Girls’ Sports

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There are few things that I love more than women’s sports. Not for the competition, mind you. Not for the freedom it embodies, either. Not for the excitement or the love of the game. No, I like it solely for the sex appeal. There is nothing that gets me, as a man, more aroused than the bodies of women, their bodies glistening with sweat, their uniforms tightly clinging to their flesh, their breath so hot and quick, you can smell it from your seat, whether at home, or at a game.

It’s become my greatest fetish. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife. We have a lot of sex, and it’s great, fantastic even. But some of my interests are too strong to bear. I think it began in high school. I was a runner in cross-country (not a good runner, but a runner nonetheless). After the guys would finish racing, I would sit down and watch the girls. They all looked so good in their tiny shorts, with their bras fully visible underneath their tank tops. Some girls would skip the shorts all together, and wear these wonderful spandex bloomers. You could see the sides of their cheeks pushing out from those tiny panties; it was divine.

I could barely run at all, but I always pressed on to finish the race, because I would have a better race to watch afterwards. And I did watch. I’d stand on the sidelines in rapt attention, smelling the girls’ sweat and watching their tiny feet run in their dirty shoes. I always had a tremendous erection at those races before they began.

As the girls passed by, I would smile in goofy pleasure. By the end of each race, there would be a large wet splotch of pre-cum on my briefs. Then, in only my third race, something happened. A girl tripped on her shoelaces, which had come untied. She fell into the grass, her shoes flying off, and her shorts scraping on the ground. She scrambled to get up, her white sweat socks slipping on the dewy grass, and just a glimpse of her cherry red panties visible under where her shorts had scrunched. I watched all this for a moment, and then I came. All over myself, inside my shorts.

I ran to the bathroom, terrified. The cum had soaked right through my briefs, and a huge wet mark covered my shorts. Thank God I had another pair in my gym bag. But as a slipped the fresh shorts on (going commando), ulus escort I smiled. I had never cum so much in my life! I usually jizzed out about a tablespoon (watching scrambled Cinemax, of course), but I had just shot out four or five at the absolute least! The lower tip of my tank top was even a little damp. So I tried a little experiment. The next week, I watched the girl’s race again. I was so horny; I could barely hold it in.

Every so often, I would softly milk some pre-cum out onto the ground (the crowd was so thick, no one noticed). I was amazed at myself, as every squeeze would milk out enough clear syrup to totally coat my dick in thick lather (in later races, where I watched on concrete, it looked like a large puddle beneath me by the end).

After the race, as the soaked girls hugged each other, I ran to the bathroom, and locked the door. I threw off all my clothes, and rubbed my throbbing cock, hot and wet. I recalled those bras, those socks, that sweat. I came in seconds, and felt warmth all the way up to my chest. I looked down, and saw my chest covered with gel. I wiped myself off with my towel, and threw it away (I spent a lot on towels). And that became my ritual after every race.

It grew as time went on. My boners grew uncontrollable just looking at the girl’s swim team in the school paper. By my senior year, I attended every girl’s sporting event. I was jerking off at each and every one. My orgasms grew harder and stronger. College was even better; there were so many women’s sports. Every day, I would have a great orgasm. My absolute favorite was basketball. So much bouncing and running! My undies would be soaked by halftime, so I’d go to the bathroom and masturbate. I would slowly milk myself as the cheerleaders danced and yelled. Then the game would begin again. I’d hear them move, and I’d cum, usually for forty to fifty seconds. I’d clean myself with the pre-moistened briefs, and return to the game. I’d rush to the dorm afterward, because a wet mark was already appearing on my jeans.

Eventually, all the attendance at events paid off. I went out with a pretty volleyball player, and we liked each other immensely. However, the sex was only good, not super. She loved it (all the masturbation yenimahalle escort had forged my dick to over nine inches), but I didn’t do nearly as well as when I watched the games. I knew it was a fetish then. But I loved her dearly, and we married after college. But some desires are too much to give up. I loved those awesome orgasms more than anything, and I never stopped indulging myself. She worked on Sundays, and I didn’t. So I wouldn’t even shower those mornings. I’d get right out of bed, strip my shorts off, and watch the TV.

