Alien Romance: Interview with an Alien (Football Paranormal Invasion Abduction Alpha Sci-fi Romance) (Fantasy First New Adult Contact Science Fiction Mystery Sports Alien Short Stories) (61 page)

*****

              Colby took a step back and looked at the 5 foot 10 blond-haired woman with abundant cleavage and a colorful, sleeve tattoo covering one of her arms.

              He looked her up and down.

              “Are you sure you want to leave so quickly?” She asked raising an eyebrow, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

              Colby's mouth gaped open. This woman was the spitting image of his ex-fiancé, the Swedish swimsuit model Ingrid Ljunberg. He stammered a response.

              “Okay, let's go, baby,” the woman extended her arm. Colby took it under his and they walked to the bar, ordered drinks, then they headed to the back section of the club.

              Colby didn’t know what was going on. He’d already handed over $60. He sat down on a black leather couch. She got on top, straddling him. Goddamn, his cock was brick hard.

              The woman was taking control of the encounter, bumping and grinding and rubbing his crotch. What a fine female specimen she was!

“My name’s Ivanka,” she said. “This is your first time here, right?”

Colby swallowed hard, then nodded his head.

She reached into his crotch and squeezed. A huge smile spread across her face. Colby swallowed hard, yet again. He was hard, stiff. He could feel cum rising in his cock. He couldn't take this. It was crazy. This wasn’t a woman. It was a dude. He pushed her away.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

Ivanka lay on the floor, her shoes knocked off, a look of surprise and hurt on her face—physical and emotional.

Colby stared down at her, not knowing what to do next. He took out his wallet counted off five more 20s and threw them onto the black couch.

“I'm really sorry,” he said.

He turned and got out of the club as soon as he could. The first time, yes that's what it was. And it would be as last time. There's no way that he would ever go back there. Never. Ever again.

At least, that's what he told himself, that night as he showered off, vigorously scrubbing himself, feeling that the dirt, the filth of his homoerotic contact wouldn't come off him quite that easily.

*****

                            Colby had never felt anything like that before. Never in his entire life. He wasn't gay. What the fuck was going on? Doubts and insecurities rattled inside his brain. He felt like he was going crazy. Sleep didn’t come easy that night. It would be weeks before it did. He tossed and turned, gritted his teeth, clenched his face.

              What could possibly be going on with him? He was a hot, young, hung stud, living in the heart of the world, playing for a major sports franchise. There was no way that he could be gay. There was no way that he could be anything but a blue-blooded, all-American, alpha male. The ideal American man. That's what he was. It's what he'd always been. But what if it turned out that he was a fag? A sissy? If that were the case, everything that he thought about himself would amount to nothing. His whole identity would be a joke.

              He’d spent the majority of his life in hockey locker rooms, tight stinky spaces with other scruffy boys and then eventually masculine men. He couldn't help questioning himself. When he first started out playing the game as a boy in Montréal, he'd hated the stench of the locker room on a Saturday morning, 5:30 AM, zero degrees outside. All those young kids would open up their hockey bags full of musty equipment. He would often feel like he was choking, suffocating on the filthy air that swallowed up the entire room.

              Now he had a question his lifelong involvement with the game, his lifelong obsession with hockey. Why had he been willing to fight through all the injuries, all the frustration, on his way to glory? He’d never been one to sit and reflect, to ponder the whys and the hows. That sort of thing wasn't for him, or any of the men in his family. He was a man of action. Furious, frenetic, persistent, unrelenting action.

              His cock was hard and throbbing on his belly. It was ready for action. There was no question about that. Action was what he wanted. But how long would he have to wait? There was no way to be sure. He wasn't used to struggling with complex emotions, thinking about, and analyzing his feelings. Usually in these types of moments, hockey would be his refuge. He would have gone down to Madison Square Garden on 34
th
street to one of the practice facilities that remained open 24 hours a day, just to accommodate the weird, idiosyncratic, and often obsessive work routines of the players.

              He would love to have laced up the skates, thrown on the pads, and just skated up and down, working up a good old honest bit of sweat. But the ankle injury he’d suffered in the last game still made it very difficult for him to skate.

When the doctor first told him that he would have to sit out for a week or so, he couldn't help thinking that maybe the injury was the best thing that could have happened to him. Maybe he needed the time off, a couple weeks, to get his mind together, refocus his energy. He tried to tell himself that as a way to deal with the disappointment and frustration of being injured, especially so close to the playoffs. He knew that he would have to be at his absolute best if he had any intentions of leading the Rangers to the title.

But it was clear, after being sidelined for only a couple days, there was nothing good about this injury. Nothing good at all. Being separated from the game he loved, the game he’d given his entire life to, made dealing with these questions surrounding his sexuality that much harder.

*****

              For the last several days, Colby had been haunted by the tall, gorgeous blonde tranny’s face. That blend of the masculine and the feminine in her face had left an indelible impression on him. The harder he tried to stop thinking of her, the more forcefully her image surged back into his mind. He was going crazy. He wasn't going to be able to take much more of this. What did it mean? Was it possible, even remotely so, that he had gone this long, 27 years without knowing that he was gay? These days everything seemed so strange to him. He couldn't make sense of his life. He no longer had any idea where he was going or why he was going there.

