Hot Rod Ford - Collegian

Hot Rod Ford p7

From Chapter 6: "I see the look on your faces; no, I'm not trying to question your coaching. But he had several bad games down the stretch, and this one probably ended any chance of moving to the pros. That means he's back, QB2 & 3 are back, and I'm coming in. QB2 is a freshman, 3 is a redshirt freshman, and QB1 has two years after this.

"Don't get me wrong: I'm not afraid of competition. But if there is a seniority system and only the starter is going to play, regardless of his performance or the performance of his backup, it will be four years before I see the field. By then I'll have my master's degree and other options beyond football, so it would be wise for me to look at other football and non-football options now."

Coach Sarkisian was red faced at being challenged by a recruit, but Milwee intervened before he could speak. "I understand your concerns, and I'll explain when we meet tomorrow. Right now, we need to go see other recruits and their families. Thanks for coming, and for bringing a crowd with you, and I'm looking forward to getting to talk tomorrow morning about 10, if that works okay."

The coaches walked away; Rod turned and found three recruits walking up from behind him. Colt Evans, the sole tight end recruit; Quinton (Q) Arms, a four-star wide receiver from Mississippi; and Wes Compton, the Fort Worth lineman. "Well, now I'm convinced you really aren't afraid of anything! That was ballsy."

Before Rod could ask why, Q said, "Dude, I want to play with you! Bad quarterback play let them stack the line so there was no running game, and the line had no chance to block whatever five, six, or seven rushed. Thompson sure wasn't going to beat 'em with his arm, which everyone on the field and watching knows. I heard some grumbling from the players I talked to, but you're the only one with big enough balls to call them out!"

Rod sighed. "I wasn't trying to call them out. I have a decision to make between now and January 9, and I need to understand a few things. As I understand it, Favre is a great athlete, and Thomson is an accurate passer. Except today, with a five or six man rush, he was not accurate, his decision making was slow, and his footwork was terrible as a result.

It's a bowl game that means nothing, so I expected Favre to get some playing time anyway, but he never left the bench. Despite him seemingly being a better option to defeat the rush with his height, running abilities and speed.

"Since you overheard my conversation, you know my reservations. I'll meet with them, but right now I'm questioning coming here, even though it's my favorite school and the Longhorns are my favorite team. If I never see the field because I'm not good enough, that's fine. But if I'm better and coaching policies and decisions keep me off the field, that's not fine."

*****

Disclaimer: Although the names are authentic, the situations and conversations are obviously entirely fictional. That said, this section attempts to depict the world of college athletics in the early part of the NIL era, and some of the consternation coaches feel in recruiting and retaining athletes who can got into the portal on a whim, or to see if they can get a 'higher bid.'

Also obviously, Hot Rod Ford is a remarkable athlete, of which there are many in real life. For instance, Texas has a 5-Star football player who enrolled in January. He is tearing up the collegiate baseball field with elite hitting and speed, while he should be playing high school baseball and running track. Is he unique? No, there are more than you know about, and always have been. Think Bo Jackson and Hershal Walker.

And remember: HR Ford is the 'Jack Armstrong' of his day, minus the inhibitions that held ol' Jack back.

********* Chapter 7

The meeting at ten the next day was as slick as any Rod had attended, and that said something, since he had been on network news shows, national network morning shows, and at affairs hosted by some of the biggest and most powerful companies in the country. He was too jaded to be overly impressed, but it was nice to know they took his recruitment seriously.

Quarterbacks coach AJ Milwee and offensive line coach Flood led off, with Milwee assuring him they were deadly serious about his recruitment, and that he would have every opportunity to compete for playing time. Rod interrupted at that point to ask, "Please define 'playing time,' coach. From what I've seen since you guys got here, QB1 plays from start to finish unless he gets hurt or the game gets out of hand, neither of which has happened much."

Milwee didn't blink, but Flood did. Rod knew his boldness wasn't something most high school players being recruited to UT would express, even if they had the reservations he had. But he was a 20-year-old with considerable real-world experience, a healthy bank account, and a 'second career' in which he was the reigning world champion in two events. He could go back to rodeo or pay his way through UT without making a dent in his savings or investments. He had no intention of signing to play football and being relegated to the third spot on the bench because of some weird politics or agreements with the highly recruited players already enrolled.

Milwee knew all that and was ready. "Rod, I know the NIL money we're going to offer is relative chump change to you. I know you aren't afraid to compete, but what you want to know before you put in the time and effort to begin playing football again is whether there are agreements in place with the other quarterbacks that would keep you off the field, even if you surpass them in practice. The answer is yes and no.

"Yes, there are agreements, but, henceforth, those agreements are the same as the one you are asking for; the better player plays. So no, there aren't agreements with others that will keep you off the field."

He paused, and Rod asked, "You said 'henceforth,' coach; there was an agreement made with Thompson when he transferred to Texas?"

"We were warned about your IQ and confidence, Rod," he said with a chuckle. Flood still looked pissed, but Milwee continued. "There wasn't an agreement with Andrew, but we did promise he would get every opportunity to reach his goal of being drafted in a high round by the NFL, and Favre came here knowing that. Drew's had that opportunity, and he knows all coaching decisions henceforth will be made strictly based on merit."

Rod looked at Flood for a moment before replying, and when he did, his reply was directed at Flood, not Milwee. "Coach Flood, I can see you think I'm insubordinate, but I didn't get to be the world champion in two events, runner-up in another, Rookie of the Year, and All-Around Cowboy because of a lack of confidence, or audacity. I've long wanted to go to UT, and if I'd played football last year it would have been here.

But I'm a world-class athlete, at least in rodeo, and a savvy businessman worth millions. I have very lucrative offers from big-time sponsors to return to rodeo, and even more lucrative offers to be a model and spokesperson for an emerging clothing line, and for other multi-national concerns you would know if I mentioned them by name.

"I'm here because I want to play football again, but if politics or existing agreements, rather than merit, are going to keep me buried on the bench until the sophomore and redshirt freshman above me graduate or go pro in three or four years, I'll play somewhere else. Or just go to school and model. Or go back to rodeo. Because, honestly, I believe I will win an open competition with Thompson and Favre.

"But you wouldn't recruit a lineman who didn't think the same thing, would you? I know there is a lot to learn to play at this level, but it won't take me three or four years to learn it, and when I know what I need and am ready, I expect to play. There are things you learn in games with the other team firing live bullets that you can't learn in practice, so the reserve quarterbacks sitting, regardless of poor play by the starter, or so he can run up stats, just isn't a situation I want to be in. I don't need the aggravation.

"I'm a winner: I want to play where the focus and preparation are on winning, and merit determines who best helps the team meet that purpose."

Flood's frown slowly turned into a smile, then a grin. "Sorry, Rod. I'm used to recruiting 16-18 year-olds with a superiority complex because they are physically blessed, not a grown-ass man who has already competed at the national championship level. And you're right: I wouldn't recruit a lineman who lacked confidence. You can rearrange bodies, and teach skills, but a bad mentality is hardest to fix. As coach Royal used to say, 'If he bites you as a dog, he'll bite you as a pup," and my experience says that's true. I don't want to speak for coach Sark, but..."

"But you don't need to, Curt," Sarkisian said as he entered the room and proceeded to shake Rod's hand.

"I hate to admit that I took the chicken-shit route, Rod, but I've been listening in. I wanted to be sure I knew where you're coming from before we talk, and I wanted these guys to hear you out without me in the room. I trust them implicitly, and I value their opinions."

Turning to the two coaches, he asked, "So what do you think?" Milwee just laughed and said, "I already knew; Curt, what do you think?"

Flood chuckled. "Yeah, I see what Steve saw at Las Vegas, and what he showed us in rodeo and football clips. I don't know if he can play quarterback worth a shit, but he don't lack for brains or confidence!"

"Then tell him what you told me about the offensive line prospects, and then I'll address wide receivers and running backs."

Flood lost the smile and grew serious. "You know I came here from Alabama, and I want to tell you something I'll never tell my linemen: the last two recruiting classes have gotten us the largest and most talented crop of linemen I've ever coached! The current group is smart, feisty, and talented, but they don't have the size or talent of those coming in. It takes a while to develop a lineman - all the reads, calls, and instant decisions they have to make to open holes or protect the quarterback usually take several years to learn and develop their bodies. Strength and conditioning and practice provide 90% of that.

"But you're right that some things can only be learned on the game field against a motivated opponent, and I have to figure out how to get them game experience without disrupting the highly coordinated line play we have, or waiting for injuries or blowouts."

The HFC agreed. "And we need to do the same with three quarterbacks, assuming Drew stays. Feedback from the NFL says he needs another year of development to get selected early, but he knows he has Brad, and now you, pushing him in an open competition. We'll see what he does, but I expect him to stay.

"To be honest, he has the inside track due to his experience, and Brad will start out ahead of you because he's been here, knows the system, and understands what to do against defenses better than you. That doesn't mean you'll never see the field, but it does mean you'll probably end up playing four games this year and redshirting. Unless you prove me wrong, like you did the rodeo experts."

Rod chuckled. "Coach, I'm a bigger, faster, stronger, better athlete than either of them: that's not brag, it's fact. You'll see when we get workouts underway. I don't pretend to know what they know about reading defenses, or the intricacies of your system, much less claim I know more than you know.

"But I've been there 'with the game on the line,' or in my case, championships worth millions of dollars, and I didn't flinch. I, or my partner and I, went into the box or chute over one hundred times last year, knowing we needed to catch fast or ride better than anyone else to get the money and points we needed to get to the NFR: we did it over and over as a team, and I did it as an individual.

"I'm not as accomplished at quarterback yet, but I've seen more action in dire circumstances than either, or probably both put together. And frankly, your team needs offensive leaders who won't flinch in big games, or in big moments in big games, and who will give you four quarters of quality play, not two or three.

"So if you still want me, and we can agree on a business-like arrangement to offset my lost income, I'd like to come here and compete with your five-stars for the job. Might take a while, even a year, as you intimated, but I'm not lacking confidence that I'm the man for the job."

"I'm sure you believe that, Rod, and I agree. So give us until January 9 and then come to Austin for the day. There are new entities entering our NIL program, and they may affect the business end of our agreement. As to the quarterback competition, I promise you my decisions as to QB1, 2, and 3 will be based on merit - that is, the one who gives us the best chance to win - and that I'll find a way to get QB2 more game experience. If you're QB3 this year, you need to learn all you can and be prepared, but you will sit most of the time.

"It's a tough sport, and having three quarterbacks is barely enough, depth wise, so we're bringing in another this year with you. He's an athlete as much as a quarterback, and started both ways for a strong 6A program, so he'll be in the hunt as well.

"Do you have any questions?"

Rod asked, "I'll assume things will go well on January 9, so I guess my question is, when do we start winter workouts?"

They laughed, gave him a date, and Rod went on his way.

"Well, what do you boys think?"

The cornerback coach chuckled. "Drew and Brad better tie their jockstraps on. He don't play around!"

Flood was pensive before speaking. "I'm not sure how this will play out. He's more like a graduate transfer than a freshman; he's experienced a lot of success in very high level competition, and I guarantee he ain't afraid of the devil himself! Unlike Brad, who was willing to be the backup for a year or two and learn, Rod's going to stir things up. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised to see someone hit the portal after spring practice. And by someone, I don't mean him.

"He's also a natural leader. He hasn't been to any camps or recruiting events with these guys, but he already buddied up with two of my best line prospects, that hot shot linebacker, our best receiver recruit, our tight end recruit, and several others. Once this all gets underway, he's going to become a leader. That's just who he is. That could be a great thing, or a terrible thing, depending on how the quarterback competition plays out, and whether the players believe the order is proper.

"As you pointed out when we were watching film, Coach, he's got a big arm, yet is unerringly accurate, especially on the deep balls that receivers love. That's going to show up when we go outside, and his camp of followers will grow. Honestly, as much as I know you love Drew, he's going to be QB3 before this is over. The other two are superior athletes with superior arms, and this one has cold blood in his veins in dire situations. I suspect Brad does too, but until he's been there, we won't know.

"So, hell yes, do whatever you need to do to sign him, but understand what you're getting on both sides of the equation, because he will stir shit up. It may be in the best way possible, or it may divide the team, but these young guys and a lot of the older guys are going to flock to him."

AJ interjected, "Coach, the other drawback is, he demands perfection of himself. He quotes Roy Cooper, the old calf roping champ, with 'Practice doesn't make perfect. Perfect practice makes perfect.' So we can't expect him to sit back and watch others lollygag through drills or scrimmages. From what I've heard and seen, his patience with people who fuck around when at work is paper thin, and he has little to no respect for 'his elders' - you have to earn his respect! He's 100% results based, and, to him, being 6'6" 300 pounds of God-given talent means nothing, unless you're working to fully develop it and are producing for the team.

"Dude is a mixed blessing. He's a blessing because he believes the same things we, and all other coaches believe about hard work and all. But he's not going to sit back and watch us trot the same guy or guys out that ain't getting the job done if there are good alternatives sitting on the bench. And maybe we should reexamine our commitment to 'loyalty' and to 'them that brung ya.' If the success of the team is the summary of its part, and one or two parts or a few parts keep misfiring, is it fair to the other 20-21 players if we keep running them out there?

"Steve, you and I got roasted by knowledgeable commentators for not pulling QB1 in this bowl game and inserting the quarterback more likely to succeed against the fast, athletic defense we were facing, and I can't even disagree. I just wanted to give him his chance to impress the NFL scouts, and instead I cost the team the game and dropped his draft stock into the third or fourth round. I did no one a favor, and cost our seniors a chance to go out with a bowl win. I'm not willing to do that again, Rod Ford or no Rod Ford!"

****

The airline ticket to Denver had been changed from San Antonio to Austin, and Rod was on the 3:30 departure. A four-wheel drive jeep was waiting for him at the rental car center, and he was on the way to Aspen just a little later than the time he left AUS; one of the benefits of traveling west across a time zone.

Their condo was large and lavish; he even had his own bedroom, rather than the usual sleeping bag in the living room. Of course, his bedroom and that of his sisters were the only ones on the third floor - too many stairs for the old folk.

They had scoped out the ski area, but none had gone skiing or snowboarding today. Mandy and Andi insisted he rent a snowmobile and take them for rides, so that occupied their evening. Reconnecting with his 'little sisters,' though it was obvious they weren't little anymore, made it a special day.

His recruiting visit became the first subject of conversation after supper, and that was kind of a downer. The coaches ultimately said the right things, but deeds speak louder than words. and Rod was less than fully satisfied with their artfully chosen words.

A second, much more joyful subject of conversation began with a ringing doorbell and the delivery of beaucoup boxes. The men put away those boxes marked Day 2, 3, and 4, and the girls were tasked with opening day one. It was like they were 8 and 10 again, all giggles, excitement, and enthusiasm. "Mom, this one is for you!" Mandy proclaimed, followed immediately by "Dad, this is yours!" and so on until everyone had a big package to open, and then they all opened them.

As soon as he saw FLI as Sender on the label, he knew everything was from Addy and Carlos, and he suspected he knew what they were getting. He was right, and wrong. Each package included a ski bib with jacket, and a shirt that wasn't the same color, but matched. Beneath the ski paraphernalia they found a jacket, two shirts, and fleece lined tights or pants. The pants were for the older men; the tights were for the women and Rod. Folded on top of his tights was a handwritten note from Addy.

"These are our Christmas presents for your family! We already had the sizes, so what you see is our hot-selling winter items, custom fit for each of you. They come without obligations, but we will have a photographer in Aspen on December 31 through January 1, and we'd love it if you'd let her take pictures. Your family is just so beautiful, from grandparents to your baby sisters, and it would help us add steam to our winter campaign. If that doesn't work, we understand. And please send us some feedback on how they look and feel. Love you, Addy and Carlos."

Rod held his tights up above his head and laughed; everything else was fantastic, but these? The silver and black colors were great, but he'd have to try them on and look in the mirror before committing to wear them. He knew she wanted to display his package in ads, but he wasn't sure displaying it to his family was proper.

The girls were over the moon, and the women weren't far behind. The two old codgers were talking about someone trying to 'modernize their wardrobes,' and Dad was examining the logo displayed prominently on each piece of clothing. "This is a very nice logo, Rod. This must be only for their ski line, because our other clothes have a different logo."

Rod looked and agreed: the FLI curved above a ski jump with a skier soaring above the end. It was eye-catching, and Rod could see the endless stream of boys asking his sisters what FLI was. And men asking the women.

As it turned out, everyone got queried, and he was glad he had talked to his family about Fontaine-Longoria Imports (FLI) being the business owned by his friends Addy de la Fontaine and Carlos Longoria, their manufacturing plant in Monterey, and about their June 1st wedding, in which he would be best man and Hailey the Maid of Honor.

He assured his family that they would all be invited to Monterrey, Mexico for the wedding. All but the Arnolds already knew and loved Addy and Carlos, and they loved the clothing. After trying things on, the females were thrilled about getting to model, while the grandpas were a bit reluctant. After they tried everything on they were game, and Rodney and Rod were up for whatever. Though Rod still had to try the tights on.

They gave their new ski clothes a good workout the next day, what with the tumbles and falls that come when you haven't done something that requires skill, balance, and high altitude conditioning in two years. The girls did best, Rod was second best, and the rest were in the third group. They were tired enough that they agreed to eat, shop, and see the sights rather than go back to the slopes that afternoon.

