A Football Player's Wife Dianna smiled at him. "Yes, it's too bad. One more for the road?" She didn't give him a chance to answer, she kissed him again. And because her dress was a strip of fabric around her waist, they were quickly in the groove again. He was hard and she was wet again in an instant. Their attraction was so powerful. It blew away any guilt Dianna might have had like sunshine on a rainy day. What guilt? she asked herself. Dianna got on her hands and knees. Wendell hesitated for a bit, taking this moment to savor Dianna's beautifully shaped butt cheeks, so full and round, with a slim waist. And her pussy so wet, calling to him. But he found his attraction to her was so much more than sexual. He gently held on to her waist and he slipped inside her effortlessly. Dianna was crying new tears as they fucked. "Ohhh...OHhhh...oh, baby," she gasped. Then suddenly Dianna laid down on her back and pulled him down on top of her. Wendell slipped inside her again and they came together looking in each other's eyes. It was a gentle orgasm -- Dianna didn't even dig her nails in Wendell's back -- but still powerful. Then Wendell sat back against the seat and pulled Dianna into a sweet embrace. The limo driver made a mental note to call that black dude who gave her his number. "You're not crying anymore," he said, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. "Why--" Dianna pressed her manicured fingers against his lips. "No questions," she whispered, shaking her head gently. "Just please know that you've made me a very happy woman." Dianna composed herself, externally. She pulled her dress up, then down, to cover herself again, put on fresh lipstick, as the limo pulled into the club's now empty parking lot and came to a stop. Composing herself internally was much more difficult. "Well, I guess this is it," Wendell said. He was having a difficult time himself getting his clothes back on. Dianna tenderly helped him. "Yes," Dianna said sadly. "I'd like to see you again--" Dianna gently placed her fingers on his lips. "Maybe we can," she smiled. "Someday." Poor guy, Wendell looked crestfallen. "How am I going to see you again?" Dianna smiled warmly. "When you least expect it," she said. She kissed him on the lips, hugged him tight one more time and then said, "Good night, baby." Wendell nodded unhappily. "Yeah. Good night, Dianna." It wasn't raining any more, but the parking lot and streets were freshly wet, reflecting the city lights. Wendell got out and closed the door, and the limo pulled out slowly. Dianna sat in the back, crying silently. "Where to now, ma'am?" the driver asked politely. "Home," she sniffed. "Take me home now, please." "Yes, ma'am," the driver replied. As the limo pulled out of the parking lot and back into the streets, Dianna cried. She had so many emotions running through her, she didn't know why she was crying -- happy, because a man she had clicked with, had satisfied her beyond words, sad because she'd had to go outside her marriage to find that satisfaction, or that she'd lied to Wendell, to get that satisfaction. Or just sad that she would never see him again. Or all of that at once. And when she got home, she put on her slinkiest satin and lace camisole and slipped into an empty bed, and masturbated until she fell asleep with her tears wetting the pillow. The next morning, her husband didn't even ask her how her night was. Wendell knew nothing of this as he watched the limo turn left at the corner and drive off into the night. He started walking for home. He shook his head, like it was all a dream... * * * * The next few days went by like a dream for Dianna. She knew more about Andrew Wendell James than she knew about her husband, and they had been married seven, almost eight years, after a six-month engagement, yet. She knew Wendell perhaps three or four hours. And the shy, humble, sweet, kind, white sportswriter couldn't hold a candle to her husband, the hard-charging, self-absorbed black football player, who was due to leave in a couple of days for a series of away games. Dianna Beauvais played the role of the football player's wife, like a robot. But in her private moments, she put on her lingerie and wished Wendell were here to take it all off... She shook off her fantasy. Today, she was going with her husband to the stadium for a few hours. It was a PR stunt someone had thought of, for the wives to meet the media. It wouldn't hurt to show up. So Dianna put on a purple sweater, blue jeans, and white canvas sneakers, to go with her husband's weekend warrior attire, sweats. Her light purple sweater would go well with her nails, now polished purple, as well as her lips, coated with purple lipstick. Underneath her casual clothes, she wore her lacy bra and panties. Dianna Beauvais, the perfect football player's wife. Right! * * * * Wendell went into the newsroom of the sports