              To take his mind off of that exotic woman, who wasn’t quite a woman, he flipped on his laptop. He made sure to block off all the porn sites: Porn Hub, Hamster.com, You Porn, and a bunch of others.

              He felt free, liberated. But he also felt a bit pathetic. He didn't have the self-discipline not to go on those fucking sites. Didn't have the self-control to resist? How had he made it this far as a professional athlete? Once again, he was struck by the feeling that he was a fraud.

              His big-cocked stud, playboy image had been such an important part of his public and private identity. Ravaging a woman, really pounding her, taking her over the edge, giving her a body writhing, uncontrollable, screaming at the top of her lungs orgasm, was more than just a pleasurable experience. It was a chance for him to prove, yet again, his manhood, and his alpha masculinity.

              He always had to be the alpha male, the big dog. That's the way he was raised. His father would never let him back down in a fight. No matter how many guys wanted to beat the crap out of his son, his father wouldn’t step in. No, he would demand that Colby get up, start swinging, and defend the Mathews name. Make him proud.

              Colby's father had died five years ago of a massive heart attack. It made him ashamed to think what his father would have to say about this relationship.

Sucking Dick? A shemale? What are you some kind of fag? His father would've said, bluntly, not afraid to say what exactly was on his mind.

              Colby didn't know how he would've reacted to that. But it didn't matter anyway. If his father were alive, there was no way that he be able to tell him. That wouldn’t have been impossible.

              He didn't even know who to be angry with. Was there something wrong with him? He didn't think so. It was desire, something that he couldn't control. It was a natural reaction.

              The only real contact that Colby had had with homosexuality had occurred while growing up in the Catholic Church. Sure, he'd heard the stories about the priests touching boys. He was pretty sure that it happened to more than a couple of his close friends. But for some reason, he'd always been spared. Maybe it was because he was the most attractive. He was the one that parents would most suspect would be vulnerable to an older predator. Maybe that was the reason. Maybe not. Whatever the case, he was grateful that he never been touched like that.

*****

That night Colby could no longer contain himself. He went back to the Red Plum bar and made sure to bring Ivanka home with him.

For the next several weeks, Colby and Ivanka went on numerous dates. They made passionate love in his apartment, in the back of a limousine, and even in Central Park during a Sunday picnic. They couldn't keep their hands off each other.

              Colby didn’t mind taking Ivanka out in the city. No one would’ve ever thought that she was a transsexual. Unless they knew her. But he was still worried that at some point the story might come out. There were certain places, places where he was known to frequent, that he avoided when he was with her.

He knew deep down that it would be hard to carry on this relationship in secret forever.

              Colby lifted Ivanka into his strong, powerful arms and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, pulled her skirt and panties down her legs. He couldn't take his eyes off her cock. It looked so full and thick as it lay on her stomach. A very impressive piece of man meat. He looked at his own cock. It was twitching. It had been a long time since he'd seen it so engorged.

              This was the moment he’d been waiting for impatiently. He kissed the insides of her thighs and worked his way up to the huge balls. He wasn't sure what to do next. He took the hard cock in his hands and began to stroke it up and down. It felt so strange, soft and squishy with a hardness inside. It didn't feel anything like his own dick, at least not at first. It was a feeling that he would never forget.

              “Hold on,” Ivanka said, quickly getting out of the bed, and retrieving her purse from the floor. She pulled out a bottle of something handed it to Colby.

              “Oh and I forgot one more thing,” she said, reaching back into her bag and pulling out a handful of gold condoms. The big size. Magnum, XXL. The only kind that would fit Colby’s huge dick.

              “I see you’ve come prepared,” Colby says.

              “Always,” she said.

              “I like that,” he said.

              Colby rubbed a finger around Ivanka’s tight asshole. She closed her eyes, leaned back on the pillow, and moaned. After he had worked his finger around the hole a few times, Colby pushed it in and out. Then it was time for two, and why not three? He worked three fingers in and out of her ass.

              “Oh God,” Ivanka said, her eyes still closed, a sheen of sweat covering her nude body. “Oh, my God that feels so good.”

              “I bet I have something that will feel even better,” Colby said.

              “Yes, please,” Ivanka said. “Please put it inside of me. I want to feel your cock inside of me.

              Colby smiled. He could already see the pre-cum leaking from his dick. He grabbed the stiff shaft and jerked it a few times. It was granite hard. He put the condom on, then rubbed the purple mushroom head against the tight asshole. It was wet and stretched out. But it would still be a tight fit. A very tight fit.

              He pushed the head into Ivanka’s ass. She bit her bottom lip, wrinkles forming in her four head. Colby grabbed the hard shaft and pushed halfway in.

              It was the tightest fit he’d ever felt. He brought his hips back and slowly pushed himself in. He did that three, four, five more times. The hole began to gradually loosen up.

              It wasn't long before he worked up a good rhythm, his hips thrusting back and forth into her, each thrust harder than the last one. It wasn't long before Colby could feel the cum rising in his dick. He was going to shoot a huge load!