Because they were hungry, they wore their ski gear to the casual restaurant Dad had picked. The parking lot was a ways from the restaurant, and along the way they saw a woman taking pictures of Christmas displays. As they passed, she noticed the FLI on their ski clothes and identified herself as Jean, the photographer for FLI. "I'm just getting a few 'setting' shots of this charming village and hoped to get some of you tomorrow."

She sized them up and said, "I understand why Addy sent me now; I don't know that I've seen a more attractive family! Fit, manly men and fit, lovely ladies, who make the ski clothing look even better! Would you allow me to take some pictures of your outing?"

The girls were ready, but Rod insisted they eat first, and invited Jean to join them. She worked herself out of the spotlight, instead listening to and getting to know family members. By the time they left, she was just one of the fam - until she asked if she could take some candid photos of us shopping, walking, and joking with each other. Everyone but the girls laughingly agreed; they were ready to model lingerie, or whatever she wanted.

"Can you imagine how jealous that witch Carmine is going to be when she sees us on TV?" Mandy asked. "Or in magazines!" Andi responded. "This is going to be so much fun! And maybe we'll get discovered, and offered modeling or acting gigs!"

They were certainly pretty enough and shapely enough, but the thought of them being used and abused like Hailey made Rod remind them of the dark side, which calmed them down a little.

Still, they were grace and beauty in motion on the slopes, and Jean couldn't ignore that, so they would get featured somehow, and Rod could see them as the future teen faces of FLI Ski and Outdoors.

After a few runs the elders were feeling it, and were ready to go to their rooms, and Jean was ready to check in and get comfortable.

Rod hadn't seen the lodge, so his sisters volunteered to show him around while the elders began to wind down. He and his sisters were wearing their FLI jackets over jeans and sweaters, and the FLI logo drew the attention of the manager of the store they were in. She initiated a conversation about FLI becoming a hot brand, and asked where they got the jackets. The girls immediately told her all about their friends Addy and Carlos, that their jackets were presents from them, and that their brother could help her get in touch with the owners.

Rod gave her their business number, told her to mention his name, and predicted she would enjoy working with them.

They went to the Teen Canteen next. It featured game machines and consoles, an alcohol-free beverage bar, a jukebox, and room for dancing. There was an interesting mix of teens and barely twenties, and parents, most of whom were thirty-something to forty-something mothers, or more correctly, MILFs, and a few predators out for young blood.

FLI attracted their first admirers there, and soon the three Fords were surrounded by good looking young people ostensibly interested in clothing, but adeptly flirting. The crowd around his younger siblings included a lot of older teens and young men, while his included a lot of very pretty jailbait and a couple of prospects. He got the prospects' information, and steered his sisters to a table where he could better control the mass around them.

He needn't have worried: they were old hands at this, having been gorgeous since birth, and having watched their mom and Rod's ladies work a crowd. Apparently, they had each invited someone to stop by when they found a table, just as Rod had invited Cheyne (chain-e), who came from a rodeo family he knew in Wyoming, and Grace, who was Cheyne's roommate at SMU in Dallas. Grace was a petite brunette with captivating brown eyes, and Cheyne was 5'9" of curvy blonde with mesmerizing blue eyes.

Both were personable, obviously intelligent, excitable, and full of laughs. Quite a pair, and Rod was trying to figure out how to parley both of them into his bed when their mommas arrived, and he considered changing his targeting. Talk about MILFs! Damn!

All was cool while they all went by first names, but when Cheyne gave him a funny look and asked his last name, things went sideways. Her mother, Heather, picked up on Ford just as Cheyne did and excitedly exclaimed, "Oh my god! You're Hot Rod Ford! Where have you been? I haven't seen your name at any of the big rodeos!"

That drew a bigger crowd for Rod's explanation. Though few were rodeo fans, the reigning world champion giving up his sport to become a college student drew stunned looks from Heather, Grace's mom Shelly, Cheyne, and a lot of the onlookers. The Wuests (Cheyne and Heather) and Chapels (Grace and Shelly) took seats at the table, and began grilling Rod about his reasoning in walking away from a sport in which he was the new king.

The onlookers began drifting away with all the rodeo talk, but Rod noticed that a group of young men remained nearby, giving him the stink eye and acting angry. That he had four of hottest chicks in the place surrounding him appeared to be the cause, but who knows.

The girls were up to two boys each, sitting at a nearby table. He needlessly kept an eye on them until he saw they were in control and the boys were their toys, while trying to both placate the rodeo-centric Wuest women and hustle them and the Chapel dolls. Grace's foot was exploring his right leg, and Heather was giving him a good look at her amazing mammary glands from time to time while leaning over the table. Shelly was reserved, but the speculative looks she was giving him were hotter than her daughter's foot on his calf. Cheyne was practically swooning on him while giving him glances at her breasts, which were more modest than mom's but full and perky.

If he had to pick, Grace was prettiest; Cheney was the most striking and had long, sexy legs; Shelly was a hot blooded slut disguised as a mommy; and, based on her smoldering looks, Heather would teach him things he had only dreamed of! The estrogen bouquet at his table was the best he'd ever gathered, but he didn't know where to begin. And then the jukebox started playing, and Cheney grabbed his hand a millisecond before Grace.

She led him to the floor, insinuated her phenomenal body tightly against his, and made sure he knew that she was attracted to him and ready to show him just how much. Her blue eyes grew wide when she rubbed against his hard protrusion, and she immediately doubled down. Her body writhed against his, his hand descended to the top of her perfectly shaped ass, and his body let her know he was equally willing.

It was, after all, a teen canteen, and he had younger sisters here, so he kept her on the other side of the floor and maintained a modicum of propriety, in spite of her efforts. When the song ended, he insisted they go back to the table, and tried to at least soften the stiffie she had given him. Thankfully, it was crowded around their table, so only momma Wuest saw his bulge. She grinned and winked, knowing her beautiful and luscious daughter intended to fuck the reigning All-Around Cowboy, and it would be up to him to stop her.

Grace was quicker next time, and only her short stature kept her from repeating Cheyne's effort. After she had ridden his leg enough to make her point, Rod put his hands on her hips and leaned down. "I'd like to pick you up by your tight little butt and preview what I'm going to do to you the first time we're alone. We will both be naked when I lift you up, feast on what I suspect are gorgeous little titties, and then let you settle an inch at a time on my big cock until it's deep beneath your tight little belly, at the entrance to your cervix. I'll lift you, let you fall, over and over, with my cockhead rubbing your clit coming and going, and brushing your G-spot before burying itself.

"After you've come a half dozen times, I'm going to insert my big finger in your little starfish and make you scream in ecstasy around my tongue in your mouth, while you get fucked in all three holes, which I'm going to do with my cock a little later anyway, when you're completely helpless from cumming too much.

"What do you think, Little One? Do my evil intentions frighten or excite you?"

She breathlessly replied, "Take me outside right now, pull my panties off, and drop my tiny little cunny on your big cock, Rod! I'm not very experienced, but I'm not afraid. Then you can take me to our apartment and do all those exciting things to me, and probably to my mom after I pass out. The way she looks at you, I'm sure she's as ready as I am. Her new hubby is rich, but he's a dud in bed. She wears out a toy a week after he goes to work. Anyway, if you pick me, you'll probably get a twofer, and maybe a threefer if my big sister Lindsey shows up."

That made Rod chuckle. "So you, your mom, and sis are pretty open about sex - how about Cheyne and Heather?"

"Oh, I think they tell each other everything, and I wouldn't doubt they'd do you at the same time in the same bed. Not that they're total sluts; it's just that they are rodeo people and you're the king of rodeo, so all normal restrictions are off."

He took her back, saw that his sisters and the hot Wuest women were out on the floor, felt her turn his hand loose to dance with good looking ski dude, and noticed Shelly returning with an escort, who thanked her for the dance and turned her loose. He immediately offered his hand, and she gave him that look while taking it. She was about an inch or maybe two taller than Grace, but similarly built, if more mature and well rounded, so their sex organs didn't match up either.

Not a problem for Shelly, who could rub her modest boobs on his upper belly and talk dirty to him at the same time. "Heather and Cheyne want you because you're a rodeo star; I want you because I recognize a stud when I see one, and I need breeding!"

"Shelly, are you aware your daughter offered me a twofer tonight - her and then you - and a threefer when your other daughter arrives? That's very tempting, especially with you rubbing around on me like this, but I don't do happily married women."

"That's not a problem, Studly. He turned out to be bad in bed and untrainable. The selfish bastard barely lasts ten minutes the first time, and can't get up again for hours! I've given him pills to help, but once he cums, he's done! Fucking is all about me pleasing him, and to make it worse, he doesn't like to go down on me, and isn't any good at it when he does!"

"So you're looking for someone to breed you properly, but I told you I don't breed married women."

"When you come by the room, I'll show you the divorce papers that were filed two days ago. That's why we're here - to avoid confrontation. He's rich and he can be a mean bastard, so we decided to come up here using my company credit card and hide out until he cools down. I've got someone watching him, so I'll know when that happens."

"I'm not saying no to you or Grace, but I will need to see the papers before I get with you. Maybe tomorrow or the next day."

The song ended, they went back to the table, and Heather laid claimed to him. She was tall and built, probably a little thicker now than in her twenties, but hot as hell for early forties, and she dressed to prove it. Elaborate hairstyle, turquoise jewelry, golden boots with turquoise-colored inlays, and a western cut leather-look dress that matched the golden boots. There was a hint of cleavage, and her long, shapely legs were well displayed to mid-thigh when standing; when slow dancing, the hem was only inches below her very nice butt.

Too bad she was married, and Rod told her so; after disclosing a list of things he found attractive about her. She grinned and replied, "I'm in an open marriage. With my team roper husband gone for weeks on end chasing the NFR, and both of us knowing how high our libidos are, we have an agreement, and when we go back to the table I'll show you proof, okay?

"I know your reputation is sampling tasty treats like my daughter and Grace, but avoiding married women. I also heard you make exceptions to that if there are extenuating circumstances, like mine."

"I have, but only twice, and one of those had filed for divorce; like Shelly claims to have done. She's willing to show me her papers, tomorrow."

"I'll show you mine tonight, and give you a choice between a former Dallas Cowboy's Cheerleader who knows more about sex than you do, or her twenty year-old clone."

"Do I have to choose? Couldn't I give her the round with the reigning world champion she wants, and then finish the night with you? Grace made me that offer."

"You are prideful, aren't you!" she replied with a short laugh. "I hate to tell you, but my daughter is not some novice at sex. She's sampled the best fraternity boys and athletes at SMU, and she's in tip-top shape. You may not survive her, and if you do, you won't survive me! Maybe a few days apart!"

He had danced her into the dark recesses of the dance floor, near the emergency exit, with walls on two sides, and she took the opportunity to meld herself against him. He dropped his hand to her ass, squeezed it, and then reached down and captured the hem. He raised it up until her ass was uncovered, and then ran his hand all over it.

"You were probably checking to see if I wear panties. I do, though this thong barely qualifies, and I'm afraid it's not doing its job of keeping my juices from wetting my dress. That's because of you, Big Boy! Or maybe I should call you Big Cock, because the one rubbing on me certainly is!"

"I'll bet you can generate some RPMs with that pile-driving ass. If I'm sampling, I'm going to sample that thing every way you can. It's magnificent!" He replied breathlessly.

"I can, you can, and it is, but you need to turn me loose and go see what's going on with your sisters!"

He dropped her dress back in place, took her hand, and they started toward the area where a small crowd had developed. He got there just in time to her Mandy lambasting some guy wearing ski clothes. He worked them to the edge of the crowd, and saw Mandy grab Andi and pull her away.

He was thinking she had done a great job of handling that, when ski-bib boy grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her body around to face him. She turned loose of Andi and swung at his face with an open hand. He blocked it, turned her shoulder loose, and slapped her.

It wasn't much of a slap, and his friends were yelling at him and pulling on him to leave, but Big Brother wasn't having that. He grabbed ski-boy by the back of his bib, lifted his feet up until he was on tiptoes, and escorted him straight out the front door. When they cleared the building, Rod tossed him headfirst into a mound of snow beside the sidewalk.

He came out cussing and threatening, and Rod laughed at him. "Stay there and cool off. You just slapped my sister, and my inclination is to give you an unforgettable lesson in manners. If you get up and come after me, I will."

Seeing his friends and the crowd behind Rod, he bristled, got up, and assumed a karate fighting stance. Rod laughed again, and said, "You need to go lay back down in the snowbank and cool off, little boy! You take a swing at me like you did my sister, you won't see the slopes for weeks, maybe months! And don't think your pink belt in Karate will save you - I've studied martial arts far longer than you, I'm more accomplished, and I'm bigger and stronger than you.

"Take your hot temper and your humiliation away from here, and if you ever see my sister again, cross the street to keep away from her! Are we clear?"

We weren't. There were too many of his friends and onlookers to do the sensible thing, and 'nobody humiliates a Mackey! We're rich and powerful and nobody dares treat us like this common cowboy!'

He faked, and then tried a spinning kick at Rod's head. Rod moved inches back, and hit the shoe as it went by. It was more power than he'd ever encountered before, his spin continued, he lost balance, and he was back in the snow again. Everyone laughed, including his so-called friends, which infuriated him!

He jumped up out of the snow and started toward Rod, who gave him a warning in a serious voice that meant his threat to kick his ass if he came back was real. He did anyway, and it didn't turn out well.

He faked a kick and threw a weak, off-balance punch at Rod, who let it slide along his jaw. So now ski-boy had attacked him twice, and he had gotten two warnings; no matter how much money daddy had - and given his entitled demeanor, he had plenty - Rod would prevail with the 'self-defense' defense. As long as he didn't do too much damage, or prolong the punishment.

Rod stepped back, balanced his weight between his feet, with his left foot slightly forward, raised his open hands to his shoulders, and bent his knees slightly. He looked menacing enough to draw gasps from the crowd, and he saw his opponent falter. Then the blood lust of the crowd exploded in exhortations, including his sisters ordering him to "Kick his butt!"

The skier, or maybe snowboarder, was definitely having doubts, but he couldn't back down now, so he screamed his intention to "Kill you, mutherfucker," charged, jumped in the air, and tried to take Rod's head off with a roundhouse kick. Once again he landed in the snow, but when he arose this time, Rod was on him like stink on shit, and the beating ensued! The onslaught of hands and feet landed on his thighs, his arms, his abdomen, and his butt. None knocked him down, but every single one hurt, and would hurt for days to come.

He was done five seconds in, but Rod punished him for another few seconds before letting him fall back into the snow. The screaming crowd was silent now, stunned at how efficiently Rod had dispatched his opponent. His friends had backed away, fearful their allegiance would earn them a beating like that. Scores of cellphones had recorded the entire debacle, and he knew that number included at least one sister, as well as Cheyne and Grace.

Rod turned, made his way to Mandy, and asked, "Are you okay?"

"My lip and eye are swollen, and I'll be a one-eyed raccoon tomorrow, but I'll be all right long before Richie is. Maybe that will teach him to keep his hands where they belong, after being told explicitly to keep them off my butt and boobs!"

Rod asked, "Richie who? He acts like he's important, but there's nothing impressive about him, so it must be his family."

"It is," one of his friends/ hangers-on said, "He's Richard Lee Macky the fourth, and his family is one of the richest in California. He's probably going to threaten you with a lawsuit, or even file one, but his parents are about fed up with him, so he won't get much support. He's flunked out of two prep schools and a college and refuses to work, all of which disappoint his family pretty badly."

Speaking loudly, he continued. "I know a lot of people here took video; when you post on social media, tag Evelyn Mackey - M-a-c-k-e-y. She needs to know the truth before he spins what just happened."

Turning to the other members of Rick's entourage, the guy said, "Let's take him to the ER, and get him back to his condo. Then you guys can do whatever, but I'm through with him. His ego and big mouth are going to earn me a royal ass kicking like that some night if I don't stay away from him."

He offered his hand to Rod and said, "I'm Rhett, and I'm honored to have watched that. I don't know who you are, but that was amazing!"

"Name's Rod, and I'm no one special. But I don't allow my baby sisters to get manhandled and slapped, period."

Another kid was showing his phone to those around him, and he interjected, "He's not 'no one special!' He's Hot Rod Ford, rodeo world champion and University of Texas football recruit! And yes, he is as big as he looks: 6'4" 240 pounds! Oh, and he runs a 4.5 forty, which is fast!"

Rod didn't mention the 4.4s he had run, or much of anything else. He offered his arms to his sisters, they each took an elbow, and he escorted them down the street toward their condo.

He hated to turn down the tempting offers of the lovely ladies, but family comes first.

****

Mom and Dad, and all four grandparents, wanted a piece of Richard Mackey, IV, after they saw Mandy's shiner and cut lip, but Andi assured them her sister had been properly avenged. All six eyes turned to Rod, who kept eating his biscuits, sausage, and jelly until Mom asked what happened. Andi was freaking out wanting to tell the story, so Rod just winked at her, and she took off, speaking too fast for the normal ear to discern her words.

Dad slowed her down, and she gave a very thorough and complete retelling of the events of the previous night. Mandy offered a few insights into what started it and how she felt at being manhandled on the dance floor and again when she was walking off, and then when she was slapped. Andi then offered her phone for corroboration, and the video was passed around.

