Desperate Footballers Wife

Desperate Footballers Wife

“Nice knickers,” Errol whispered as he stood in the frame of the kitchen door.
“What did you say?” I retorted without taking my eyes off the TV.
“I like your knickers…you suit black…very sexy.” He grinned then took a long drag on his cigarette.
I nervously ran my hand along the back of my jeans until I touched an inch or two of my lacy thong. Immediately I moved off my stool and hitched my jeans up.
“Mac will kill you if he knew you’d said that,” I hissed.
“No…I don’t think so. Mac?” He looked at my husband who was sitting in the other room, “He couldn’t take me,” the young black lad grinned confidently as he threw his cigarette end nonchalantly onto the lawn.
His eyes never left mine as he strolled past me and re-joined my husband and five other friends that were watching football and drinking beer in my lounge.
My husband, ‘Mac’, was the Captain of an English Division One football club. He’d made his reputation as a ‘hard man’ in Scotland some years ago; and had moved to England for three million pounds two years previously; just as his current team got relegated from the Premiership. We had a fantastic house and to all extents and purposes lived a millionaire’s lifestyle, but I was bored witless.
We had first met 8 years ago and after a whirlwind romance we got married. One Scottish newspaper dubbed us ‘Beauty and the Beast’ on our Wedding Day. I had always been regarded as ‘cute’ rather than ‘pretty’. I have Strawberry Blonde hair (light ginger!), a round face with freckles and a tiny ‘turned up nose’. Just like my mum I’m naturally slim with a 32b-22-34 figure. Before meeting Mac I’d never had any shortage of boyfriends; but the moment I first saw him I fell in love. Now…he was a just a drunken bore who revelled in his ‘hardman’ image.
I continued drinking wine and watching my soap operas in the kitchen as the guys got drunker, louder and coarser as they watched a rival team getting beat on our huge TV.
After a few minutes my gaze drifted into the living room where Errol was sitting slightly behind the eye-line of the others.
He winked when I noticed him, making me blush.
This went on for the next hour or so; each time our eyes met he would wink or pull a funny face making me smile. Then he began licking his lips lasciviously and slowly stroking his crotch.
I didn’t know what to think or how to react but I couldn’t stop looking at him.
Mac and I are both 31 and are from Northern Scotland. Errol was 22 and a flash, black Londoner who played in the Premier League. Apparently he’d had a bad injury the previous season and had been ‘loaned’ to Mac’s team for three months as part of his return to fitness.
I’d seen him after a couple of games but this was the first time that he had visited our house for Mac’s weekly gathering. As Club Captain my husband took it upon himself to organise the player’s social events; which meant ‘getting pissed out of their minds’ twice a week. Once would be straight after a match when they would go out into the local town ‘wining, dining and 69ing’. The other would be at our house where he could be ‘Lord of the Manor’, showing off his big house, huge TV, massive stereo system, awesome games console or purpose built snooker room. (Do you think that he was over compensating for something?)
As usual the night ended with Mac getting so drunk he fell asleep on the sofa before the guys’ taxis arrived.
“Do you need a hand with him…or anything?” Errol asked as the others shuffled out into the cold night.
“No thanks,” I smiled, “I’ll manage by myself…thanks.”
“I bet you will!” he chuckled as he ran his hand along my thigh, making my heart miss a beat and my stomach turn over.
For the next few days I couldn’t stop smiling as I re-lived the attention that Errol had paid me.
On the Saturday night immediately after the game I was waiting in the Players Lounge like a nervous teenager; when the lads crashed through the door. They were in high spirits because they had won 4-0 with Errol scoring twice and Mac being very lucky not to be sent off after thumping an opposition player. History told me that my darling husband wouldn’t make any attempt at conversation on a night like this but I would still be obliged to play the part of ‘adoring wife’; a role that I was very good at.
After making small talk with a couple of friends Errol finally caught my eye and motioned me towards a quiet corner.
I surreptitiously made my way to where he was standing.