magazine he worked for, found his cubicle and dropped into his desk chair. Grinning for god only knew what reason, because he was still jet-lagged, he was also dressed in khakis, with an open-collar blue shirt, navy blazer, with real shoes, not sandals. He booted up the workstation on his desk, and went through his email, and read the sample copy of the magazine on his desk. Despite his lethargy, it gave him a charge to see his name in print. It always had, and always would. When it didn't, he would stop writing. But writing was still fun. He had just put the magazine down when the editor's office door opened. "Hey, Wendell!" Wendell dropped the magazine and whirled his chair around. "Yo!" The editor, a black woman named Pam Easton, held up the same issue and smiled. "Great job on the article. Can you come in here for a minute, please?" Wendell shrugged. "Sure." He got up and went inside, then closed the door. "What's up, Pam?" Pam was, as usual, dressed to kill, in a tan skirt and blouse and white high heeled pumps, her hair and makeup immaculate, her french-style nails perfectly manicured. "I've got an assignment I want to run by you." "Sure," Wendell nodded. "What's the scoop?" Pam smiled, then said, "Has anybody ever done an article about what's it's like to be a football player's wife?" Wendell raised his eyebrows, considering. Then he had to shake his head and say, "No, not that I know of." "Time to be the first," she declared. She handed him a press kit. "The team is having a take your wives to work day," she smirked. "An obvious PR gimmick. But it's a good way to start your story, I think." "Okay," Wendell said. "I'm already at the stadium." * * * * Wendell walked out on to the football field with the other reporters, to mingle with the players. The empty field, the empty seats, echoed. Quite a high percentage of the team's players were married, he found out, despite the fact that pro football players spend about five months of the year on the road during the regular season. Same thing with the cheerleaders. His story wasn't about cheerleader's husbands, but player's wives. The mood was somber. The date was Thursday, September 12th. The weather was cool, the sky partly cloudy. It was a little windy. But it was also the same time that the regular season was gearing up in earnest. So here he was, making interviews. The players were getting their time, but he was talking to the wives afterward. After a couple of hours, he was able to get quite a number of interviews secured, thanks to his press escort, Javier. Javier was clearly of Spanish ancestry, and looked clean cut in a dark blue blazer and slacks with a sky blue shirt and dark blue tie. The wives were gracious and answered his questions away from the press and players, and his guide was able to help him break the ice. He thought he was finished but his guide asked him if he wanted one more interview. Wendell shrugged and said sure, one more won't hurt. So Javier led him over to this super big hulk of a player, who Wendell knew as the defensive tackle Edward Newton. At six foot plus and just as wide, weighing in at 325 pounds, the man put the fear of God in every quarterback in the league. Especially since he had last season's record of most sacks in a season. They traded a few remarks, a few laughs. Then Newton said, "Let me introduce you to my wife." He turned to a woman sitting in the bleachers, reading a book, and said, "Dianna?" Dianna Beauvais stood up. Newton took his wife's hand and led her over. "Want you to meet Wendell James, he's a sportswriter. Wendell, my wife, Dianna." Wendell expertly suppressed his shock and surprise, and said, "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Newton." Dianna kept a cool face. "Nice to meet you, too. And please, call me Dianna." Wendell kept his cool. "I'm doing a story on football player's wives. Perhaps you'd like to do an interview?" Dianna let a smile show. "Certainly. I'd love to." She turned to her husband and said, "Eddie, honey, Wendell and I are going to go sit in the press room for the interview." Nobody would ever have known these two shared passion in the back seat of a limo. Edward Newton didn't say anything back. He was too engrossed in the interview he was doing with another reporter, holding court as it were. Smirking, Dianna walked back over to the elevators, and Wendell followed. Soon they were inside the pressbox, alone. The room was empty, and quiet. Out the windows, was a picture perfect view of the field and the bleachers. Inside was rust red carpeting, and comfortable couches and foot rests with matching leather upholstery. It wasn't until they were seated inside the pressbox, and safely out of earshot, that Wendell said, "Nice to see you again, Dianna." Dianna smiled a rather limp smile. "Nice to see you again, too." "Just not like this?" Wendell asked. Dianna nodded, they both