Football Player With Big Forehead Novels & Stories

Brent the Linebacker, and he has a very big problem in his jeans that will have to be addressed before he can have his picture taken. Ms. Franchella is ready to take care of any problems that might arise. * * * Ms. Franchella "Just stand there and..." I stared at the big, brawny student. He was more than six feet tall and had broad shoulders, his brown hair buzzed short on the side. A flattop. "Are you in some distress?" "It's just..." He wore jeans. Tight jeans. "Seeing you cum on Sheila's face and all..." "Oh, my, your dick is that big?" A wave of delight shot through me. I loved taking pictures of college students. Boys or girls, I wanted to have some fun. Young studs and sluts made me dr

Brett's imposing figure loomed before me, his piercing hazel eyes seeming to see right through me. The quarterback's rugged charm was undeniable, from the chiseled lines of his athletic build to the unruly mess of dark hair that framed his strong features. The overwhelming scent of Axe body spray clung to him like a cloud, an unmistakable signature that seemed to announce his presence. As he stood there, clad in his worn quarterback jersey, I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the sheer force of his personality.

The precision in his feet made me realize that he was really good at football so I found myself enchanted by his skills. I walked closer as he finally heard my footsteps and turned to me in shock. He had black wavy hair falling across his face, with dark grey eyes that watched me curiously. He wore a blue jersey and I could see a signature at the bottom of it. He was definitely going to be from a rich home if he could get a signed jersey from a real football player. "Who are you?" He asked and I glanced around nervously, scared that I had interrupted his game. "Uhm, my name is Henry," I whispered softly as he came closer and I took a step backwards.

Why are humans flipping in the air like birds? Letting out a breath, I glance at the field. The football players move in perfect formation, running plays under the scrutinizing eyes of their coach. Some are shirtless, their sweat-drenched muscles gleaming, which earns them plenty of attention from the girls in the stands. Their giggles and not-so-subtle squeals ring in my ears. Rolling my eyes, I let my gaze wander until it lands on him. Arc Xandin. He stands near the fifty-yard line, engaged in a conversation with a teammate. His silver-white hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, framing sharp, aristocratic features.

" My laugh was self-deprecating. "Once you acclimatize to the city, you fall in love with the anonymity of it." But Kieran would never know. Incogintaurenity was something he'd never know again this lifetime. He was one of the tallest soccer players in the world. An Ashburn FC forward, renowned for his lethal penalty kicks and ruthless dribbling that had defenders stumbling over one another's feet as they attempted to cover him, he was, without doubt, the bane of every goalkeeper in the Premier League and the one mythological player every youngster in Europe and South America possessed a poster of on their bedroom wall.

"Like, the football player? Aw, hell, I saw the hit you took. I heard a rumor that you're not coming back." I held my breath, but Noah just shrugged. "Yeah, that's true. Unfortunately, the damage to my knee was just too extensive." He squeezed my hand. "But now I've got something even better than football in my life, so I'm not complaining." The other man's forehead wrinkled. "What is better than . . . oh." Understanding dawned. "Yeah, that's great." He busied himself with putting away the monitor and handing me tissues to wipe off my stomach. "Still, I'm sorry about your career. Sucks for you. Sucks for Tampa. You were a really excellent player."

His eyes were a chocolate brown that made me melt when he'd look at me a certain way. He was about five foot nine inches, a good eight inches taller than me. He wasn't the tallest, but he made up for it with the muscles. He worked out non stop and had the biggest biceps I had ever seen. He was a linebacker in our school's football team, so he had to be strong. He stood up and straightened his baby blue polo shirt. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Don't start your crying bullsh*t, Kelly."

The football team fists bump Mikey and it’s so much I could do to try to squeeze my tiny, 160-centimeter frame through the horde of broad-shouldered lackeys surrounding him and Becca, the new ‘It’ couple, it seems. Mikey is a hammerhead football player who’s dumber than a box of screws but I guess Becca doesn’t like him for his philosophical views on things. He is ginormous compared to his teammates, with broad shoulders and arms thicker than my thighs. He's also really handsome, in that rugged manly-man type of way. Not my type but I can still see the appeal... if he doesn’t open his mouth that is.

His sullen eyes zero in on mine, but I have trouble keeping eye contact with him. I'm checking out his broad shoulders and biceps instead. He is a total beefcake, intimidating as hell. Hispanic. Black-haired and dark eyes. This guy is as tall as me when he is sitting down, probably as massive as my sister's NHL-playing husband.

Stepping on the stairs, I sat in the middle bleacher and roamed my eyes around the place. I was overlooking the green field that was packed with football players. They wore a black jersey and a football helmet that hid their faces. They ran along the field with their long legs, as the coach blew his whistle and signaled everyone to approach him. When they pulled the helmets off of their heads, I quickly spotted Daniel. His face formed into a tired scowl, and his sweat glistened when the sunlight struck him. His hand raked his dirty blonde hair, as he started to approach their coach.