When it was over, the six adults were staring at Rod. He shrugged and said, "He deserved it, and, frankly, I took it easy on him. I wanted to break him into pieces."

Rodney replied in a gentle but firm voice. "And I think that's what we're worried about, son. You've gone far beyond where I thought you were in martial arts, and you being a master of Krav Maga with your size, athleticism, and level of fitness is a bit alarming. You ain't Daniel in The Karate Kid; you're closer to Ivan Drago in Rocky ten, or whatever it was.

"He's going to wake up hurting like hell for a week or so, but there's no doubt you could have easily killed him. We're proud of you for taking up for your sister, and a little pain might help him pay attention the next time a girl tells him no, but - a college football field is a very aggressive place, so please keep your legendary temper under control. The loudmouth linebacker you hit in the nuts with a 100 mph pass is probably still speaking falsetto."

Rob protested, "If anything, martial arts keep me more focused and less aggressive than I was before I began training, Dad. I know all about my temper, and losing it is always on my mind when I'm in a situation like last night. But what was I supposed to do? Let him beat Mandy? I just tossed him in the snow and told him to cool off, but, no, he had to be a badass. I only used defensive maneuvers until he hit me."

HR spoke up, "Well, of course not, Rod! Marching him out the door and dumping him in the snow - that was well deserved. But we know you well enough to know the taunting sneer was provocation.

"You gave him three chances, and then did what you knew you could do. I can tell you take no particular pride in it, and you don't feel any remorse either. However, if the girls look, I'll bet it's all over social media this morning, and probably in print media too, given who you whipped up on. You, your coaches and teammates, your rodeo and NIL sponsors, are all affected, and I'll guess most would prefer you hadn't, even if it was deserved.

"You are a rodeo phenomenon, and a member of the University of Texas Longhorns football team. You know, 'The eyes of Texas are upon you, all the livelong day...'

"You're not in Cowtown anymore, son."

Rod nodded. "You both make good points. I'm not sure how else I could have handled it, but I need to accept that I'm not plain old Rod Ford of Cowtown now."

And then the two grandmothers ruined the entire lesson, with Grandmother Sarah scoffing, "That may be, but if any male member of my family walked away from a 17 year-old girl getting felt up and slapped by some rich asshole, I'd disinherit him!"

Grandma Susan reinforced that with, "I'm proud of you, Grandson! You did what had to be done, and no more! Besides, if the Mackey's start threatening you, let me know. I've got shit on old Trey that would cause an earthquake in their world! Just tell him your grandmother, Susan Venables says hello, and watch his eye twitch!"

Frank laughed. "I'd forgotten about all that! You're right - his right eye is going to twitch badly!"

****

They spent the next day on the slopes, stopping only to rest, eat, and hydrate. Mandy was a star among the younger crowd for standing up for herself, and her black eye was of no concern to her female fans or male admirers. Rod, though, cut a wide berth when he went anywhere at the bottom of the mountain.

Until a couple of ski bunnies - a small brunette and a tall blonde - caught up with him. After that, he had plenty of company on the slopes and at the base. Last night they seemed to be in competition, but today they seemed to be working in cooperation, and he felt like a steer facing two cutting horses. He might escape but he was going to have to jump a fence or two, and he wasn't sure that would stop them.

By three they had secured promises he would escort both to the New Year's Eve festivities, beginning with 'fireworks over the mountains' just after dark, a torchlight parade from the viewing areas to the complex's activity center, and then a dance that lasted two hours past the dawn of the new year.

His parents and grandparents were eyeing the candy he presented for introduction after they made their last run of the day. They looked good in their bunny suits, but he knew when they came by to pick him up - they were all in the same condo complex - they would look even better.

Jean chose the late afternoon to make her reappearance. She had secured releases from the Chapels and Wuests, knowing they were again going to be in pictures with Rod, and had extras on hand. A night like tonight offered.

It was a relatively warm, still night, so the girls in his condo and those who arrived to pick him up were all wearing insulated tights and layered tops, plus quilted down jackets. Grace and Cheyne, however, had donned the requisite patterned tights that emphasized their shapely legs, but their bottom layers were skintight, deep vee tops that showed their tight bodies to best advantage. They were carrying their second layers and jackets, but they wanted Rod to get a good view before they got warm.

He did, and so did everyone else. The men were gawking, his mom was frowning, and grandmother Susan a little too loudly asked grandmother Sarah, "Where does he find them? He's with a new one every week or two, and they all look like movie actresses!"

Grace blushed lightly, but Cheyne preened; she wanted to look like a movie actress, even if she didn't want to be one. A Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader like mom, maybe, but not something that required all that work and preparation. She'd rather play tennis, golf, rope, ride barrels, go on a long horseback ride, lounge on the beach, go dancing wearing daring dresses... or romp with a stud like Rod!

The big guy had little chance to get cold, with a hot bunny nestled under each arm while they walked to the viewing area and watched the fireworks. But if Cheyne didn't watch her hands he was going to have to take her behind the building and teach her not to tease and taunt! Grace was a little more circumspect, but she was the first to pull his head down into a fiery kiss, and place his hands on her little butt to prove it was as tight as the tights advertised.

Cheyne topped that with a tongue twister, boob rub, and cock hump, and Grace asked if he was ready to do what he promised last night, while climbing up his body by holding onto his neck and wrapping her legs around his torso.

"As much as I appreciate the foreplay, you two, if we're going to make the torchlight parade and dance, you're going to have to dial it down a notch or ten. I find both of you incredibly attractive, and intend to fulfill our fondest desires tonight, but this isn't the way. Be a little discreet and coy until we're alone, or you're going to draw a pack of wolves."

"Not as long as you're around," Cheyne cooed. "Word is out, and no one is messing with you!"

"Not true. It's kind of like being the fastest gun in town; someone always thinks they are better and wants to test you. I made a mistake in handling Little Prickie Rickie last night, even though he deserved it, and don't be surprised if someone calls me out when the liquor has flowed long enough.

"But we're not here to fight; we're here to have fun until the new year is well underway and I've gotten kisses from you two lovelies - and maybe your moms, if they are around. And, in case you didn't know, you guys certainly have good genes on the maternal side!"

"Kisses maybe, but you belong to us tonight! If you survive, maybe you can try them after you recover!" Grace challenged.

"Oh, goodie! I love it when a pretty girl or two tests me!

"On a more serious note, I don't drink alcohol or use drugs, and I don't really like to be with people who do if they overindulge. If you have to get drunk to have a good time, you probably should find someone else to be with tonight."

"Maybe if I was alone or with some loser on NYE, but not with you on my arm, Hot Rod!" Cheyne teased.

"We do drink at Greek parties and at parties after football games, and they took us on a pub crawl when we turned 21", Grace admitted. "But we're not 'drinkers' and the only drug we've used is marijuana, a few times up here in Colorado. We're from a small town too, and being athletes, class officers, and cheerleaders we had a lot of attention, like I'm sure you did, so we never got into that stuff in high school.

"At college we've both opened up some, but, in spite of the way we've been acting with you, neither of us is a slut or a drunkard."

Cheyne giggled. "Well, maybe a little bit slutty since we learned how much we love sex, but we aren't drunkards or druggies!"

"Which makes you perfect companions for tonight's festivities! My only concern is who I'm kissing at midnight, and who a minute after."

"Maybe you should lift me up and we could both kiss you are midnight," Grace proposed, and then giggled, "Kind of as practice for later, when you pick me up and drop me on your prodigious cock, like you promised!"

"I'm having a little trouble with the dynamics of this twofer, but I assume you two have done this before... or at least have a plan."

"No prior experience, but trust us - we do have a plan!"

The fireworks display was prodigious, loud, and colorful. They found a level, soft, and snowy place from which to watch a few dozen meters up the base of the mountain on their right side, behind an ancient Colorado Blue Spruce. That meant they could carry on their sexual antics without being seen by those below but still see the aerial display, and by the time it ended, they knew each other's bodies rather well.

All three had to shower before dressing for the New Year's Eve Ball at the community clubhouse ballroom, so they parted when the show ended and hurried to their condos. He would meet them there.

He arrived at the foyer with his entire family, including his little sisters, and his dates were waiting with their moms. Naturally, there was already a crowd of men standing nearby watching the lovely ladies in their sleek, iridescent gowns, with blondes to the left, brunettes to the right. They were happily chatting with one another and looking indescribably luscious.

Jean was ready, and the camera was practically smoking as she got pictures of the beautiful people.

Rod enjoyed the hugs from the blondes and then the brunettes, reintroduced his way-too-lovely sisters and his way too sexily dressed mom, and then his grandmothers, both of whom looked like MILFs rather than GILFs. After that, it was the well-dressed men, who played their parts with aplomb, including complementing the gorgeous ladies as they were introduced. All the clothes were custom FLI, from the second box.

Heather and Shelly had cooperated with Sarah to secure adjacent tables that would seat all 13 in their party, and a couple more if others joined them. The youngsters were gathered at the end of one table, the elders at the other, and the moms and dad in between.

Rod had a proud DG on each side, with their sorority's anchor hanging deep into the cleavage so artfully displayed. His sisters, dressed in FLI 'prom dresses' that looked suspiciously like cocktail dresses, were busy admiring the necklaces with the sorority symbols, and Rod could see their minds planning for the future, when they could wear such tempting clothing and jewelry. They were already showing off more of their pert breasts, apple asses, and shapely legs than he could approve of, and he saw the looks they were getting from the onlookers situated where they could take them in, visually.

Yes, Cheyne and Grace were shinier with more obvious charms, but the younger boys, and most of the rest, knew they were out of their league. The Ford girls were perhaps even prettier, but appeared less sophisticated. Mandy was wearing too much makeup, especially around her eyes, but he knew why mom let her do that. The too-skimpy dresses he wasn't sure about, but they were gifts from Addy, and that carried weight with the family.

He quickly surveyed the room as they entered, but no sign of Quatro, as Richie IV would be called in south Texas. He would keep his eyes open, but he doubted he would show; too many people saw him embarrassed last night.

Still, there was someone out there who heard about Richie's humiliation and thought he was the next 'Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,' so Rod was careful.

The orchestra was there for the older crowd, and much of the music was ballroom. But the disappointed youngsters didn't know that it was orchestras that served up the 'Swing music' of the 1930 and 40s that ultimately got blended with Rhythm and Blues to create Rock and Roll, and this band was proud of those roots.

There was dance music for everyone if you waited, unless you were into Punk Rock or Hip Hop. The crowd quickly figured out that the last five or six songs before a break were Rock, and the first few after the break were country or western, after which ballroom ruled for a dozen songs or so. The graceful ballroom dancers had a lot more space to themselves than the rockers did, and the country two-steppers and line dancers had even less. There was a lesson here, but the orchestra knew the guys in white jackets and the women with silver hair paid their fees, so the proportions remained the same, until the last half-hour before mid-night, when swing, be-bop, and upbeat country songs predominated.

His girls had arrived at a plan for that midnight kiss, and had maneuvered Rod into the recesses farther from the band. When the countdown began, they seated him in a chair, and each sat on a leg.

3-2-1 - Happy New Year! And then each covered her side of his mouth with her own, before sharing open-mouthed kisses with one another. After that they alternated with Rod, keeping it R. Rod couldn't decide which wiggling girl was turning him on more, but his cock was titanium hard, and Cheyne was making the most of that, since it was trapped under her.

When someone noticed, Rod ordered them up, and ordered Cheyne to keep his cock hidden while they made their way out the nearest exit. Her response was to plant her prime ass against his pelvis, and wiggle her way out with him attached.

Heather was staying with Shelly, so they had the Wuest's condo to themselves, and, after the declaration that anything goes tonight, they did their best to ruin Shelly's queen size bed.

The next morning, Rod was fatigued and dehydrated, but still in better condition than his challengers. Grace had ridden his face while Cheyne rode his cock and played with Grace's tits, and after both had orgasmed a couple of times, they switched. More of the same, but Grace got the first load of cum in her tight cunny, and the resultant orgasm nearly ended her.

Cheyne was inelegantly riding Rod's face and had two of his fingers buried in her ass while his other hand mauled Grace's modest titties and tortured her nipples.

When she came back around, Grace insisted on a time out for hydration and sustenance, only to find Rod fucking Cheyne doggy style when she returned. They broke for water and half a sandwich, and then Rod ordered Cheyne the same position.

"What about me?" Grace pouted.

"Crawl under her in the 69 position and you can lick each other's clitty while I fuck her, and then you can change off and I'll fuck you doggy - or in your case, puppy."

They freaked, though they seemed more curious than disturbed, and he remined them that 'anything goes tonight!' Twenty minutes later they were through screaming, and Cheyne had a load of cum running out of her.

Time out to clean up, and Grace got dropped on his cock while they were in the shower, as she had wanted. Two orgasms while impaled put her ahead in total times cumming, until Cheyne offered him her soapy behind, and lost her mind as he ground into her, making her wriggle her butt like on the dance floor and slapping her wet butt repeatedly while she did.

They tried all kinds of positions, and drained their bodies in so doing. Cheyne drifted off while Grace was bouncing up and down. That ended in mutual climaxes, with Grace squirting for the first time in her life. She collapsed on top of him, and they relaxed into sleep while still engaged.

Cheyne was jealous when she awoke around six, so he gently rolled Grace to the side, and endeavored to get him hard again. It didn't take long, because she had a very talented mouth and used her hands to best advantage while she worked.

She was a cowgirl, after all, so the ride was spectacular. Suspecting her predilection from previous responses, Rod spanked one side or the other of her incredible butt on every stroke, until it was bright red when she squealed her appreciation and drained him for the final time. He drifted back to sleep wondering just how she liked the pain, or domination, or whatever set her off. The first pop had been exploratory, but the others were in response to her approving sounds and words. Two things were for sure: she was a bedful, and she needed to marry a strong, lust-filled man with enormous stamina and good recovery time.

At nine they woke Grace and all three went to eat the breakfast buffet. When they were done, they went to the slopes, and Rod joined his family for the mountainside family photo shoot Addy wanted. The photographer was as entertaining as she was professional, and they enjoyed everything she asked them to do, individually, in groups, and en masse.

They hit the slopes after a soup and sandwich lunch, and the photographer joined them. She mostly got candid shots of the men and women, but Andi and Mandy spent as much time posing for her as skiing. Apparently, she felt it was time well spent, because she took hundreds of pics, which she agreed to share with their parents before publishing.

Rod had watched him take few score photos from a distance and wasn't offended by any. However, after they climbed out of their ski bibs and began posing in their skintight shirts and tights, the temperature of the area went up. Not only from his pretty and very well-built sisters, but also because a number of young men and a few young women were watching.

Cheyne and Grace were friendly, but they had moved on and had collected a group of drooling companions. When he encountered Heather or Shelly, however, he got the full-court press. As the day wore down and the sunlight dimmed, he made one last run, and then started toward the condo.

Shelly intercepted him, said she won the flip, and made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Cheyne hosted the girls from the night, so he and Shelly were alone. That was a good thing, because Shelly was a hellion with a filthy mouth in bed, and the closer to orgasm she got, the noisier she became.

By midnight he was calling her 'Mighty Mouse' in recognition of her small size, great strength, and flexibility, which she attributed to taking up Yoga and Pilates after her collegiate cheerleading days ended. By dawn, Rod wasn't sure whether her estranged husband was really that bad in bed, or just that badly overmatched. She might be a bantamweight, but she could hold her own with heavyweights.

All the Fords and Andersons were ready for a more restful shopping day. Rod didn't shop much, but he did nap on the second seat of the suburban quite a bit, and caught hell for it. He just grinned and said he needed a recouperation day after skiing all the black diamonds yesterday.

Perhaps Heather took pity on him after Shelly's report, and knowing he handled the two girls the night before. In any case, they started off necking on the couch, then made love on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. Afterward, she gave him a sponge bath, they ate popcorn and drank hot chocolate, and necked on the rug by the fireplace.

She turned it up a level in her bedroom, and he began to see the attractiveness and sexiness she exuded in her clothes was even more pronounced when naked. But she was in no rush, and they tried any number of positions before she rode him cowgirl, offering her exquisite breasts to his mouth while telling him how good he felt, and how well-endowed and skilled a lover he is.

She was needy, athletic, and demanding, yet in a loving way. After she achieved several major and numerous minor climaxes, she demanded he spoon her from behind. He did, and they slept, though having his willy in her crack made it difficult to nod off.

Morning found her arching her back and wiggling her luscious ass around until said willy was inside her flaming hot puss, and, after she had a nice morning orgasm, inside her tight, hot, and well-lubricated anus. She whooped and hollered about that, exclaiming that they set a new record for big cock in little hole! But once she got used to him, she made both of them holler and scream in ecstasy.

They each achieved one more in the shower, before Rod got dressed and left for home. He would have caught more hell than he did, but all the women were at another photo shoot, wearing FLI clothing that arrived last night. He, his grandfathers, and his dad had new clothes too, but the photographer wanted time with the three generations of women; he would let the men know when their turn came.

Rod wondered why he wasn't more fatigued, given the sexual acrobatics in which he had been involved since January 1, and then spent time thinking about Heather. Grace and Cheyne had been a bedful, and he would likely take them up on their invitation to visit when he had time. Shelly had been a tigress, and if she took him up on his invitation after her divorce was final, he'd definitely do her over and over again!

