beer into another, and headed out to the garage pack the truck. David stood agape at the amount of gear we took to the games. I laughed and told him not everyone got to go to the owner’s box for the games, or the catered pre-game soirees. He at least had the grace to blush, which was pretty cute. He gets all embarrassed when I call him on the whole rock-star thing. I love doing that to him.

Anyway, I had a systematic way of packing the truck so everything would fit. David helped me load in the fold-away tent, a table and folding chairs, the coolers, grill, fryer and oil, gas tanks, lights, and a TV. We also had a big plastic bucket of other essentials; paper goods, matches, and a cribbage board. It just wasn’t football without cribbage – at least not in my family.

I typically make one large tailgating purchase each year. Last year, it was a heater to go with the generator I had purchased the year before. This year, it was a tray to bolt into the trailer hitch on the truck so we could carry the generator and heater with us. In deference to the cold, we strapped this last bit of equipment onto the truck, and we were ready to go.

Looking at the tightly packed truck, I smiled a self-satisfied smile. David came up behind me and squeezed my breasts. “What the hell was that for?” I asked him.

He laughed. “Just making sure you were still a girl,” he said, and took off running. Smart man.

My brother and father showed at four on the dot. The three of us were geared up in full Patriots regalia. Player shirts, turtlenecks, sweatshirts, coats, hats, scarves, and gloves; we were very obvious Patriots fans, and had built our fandom wardrobes over the years. David snickered at us, which earned a glare from my brother.

“Hey Jersey,” he said. “You for the Jets or the Giants?” My brother has a pathological hatred for the NY Jets; has for years – long before this SpyGate nonsense.

David winked at me. “The Jersey Giants of course.”

My dad burst out laughing. “New York Football Giants, you mean,” my father corrected him. “At least it isn’t the Jets. Get in the car; let’s go.”

We took off, the trip to the stadium, even with traffic, taking only half an hour. We pulled into our usual lot, and made our way to the front corner up against the berm, where we’ve been parking since they opened Gillette. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I was enveloped by a huge bear of a man, also decked out in full Pats gear. He lifted me clear off my feet and spun me around.

“AFC East Champs, Johnson, baby!” he said. I wear the shirt of #52, Ted Johnson, so all “the guys”, our regular tailgate buddies, call me Johnson. I don’t think they know that’s not my name.
“Carl! Put me down, you ass,” I laughed. “Jesus, let a girl get out of her car for chrisskake.”

With Buffalo’s loss earlier in the day, the Pats clinched the AFC East. That meant a playoff berth for sure, and most likely a first-round bye. Oh yeah, baby. Bring on the post-season. I’ve already sent in my money for the tickets. I’d bet I could get three times what they’re worth if I sold them on StubHub or eBay, but damn it, I bought the tickets to use. Maybe I’d sell one to the guy at work – for face value, thank-you-very-much. The lot was in high spirits, and friendlier than usual.

David got out his side of the truck, and Carl said, “Who’s the new meat?”

“Carl, be nice, or no fried yummies for you today, and you can freeze your nuts off when it gets cold tonight. That’s David, my boyfriend.” David joined me and put his arm possessively around my waist. He shook hands with Carl and his buddies.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Carl said, giving David a hard look. “Don’t I know you?” he said.

David and I laughed. “No,” David said, “I’d remember meeting you; I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“You look familiar,” Carl said, then laughed. “Whatever. Nice to meet you. Johnson, we’ll be back.” We’d been tailgating with these same people for years, and have a casual friendship. We only see each other during the season, but we always hang out. We’ve gotten comfortable with each other, and joke and banter with each other. It was fun to see them again.

We started getting the truck unpacked. David kinda stood to one side and just watched, shaking his head. My dad, brother and I have this down to a science. Within ten minutes, we had the tent set up, the table and chairs up, the grill hooked up, and the generator humming. Carl came up next to David.

“I know where I know you from. Well, I should say, my wife knows,” Carl said.

David just nodded. “I’m just trying to have a little fun with my girl and her family,” he said.

“No problem, man, but I can’t guarantee she and her friends won’t talk about this.” Carl gestured to where Carl’s wife and her friends were sitting. They blushed and turned away when David looked over.

David laughed. “Carl, if I were Jon or Richie, I’d be worried. I ain’t worried.”

I heard that last bit, and went over to David. “Everything OK over here, boys?” I wrapped an arm around David’s waist, and he pulled me in close to him with an arm around my shoulder.

