michaellinne

Ten centimetres to the left.

Arriving late.

I´m late again. Guys are sure to be pissed about it.

Should have gotten out of bed sooner, could have gone to bed sooner, would have declined last couple of drinks.

Here they are, everybody is ready and eager to get started.

”It would appear we´re all her” says Coach acidly.

We move to the old cafeteria, now half an hour of listening, to him go on and on about, applying pressure, choosing our attacks, choosing the most efficient place to defend.

He´s so into it.

I´m considering how long, it has been, since he got laid last.

I know in my case it would be more than 6 months.

She was a real last minute solution. I had been drinking with the team. We had a celebration of a game won. Everybody started to leave the disco, I wanted to stay. In part to keep up my reputation, that I would outdrink anyone and partly to try and pick-up the girl working the bar.

”What can I do you for”? She said. Having send of the last of the guys, I turned to her. ”100 euros is the ussual fee”, I replied smiling,”but you can take advantage of my saturdaynight-special” She laughed and made me a drink. ”Very kind of you, may I buy you a drink”. I accepted the drink.

The girl was speaking with a dialect, she was one of the hundreds of hopeful students coming to Copenhagen to study every year. She had taken this job to pay the rent, gradually realizing that working a 40 hour week, didn´t leave much time to attend classes and do homework.She had dropped out only 6 weeks ago. She had studied Political Science, but her heart wasn´t in it.

Listening to her predicament, faking interrest, my thoughts were already undressing her.

She had brown eyes, not more than 160 cm high, probably weighing no more than 55kg. Not the girl who turn heads at ”Strøget”, but she was charming never the less, and I obvously wasn´t going to marry her. My interrest were simpler than that.

”You´ll be on the bench”

The coach was about finished.

”You´ll be on the bench”, he persisted. He was hoping for some kind of reaction to his punitive action. I sure wasn´t going to give him the satisfaction. I guess it would be unfair to let the hungover slob start, having younger faster players that had arrived on time.

We´re walking to the Changing-room, I´m in no hurry. Bench-guys will fill the canteens. I figured I´d do it before changing. The athmosphere in the room is exited, we´re meeting the other top-side. This game could decide our season.

”So, this is my frontdoor, please enter,”she said, reaching out for me to come in. I was eager to come, but stalling, playing hard to get, toying her. Her appartment was one of the early 20. century appartments.Very small and very worn, probably overprized. Anyway you can´t disguss prizes in Copenhagen, it´s a sellers market.

I got in.

She offered drinks neither of us wanted or needed. I kissed her. I felt her body shiver. My kisses get harder more demanding. Then she stops, look up at me for a second. I notice the warmth of her place. The furniture is old, second-hand I guess. Everything seems to fit in, creating a sense of relaxed pleasure. She pulls me toward her. I feel I´m loosing control. Her breath is in my ears, warm and moist. My hands are touching her breasts. I kiss her again harder this time. I get on my knees, she pulls of her shirt. I start to kiss her belly, she´s impatient now. She wants me, but again I stall. Only this time with the sole purpose of letting her exitement grow. I want her body craving me. Her eyes are fixed at mine now, we´re kissing again. Her lips are so soft. Her hands start to remove my pants. She´s ready for me. I lift her skirt, as I turn her toward the wall. We merge, we´re now only one. My breathing is getting faster. She´s so warm. She´s now embrassing me completely. I want nothing but to be closer,... deeper. We´re on the bed. I´m about to come as I feel her coming. I close my eyes, trying to stretch my pleasure, failing.

”Be ready, you´re on in 5”.

The guy playing my ususal position is injured or more likely tired, faking injury not to appear weak. I don´t care, I warm my self up. 6 times 50 metre sprints, some stretching, then 3 times 20 metre sprints, a sip of water, I´m ready to play.

I have the ball, guy coming straight at me. I know this guy, I had a hard challenge with him, at the opposite encounter. Realizing that he has no intention of a fair challenge, I prepare for his impact.

”Oops, sorry 'bout that”, I said acidly.

Just as he arrived, his legs were spread. Tunneling the ball through them, avoiding the tackle and at same time remembering to humiliate him. ”Oops, sorry 'bout that” I had heard the words so many times as a young player. Older players would state their rutine, and place in the hieracry of the side by such remarks.

This is a golden opportunity. In my mind the ball is basicly in the goal. I allign the ball, everything is perfect, I strike the ball.

”Would you like something to eat? Coffee?

Her question wakes me up. I agreed to the breakfast, asking for permission to take a shower. I was probably in the shower for half an hour. She was a nice girl no doubt about it. Lovable, passionate and falling in love with me. She told as much this morning.

I guess its up to me. I really like her. Could she and I be an item?

Would I be able to love her?

It was sure to ruin my reputation, I guess that wouldn´t be to bad. But the tall blond chick, I had been checking out in the bookshop.

Bookshop-girl was not to bright though. What the hell, I´m no icon or rocketscientist either. I´m confident the guys would envy me if I got to her.

I can hear her in the kitchen. She must be making an effort. Why would she even bother? Is she that naive? I was always a bastard, can´t she see that?

”Fuck, fuck, fuck”

The changing room is filled with disappointed faces. We lost the game. I can tell that they´re disappointed with my efforts. The curve of the ball had seemed perfect, but it hit the far post. 10 cm to the left, and I would have been the hero. My late appearance, my hungover look, my smoking less than 2 hours before game. All would be forgotten, I would be celebrated. Nobody is talking to me or even looking. I let them down.

”Oops, sorry about that” The smart-arse. Well I got my tunnel though.

” Fuck you” is my clever reply.

Still no eyecontact anywhere in this stinky room.

I´m alone.

It´s at that moment I decide to skip dinner with my parents and get drunk.