Heather though - he couldn't ever see himself agreeing to an open marriage, but he could see why it worked for her: she wanted and needed physical companionship. Not just a good fucking, though she loved that part; she needed to be kissed, held, made love to, cuddled, and fucked hard! She promised him access to her body as long as her husband insisted on the open marriage, but he doubted he would take her up on it. She was twenty years his senior, and yet he knew he could fall in love with her.

That would mess up several lives, and he wouldn't do it. But, it gave him a new perspective on how he could have such strong feelings for Hailey and Mia, and yet lust for other women and girls.

****

On January 9, Rod awoke in the AT&T Hotel and Conference Center, situated along MLK Blvd on the southern perimeter of the central UT campus. He dressed, enjoyed breakfast downstairs, and walked across the chilly campus toward the football coaches' offices adjacent to Texas Memorial - Darrel K. Royal Stadium. He was dressed in jeans, boots, and a Melbourne Storm rugby jersey given him by an Aussie bronc rider competing in the PRCA.

He introduced himself to the receptionist, who interrupted him before he could say more, "Yes sir, please follow me. And before we get to Coach Sarkisian's office, just let me say that my family and my husband's family are rodeo fans, and you are our favorite cowboy! We'll miss you in the arena, but we are so excited that you may be attending and playing for The University! We have a block of season tickets, and we look forward to seeing you compete for the Longhorns, like we saw you at San Antonio, Austin, and Las Vegas! And we'll be your loudest fans at DKR just like we were at all your rodeos!

"And here we are! I hope you have a great meeting and will be enrolling later today! And I can help you with that, if you'd like."

He thanked her as she opened the door, and then scurried away. He had been in the head coach's office two years ago, but with the stadium and facility upgrades, things had changed. There was a large conference table off to the right, and a significant portion of the football coaching staff was there. The QB coach got up, walked to him, shook his hand, and invited him to the table.

The average recruit would likely be overwhelmed, but Rod had faced the Board of Directors and CEOs of some major corporations while acquiring sponsorships, so even the presence of the AD didn't really faze him. He was impressed that they cared, yes, but not overwhelmed. He went from coach to coach, called him by name and shook his hand, and then did the same to the AD.

Circling back to his assigned seat, Rod discovered Coach Sarkisian standing with a big smile on his face. Rod shook his hand and drew him into an embrace before taking his seat and looking back at Sark, who had taken his seat at the head of the table. The HFC deferred to the athletic director, attired in his burnt orange sport coat and longhorn tie, who leaned forward, smiled, and said, "You already have another handle with me and the football coaches: Rainman! And no, I don't mean Dustin Hofmann.

"Since you decided to forego rodeo, in which you are the reigning All-Around Cowboy, to play college football, and word got out you favor the Longhorns, we've gotten very significant NIL offers and contributions from some big names in the corporate world, and from a particularly generous concern located in Monterey, Mexico!

"Let me say that, through conversations with those entities, we have seen possibilities that we believe will bring fans to the Longhorns that haven't traditionally been a part of our fan base. We also see partnerships developing between and among our players that aren't rodeo stars and companies that want to reach beyond rodeo into collegiate athletics. As one representative told me, "Seeing Charlie Sampson holding a horse that his grandson Jadeveon Davis is mounting, with both wearing our jeans and with JD wearing a Longhorns jersey, would match two fan bases that have a lot in common.

"So, if you and the coaches can satisfy your concerns, come on down to my office and we'll talk about compensating you for the use of your name, image, and likeness."

He got up, nodded at the table, and walked out the door. Rod looked back at Sark, and the coach knew the NIL money wasn't the issue. This young man had money, and, as they had learned, he could make money hand over fist without stepping into an arena or on a football field. He wasn't here about the money; he was here about the football.

The HFC looked around at his staff, and then back at Rod. "Thanks for coming to The Forty Acres and giving us a chance to talk to you again. In our last meeting you had your say, and frankly, what you had to say shook me. I've been coaching for quite a while, at the college and pro levels, and I've worked with some of the best. That being said, like all coaches I can fall into a rut of my own making.

"There wasn't anything you asked that my coaches and analysts hadn't already asked me, but that rut had me feeling secure, I guess. So we met and had one of those 'anything goes' brawls that men ought to have from time to time, where no one is the boss and anything can be said.

"And I'll tell you right now that I got chewed up, spit out, and unanimously outvoted! So I'll let them tell you what they will tell their position groups when the NCAA says we can meet again."

The offensive and defensive line coaches went first and second, and they were convincing. Each coach planned to take a different tact, but the message was the same. While loyalty and perseverance would continue to be valued, every position had to be earned, and it had to be retained through merit, from starter to fourth team on the depth chart.

Rod displayed no more than a neutral expression, until it got to the quarterback coach. He smiled at Milwee, and teasingly said, "They were really convincing, Coach. I'm thinking about switching to safety or receiver!"

The coach caught his grin and was ready, so he smoothly replied, "Don't do that quite yet. My message will be the same, but a little more explicit. That doesn't mean you have a chance in hell of beating Drew or Bart out of their jobs, but maybe if you stick it out for four or five years, you will be ready. Unless, like a couple of coaches at this table think, you have the heart of a pirate and ice water in your veins. In which case, maybe you can challenge sooner."

It was said in a joking manner, but Rod replied seriously, and then in kind. "Coach, I've been in a sport where you have to pay an entry fee to compete, you have to supply a couple of hundred thousand dollars' worth of your own equipment, and if you don't place against the top 50 cowboys in the world, you get a grand total of zero dollars for entry fees next week.

"So when I'm sitting on an eighty thousand dollar horse swinging a rope and I nod, I have about 2.5 seconds to catch and turn the steer so my partner can catch both heels, and we can face up in less than 5 seconds. Or we're probably out of the money.

"It's the same way when I settle in on an 1800 pound bronc whose only satisfaction is to throw and stomp on me. I'm thinking I need to get as close to the 50 points I control as possible, and hope he adds enough of his fifty to give me a winning score, without throwing and stomping on me!

"Now, take all that to a packed Thomas and Mack Arena in Las Vegas, knowing that only the top fifteen hands in each event are there, and everyone you care about is watching, along with a few million at home, and realize you need an arena record time or score to win the event tonight... see what I mean?

"I'd have said 'Killer Shark' but pirate is okay too."

The linebackers coach was the first to guffaw, followed by everyone else. "This ain't just some pretty face, is it? I see what you told us after you came back from Vegas, Coach - he's a cold blooded killa!"

Rod smiled and offered, "Just messin' with ya, Coach Milwee."

When the laughter died down, he looked at Coach Sark again and proclaimed, "As I told you guys before, I'm not trying to run your team or question your methods or decision making, but - I have an important decision of my own to make, and I want to be sure that, if I somehow outperform your five star/ #1 quarterback recruits from two cycles, I'll be the one on the field. And I promise, if they or others outperform me, I'll stand and support the team 100%.

"You've answered that question to my satisfaction, and I'm ready to give my commitment. Is there something to sign?"

"Yes, but if we sign it here and not in a press conference somewhere, the AD is going to fire us all. He's more excited about the excitement you've stirred up than he was about our win over OU.

"Now, let me take you over to his office so you two can work those NIL deals out." He made a point of shaking the hand of each coach and thanking him for the opportunity.

With the business negotiations completed a scant half-hour later, Rod called his dad, who hired a plane to fly him to Cowtown. Cowtown High School had agreed to host a signing ceremony for its favored son tomorrow afternoon, and that was about all the local radio station wanted to talk about as he was driven home. That request had come from the University of Texas Athletic Director's Office, and had rattled the principal pretty bad at first. But he recovered, they worked out the details, and he began the preparations.

To address the desires of the crossover NIL donors, the rodeo angle was played up first, with his trophy buckles and saddles on display in a semicircle around him. Mentions of his rodeo sponsors were made, and a highlight video of his roping and riding successes played on the theater sized screen hanging from the ceiling. Those were followed by football exploits from the state championship game, and him hoisting the MVP and Championship trophies.

Rod was given the opportunity to explain his decision to trade the arena for the field, and then the football signing took place. Three of the TV crews, a four-letter sports network, scouts from recruiting sites, and 'influencers' stuck around to talk to kids and teachers, and to take pictures and film of the campus and stadium.

In terms of hoopla and human interest stories, it was a banner day for the high school, the university, for Rod's rodeo sponsors, for upcoming NIL purchasers, and for 'Hot Rod,' the brand.

"Rodeo Star Moves to Gridiron" was a favorite banner, and the publicity excited his erstwhile NIL partners, especially when ESPN's talking heads debated the impact on the Longhorns, if any. There were a lot of skeptics - 'He played against lower-level competition in high school and didn't even play last year. Maybe someday, after some coaching and experience, but not next year!' was a common position.

Others argued his leadership and toughness would be a boon for the Longhorns, who seemed to play just below the level their talent would predict in the most important games.

Rod wasn't affected: he remembered the naysayers last year when he hit the tour, so predictions by 'experts' didn't faze him. Balancing workouts, film study, and other football commitments, schoolwork, and time to learn lines and make ads was going to be a trick, but that was not his problem alone. That fell equally on the Athletic Director and Head Football Coach.

He already knew FLI wasn't going to be a problem: he was to be with America somewhere tropical during spring break, with Hailey in some Mediterranean location in early July, and there was talk of him and Mia in June, but nothing was set. The jeans company wanted Rod, Jadaveon, and several slender players in a rodeo arena tossing a football around. They also wanted a set of larger players to model their 'Big and Tall' offerings, potentially with the giants going to a daycare center and playing with the kids. Those commercials would be made locally but run nationally.

Rod's 'representative' said the oil production/ refinery/ retail gasoline company had some great ideas about flying him and maybe some teammates to producing oil fields in west Texas and New Mexico, to the refineries in greater Houston, and then to a service station to fill up their cars. It sounded simple enough, but no script or itinerary was provided, so there was nothing to agree to.

Organized workouts were to begin a few days after he enrolled and got settled in his Lake Austin house, but those already in Austin had been working out. The older players organized drills for their position groups, and after the first morning, they began to look like any other winter workouts - minus the whistles, expletives, and loud coaching.

Rod invited some of the other early enrollees who had talked to him at the Alamodome or at practice, including the huge offensive tackle, Wes Compton, the cornerback, Jadaveon Davis (JD), Colt Evans, the sole tight end recruit, wide receiver Quinton (Q) Arms, and the borderline psychopath defensive end prospect, Keven Patridge, to ride over to his house after the morning workout. He invited them to include others, and he would spring for pizza for everyone who came to his house.

That turned out to be the other nine early enrollees and six squad members from the previous year, including Bart Favre. There were two refrigerators; one was for food, the other contained mostly water, juices, and soft drinks, with protein bars on the door. Additionally, there was a chest-type freezer in the laundry room.

There were TVs in each of the four downstairs rooms, with games set up on two. Outside there was a covered outdoor kitchen and a grilling/ frying/ BBQ area behind the house. The backyard was fenced with 6' cedar boards, and the big shed housed chairs, loungers, floats, and water sports equipment. But the view of Lake Austin from the wide front porch was more compelling, so a number of players had moved lawn chairs up there.

It was a nice Texas winter day, high near 68, with the forecasted high tomorrow being 77. After that, winter returned with an arctic cold front, dropping lows into the low twenties and daytime highs into the 30s, with windchill in the 20s. Not Yankee cold, but Texan cold.

Rod was listening to the older players discuss having two workouts tomorrow and waiting for warmer weather to return next week. He went into his bedroom, made a phone call, and returned. When there was a break in the conversation, he offered, "I know a guy with an enclosed arena near Webberville. He said we could use it for workouts anytime this week, but we'd have to muck the floor. It will be warm enough to practice, but it has a dirt floor. I can go early to rake and level it with the arena tractor, but it's still dirt. I don't want anyone to get hurt, but we used to do this down in south Texas and no one ever got hurt.

"Still, it's up to y'all and the rest of the team, of course, but I'm willing to throw the ball to anyone who wants to join me about 10 on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday."

That sparked discussion and phone calls by the older players to the captains and position leaders. While that was going on, Kevin sidled up to Rod. In his loud, deep voice he said, "Hey, Ford - how is it you have this house and know people with covered arenas? Got rich parents?"

Rod chuckled, and, knowing a lot of the others were listening, replied, "No, but I made over a million on the tour last year, and quite a bit from appearances for my sponsors. My parents aren't rich, and I sure don't have 'fuck you' money, but I've got some coin, and I know some people from the rodeo world. If that helps us get a practice facility for the rest of the week, I'll use it.

"This house is an investment, KP. I'm betting I can live here while I'm a student and sell it for more than I paid after I graduate. You guys are welcome to come over and relax; just use it but don't abuse it, please. And no, I don't need ugly ass roommates like y'all. Got a pretty sister that needs a place to stay, send her by and we can talk."

That set off the jostling, laughing, cussing, and teasing he expected, and won him a few more credits with his teammates. Some of those from rich suburbs and urban cores, and from out of state, were going to be suspicious about him being a cowboy and a racist, but there was no way to overcome that except letting them get to know him.

Likewise with the arrogance charges he had faced before. With some things, including roping and football, Rod was confident to a remarkably high degree.

If there is a state of 'borderline arrogance,' perhaps he had strayed there from time to time in the eyes of others, but Rod knew what he could do, and had the steel nerves to do it. And is it arrogance to state that you intend to outplay players the recruiting services have anointed as the best? 'Five Stars' - 'players certain to become successful collegiate and pro quarterbacks!' according to the recruiting sites.

Two years ago the prognosticators had the Cowhands finishing second in district and losing in the first round of the playoffs, and they were underdogs in every playoff game except the first, so he knew how wrong 'experts' could be. On the other hand, he hadn't yet competed against Drew or Bart. Seeing them on film wasn't the same as standing beside them in practice, so he was comparing himself to unknowns. But that was changing, and soon he would know, and so would the teammates that are working out.

The quarterbacks usually ran sprints with the linebackers, but there were too few of them to run in the usual groups, so with Drew off fulfilling NIL obligations, Bart and Rod joined the wide receivers and defensive backs for sprints, and the LBs went with the defensive linemen.

When the afternoon practice ended with wind sprints, after running cone drills, ropes, and other agility drills, his teammates knew that Rod was an elite athlete who could run with the fastest players there. And after the passing drills, they knew he had a rocket arm. The workout leaders reported that to the strength and conditioning coach that evening, and he reported it to the head coach and offensive coordinator.

That report caused a late meeting to decide what to do once everyone was in camp. If it became clear that Rod actually was a threat to the other two, how would they manage the likelihood that one, or both, would hit the transfer portal?

Rod had clearly stated his expectation to play if he was the better choice, but two five-star quarterbacks, one the returning starter, weren't going to stay on the team to sit on the bench behind a true freshman. At least not for long. Either could land at a top Power 5 contender and possibly increase their NIL money by moving on.

Like last year's QB2 did when Bart arrived. He already knew what he faced with Drew, but Drew got hurt every few games, what with the young offensive line, so he got to finish some games and start some others. Bart though - he doubted Drew would hold Bart off next year, so he would be QB3... or he could be a starter for a bunch of schools signaling their interest! So he hit the portal and started the last six games of the new team's season, setting passing efficiency records as he played.

The problem this year was far greater, because practically every Power 5 school would go after Drew and/or Bart.

"AJ, they belong to you. What's your thinking going into winter workouts, and looking ahead to spring training?"

He shrugged. "Thompson still gets the first reps, Favre second, Ford third, and Allen fourth. I'll be subtle, but he's got the experience under fire, he's read defenses of all kinds, and he has the nice touch on the balls our offense demands."

The wide receivers coach looked skeptically at the other coaches and spoke up. "And when he gets any pressure at all he checks down to the running back or safety valve, whether receivers are open downfield or not."

The offensive line coach added, "And after he gets hit a few times, he gets happy feet, moves into the rush, and gets sacked because he isn't where the linemen expect him to be."

The S&C coach continued, "I don't know anything about how well he plays quarterback or reads defenses as compared to the others, but Thompson's up against far superior athletes. Favre is bigger, faster, stronger, more agile, more flexible, and is a tough guy when it comes to hits, whether in the pocket or running. If our captains and position leaders are right, Ford is a better athlete than Favre. Take a moment and let that soak in.

"I don't know how many times in NCAA history you've had this many elite quarterbacks on one team, Coach, but I've never been around a team with two better athletes at quarterback, assuming Ford is what they say, and his high school film and his track times show."

After shaking his head, the HFC replied, "Definitely a first world problem, gentlemen, but the whole thing could blow up on us, so let's watch, listen, and be prepared to say certain things to certain people after spring training. Maybe, after playing small school football and sitting out a year, Ford is so far behind that we can convince him to use this year to catch up, and let us figure out how to finesse the other two. But we cannot lose two of the three, so let's stay on top of developments and talk about this weekly. And, yes, I mean all of you, not just AJ and me; this is a team decision."

After all the spring enrollees were there, they began workouts under the watchful eye of the S&C coach, acknowledged to be one of the best in the country. A few days in, he informed them that the combine would be held next week. That elicited groans from some, and cheers from the rest. Being exposed as an out of condition or pedestrian athlete had consequences for your "personal improvement plan," and your prospects for the three deep. Excellence had the opposite consequences, and Rod was delighted about the opportunity.