chuckled. Then Wendell took a deep breath, released it, and said, "You didn't tell me you were married." Dianna sighed sadly. "No, I didn't," she admitted. "Can I ask why?" Wendell said quietly. "Wendell. Don't mess up what was a perfectly wonderful night. For the both of us." Wendell said, sincerely, "You know you can trust me." Dianna smiled a bashful smile. "I was afraid." "Of what?" Wendell asked. "Of what happened that night," Dianna replied. "I will admit, the reason I came into the club that night was for a booty call. I never thought I would fall in love. Okay?" She smiled at him, with love-filled eyes. Wendell released a sigh. Then he grinned foolishly. "Okay," he nodded. "I take it Beauvais is your maiden name?" She nodded. "Yes, Beauvais is my maiden name." "Do you still think about that night as much as I do?" Dianna smiled and blushed. "Yes, I do, more than you know." Then she took a deep breath and put on a brave smile. "But you wanted to interview a football player's wife. I can give you a good one." Wendell gestured to the comfy leather furniture. "Let's sit, then." Grinning, Wendell sat down in a leather arm chair and put his feet up. Dianna kicked off her sneakers and sat down on the couch across from him. In less than twenty minutes, Wendell knew about the rest of Dianna's life -- the hours spent alone at home while her husband soaked up the glory on the football field from the fans, and on the television screen from the press. At the end of the interview, Wendell knew why Dianna had cried when they made love. "I missed you terribly, Dianna," Wendell said. Dianna looked at him. "Oh, baby, I missed you, too." Wendell grinned. "And I don't think either of us wanted it to end that night." Dianna parted her purple lips to protest. But when her voice came out, it said, "No, I didn't want it to end, either." "Well then, it doesn't have to." Dianna suddenly smiled again. And when she did, her face looked about five years younger. "You don't know how much this means to me," she said. "You don't know how much that night meant to me." Wendell nodded. "From what you told me, I've got a good idea." "Yeah?" Dianna said softly, biting her lower lip. "Do you have a good idea what I would like right now?" "The same thing I would like, I hope," Wendell grinned. Dianna smiled a mischevious smile, then she slowly went to the door and closed it until it clicked loudly. She touched up her purple lipstick, then put her hand in his. Wendell tugged on her hand gently, bringing her close to him. She willingly stepped inside his space, put her arms around his neck -- and kissed him. They kissed softly, delicately, leisurely, like they had all the time in the world. Until, that is, they heard a knock at the door. "Shit," Wendell whispered. Dianna giggled and blushed. But the knocking would not go away. Finally Wendell yelled, "Who is it?" "It's Javier," the voice said. "You guys okay?" Wendell made a face at Dianna. She smirked and he ran to the door and opened it. "Sorry, didn't realize the door was closed." Javier nodded. "I hope your interview was fruitful. It's time to leave." "We're coming," Wendell said. Before they parted, Wendell pulled out one of his business cards and gave it to her. "I can't take this," Dianna protested. "Sure you can," Wendell nodded. "I'm a reporter. We've just done an interview. I'm giving you my card." Dianna took it slowly. She smiled. "With your home phone number on the back?" Wendell shrugged and grinned. He gestured to the card in her lovely hand. "Like we said, it doesn't have to end. Call me if you still feel the same." "I will," Dianna promised. * * * * Wendell stared at the screen of the Mac about two weeks later, his mind mulling over a profound moral dilemma. The dilemma was simple -- he could turn in the standard media fluff piece, using quotes from as many wives as possible, or he could use what was essentially the same article, except that Dianna Beauvais was prominently featured in this one. Maybe a little too prominently. Of course, the dilemma was caused by the fact that she wasn't just the source for an article. She was a married woman -- and she'd had an affair. With him. But it wasn't like he had included any personal details. So he saved both stories to a little floppy disk, then got up and went to Pam's office and knocked. "Come in, Wendell." Wendell grinned. He didn't even bother asking how she knew it was him. He just opened the door and stuck his head in. "You got a minute?" "Sure," she smiled. "Come on in." Wendell came and closed the door. He was temporarily taken aback, for Pam wore a black blazer and skirt, with a white blouse, black stockings and black patent-leather high heeled pumps, her hair up, looking thoughtful wearing her reading glasses, holding a book. Pam turned away from the bookshelf, closed the book, sat down at her desk, and faced him. "What's up?" "Well, I