“Just fine, Johnson,” Carl said. “I was just telling David here that my wife and her friends recognized him.”

“Where are they?” I asked.

Carl gestured behind him and I saw them trying to watch David without looking like they were watching him. I felt for them. That’s exactly the way I felt when I met these guys for the first time. I whispered in David’s ear, “Go say hi.”

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I swear that must be something they all practice. I’ve seen all of ‘em do that at one point or another. I gave him a little shove, and he went over to introduce himself. I watched as he had them laughing at something or other in the span of a few seconds. I smiled and shook my head.

I ducked into the tent to find my dad and brother already starting in on the beer and cribbage. “Where’s David,” John asked.

“He’s making nice with Carl’s wife,” I answered.

“Deal you in?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’ll wait. David plays, we’ll do partners. I’m gonna get the fryer set up.”

“I’ll help,” my dad said, and got up from the table. We went out behind the tent and poured in the oil and set the fryer on the burner.

“So,” dad said. “How serious is this thing with David?”

Dad never asked those questions. Never. “Did Mom put you up to asking? Look. We met a few weeks ago, clicked, and spent a week together with friends taking care of Sam’s house and dog. We worked well together, and can talk about anything, and,” I looked at my father square in the face. “And, he makes me happy. It’s pretty serious. I mean he came home with me for a family holiday instead of being with his kids.”

Dad raised an eyebrow. Jesus, he can do it too. Maybe it’s a guy thing. “Kids?” he asked.

“Yeah. He’s got 13-year-old fraternal twins, and a 7 year old daughter. Gabrielle, Colton, and TygerLily. He’s leaving tomorrow to go see them.”

“Interesting names,” Dad said.

“He’s an interesting man,” I countered.

Dad nodded, and went to get the food from the cooler. I tested the oil with a drop of water, and was just putting in the onion rings when David came back around.

He caught me up in a passionate kiss, and for a minute, I forgot where I was. Jesus, that man can kiss. When he let me up for air, I asked him, “What was that for?”

“Just because,” he said, winking at me. We worked together, frying and draining the onion rings and potatoes, with David playing waiter. By the time we got the chicken done and mixing in the Buffalo sauce, Carl and his friends were hanging around, looking for handouts.

I was smiling at them, when I heard someone call from behind me, “Hey, is that Hathor?”

I turned around and cocked my head. “Mike? Mikey!” I shouted, and launched myself at him. I went to high school with him, and hadn’t seen him in a dog’s age. “How the hell are you?” I asked, as he kissed my cheek. We caught up for a couple of minutes, and David came back, shaking his head.

“How come every time I leave you alone, I come back to find you in the arms of another man?” David laughed and introduced himself to my friend before putting his arm around me again. David was putting out an alpha-male protective vibe, and it was kinda cute but a little annoying. I mean, either he trusted me or he didn’t right?

I elbowed him away saying, “Get offa me, sweetie, I’m trying to cook here.” There was just enough venom in my tone to make Mike make his excuses and leave, but not after I’d extracted his e-mail and cell info for myself. When he left, I hissed at David. “What’s with the caveman routine?”

He just shook his head. “Can’t help it, I get jealous when I see these other guys hanging on you.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Gimme a break,” I said. “And gimme some space. Please. I love it when you touch me, but you’re starting to get on my nerves with the possessive thing. Relax, baby, I’ve already told you I’m yours, and I meant it.” I turned my back on him and raised the hem of my shirt so he could see “his” tat. “See?” I said.

My brother chose that moment to come around the back of the tent. “Sis, are the clams ready yet?” He stopped when he caught the ink. “What the hell did you do to your tramp stamp?” He came over for a closer look. “Jesus, Jen,” he said, and walked away, shaking his head. David and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

We dished up the rest of the appetizers, and went back into the warm tent to nosh and play cards. I partnered with my dad, and John and David gave it a good try, but Dad and I wiped the lot with them. A little while later, David and Dad went to do the steaks, and John started in on me.

“So, Hath,” he said, emphasizing the nickname David calls me by, “what’s up with this guy?”

Sigh. Here we go again.

The Game

It took us a while to get up to our seats; they’re in the upper tier. Way up. We got settled, and I exchanged hugs and high-fives with the people around us, depending on how long we’ve been watching games together. A few people noticed David and recognized him, and he was very gracious, posing for pictures and signing autographs.