He was more delighted when he returned home to find a sexy Latina in his living room. After a warm greeting, he asked, "It's great to find you in my house, Chica Bonita, but how did you get in?"

She laughed. "I knew you had a key hidden somewhere, so I looked in the places Rod Ford was most likely to hide a key, and bingo! On a nail under the wooden back steps! I know you too well, amigo!"

"I doubt that: it's already January 14 and you haven't known me a single time this year!"

Her happy grin preceded her turning and taking a step toward his bedroom, stopping, and pulling her sweater over her head. She spun it around and tossed it to him, took another step, stopped to kick off a shoe, and said, "You're already a shirt behind, güey!"

Rod laughed at her unabashed sexiness and lustiness; with anyone else, this would seem incredibly slutty, given that they hadn't seen each other in over a month. With America, it was cute, saucy, and sexy. He kicked off both tennis shoes while shucking his shirt, and his pants hit the ground beside hers, just inside the bedroom door, which he shut and locked. She was already lying on the bed with the sheets down, naked but for the white bikini underwear.

He raised an eyebrow; she giggled and answered, "I had to leave something on for you to take off; I don't want you to think I'm a slut!"

"I already know you're a slut! This is just keeping my tongue out of your juicy pussy for an unnecessary five seconds."

She flounced, acrobatically produced the panties, and tossed them into Rod's face. He caught them on his nose, mouth, and chin, breathed deeply, and proclaimed, "Ahh! The fragrance of the gods!" Then he pounced on her, bit her inner thigh inches from her pussy, and replied to her scream by muttering, "Your punishment, chilero."

Two sucking kisses later, he dove face first into the deliciously wetness in front of him, wallowed in it like a pig in slop until she shrieked at his antics, raised his head, and proclaimed, "Ahh - the nectar of the gods!"

America had enjoyed Spain and had tried a few Spaniards on for size, but no one in her experience to date compared to her high school, now collegiate, lover. His worldly attitude, exuberance, desire to please, and skill just hadn't been equaled... not to mention his body size and strength!

After her tits had been properly mauled, fingers had fully explored her caverns, and her clit and G-spot had been abused sufficiently to cause her first collapse, she gathered her strength and scrambled away from his hungry mouth and probing tongue before he could do it to her again.

Pressed against the headboard, feet tucked against her butt, knees and legs pressed together, she insisted he lie down across the bed and let her have her turn. He wasn't really through with her yet - he had almost forgotten what a tasty treat she was when horny - but the thought of her mouth encompassing his throbbing beast was a winner. And he might be able to turn it into a 69, so he could quench his hunger for her taste.

But she was wily, keeping her distance and swatting away any hand that tried to progress beyond her breasts. She knew she had him where she wanted him, and the temptation to taste his spunk again battled with the need to feel his hot ejaculate bathe her vaginal walls. Finally, she decided; she rose up, straddled him, and sank inch by inch onto his cock until she was filled.

From then on, it was her jackhammer ass versus his thrusting hips in a race to completion that both wanted the other to win. When her cries and his bellows had ended, she lay against him. Her breasts were flat against his, their sex organs remained engaged, her thighs were pressed against his, and her lustrous hair lay on his face and mouth.

Rod's big hands squeezed her round mounds, followed the contour of her back to her neck, and returned following the curves of her sides. She was a full-sized bundle of curvaceousness, as, he well remembered, she had been since high school.

His hands slowly stroked, fondled, and caressed everywhere he could reach. The goosebumps arose first, followed by the subtle circular movement of her hips, and then her mouth sought his. Moments later that were off to the races again, with him on top.

Top or bottom, the outcome was the same, and then America laid curled up in his big arms while they stroked, praised, and teased each other.

Hunger struck fifteen minutes later; Rod called Jimmy John's to deliver a few sandwiches while America wiped herself and then Rod. Instead of getting dressed, she donned one of his white dress shirts, and hurriedly buttoned the three middle buttons. He pulled on a pair of boxers and admired the way her body could make anything look ridiculously sexy.

She opened the bedroom door and paraded into the kitchen, with Rod close behind.

"It didn't sound like you ordered enough, considering your workout, so we called JJ's and added a half-dozen more sandwiches," Bart Favre observed, while he, Wes, and Q admired America's minidress. "We did bring chips, salsa, and a few quarts of sodas," Wes added sheepishly, keeping his eyes on America.

Choices swirled in her head when she saw the three sitting around the table ogling her largely exposed body. Her nipples might or might not be covered, her freshly fucked coochie probably wasn't, and she could feel cold air on the bottoms of her buttocks. She could scream and run out, exposing even more; she could work backward until behind Rod and then escape, or she could own her nakedness.

She cooly said, "I didn't dress for company," while she fastened the open button over her pubic mound and the one between her thighs, and then the button even with her breasts. They were still getting an eyeful, but not more than when she wore her skimpy minis to parties. Still, it felt different; she felt more exposed, and fought the urge to disappear behind Rod.

She turned to get a reading on him, and the asshole was wearing a shit eating grin, enjoying her discomfort. She elbowed him, hoping to hit his cods, but he was ready; he blocked the blow and chuckled.

Angry now, she turned and poked him in the chest. "Did you know they were here?" she demanded. Focused on Rod, she didn't realize that poking upward at his chest caused her shirt to ride up, and she was almost mooning them. Wes whistled between his teeth, Q exclaimed "Damn"; and Bart observed "Very nice, America. I mean, I had a good idea from parties, but I didn't really know until now!"

"Okay, that's it! I'm going to go put something else on and come back! I'm too hungry not to eat, but I don't want any more commentary from the likes of you!"

'Decent' turned out to be adding a pair of silky shorty pajama bottoms she had brought that didn't hide as much as accentuate. She liked being a sex kitten in a cage with male lions, but didn't want them to stare at her pussy and asshole.

"Yeah, that helped a lot," Rod observed sarcastically, which she deflected with an innocent smile and the statement that she felt 'better dressed for this eating party now.'

Big old baby-faced Wes answered that innuendo with a deep baritone, accented voice, "Yeah, baby, you do! Are you the dessert?"

Nobody really knew anybody else yet, so that was the introduction to Wes' other side, and helped explain why the giant was voted Most Popular Boy every year of high school.

And for reasons she didn't understand, his question caused one of the most unabashed flirts and teases on campus to turn a deep shade of red and hide her head on Rod's chest.

He wrapped her in his arms and held her, swearing she would only be his dessert, not dessert for the four of them. Which made the others laugh, and her pussy tingle. Would that be so bad to be dessert for the four hunks around the table? And then she had to force her mind elsewhere or wet her silky pajama bottoms.

Maybe she had a kink she wasn't aware of. Or maybe this many studly men in one room, leering at a scantily clad, freshly fucked woman, would make any girl feel fuckable!

There were six chairs around the kitchen table, so Rod seated her between him and Wes, and a conversation began that wasn't centered on America's feminine assets. It was a relief, but also a disappointment - she had enjoyed being the center of attention!

The doorbell rang and Rod returned with the delivery boy, another UT student that Bart and April knew. He took in the four football players and the one luscious woman, and arrived at a conclusion that turned her red again and made her say, "It's not what you think, Eddie! This is my old boyfriend, and we were getting reacquainted when these three showed up!

Eddie smiled in a way that said he doubted her story, but he replied, "Yes mam, April - whatever you say." That caused another blush and more tingles, and she wondered what would happen if she moved the sandwiches and chips, stripped, and lay naked on the table. Would Rod let all five fuck her? Would she like that? And why the raunchy thoughts when Rod had sated her only a few minutes ago? Did the threesome with the handsome Spaniards open her mind to the many possibilities for a girl with her body and beauty? Or was she just giving in to her sluthood?

She banished the impure and arousing thoughts, took the sandwich with her name on it, and turned the conversation to a teacher and class she had in common with Wes - who was looking at her in a way that kept the tingle alive.

Rod's work wasn't done - after they left, she intended to fuck him into the mattress!

****

Five weeks passed and the first spring practice was at hand. Rod had embarrassed all but Quinton, Ross Young, and Muhammed (Mo) Morris in the combines. Given that Q and Mo were recruited for their speed and elusiveness as receivers and kick returners, and Ross for his speed at cornerback, he was in elite company after the speed tests (40 yard dash, 20 yard back pedal), the explosiveness drills (vertical jump and standing broad jump), and the agility drills (pro shuffle and cone drills).

He separated himself from them, however, in the weight room (total bench presses with 250 pounds, and squats), where his totals rivaled those of the big boys along the offensive and defensive lines and at linebacker. His teammates were in awe, and he made the coaches meet again.

The head coach addressed the issue in a staff meeting the week before the first spring practice. "So... do we keep the playbook we have for Drew and ride with him one more year? Or do we change it up to take advantage of the fact that Bart is a big, strong, fast athlete with a rocket arm, and that Rod is a freakish athlete with a laser arm? We'll never coach two quarterbacks like that again - do we keep them on the bench and help Drew improve his pro credentials, maybe, or do we encourage him to do that somewhere else and replace quality experience with pure but unrefined talent?

"Gentlemen, this is the dilemma we face as spring practice begins."

"Yeah, coach, and I'll bet every other coach in the US would like to be facing that dilemma!" the safeties coach replied. "But while you're alternating Drew and Bart, we can get Rod a little experience on the other side of the ball, at safety!"

"Or at tight end or receiver!"

"Nah, with that attitude, he's a linebacker!"

"You're all wrong - at 6'4, 228 running a 4.4, he's a running back!"

Sark laughed. "Let's see how he does this spring. With his lack of high-level experience, one of you may get him."

The linebackers coach, one of the most experienced on the staff, changed the tenor of that conversation with, "Bart played in a crappy private conference in Mississippi and he's doing pretty well! Do we really think winning a state championship at the 3A level in Texas is 'lower level' football than where Bart played? And, by the way, he brings more than physical assets: he's a born leader and his teammates love him. He spent last year toughening up in situations more trying than 99 percent of any football game, or season, and he bleeds confidence.

"He's a born badass too; he volunteered to take KP on in the Bull-on-Bull Drill! I didn't let him, but everybody booed, and I'll admit I wanted to see it too!"

"He and Bart partner up all the time," the quarterback coach added. They are fierce competitors who challenge each other, and both are highly respected by the team. I'm not saying Drew isn't. His teammates respect that he has drug us up from mediocrity, and they will give him their respect and follow him when he's on the field.

"Do they wish sometimes they had a quarterback who could escape a blitz and take it to the house, like those two cats? I know I do. But on August 30, we need to put the quarterback on the field that gives us the best chance of winning that game, the conference, and the playoffs. So let's all do our jobs, and talk about this again in April, after spring practice.

"There's one change I've made on my own, without input," Sark said, "because I'm willing to fade the heat I know is coming. The press will only be allowed to watch the 40 minutes of practice while we're doing drills. Once we get to one-on-ones, competitive drills, and scrimmages, they will have to leave. So, we'll have a ten-minute break forty minutes into practice and resume once they are cleared out.

"Chris hates it, but I don't want speculation and predictions about who is starting where to be the story while we're trying to find the best thirty-three players on each side of the ball. So don't give hints by the way you set up your drills, and don't fall for questions about the depth chart after practice.

"In fact, there won't be a depth chart until we get to the spring game, if we have one then. I'm not sure it's a good idea to have a spring game in our situation, but I know it's not a good idea to have a depth chart that anyone can see. Maybe on your laptop but not posted anywhere. After spring practice we'll be honest with our players, but we warned them every job is up for the taking, so let's just see how things pan out!"

By spring break, they had half their allowed practices in the books and gave the players ten days off.

The coaches and analysts were taking seven days off but coming back the next Friday to talk, plan the remaining practices, and decide how to handle the spring game. Fans, the AD, and the Longhorn Network wanted a true game, as did the players, but did they want to risk critical players getting hurt? Perhaps a controlled scrimmage instead? Or take the safe route and just don't do it! They would think about that, and emerging trends in position groups, and come back with fresh minds.

****

April joined Rod, Bart, Wes, Q, KP, Mo, Colt, slotback Julian Gonzales, and defensive tackle Lagi Aiono on the plane FLI leased for their flight to Belize. Rod had convinced the owners that their NIL money could be maximized by featuring April with a group of young men from various cultures and racial groups, and also by the fit young men wearing FLI clothing while playing games, swimming, lounging, and dancing.

Addy loved it and ran with it. To counterbalance, she put together a small group of models from around the globe, including a blonde Lithuanian, a tall, lithe African, a shapely Polynesian, and an Irish lass with red hair and freckles. April was both disappointed and happy about that: being the only girl with those men would have been terrifyingly tempting. It still would, but, as she had all winter, she was relying on Rod to keep her libido under control around his hunky teammates. He had done the job so far, but Wes' humor, intellect, and persistent flirting were wearing her down. But Bart was cute and charming, Colt was a big hunk, and Julian was an unabashed flirt; she had given thought to each, and had used her rabbit thinking of each. But Wes...

Not that Wes was in Rod's class, but what the former classmates had was good sex and affection born of their long friendship, and she knew they would not end up together. She didn't want a 'true love' now, but someday in the not-so-distant future she would, and Wes might be a candidate... if he could handle her libido.

Their Cessna Citation landed at the Gholson International Airport outside Belize City. After they cleared customs, they were taken to another terminal for the short flight to San Pedro, a long barrier island protected by an equally long offshore reef. From the island airport, a van took them to an area lush with vegetation and a sandy white beach that stretched beyond the eye.

Carlos and Addy were there with the four models, who were surprisingly robust in looks and shapes. As greetings and introductions were being exchanged, Rod whispered to Carlos that the girls must be swimsuit and lingerie models because they actually had tits and asses, and Carlos laughingly told him they were. Rod then made his way down the line, introducing himself and inquiring about the home counties and occupations of the four lovely young women.

Adeya was from Nigeria, but modeled primarily in the US; Riley, from Dublin, was the stereotypical Irish lass of travelogues, and she modeled mainly in Ireland and the UK. Marija was the blonde/blue Lithuanian, who now worked in Los Angeles; and Leilani was from a smaller island in French Polynesia. She modeled in the South Pacific, Hawaii, and California. All spoke English well, though the accents were disconcerting, and Riley spoke with a musical Irish lilt that Rod found fascinating but difficult to follow.

That failing, however, might have been attributed to the copper curls hanging to her waist, startling blue eyes, pale skin with a dusting of freckles, and her lovely face. The rest of her was covered by a flowing white dress, but Rod's first thoughts went to Mia, though her hair was a different shade of red, and upon closer examination, they were different kinds of beautiful.

Addy read him like a book, laughed gaily, took him by the arm, and escorted him away. She could not have a distraught America or a distracted Rod for this shoot. Maybe later in the week she would pair Riley with Rod, but not until she had what she needed for FLI. Rod was a seducer, and Riley seemed strangely innocent for a 19 year-old model.

Knowing there were going to be diet differences between the robust football players used to consuming more calories in a day than the models did in a week, the ex-pat American chef at their resort had settled on providing a buffet for each onsite meal, in a private dining room. He came in during their meal, introduced himself as Roberto Sanchez from 'The Valley', a lifelong Longhorns fan, and inquired about the offerings.

Everyone thought the "typically Belizean" meal was flavorful, delicious, and filling, though all the football players were on their second plate, and some were going back for thirds. Roberto explained that Belizeans ate a healthy breakfast and supper, with the noon meal being the main meal of the day. He then spoke of dishes he intended to prepare during the week they were at the resort, and the types of meals they could expect when at a photo shoot. The models were appreciative because such meals were more than they usually got onsite, but the players frowned until he assured them there would be plenty to eat.

The players were housed in luxurious two-bedroom suites in the main resort building, which overlooked the Caribbean. The five models, including America, were in a four-bedroom house with Addy and Carlos. It was on the other side of the Olympic-size pool, practically on the beach, and featured two queen beds per room, except the master suite had a king bed. The men required California king beds in each bedroom due to their size and length, so there were only two men per suite, while the women had two per bedroom in the beach house, and America was relegated to a small bedroom near Addy's.

The two photographers and film crew would arrive later, so Addy invited everyone to meet again at the pool after they changed. The eighty-five-degree weather felt ideal after winter, and a lot of skin was showing when they met up at the pool. Rod smiled at April and whispered that she looked like she belonged in the gang of models, which wiped the tentative look off her face. That Wes and Julian grabbed places on either side of her lounger didn't hurt her self-confidence either. They were immediately engaged in friendly conversation, so Rod moved on.

He spotted Carlos and Addy on loungers a small distance from the others. Carlos was face down, Addy face up, reading a book through her sunglasses. Rod meandered over to Addy's lounger, looked down on her, leered at her body from toe to head, winked, and said, "And what are you modeling this shoot? Tiny little swimsuits, I hope."

She tittered and preened and raised one knee, presenting him with a view of her slender upper thighs and barely covered crotch.

Without turning over, Carlos growled something about 'leave my fiancée alone, asshole.' Rod sat on the edge of her lounger, affected his most seductive voice, and said, "Your delicate French skin is turning pink, sweet Adeline. Perhaps I could apply this lotion to your lovely legs and body to prevent sunburn, belle femme?"