Usually, woman’s golf was on. I loved it. There was so much time to admire the ladies’ figures as they lined up those shots. It was like they were modeling, just for me. They were so soft and pale. Their golf shirts hung loose on their bodies, their tan shorts were often so wonderfully tight. And they’d just stand there for what seemed like hours, just so I could appreciate them. I’d shut my eyes and daydream. A woman would be standing there, lining up a putt. No one was watching from the sidelines but me. I could smell the grass, though I was really on my easy chair at home. She’d stand there for whole minutes, just toying with hitting the ball, just re-adjusting her grip on her club. Then she’d slowly put the club down, as if to measure the angle to the hole. Then, she’d bend over, and sit down on the grass.

She’d untie her spiked shoes, and slowly remove the laces from each. Then she’d stand, and step right out of her shoes. She’d circle the hole, her brown socks only up to her ankles. Then when she was done, she’d call for her caddy. The caddy would appear from nowhere. She was a small girl, not a day over seventeen. The golfer would take her hat off, her long brown hair still in its ponytail. The caddy would put it in her bag. Then the golfer peeled off her golf shirt, revealing her sport bra, a bright green. She tossed the shirt onto the green as her caddy knelt down and unbuttoned her shorts. She had to struggle to get them down, as the golfer had a gorgeous ass, and the pants were very tight. Her panties were even tighter. There were also bright green, and cotton. I watched as the caddy tossed the pants into to bag and ran to retrieve the shirt. The golfer picked up the club, tunalı escort and resumed sizing up the shot, in her bra, panties, and socks.

Her marvelous form slowly bent and twisted, her pallid flesh so creamy and soft. She continued to size, pace, circle, and size again for minutes, minutes I wished would never end. Finally, she would putt. The ball would sink into the hole. The golfer tossed her club down in triumph. The caddy ran over and hugged her. The golfer hugged back, and gave her young caddy a quick kiss on the nose. The caddy gave her a smooch on the cheek, then on the lips. The golfer than enveloped her teenage assistant’s mouth in a giant kiss. The caddy smiled after the kiss and sat on the ground. The golfer turned around, and undid her bra. Her breasts popped out, big and soft. They sagged just a bit to prove that they were natural.

Then the panties followed, releasing that wonderful ass, as well as a spectacular bush of brown pubic hair. The golfer grinned widely and laid down on the green. Her caddy crawled over on the hands and knees, and began to rub those socked feet. She stroked and massaged them, kissing the brown material, and rubbing them all over her face. The golfer moaned with pleasure. After fifteen minutes of this, the golfer popped her toes (still in the socks) out of her young friend’s mouth. She stood on her feet, and lifted the girl up by her armpits, and one would lift a young child. She saw the deep, wet splotch on her caddy’s shorts, and pressed her face against it for a deep smell. She then put the girl down, who was giggling uncontrollably.

They hugged again, the golfer nude but for socks, and the caddy with her cummy shorts. They’d kiss and kiss, sucking on each other’s tongues over and over, licking the insides of each other’s mouths, smooching each other all over their faces. Then I opened my eyes and screamed silently as an incredible orgasm ripped into me. I’d lay around a bit after the orgasm, happy and wet. I’d wipe myself off with my big box of tissues. I’d look at the clock: eleven am. I’d smile, maybe get a bite to eat, but only for a minute. I’d quickly sit back down, toss my feet up on the footrest, and watch some more. It’d be only a second before I was hard again.

In minutes, my cock would be covered in pre-cum again. I’d have more fantasies, and another fantastic orgasm, shooting cum all over my chest in fifteen minutes. I’d do this until six PM; the ladies’ sports ran all day. Then I’d hop in the shower, and get ready for my wife to get home at seven.

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