              He let out a loud groan as his body slowed down, momentarily twitching, convulsively. He gripped Ivanka’s ass the whole time, kept his dick very deep in her. Seconds later, cum began to spurt from her dick as if shot out a geyser. Colby smiled, admiring the thick load that she shot into the air.

*****

              For the last several days, Colby had had been receiving calls from a private number. He hadn't answered any of them. He knew better than that. But he was starting to grow curious. Who could it possibly be? Finally after ignoring about 10 of the calls, Colby finally decided to pick up the phone.

              “Hello,” he said.

              There was heavy breathing on the other end.

              “Hello,” Colby said again, on the verge of hanging up.

              “You're in trouble motherfucker,” the voice said. “Big trouble.”

              “What?” Colby said. “Who is this?”

              “How do you feel about being the first gay player in the NHL?” The voice said. “Does it make you proud?”

              “What the fuck”? Colby said.

              “That's a good question, Colby,” the voice said. “What the fuck were you doing sucking a tranny’s dick? Did you really think no one would find out about that?”

              “What are you talking about? I never did anything like that,” Colby said, his lips quivering with rage.

              What was going on? He was about to go mad. He was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He had the energy, the rage, the boiling blood to put his fist through another man's face, breaking every single bone.

              “Who is this?” Colby said.

              “We've got everything on tape,” the voice said. “Before each game of the next series, we’ll be releasing 10-minute segments. You guys have been going at it for the last couple months. We've got lots of footage.”

              “Who are you?” Colby said. “I'll kill you.”

              The line went dead.

              Colby trembled with rage. He would never have imagined that he could end up in this sort of precarious situation.

              He sent a text to Ivanka: “Where are you? We have to talk,” he texted.

              He had a very bad feeling. Had she decided to go to the press? Had she been recording him all this time?

              He sent her three more texts over the next few minutes. A half an hour later she still hadn't responded. He was becoming more and more suspicious.

              He thought back to that night, that fateful night when they'd bump into each other at the club. He replayed that event in his mind. At the time, it seemed like such an incredible coincidence, an act of fate, serendipity. Yes, that's what he’d told himself. That's what he’d believed. But now when he thought back on it, when he reflected further on that fateful moment, he wasn't nearly so sure. What if the whole thing had been a setup? But who would do such a thing? That was a silly question. He had so many enemies. It could've been a player from a rival team. It could've been a player from his very own team, from inside the Ranger locker room, a fellow teammate jealous of his success, on and off the ice.

              This was by far the most important time of the season. There was no way to build your stature as a player if you didn't perform at the highest possible level in these two frenetic months that would decide the champion. There could only be one champion. Everyone else would be losers.

              The series with the Bruins was only a day away. They were going to release 10 minutes of video before each game. Tomorrow they would be releasing the first 10 minutes.

              Colby paced up and down his apartment. He’d never been involved in anything like this before. It seemed crazy. It didn't seem like it could be real. It was the worst possible nightmare for a rich, young, hunk. Everything was laid out before him. In less than 24 hours his entire life would be ruined. Everything that he’d built for himself would be torn down, reduced to rubble, a pile of stinking ashes.

              He would most likely lose all of his endorsement deals. His teammates would turn their backs on him. How could he continue to be the team captain? The team captain sleeping with transsexuals? They’d be the laughingstock of the entire league. He would be a laughingstock of the entire team. But a lot of the guys wouldn't be laughing. Many of them would be red hot with anger and intent on revenge. They would want to punish him. He’d been the star, the arrogant, cocky, star. On billboards and all the team promotional material his picture always bigger than everybody else's. That would all be over.

              That voice on the phone still haunted him. He could feel it jackhammering in his skull.

              “You're going to be the first gay player in the NHL,” the voice had said. “Does it make you proud?”

              That son of a bitch! Who could be behind this? He racked his brain.

              And then he remembered. It struck him like an electric shock. The epiphany. Who could it be? He thought back to that night, that boring, Friday night, when he sat on the couch drinking a few beers, flicking through the channels disinterestedly. He thought back to that night, and back to the text he received. The text from Jack.

              Now that he thought about it, he found it really strange. Players rarely did that during the season. Especially players on rival teams. The decisive playoff series with the Bruins was less than 24 hours away. For the next two weeks, Colby would be bumping heads with Jack and his ruthless teammates. It would be a no holds barred death match. Colby was determined to fight harder than he had m ever in his entire playing career. He’d never been more determined to win a series.

              It was all falling into place, finally making sense to Colby. Yet he still didn't know what he could do. He didn't seem to have any options. Even though he’d figured out, or had a very strong sense that he figured out what was going on, he still had very few means of going about stopping it. He was trapped in a corner, seemingly with no way out. The beast of public opinion, the hostile, homophobic public opinion would swallow him whole, feast on his flesh, sadistically smiling with each bite.

              But what was Ivanka's role in this? 

              Was it possible, was there any chance, had everything with her had been fake?

              Was there a chance that she was in on this from the beginning? Could that really be possible? Had he really been that big of a sucker over the last couple months?

              All of these confusing, painful questions swirled around Colby's head.