Falling into it, she giggled and seductively replied, "Thank you, homme gallant! Perhaps start with my dainty feet and work slowly upward, rubbing it in deeply and thoroughly to relieve my stress as well."

Without raising his head, Carlos responded, "You two sound like lovers, not friends teasing the fiancé. Do I need to turn over?"

"No, sweetie, just go on with your nap and I'll apply lotion to you later. Gallant Rod can take care of my delicate French skin while you sleep."

Both were watching Carlos, but he did not rise as they expected or even turn over. "Okay, but I expect a play by play so I can keep this hardon the whole time."

Rod laughed heartily, but Addy swatted him with her magazine. "So you're a voyeur, and you're going to listen to your petite fiancée be manhandled and fondled by this big, muscular football player?"

"Do you want me to let him?" he asked suggestively. Rod was watching Addy to see her response, but she froze. She looked at Rod and saw the naked lust his face suddenly displayed. She crossed her legs at her ankles and squeezed her thighs together, and then turned the tables on Carlos, "Do you want me to let him?"

Rod squeezed a little lotion on his hand and quietly said, "The lotion is good and hot; spread your legs and I'll get started."

Carlos turned his head just in time to see Addy spread her legs and see four eyes on him. Rod's hand was on Addy's near ankle, bringing the brinkmanship to a dangerous level, because Addy looked only too willing. Carlos sat up facing away and wrapped his towel around his waist.

Rod chuckled and Addy giggled, and then whispered, "He really does have a hardon! Should we continue to entertain him."

Rod held up the bottle, waggled it, and asked, "You want to take over, or do you want me to continue?"

"I think with all these employees looking on, I should take over," he replied.

Addy caught his wording and said, "And if we were alone?"

He shrugged. "We're all adults, and I like to please you, so it would be up to you."

Addy made a shocked face at him and said, "Really?"

Rod scoffed and got up, just as Carlos assured her. "Really."

****

Most of the girls were scattered, separated from the next by a football player or players, beginning with America, then Marija, and Adeya. Leilani and Riley were lying side by side at the other end, with players on either side.

Rod made his way from female to female, sitting on loungers nearby or on the edge of theirs if others were taken, and worked his charm on each. His teammates warned the girls that he was a bullshit artist, and laughed it off, knowing he was doing what he does and yanking their chains at the same time.

America already knew that was true, and the models were used to being flirted with and hit on, so he was only adding to the ambiance, teasing, and fun rather than making headway, which his intention. He was here to have a good time, make some money, learn more about photo/video shoots, enjoy his friends, be somewhere he'd never been, and help FLI fly higher.

He had worried that his agreement with America might fall apart, but she was languishing with the attention of Wes, Julian, and Bart and scarcely paid him any attention. Not to worry, though; Rod knew when it was time to turn up the heat for the cameras, she would. He had no idea where they were going to dance here at the resort, but it was still on the agenda.

His last stop required him to pull up a chair beside Riley's feet. Lagi was lying next to Leilani, and KP was sitting beside her feet. Colt had been lying beside Leilani, but her gentle rebuffs sent the 18-year-old to more receptive territory. Rod could have laid there but chose the chair.

"That alabaster skin doesn't see much sun, does it?" he inquired.

Riley turned her sunglasses toward him and replied, "No, but surprisingly, I don't really burn. I turn yellow for a day or two, and then I'm bright white again. That's one of many reasons I'm not a very successful model."

"Because bright white isn't a highly desired skin tone for models? I've seen more than a few who looked like vampires, and they seemed to be doing all right."

"On the runway, yes, but for swimsuits, lingerie, and the like, no, and I'm not thin enough for the runway."

"No, you certainly aren't," he declared with obvious appreciation.

She smiled. "You are kind of cute. Your friends and America warned us, and now I see. You can be quite witty, it seems."

"And is wit something you appreciate in a male?"

"Wit is often found in a bright mind. Do you have a bright mind, Hot Rod?"

"I guess I'll find out as the semester plays out, Riley, but I've never been called dull witted."

"So, are you always such a flirt? I've been flirted with by the best, and you are relatively subtle but effective. But why are you sitting here flirting with me? Do you have designs on my white body and freckled face? I'm not easy, you know, even if I am bright white while you are quite tan."

"Nice contrast, don't you think?" he asked, leaning forward and laying his tanned hand on her foot.

She pushed her sunglasses up above her forehead and looked at his hand. "Nice move, Hot Rod. You managed to raise the flirting level significantly by touching me in an unobjectionable place and drawing attention to the contrast between our skin tones. Which, of course, accelerates the sexual inuendo you introduced by telling me I'm not too skinny. You're good."

He smiled, "And so are you. I know now why Colt fled in terror. You are a woman of the world, and far too worldly for a simple football player only a year older than you. I bow to your superiority. Would you like for me to scurry away with my tail tucked between my legs?"

"I haven't known many Americans and fewer Texans. You are the second I didn't despise immediately; America is the first. So, whether you stay or leave is your choice, but don't expect me to undress and throw myself at your feet. You are cute, but that means little to me."

"And you are fascinating. I'll stay, if for no other reason than to see if the bright pink color you're turning really does turn golden tomorrow."

She looked down at her legs and frowned. Rod stood, pushed his middle finger into the center of her thigh, and then removed it; a white spot remained. "Why did you do that?" she asked.

"To see whether the pink I see indicates you are burning. The white circle that remains says you are. I suggest let me apply lotion to your frontside now, and then you turn over and let me do your backside with sunscreen - unless you prefer to be cast as a red lobster tomorrow."

The redhead frowned in disbelief, until Leilani chimed in. "Honey, he is definitely hustling you, but he's right - you are burning. You're used to the gentle Irish sun, but you are in the tropics now - the sun here is relentless, so let him rub this aloe vera mix on you, and you drink more water while he does. Then turn over and let him apply sunscreen if you intend to stay outside longer, or both sides will be burned.

"Or, if you don't want his big rough hands on your delicate skin, I'll do it," she offered in a teasing voice.

"I've heard some nice things about you from Addy and Carlos, Mr. Ford, so I expect gentlemanly conduct as you soothe my sunburn and protect my delicate skin."

He was gentlemanly but thorough, and she was more than pleased by his forceful ministrations. When she turned over and lay flat, though, she worried that her tiny bikini bottom didn't cover much of her behind, and that it would show the wetness between her legs from his previous efforts.

Leilani and Lagi had watched his efforts on her legs, stomach, chest, and shoulders, but they were again deep in their own remembrances of the tropical islands on which they were born and raised. Rod began by piling her wavy copper hair atop her head, so it fell forward. "So, I won't get tanning lotion on it," he explained. She quickly retrieved something from her bag to turn it into a high ponytail, and Rod began applying the sunscreen.

She had rarely applied sunscreen to herself, but when she did, she had merely coated her skin. Rod was thoroughly coating her skin and working it in, as if it were massage oil. It did smell wonderful, like coconuts and sea breeze, and his big hands were finding tight muscles and 'hot spots' of nerves in her back and shoulders. She moaned quietly while he relieved and relaxed her tension, and when the hot lotion was squirted on her backbone she shivered.

Again, those big hands worked on her, first spreading the lotion and then working it into her skin while working those tense muscles and sore spots she didn't know she had. By the time he got to her lower back, no reservation remained; he could do with her as he wished, for his hands had evaporated her modesty and reluctance.

Riley knew the suit was too skimpy in the back, barely more than a thong, but until his hands spread the hot lotion along her bikini line across her back, she wasn't aware that it barely existed! Having his big hands kneading her shoulders and back was one thing: kneading her buttocks and hips was quite another!

It was all she could do to stop herself from humping the lounger, and when he moved his lotion covered hands to the uncovered areas on either side of her hips, she couldn't stop the loud moan or her pussy pressing rhythmically on the lounger. Leilani and Lagi had terminated their conversation and were watching in awe as Rod turned Riley into a moaning, writhing mess.

When his hand suddenly stopped their manipulation of her shiny white heinie and moved to her feet, she groaned in frustration, and Leilani pinched Lagi to keep him from turning the big smile into a laugh. Riley had been as close to relief as his hands had been to her sodden center, and now he was massaging her feet! Why had he moved on when she was so close!

And then she was moaning and jerking at his foot massage, and the mix of pleasure and pain was again sending jolts to her center. It was short lived relief when he moved to her calf, and the jolts grew stronger and more frequent as he moved up her left leg to her hamstring. A couple of minutes later, just after she slithered her left hand under her suit to rub her throbbing clit, he moved down and began on her right foot.

The lotion spreading/ massage/ manipulation of her remaining leg became torture, and she bit the pillow to keep from screaming her need! Finally, when both hands were wrapped around her leg at the junction of her legs and bikini, his thumbs kneading her hamstring while his fingers pressed against her pussy, she pinched her protruding clit and came in a gush. Her strangled cries could be clearly heard by the Polynesians, and by those around the next lounger.

Rod remained in place, a study in innocence while hot juices covered his fingers and soaked the strap between her legs. He let her ride it out and then pretended to massage her leg a little more at a less sensitive location. He then picked her towel up, popped her lightly on her uncovered heinie, and spread the towel across her bottom.

"Best we keep that shiny white butt covered for a while," he announced, and then turned to see ten eyes upon him. "What?" he asked, "I just rubbed some sunscreen in, and now she's resting and tanning."

Leilani quietly said, "And now I need the same treatment. Lagi, can you do that, or should I ask Rod?"

Before he could answer, Adeya stated, "I'm black, but I too could benefit from such a thorough application." Colt, Q, and KP quickly volunteered, but she really wanted Rod's proven expertise. He ended that by lying down on a lounger beside Riley, so she told them, "Thoroughly, but gentlemanly, like Rod."

Marija and her admirers were isolated enough that they didn't know what was going on, but April had been sitting up and figured out what her lover and friend was up to. She smiled: Riley was the most difficult target, but he had little trouble breaking down her barriers. She and Rod might not really be a couple, but she wasn't through with him by any means.

Addy had been returning from the bathroom when Rod began on Riley's calves; she found a spot in the shade where she couldn't be seen and watched in awe as the cool, reserved lassie turned to a quivering mess at Rod's hands, and she felt her own puss moisten in need. If only...

Rod had talked his hard cock into relaxing until later, so he was lying with eyes closed, on his lounger, when he felt warm, slippery hands begin applying lotion to his face. He left his eyes shut when they moved to his neck and shoulders, and then his chest. There was no massaging of the lotion; it was being spread in gentle strokes and caresses, as if being painted on his big body.

The hot little hands traced the waistline of his suit, and then skipped down to his left thigh, with it bulging quads. On down, over his knee to his calf, and then his foot. By then the bulge in his suit was on full display, but he kept his eyes shut and pretended no one was watching. Not that he cared, but to envision the beautiful models grouped around him admiring his cock was more than he could handle right now.

The small, hot, gentle hands moved inexorably up his right leg to the hem of his shorts and darted under quickly to follow the first inches of his cock to his balls. His cock lurched, and he considered grabbing his teasing masseuse and impaling her on his throbbing cock! Right here in front of God and everybody!

He opened his eyes, blinked, and thought how glad he was that he hadn't acted on his impulse, because the magic hands belonged to Addy. She gave him a lopsided grin and said, "I thought you were asleep, and I can't have you sunburned tomorrow, so I applied a coating of sunscreen to your frontside. Perhaps you should turn over now, and I'll let Adeya or Leilani do your back while I check on my sleeping fiancé."

Leilani yielded to the look Lagi gave her, though she badly wanted to finish the job their boss began, and Adeya knelt beside him. He felt the hot lotion poured across his shoulders, and long, slender fingers begin rubbing it around and massaging it in. Seconds later, he felt smaller fingers working on the other side. Their techniques were dissimilar, with the small hands 'painting,' as Addy had done, and the other hands working more forcefully, like a massage.

By the time they stopped working on his back in concert and skipped down to his feet, he was ready to implant one on his cock and the other on his tongue, and he caught himself moaning quietly. They moved closer and closer to the hemline of his shorts, and his desire to taste and fuck both, and Addy, grew in inverse ratio to their proximity to his balls and cock.

And then, still in concert, they slipped their hands under his shorts and pinched him on the butt! They immediately began giggling, stood, and moved away, as if he might jump up and do unimaginable things to them in revenge.

He didn't, but he did mumble a warning about doing unspeakable things to them in retribution. He caught the Irishwoman's lilting laughter, and the robust laughter of the Nigerian moving away from him. He turned and verified their identities, but didn't want to arise with his shorts obscenely stretched by his rampant cock, so he winked at Riley, and closed his eyes.

The pretty Irish lass had lost her virginity in high school, and had fallen for smooth talkers several times since, so she was far from an innocent maiden. Yet, the tool Rod wielded was both fascinating and frightening to her. She was slender and slight, if with bubble butt and C-cup breasts, and she wasn't sure she could accommodate a cock like that.

The other cocks had been described by their owners as "six inches" or "seven inches," but if those measurements were true, his must be a foot long! It was certainly big around, maybe like the Red Bull can for which she had been a spokesperson. How would something like that fit into her little pussy, which had been filled by the 'six and seven inchers'. She would talk to America, who seemed to know.

As riled up as Rod was by her ministrations, Addy was equally excited, and she took it out on a very appreciative Carlos as soon as she got him to their room. Her fiancé was strong and fit, but the bugling muscles and male pheromones released by the massive athletes were intoxicating and enticing. Perhaps she erred in bringing four of her best models into this situation... especially when there were two men for each woman!

Being fawned over and competed for by such specimens, especially with all wearing swimwear, would break down the resistance of a nun, she thought. They needed to ration their free time tonight, transport them to the site early tomorrow, and get as much done as possible as soon as possible. This had the potential to turn into a clusterfuck and ruin everything!

Things calmed down after they got dressed and met in the dining room. Rod was quieter and less commanding than usual, allowing his teammates to shine in conversation and humor. He took it like a champ when America told stories of their childhood, and then turned the tables on her, keeping her a deep shade of red and crying "Rod! NO!" as he dished.

Riley was seated across from Rod, and Addy noticed she remained aware of him whether he was listening or raising cain with his friends, while Rod divided his attention among the many speakers and jokesters. That was interesting; she expected the 'full court press' for which he was well known. Equally unusual, he was first to stand and suggest everyone get started on a good night's sleep, because tomorrow would start early.

They took a ferry down the island to their site for the day. This isolated area had thick tropical foliage around a freshwater pond, the water from which continued in a small stream that further along matched the incoming water from the small stream running into the pond. Just south of the thicket, the white beach sands stretched out of sight, broken only by individual and small groves of palm trees. Dunes had developed thirty yards in from the shore, topped with varieties of tall grasses and small flowers. It appeared pristine, devoid of human habitation - until you realized there was a wooden landing dock where the vegetation gave way to the white sands.

Addy explained that there were three sites here chosen by their well-known and very professional photographers and videographers, and that they would be setting up in the first location while the crew erected and furnished refreshments and changing tents. Anyone who wanted could use the restroom on the ferry, but they should feel free to disappear over the dunes or behind vegetation to dispose of liquids if they aren't shy.

The last of the coffee and a good portion of the first case of water had been consumed by the time everything was in place. There were no pairs today, and the members of the amorphous group had become more relaxed and better acquainted. The amateur models were nervous, but the pros helped them overcome it and get prepared.

Props included a football, which the guys started tossing around while the photographer prepared his cameras for the various scenes contemplated by Addy and Carlos. There was a mock touch football game in which the five girls caught and ran with the ball an inordinate amount of time while being chased by large athletes of all skin shades. The 'uniforms' changed four times, getting skimpier each time, but the chaotic scrambling and shrieking remained the same.

In spite of the number of fit humans 'playing' in the game, the single wardrobe malfunction occurred when Q knocked Colt off stride as he was reaching to 'touch' America, and he yanked her bottoms off while trying to grab something to keep from falling.

America shrieked and quickly pivoted to see what happened, discovered she was nude below the top, and shrieked again. After she was covered with a towel, the photographer promised all copies would be deleted, but the thoughtful looks on the faces of their employers meant there would be negotiation with America before that happened. After all, as every man attested, she had a Grade A Prime ass!

They changed back into the uniforms they wore in the second round and were placed in lounging positions atop and on the Caribbean side of the dunes. They engaged in real conversations, teasing, flirting, giggling, and laughing, like the 18-21-year-olds they were, but with digital camera's clicking nearby, and a film crew stationed below them on the dry edge of the shore break.

That lasted a half hour, and then they changed into the final, skimpiest uniform for cavorting in the warm shallow water of the Caribbean shoreline. Except America - her uniform was torn, so she was wearing dental floss with strategically placed lace that covered part of her C-cup tits, slightly more than the crack of her prime ass, and all of her bare pussy - unless she moved too much. She tried to act embarrassed, but the praise and chubbies she caused in the men's suits turned her on, and it showed in her strut.

Addy knew a good thing when she saw it, and America's tanned, curvy body with spectacular booty was something good. She was going to sell a lot of itsy bitsy bikinis to girls that wanted to have her ass, legs, waistline, and jutting boobs, even if they didn't. Look at the merchandise sold by the Kardashians, Jennfer Lopez, Kylie Jenner, Beyonce, and Dua Lipa. America wasn't famous yet, but she had the gear and audacity to sell herself, and whatever she was wearing - including dental floss.