finished the story about the football player's wives," he sighed. "Is there a problem?" Pam asked softly. "Not really," Wendell said. "But I wrote two separate versions of the story." "I see," she nodded. She took off her glasses and set them down. "And what's the difference between these two versions?" Wendell took a deep breath, then released it. "Well, I'm afraid that I met one of the wives I interviewed a few weeks ago. The alternate version of the article focuses on her a lot." "May I read it?" she asked in a professional tone. Wendell handed her the disk. She slid it in her computer, then put on her glasses back on and read each article. Pam turned back to him and took her glasses off again, a strange smile on her face. "I'm afraid there's no problem here. The first piece is a standard story. The second story was exactly what I was looking for." Wendell blushed. "Okay. Thanks." Pam shook her head. "No, thank you. For writing such a strong story." Wendell got up to back to his cubicle. But Pam said, "Wendell?" Wendell turned around. "Yes, Pam?" She licked her lips nervously. "Just...how well...do you know this woman?" Wendell shrugged. "Like I said, I met her at a club one night. We had drinks. We talked a long while. Didn't know who she was then." "I see," she nodded. "Wendell. Please be careful here. Don't become part of the story." Wendell nodded, tight-lipped. * * * * Dianna Beauvais was in the supermarket check-out line when she saw it. It was a sports magazine. She recognized the title because Wendell said that he worked for that magazine, so she picked it up out of idle curiosity. On the cover was a photo of a man jumping in the air, catching a pass, well inside the end-zone. But it was the words that caught her attention. "The Toughest Job in the NFL -- the life of a football player's wife. By Wendell James." She put the magazine in the shopping cart and bought it with the rest of her groceries. Soon she was sitting in her car, rapidly thumbing through the pages. Finally she found the article. She read it all the way through. Dianna sat back and smiled. It would be just like him to do that. She rather wished he had asked her first, but he was the reporter. And the story was fine. More than fine, the story was great! It moved her. It made her want him more and more. Dianna drove home and put away the groceries. The house was dark and quiet, it was raining. Most importantly, her husband was in another city hundreds of miles away. She searched for Wendell's card in her little purse. But before she had a chance to call Wendell -- to congratulate him, of course -- the doorbell rang. "Dammit," Dianna muttered. "Who could that be?" She went to the front door and said, "Who is it?" "It's Tasha, Oscar's wife," the voice said. Dianna quickly opened the door and said, "Tasha! This is a surprise!" The two women hugged and then they went inside and sat down to talk. Tasha was also black, but her skin was a shade or two lighter than Dianna's, with naturally curly hair, and had a very voluptuous figure with huge breasts. The two women talked and laughed a long time. Then Dianna said, "So, what are you up to today, Tasha?" Tasha put down her coffee cup, then said, "Well, I wanted to see if you could come with me to the stadium to see the boys off. I'm surprising my husband today before he leaves and I thought maybe you'd want to come too." Dianna knew that Tasha had a very happy marriage with her husband Oscar, who was a wide receiver with the team. "Thanks, honey, but I don't have a pass to get in." Tasha reached into her purse. "Now you do," she said simply. Dianna looked at her in disbelief. Then she said, "Let me get my keys." About an hour later, the two women were entering the huge parking lot around the stadium. Tasha took Dianna's hand and went into the stadium, and out onto the football field. There, they met several players, who had their stuff together. "Hi, guys," Tasha said in a perky voice. They all turned and grinned back, "Hi, Tasha. Hi, Dianna." Tasha nodded and smiled back. "Do you guys know where Oscar and Edward are?" One of the guys nodded and said, "Yeah, they're up in the press box, Tasha." Tasha smiled sunnily and said, "Thanks guys." "No problem, Tasha." So Tasha led Dianna up the bleachers towards the press box. Dianna had a slightly wistful smile, hoping Wendell was inside, but Tasha opened the door, and all they saw was some of the team members lounging around. "Hey, guys," Tasha smiled again. They all looked up and smiled at her. "Hey, Tasha," they said back. "Is Oscar here?" she said. "Right here, baby," a voice said. Tasha looked up and smiled, ran over to the six-foot-plus love of her life. They kissed their way over to a private side-room. Tasha didn't talk long with him -- right before the door closed, Dianna saw them in a passionate embrace, and clothing being quickly removed.