“Jon, who?” I whispered in his ear, and he laughed, and gave me a kiss. After the team introductions and national anthem, we were as they say, “Ready for some football!”

So, we lost the coin toss, which has the whole crowd booing (we’re a superstitious lot), but shit, that didn’t really matter. When Asante Samuel picked off the third play of the game for a 40-yard interception return, we went nuts: 7-0. Arrogant fans that we are, we assumed this was going to be another rout like Buffalo was.

The next drive, Feeley took it down the field and on fourth and one, we couldn’t stop them, so the Eagles scored: 7-7. That shut us up right quick. David laughed at us. I told him to watch it or I’d tell everyone he was a Jets fan. Those aren’t tolerated in da house. Not in the wake of SpyGate (God, I hate the names the media come up with). I was deadly serious, and David shut up. I’d make it up to him later, but damn it, this was no time for frivolity.

Finally, Brady took the field, and the crowd went nuts again. Every time we got a first down, the in-stadium announcer would say, “…and that play is good for another Patriots…” and the stadium would cheer “FIRST DOWN!” It never got old; not for me. Despite a fantastic sack by Juqua Thomas, we got down to the endzone and (thank you, Heath Evans) in for the score: 14-7. We were back baby.

It was up and down the whole first half, with the result at halftime: Eagles up 24-21. It was a great game for TV; people would stay tuned in to see what happened. It was an awful game for Vegas bookmakers. I think the spread was something like 24 points.

David and I volunteered to go down to get the next round of drinks (at $7, the beers come slowly). I noticed David’s ears were turning blue, so we stopped off at the swag stand, and I bought him this incredibly warm gomer hat. I was wool lined with ear flaps; pretty tasteful for a crazy Pats hat. He refused to wear it until I told him that Jon would castrate him if he got sick at the start of the tour. He put the hat on.

We waited in line for beer for pretty much the entire 20-minute halftime period. David stood behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, whispering things in my ear that I think I’d rather keep private just now. By the time we got up to place our beer order, I was pretty sure I was ready to burst. Too late, I remembered that you have to show ID no matter what to get beer. David showed his, and I waited, cringing, for the recognition. David didn’t seem to care that the high-schooler behind the counter didn’t recognize him. She barely looked at the ID.

The second half started off unostentatiously (one of my Dad’s all-time favorite words) with traded punts. When we finally got down toward the end zone, not only did Brady miss three in a row, but Gotskowski (or Gots-milky as we call him) missed a 32-yard gimme. ARGH!

By the end of the third quarter, we were on the wrong end of a 28-24 score. The streak was about to be broken! There was much cursing and shouting, and we even got David into it (though I won’t tell his fellow Giants fans, Jon and Richie; David will get enough shit for the photos I PM’d to the girls yesterday, and the one I took of the gomer hat is going tonight) and he was cheering and jeering right along with us.

Halfway through the fourth quarter, the Pats finally connected, with Laurence Maroney banging in a 4-yard drive for the score: 31-28.

The Eagles came back strong, and as the game was coming to a close, they were on the verge of scoring. Then Feeley made a mistake. He threw like he was going to send it out the back of the end zone, but didn’t put enough oomph on it, and Our Boy Asante came up with another pick. It was beautiful. We were all high-fiving, and hugging, and David had a death grip on my hand; I may have converted him to a Pats fan we’ll see. More likely, he was trying to visibly stake his claim – again. Whatever. We only had to hold on for another minute seventeen. All we needed was a first down, and we could take a knee and it would be all over. Yeah, except they couldn’t make a first down, and had to punt it away! OH MY GOD, I thought there was going to be a riot. Now there were 19 seconds left in the game, and we all knew what was coming.

A shot at the endzone.

The defense lined up with most of the line in the backfield, and they were all over the receivers. Feeley let it go, and BOOM! James Sanders read the play all the way and ended the game on the interception. A HUGE celebratory kiss for David, and hugs and high-fives, and exchanges of “see you next game”, and we made our way out of the stadium.

In the lot, we forwent the after-game cooking to get home. It was coming up on midnight, and not only did David have an early flight, but the rest of us had to work. We went home and unpacked the truck, and saw my brother and dad off. I helped David pack up his stuff, and we went to bed, making love gently; partly because it was going to be a while until we could do it again, and partly because, well, I was still a little tender from this morning. I set the alarm for 6am, and we went to sleep.