Of course, Adeya, Leilani, Riley, and Marija had their shining moments, as expected of successful professional models. But America's were unexpected. She was an honor student in college, not a model; she was here because she and Rod looked good together, and they were going to turn the world on to the Cumbia Norteña, wearing FLI's 'modern western' gear.

But not anymore; she and her rockin' body had moved to top billing, with Rod as her foil.

As to the men, as Addy told Carlos while the beefcake romped, posed, flirted with the girls, and had fun, "You better take one of those little yellow pills, Querido, because I'm going to wear you out after this is over!"

He breathlessly replied, "Don't worry, Querida, I'm ready when you are! I had no idea photo shoots were this intense, this seductive, this sexual!"

"They aren't," she replied as she moved in front of him and squeezed his hard cock. "They will be at it down here for another 30-40 minutes; want a quicky on the ferry? No one is on it."

The looked around to ensure the others were busy, darted down the dunes and along the beach, staying out of sight until they were running down the dock onto the ferry. America put her hands on the restroom wall, her strings were yanked to the side, and Rod's cock was implanted in one smooth stroke. She was so ready and needy she came hard within the second score of strokes, with Rod pinching her nipples while pounding her.

She knew he was almost there, and she didn't want the pint of cream he would spend dripping from her pussy all day, so she quickly turned, dropped to her knees, and forced his big thing into her mouth. She locked her eyes on his, as he insisted, and began using every trick she knew. They worked, and he almost choked her with the velocity of his volume.

She cleaned his cock and her cunt, and he cleaned the white residual around her mouth and on her chin. Rather than return, they went to the recently erected dining area for water and shade.

A luncheon feast was delivered and set up by 1:00, and they took a long lunch break under sunshades erected by the caterers from the resort. Folding chairs and tables, heaping dishes of Belizean food, and cases of cold bottled water slowed the buzz a bit, but they had until the photographers deemed the afternoon light and shadows right, probably around three o'clock, they were told. While they waited, stories and jokes were told, new friendships were made, and existing bonds were strengthened.

After their nooner, Addy, Carlos, the director, and the photographers reviewed the earlier sessions on a TV, and they discovered things they didn't notice in live action. First, the men were even more impressive on film than live; second, Keven Partridge was a monster, and his shots with the tall, slender, blonde Lithuanian, were stunning. Third, every posed and live shot with Rod and a model was excellent to outstanding; his previous, though limited, experience and his chiseled body drew your eyes, and each of the girls managed adoring looks, smiles, touches, and words.

The director put his arm around Addy's shoulders and said, "I thought you were crazy when you came up with this campaign, and I was certain when you made that big NIL donation. But now I get it - the testosterone generated by this bunch is overwhelming enough that it's being captured in photos and on video"

Turning to the photographers and videographers, he said, "We have until dark. Use every inch of the space around the lagoon, in the cove, and among the trees. Put two or three men with each model where you can, but feature Ford and Patridge in various groups and one-on-one with each model.

"There isn't a single one of these football players that doesn't deserve an ad of his own, and the five models deserve to be featured with every man or group of men, so shoot as many photos and as much video as possible. To that goal, I'll be staying out of the way so you can do what you do so well, unless I see a setting or pairing I can't resist."

Turning to Addy and Carlos, he said, "You're going to need to flood the airways and internet with a kaleidoscope of men and women, rather than just one or two, and we need to save some for next winter. Much of what they are wearing will be stylish next year or any year."

After the posing and playing in the lush vegetation around the lagoon and cove, they took a series of posed pictures with the entire group. All the men had to do was pose and look hunky while models hung on their massive arms, or pulled their heads down for a kiss, or wrapped their arms around as much of their bodies as they could.

It was spontaneous and off script, but Rod hoisted Riley on his forearm, and they posed with her arm around his shoulders and a delighted look on her face. After a few poses with Adeya, Rod also went off script by slowly pulling her to him, placing his hands on her hips just above the bikini, and telling her to wrap her arms around him and lay her head on his chest. Their photographer took pictures from both sides and from behind Adeya, and then thanked them.

Adeya reluctantly broke away, looked up at Rod, and, in her heavenly accented speech, said, "Oh, it was my pleasure!" Rod grinned and disagreed, "No, I'm certain it was mine!"

That set off a spate of more intimate one-on-one shots, and Rod winked at America after her fourth. "How riled up are you after all that foreplay?"

"Riled up enough to screw you right here in front of the whole bunch. And when do I get my shots with you?"

Knowing both a photographer and film crew were nearby, he replied, "Right now, but let's start by putting our hands together." He extended his hands toward her with palms facing, "And let's stay posed like that while looking at each other with all the sexual desire that has built up after the nooner and an afternoon of foreplay."

She locked her eyes on his with a gaze and a wanton expression that could start fires, and walked slowly toward him with an exaggerated swing to that prime butt. Their hands met and interlocked, remaining in that position while she tried to melt him with the need in her eyes, and he tried to soak her bikini bottoms.

Those fiery looks didn't diminish while he very slowly pulled her to him, one step at a time, until they were inches apart. He ran his hands over the unlikely curve from her ribs to her waist and then to her flaring hips; she rested hers on his chest and licked her lips. He turned his face down; she turned her face up, and he slowly bent to kiss her.

With other models and men, their kisses had been perfunctory, but this was pure lust, and others turned to watch as she came slowly to him, until they were melded together. Lost in the moment, America actually moaned and wriggled her lower body over the mass of cock hardening against her stomach, and then straddled his leg with her pussy grinding against it. When her hand had completed it's slow, scratching journey down his chest, over his abs, and into his swimsuit, someone yelled "Cut!"

That broke the spell, and she gently pulled back from him, taking his hands as he retreated, until they were back in the initial pose with arms extended.

"You need to find some cold water, Rod!" Bart yelled, and he was right. They would use their magic to obscure the protrusion in his shorts if they used their tryst in ads, but he needed to either sink it in one of the beauties watching him with wanton eyes, or go for a long swim. He chose the latter, but wanted the former.

Laughter followed as he trotted to the cove and swan through the pass into the sea. It took a quarter mile, but his anchor did finally lessen to provide less drag, so he returned to more laughter. Riley met him on the shore and offered her turn; the other women chimed in, offering their bodies for his use during and after the posing.

He wanted to take them up on it, but his balls were already aching, and he knew he would have a terminal case of blue balls if he did. Maybe Riley, but after that he would have to get relief, and he told her that. She grinned and pointed at the thick foliage behind them.

"Come out of the sea slowly, like Adonis. Push your hair back with your hand as you come to me. We'll talk, I'll run my finger over your muscles, and then we'll kiss. I'll pull away, take your hand, and pull you into the jungle, stopping to kiss again just before we enter. It will all need to be done slowly for the cameramen, but then we'll disappear into the greenery, and I'll take care of that problem you have."

Without a word, Rod went back into the water, swam away, and came back to find Riley standing on the beach in a provocative pose; she gestured for him, and they played out the scene she had described, for the cameras. What she hadn't expected was the explosion of passion she felt when he kissed her on the beach, and again before they entered the jungle. She was going to get a featured ad or two, and then do him a favor with a quick blowjob in the jungle, but now she wanted to fuck his and her brains out!

She pulled him deeper and deeper into the dense foliage, and then turned to him and removed her top. She reached for the tie for her bottoms, but Rod took her by both arms and told her no. She looked up at him, puzzled by his response.

"Riley, I find you very attractive and seductive, and I'd like to blow your mind... but there is another redheaded model that works for Addy that you remind me of, and the idea of her doing this hurts my heart. I don't know you or your reputation, but I doubt either of us wants the reputation we'd gain from doing this. Everyone knows where we are, and suspects they know what we're doing. Put you top back on, let's walk back out holding hands, and bow when they start on us. We'll both be thought of more highly, though the guys will be calling me a two-minute wonder."

She refastened her top while giving him a look he couldn't decipher, took his hand, and led him back to the lagoon beach. When the others cheered and jeered, they stood side by side: he bowed, she curtsied, and then she asked the director, who was huddled with the cinematographers, what he thought.

He broke away, and with a wide smile exclaimed, "Genius! I'm going to copycat you with some of the others, and with water nymphs emerging as well, so you two will go again with Rod on the shore. I'm going to recreate your scheme with some of the others individually, and then Eddie is going to use all of them in a collage, another excellent way to display the suits and models!"

Though he had rejected her in the jungle, Riley partnered with him when she could, and found him for conversation when they had breaks. She sat beside him on the ferry ride back to the resort, and made sure she was with him as much as possible when they modeled evening clothes around the resort.

Rod wasn't displeased by her attention. He'd had a thing for her since they met, and the breasts she had shown him were exquisite - not too big, not too small, white with pink areoles and cherry pink nipples - just the way he liked them! Like Mia!

That thought put him off again; was it Riley that attracted him, or was it his remaining... fondness... for Mia?

For someone who considers sex as entertainment, he was struggling a bit lately with relationships. Sex with America was good! Absolutely! They were fuckbuddies and had been for years. But starting new relationships, even purely sexual ones with gorgeous models like Riley or any of the others, was suddenly difficult.

At the same time, he could feel America pulling away. She was ready to try new things with new people, or at least try new people, and he could tell Wes and Julian had the inside track.

If Hailey or Mia enrolled at UTX, he would... Nah, no need to go there; they were devoted to their craft, or in Hailey's case, crafts, and he was just a fading memory.

After Aspen, things had gotten cloudier for him. Sex with the incredibly luscious SMU coeds had been mind blowing, as much because they were doing things none had done before as for the pure sex. But bodies like those, rejoicing in trying new things alone and in tandem? There was little chance he'd ever forget them, and a ride up to Dallas wasn't out of consideration.

But then they handed him to their vulturine and voracious mothers, and entertained themselves with other of the boys relentlessly pursuing them. He had been a conquest, and then they moved on. Nothing he hadn't done more than once, but he was kinder and gentler at the goodbye than were the girls.

Not that the moms were a burden. Lithe, flexible, and acrobatic Shelly had spent months under a formal separation agreement and had filed for divorce before he met her. She swore her marriage was a disastrous mistake, and her hubby was protesting out of wounded pride, not love.

Heather had an 'agreement' signed by herself and her husband saying theirs was an 'open marriage,' and spelling out that included sex with others. She was tall, built like a goddess, and sexually ravenous.

Still, being with either felt kind of.. off? Not really immoral or unacceptable, but...? It was hard to pin his feelings down. Oh, the sex was beyond the pale! They were almost exactly twice his age, and only four years younger than his mother, so they had experience on their sides. But their mature bodies were incomparable in his experience, if in very different ways, and they knew how to use them, and his, for maximum effect. The sex was just other-worldly!

So he wasn't even sure how to describe his unease, which went away during the fuckfests but returned after. Even for someone raised to believe sex is a natural function of humans and animals, being with them, while delightful, just seemed... something. Not wrong - they wanted it and he wanted it, and there were documents in effect saying they were free to partake. Yet it troubled him again when he was finally done, which he took as his conscience scolding him.

Both gave him their numbers, but he didn't pledge to call or offer hope he would. These were one and done, and lesson learned.

But here he was, on a tropical island with five truly hot young women, none with entanglements, and he was flinching when he went to pull the trigger. What the hell?

Maybe he was just distracted. The second half of practice begins after Spring Break, and it includes more competitive settings, including scrimmages. He had the playbook down, and felt comfortable changing plays at the line of scrimmage against the defenses they had seen so far, live or in film study.

The quarterbacks faced far more complicated defenses against certain teams, and that was where he was behind Drew and Bart. He knew that and his coaches knew that, so it was likely they would throw some at him to see how he reacted.

Although they continued to press the 'every job is open every week' mantra, they were subtly letting Drew have more snaps with the top receivers. He and Bart were treated somewhat equitably, with Bart seeming to be slightly favored.

The thing was, everything so far had been tightly controlled: working on drops, release, release angles, avoiding rushers in the form of dummies tossed at them, seeing windows, and delivering the ball on time to the right spot. All three were somewhat equal in those drills, but due to their live arms, he and Bart got the ball to the right spot more quickly than Drew, and threw into tight windows he couldn't.

Drew was #1 with the coaches at this point, but they hadn't gone live in a scrimmage yet. That would be where size, natural athleticism, and arm strength mattered more. And instinct; instinct and vision mattered when under a fierce rush. Based on film, Rod didn't believe Drew had either when a rampaging end, tackle, or linebacker got loose; he didn't know about Bart, but he suspected he did.

He was ready for the remaining fifteen days of practice. He had been holding back, getting acclimated, graining the respect of his teammates and the trust of his coaches. He knew they had a series of tough decisions coming up, and each of the quarterbacks above him had rabid fans among the donor base, because their donations played a part in the NIL offering made to him. They wanted their quarterback to play! After all, the coaches assured them he was a program changer, and possibly Texas' first Heisman Trophy QB! Therefore he should be playing!

The only QB without b/millionaire supporters in the donor base was Rod, whose monetary support came from non-traditional sources. Even if starting him was the right football move, some very important and powerful members of the Longhorn Foundation would be enraged. It was a shitty system, but it was the system now in place, and it did affect the coaches' decisions - at more than one position. In spite of their promises, it was going to be politically difficult if he came out of spring as anything but QB3, and he could already hear the coaches' narrative.

"You have a lot talent, Rod, but you need seasoning. You looked confused when we threw new defenses at you, and we can't have that. We know you're anxious to see the field, but it may not happen that much next fall. Just be patient, and your turn will come."

Or something like that. Of course, he had a say in that scenario, and he intended to say it over the next two weeks.

When he raised his eyes, there were many eyes focused on his face. Wes spoke first: "Dude, not sure what you were thinking about, but you looked like a serial killer planning his next spree. Hope you're not starting with us."

Rod smiled laconically, "Actually, I was back on the practice field being molly-coddled and controlled by the coaches, things I'm about tired of. So when I start, it will probably be with them. But who knows - 'killer instinct' doesn't always discriminate."

The few that weren't already around him moved chairs nearby, and America abandoned her admirers to sit on the foot of his lounger. This was very different behavior for Hot Rod, and a puzzled concern was being shown by his friend and teammates.

Bart pushed on his previous statement. "Yeah, I didn't know if you'd noticed, but Drew is being given every opportunity, while you and I - especially you - are, as you said, controlled and held back. Tell me how you think we should address that, and I'm all in. If we're to have equal shots at QB1, we need a level practice field!"

Quinton chimed in and referenced Colt. "I think Colt will back me up here, because I hear the tight ends are talking about the same things the receivers are. Drew throws a nice soft ball, but it takes forever to get there, so no matter how good the route or how well we got open, the DBs are on us when we catch it. That's not a problem with you two: you throw balls that hiss through the air so loudly you know they're coming!

"Your timing isn't always as good as his, but the balls you throw are almost always between the elbows, while Drew's may be perfect, or wide, or high, and no receiver likes to reach out or up for ball with a DB behind him. Too many bruised backs, kidneys, and ribs.

"We also talk about how the experienced receivers are always directed to Drew's line in one-on-one drills. Not that the rest of us aren't just as good, but he hasn't thrown me more than a couple of balls during the competitive drills, of which there aren't that many. He's mostly throwing to guys he has experience with, while you two are throwing to the rest of us, and we don't know each other well enough to be 100% trusting, or trustworthy.

"We decided that in the end it won't matter, because Drew is going to hit the portal when it opens again. He doesn't throw the ball as well as you guys do, and you are far superior athletes. He knows that, and word is that he's got his people looking."

Colt spoke up then. "Ditto to what Q said, and on behalf of the receivers, running backs, and linemen I have to make a plea that neither of you leaves! We feel like we have the hosses to make a deep run in the college football playoffs for the next three or four years, but only if we have you two running the show. Notice I didn't say 'one of you two' I said both of you.

"The seniors and juniors say that they used to think it would take another year with Drew, then maybe one with Bart before we'd be ready to compete for the championship, but after seeing the QB room, and the size and depth across the field, they've changed their minds - they think we're ready now! In fact, they're talking about a run of NC trophies, and dominating the second half of the 2020s! I just got here, but I'll admit the talent is stocked at almost every position, and our offensive and defensive linemen are savages! Huge savages!

"If we've got the quarterbacks, we'll be golden, even if the running back injuries keep happening!"

Bart jumped in with both feet. "Rod, f' this! When we get back, let's go all out! I know you're holding back, and I've been keeping some in reserve myself. They said it would get more competitive and there would be scrimmages when we return to practice. Let's make a pact: test the DBs and LBs in drills, and go all out in scrimmages. So what if we miss a read - we can do stuff Drew can't, so make the difficult pass, break out and take off when they try to intimidate us with a rush, and let's work with our receivers to break routes off and go man when we break the pocket, or get an all-out rush.

"Like it or not, it's us versus Drew and the coaches, so we have to make them rethink their preconceived notions!"

Before the football players packed to return to Austin, Carlos made them an offer. "Your chartered ride to Austin will be ready to go at eleven tomorrow. Or - it could divert to Cowtown USA, where America and Rod will be modeling FLI's western line at a dance. The 'modeling' will include America and Rod dancing the 'cumbia norteña,' which is something to see!

"But they will also dance to several other kinds of music, which caused my brilliant wife to wonder if any of you would like to ride along, dress up in FLI boots, jeans, and western shirts, dance as much as you want, and maybe even learn to line dance. Of course, the cameras will be running, which means more NIL money. Whatcha think?"

"I don't know about them," Riley interjected, "or my fellow models, but I want to go so much I'll forego additional compensation!"

****

Cowtown had become somewhat jaded by the celebrity of Rod Ford and the celebrities he brought to town and to the school, so the radio announcement that Rod and America would attend the Family Crisis Center benefit dance at the Latin Social Hall, and would be filmed dancing caused a moderate stir. When the DJ named the four models also attending, and spoke of commercials and celebrity events in which you might have seen each, interest increased significantly. And when he named the UT football players who would also be present, it grew to Standing Room Only status.

They arrived at eight, dressed in FLI merchandise appropriate for the event and flattering to the wearer. They looked great, in a sartorial sense - in fact, better than America and Rod! Carlos explained that the dance they would perform had an unofficial uniform, and it would become clear why they were dressed as they were when they danced the Cumbia Norteña, of which none of the models and only two football players had heard.

Addy's directorial touch was seen throughout the evening, as she had the gigantic athletes dancing with various models, and those who knew how to do particular dance, like the Two-Step, assisting those who didn't. Sometimes that involved the onlookers coaching too, as only America, Rod, Colt, and Wes knew more complicated dances like 'The Cotton-Eyed Joe,' "The Schottische,' or the various line dances.

The interaction created even higher levels of excitement, and the $200 per hour models enjoyed working for free one night, as the music, learning new dances, and the enthusiasm of their partners made it all worthwhile. That they would be spotlighted throughout the filming also helped; they were getting invaluable publicity in unusual settings.

Meanwhile, the cameras rolled, and aides quickly secured releases from dancers the FLI owners thought might appear in a commercial, or commercials. There were some really cute girls and boys, and some of them were accomplished dancers. Ninety minutes in, Rod and America had secured three of the best to 'compete' with them in the Cumbia Norteña dance off, and had prepped the band.

Juan y los Braceros were an excellent regional band that had been in Cowtown many times. They knew America well, and Rod knew they would give her whatever she wanted. To prove it, the lead singer greeted her with a groan and "Oh, girl - you're gonna kill me with that body!" The others joined in, and she laughed at their crude suggestions and invitations, until she was ready to ask for their help.

They grew quiet when she explained what was going on, and agreed to keep the music going throughout the dance off, and to move seamlessly from song to song. Knowing they went last, she requested a song that was just a bit faster and more challenging than the others, and Juan replied, "Only you two can pull that off! Buena suerte!"

America's black tee shirt covered her shoulders, but stopped just below her firm, unencumbered breasts, baring her belly all the way down to the rodeo belt buckle on the leather belt holding up her hip-hugger jeans. Her ass was to die for tonight, painted in the jeans that were skintight from hips to knee, where they belled and split to show off her white boots with burnt orange Longhorn head and horns.

F L I was artfully printed in white across her succulent breasts, though there was a colorful creature that looked like una Mosca (fly) beside the L between her boobs. The same letters were embroidered on the back pockets of her jeans, and the exotic, colorful fly there was larger and more noticeable. As if American needed something to call attention to her butt!.

Most men dancing the Cumbia Norteña wore tee shirts and jeans, but Addy saw more for Rod; so much more he almost refused. His sleeveless black tee shirt had colorful, exotic flies painted across the front and back; the FLI ski jumper was centered in the middle of his chest; random forms of stylized planes were scattered among the colorful flies, and a hunting Hawk that was larger than the others soared at the base of his neck.

Rod's black jeans were also painted on, all the way down his legs until they were tucked into his burnt orange boots, featuring a white Longhorn head and horns. The FLI on each back pocket provided the only distraction from the black of the jeans, not counting his bulging thighs and package, and the NFR Champion Tiedown Calf Roper buckle that America was going to polish during their dance.

Hours of dancing with America, Riley, the other models, and local girls and women meant Rod was warmed up, loose, and ready when the strains of the music for the dance off began. They watched and cheered as their 'competition' danced the wildly exotic form of the cumbia, 'leaving nothing on the table,' as they say. All three pairs were excellent, and there were murmurs that America and Rod had met their matches tonight.

And then her chosen song started. They began in a normal ballroom dance position, arms extended, and hands clasped, with his right hand on her hip and her left on his shoulder, but that only lasted a few steps. After that America was spinning, hands above her head, touching Rod's hand, and then back against him, but closer than before. He spun her away, and caught her as she spun back. They negotiated several difficult steps while whipping back and forth, and, while holding his hand, she bent until she lay prone, and he stepped over her body in perfect time with the music.

She was back, melded against his body, this time with her butt against his groin, moving in perfect harmony as they spun together, dipped, he spun a few times holding her hands, she spun as they danced, and she returned to the meld, with her hips gyrating wildly while pressed tightly against his groin.

It was as close as you can come to sex on a dance floor, but at 3000 rpms, and the crowd noise rose above 100 decibels as they made their intricate final moves, and ended their show tightly affixed again.

Carlos leaned and yelled into Addy's ear: "That was sexy as fuck! I've got a major boner, but how much of that can we actually use without the FCC shutting us down?"

"We'll leave that to the editors, but, Baby, my jeans are soaked to my knees! Those two may only be fuckbuddies, but they exude want and need, or wanton need, when together! And what perfect bodies - Oh. My. God! They are going to make us so much richer, in the Latin world alone!"

****

The seniors and multi-year starters were in Drew's camp, so the movement excluded them at first. But the more the two underclassmen showed off, the harder it was to ignore the obvious. A Saturday scrimmage was scheduled after five days of practice, and the coaches informed the team they would sit the starters and let the 2s and 3s go full speed, but tacklers had to stop after wrapping up.

They intended to put red jerseys on the QBs, but Bart, Rod, and Tres all wanted it to be live, so they could run options, scramble, learn to take hits, and get an idea of what they will face in the grueling schedule ahead. Sark frowned, the QB coach shook his head, and the other coaches chuckled when they received the request. They talked about it, pros and cons, and decided to let it start that way and adjust as required.

"These cocky fuckers want the full experience, so let's give it to them," the defensive coach urged. "Let us call the defenses like it's a game, so they can see just how much they still have to learn!"

The QB coach was the only one who expressed reservations, saying he hadn't prepared them for some of the exotic schemes they would face. He turned to the offensive line coach, expecting support, but he just laughed. "Don't look at me! My youngsters are just as talented and cocky. Maybe Coach K can bring them back to earth."

They went through the usual practice prep and drills, and then those who wouldn't be participating took off their helmets and shoulder pads and gathered on the home sidelines. The participants donned either orange or white scrimmage vests. Bart was with the second team, Rod with the third team, which included many of the uber talented but raw freshmen.

It was a mistake-laden practice with a lot of blown assignments, but it was punctuated by breathtaking plays on offense and defense that showcased the incredible talent amassed. There were a lot of stars, beginning with KP, whose rare blend of size, quickness, speed, and motor made him almost impossible to block with one man.

The receivers coach knew what he had, and yet he didn't. Q, Colt, and other young receivers adjusted to the situation on the fly, breaking off or changing routes when their quarterbacks needed them to, making catches in tight traffic, and securing the ball to maintain control through hits.

The young running backs were similarly spectacular from time to time, although they also blew blocking assignments and ran the wrong play a few times. But when a hole opened, even if it wasn't where it was blocked, they found it, jetted into and through it, and were jackrabbit quick in the open.

And then there were the quarterbacks! There was no denying Bart and Rod were borderline incredible! Their solution to all out rushes was to hit alert receivers before the rush got to them, roll away from the pressure, or find a crease and take off.

Wes stonewalled his man several times when Rod was under duress, allowing him to roll left. Twice he hit receivers for first downs after they re-routed when he left the pocket, and once he went 64 yards for a touchdown, breaking ankles and arm tackles with his moves and strength.

Another time, sprinting left with a linebacker in pursuit and a cornerback coming up to meet him, he squared his shoulders and flicked a pass more than fifty yards downfield to Q, who had turned a seam route into a deep post when he saw Rod running left. Q caught the pass in stride and took it the remaining twenty yards, running away from a speedy safety to score!

Another spectacular play occurred when, under a six-man rush, Rod faked a swing pass to the running back and hit the tight end, Colt, down the seam vacated by the safety moving up to cover the running back. That turned into the 73 yard TD that 'won' the scrimmage, 7 TDs to 6 by Bart's team.

But Rod's highlight were matched by Bart's, whose rocket arm lofted a ball over 50 yards in the air to an open receiver for Orange's first TD, and whose running ability made first down after first down, and got a TD from the six yard line.

When the scrimmage began, the seniors/starters sitting it out clustered up on the sideline. They were cheering the youngsters, while laughing about this probably becoming a sloppy, error-filled scrimmage when Coach K turned the defenses loose. After it ended and their sweaty teammates headed for the lockers, they huddled up and discussed what they had seen, and what it would take to keep their jobs.

Spring practice had just turned into a battle for position and depth going into the fall, where it would require total dedication to keep their hard-earned status. And that might not be enough, given the talent they saw displayed.

Huddled around the conference table an hour later, the defensive coordinator waited for everyone to be seated and said, "Well, for those that wanted to keep the status quo, that scrimmage was an extraordinarily bad idea!"

"But if you wanted to know what we've got in the larder, it was a great idea!" the offensive line coach proclaimed, "And I'll say it - some of those kids are just freaks! KP is one, and I've got at least a half-dozen lineman that are going to be hard for the seniors to hold off.

"I saw defensive backs other teams would cry for, oversized linebackers faster than gazelles, and receivers that were other-worldly fast and talented - ON OUR SECOND AND THIRD TEAMS!

"I'm going to ignore the elephant in the room," he continued, "but at some point you two are going to need to address what we saw today, 'cause that was some All-America, Heisman Trophy shit from both side of the ball!" he concluded, after nodding at the QB coach and head coach.

"Yeah, and Drew saw it too. I expected to see him texting his advisor in the locker room," Sark replied. "I love that kid, and we all owe him bigtime, but I suspect that awkward conversation none of us wants to have won't happen. You know, the one where we suggest he looks around at sites where he'll fit better, and offer to help him get the landing spot he wants.

"The problem is, he will land at a contender, and we'll have to face him in the playoffs. But I don't know what AJ or I could say to him. He's a starter in the pros in two years, the scouts say, but those two punk kids..."

Sark looked around the room, focused on the defensive coordination (DC), chuckled, and asked, "Did you wonder how they handled the rush and the combination secondaries so easily, Coach K? I did, so I asked Quinton. He laughed and told me if they all agreed that if they didn't recognize the defense, the QBs would communicate that as an audible, and change the play to inside or outside zone, or audible to a short pass set and hit the hot receiver. If the rush got to them, they would break out of the pocket, at which point the receivers would re-route and flood that side with three-level routes.

Our defensive backs covered them like blankets on a couple of those, but the two kids only need a couple of inches for a second, and the ball is in the hands of the receiver! Quick releases with accuracy, amazing mobility, and incredible arm strength!

"So what I'm saying is, yes, they ran the plays we called, until they came upon defenses they didn't recognize or all-out rushes, and then ran plays they came up with away from the practice field! Sandlot shit, and it worked!

"To make it all worse, as one of your d-linemen told me, Coach K, 'Rushing those guys hard is inviting a fifty-yard touchdown run - they are big, fast, strong, have great vision, are hard to get ahold of, and harder to get down!'"

"Soo... what do we do now?"

The running backs coach, fresh from the pros, answered, "Reopen that section of your playbook that includes options and quarterback runs. Our four young running backs are going to be hosses, but right now they have to rely on explosion and elusiveness because they lack the strength to break arm and shoulder tackles by 320 pounders. These quarterbacks, though, give us a dangerous run threat that the defense has to acknowledge. That will give them better reads for options and passes, will make it easier for the lineman to gain leverage, and the RBs better holes. Having a true threat at QB changes the run game, and these two are definitely true threats!

The Oline coach cautioned, "We also need to acknowledge that we're going to have to be pass heavy and dependent on explosive plays rather than long drives. With the receivers we have, including the four backs and the tight ends, and our young guns, we all need to do a good job of reading defenses, which applies to the quarterbacks, receivers, and linemen. And, of course, the line needs to provide sufficient time for the QBs to read the defense and get the ball off, which is my line's problem."

He then chuckled and continued, "Fortunately, that only involves every level of the offense, so we're all on the hot seat!"

Flood then challenged, "And, since I wasn't calling plays, I had an epiphany while watching. What struck me between the eyes was, across the field, we have to stop looking for ways to keep our loyal upperclassmen ahead of their more talented competitors, or at least plan to use the best players in every game, including the big games. As we verified today, we have a very rare combination of talent, young and more experienced, from sideline to sideline and goal line to goal line.

"We have to honor that, and plan now for the fourteen game grind that leads to the national championship game, which I honestly believe we can play in. As coach Saban drilled over and over, we're not going to get beat because we played highly talented players, younger or older.

"Substituting wisely throughout the season means key players will be less battered, and more players will be prepared to play at the championship level when the four-game playoffs begin - AFTER the 12 game regular season grind is over!"

"AJ, Curt, Rowdy, and Pete just challenged all of us," Sark interjected, "and we still have time to effect as many changes as make sense in nine days, after which we can take a few weeks off to recruit, and then begin to devise plans for fall camp. We're not going to have a bunch of meetings to go over how you implement changes, if any, with your position group, but we will have a few more meetings to check in on how it's going with your group.

"We have nine more practices, new plays and rotations to implement, timing to develop, and conversations to have. Those include persuading some starters and reserves to stay, even if they're sharing snaps next year. We don't want to become one of those teams with a layer of superstars and no depth, and we need to help them understand that. I'm open to sending out a new offensive or defensive line because we're so deep there, but at linebacker, receiver, running back, and defensive back, we have to develop rotations by position and personnel."

He looked away from the offensive staff to address the defensive staff. "And don't think I didn't notice you defensive coaches sitting there smirking! You need to quit patting yourselves on the back and figure out how you're going to carry this team early in the season, and maybe at times deep into the season, when the young players on offense are screwing up!"

The defensive coaches and the analysts responded with grins, and the defensive coordinator laughingly said, "Oh, we're going to work our asses off and their asses off! But Coach, we are f'n LOADED! I coached linebackers on a pro team that didn't have the talent and depth we have across the field! Probably half of these guys are going to have pro careers, maybe more!

"Don't think we're falling for your poormouth either! Acting like Bart and Rod are going to have to read every defense and make every audible or we're gonna lose - hah! We threw shit at them they'd never seen, and they gouged us bad 14 of the 20 times we did!

"Yeah, they may make some bad audibles in a game, and might throw too many picks over the early part of the season, but they are also going to be featured on the Top Plays of the Week as often as they screw up! Oh, and they are going to fit footballs through windows like nobody has since, oh, I don't know, Bart's daddy, maybe?"

"Oh, and coaches - any doubts you had about Hot Rod Ford should have been buried today. Including yours, Coach Sark!"

****

While the coaches were having that conversation, a good portion of the team was gathered on Rod's lawn, or floating in front of his dock in tubes, ignoring the chilly March waters of Lake Austin. Also present in force were girls America recruited from the Texas Angels and her sorority, girlfriends, and dates. Rod provided soft drinks, water, and other non-alcoholic beverages, as well as half-pound burgers, Earl Campbell sausage wraps, salads, and trays of raw vegetables and fruit, with dips.

You were free to bring your own cooler if you were at least 21, but no one did. This was about having fun, about comradery, about getting to know each other off the field, and about admiring and conversing with fine women of every ilk. Bart acted as co-host. He was as solicitous about everyone feeling comfortable as Rod, and he also acted as a bridge between the freshmen and older players.

Drew was there too, as affable as ever. He was accompanied by his gorgeous girlfriend, with whom he'd had a relationship since high school. Nothing was said, but his closest friends knew he was through at Texas, and it showed. He got a lot of respect and love without anyone saying anything about his future, or even about the practice days ahead.

Though he said nothing, he would meet with the coaches on Monday, and would spend the rest of spring practice 'rehabbing' one of his many injuries.

When the portal opened, he would accept a transfer to a playoff contender with whom his people had negotiated a deal. He and the University he loved would trade praise and best wishes, and he would graduate from Texas in May, achieving a life-long dream, before moving on.

It wasn't what he wanted, but it was the best choice in this situation. As good as he knows he is, he knows he isn't better than Bart, and he wasn't sure Bart was as good as Rod. Time to move on, get paid, improve, and get paid again, for playing the sport he loved.

The party broke up at 11, after a bunch of stories had been told, and the 'male models' had been sufficiently harassed. A lot of the stories were about the beautiful professional models they posed with and befriended, and because America was a rising star in that world, she had another hour in the spotlight listening to embellished stories about her triumphant entry into the field. But she also caught flack for 'sexing' Rod on the dance floor and using her bedroom eyes to seduce the camera and camera men so she got more film time than others.

Rod sat back and enjoyed the camaraderie. He knew these same guys would be in a battle-royal for positions come Monday, but tonight they were developing bonds that would get them through the competition of spring training and fall camp, as a team. Whomever ended up a starter, the backups had to accept that, and their individual responsibility to be prepared to come in and play without any decline in performance. That's what happens on championship-caliber teams.

**********