About twenty-odd years ago, I was a junior member of an Ivy League college hockey team in New York State that had very a bitter rivalry with another Ivy League team near Boston.

Tensions ran extremely high on both sides leading up to those match-ups. The fans of the other team would try and tie chickens (dead or alive) to our goalposts between periods; we would retaliate by throwing dead fish on the visitors’ side of the ice.

This past summer, I attended a reunion weekend at my alma mater, and naturally I stopped in at the old rink to look around and reminisce. Amidst my humorous recollections of living for game nights, post-game parties, and beating up preppy boys from Boston, I started to think about Sheila again.

An occasional hockey player herself in he women’s intramural team, Sheila was slender and a natural redhead with that perfect “peaches and cream” complexion. She was the subject of many lurid jerkoff fantasies back then — and not just for me. Sheila had mad charisma and a wicked sense of humor. Plus, unlike the other “puck bunnies” who were just there to pick up on the guys, Sheila was somehow able to walk that line between “cool sporty chick” at the rink and “bombshell goddess” off the ice. We all secretly wanted her.

Alas, Sheila had a boyfriend — Brendon, who also happened to be our team captain at the time. This meant she was totally out of reach — or so I thought.

She and I ran in the same social circles, so I’d see her at parties and exchange hellos with her and Brendon. I never would’ve dared to make a move on her, as I was pretty shy back then, too. I started playing defense and am 5’6” — I wasn’t exactly one of the hulking giants from Ontario on our team exuding confidence. Ergo, I mostly slept with freshman girls or the occasional sophomore puck bunny.

However, one night I was at a party and went upstairs to use the bathroom when I heard Sheila and Brendon arguing. I hung back and waited, listening as he grabbed his gym bag and keys. He stormed past me without realizing I was there and went slamming out the front door. I found Sheila by herself standing at the end of the hallway.

“Oh — hey, Patrick,” she said, clearing her throat. I could tell that she was almost going to cry.

“Hey.” I paused. “Are you OK?”

Sheila nodded. “Yeah, no — it was just a stupid argument. But,” she paused, “if you’re OK to drive, do you think I could have a ride home?”

“Yeah — of course, no problem.”

I did the “nice guy” thing and drove her home safe, listening to her talk. Nothing happened other than the fact that by the time I let her out, my crush on her had grown.

Unfortunately, news of my chivalrous deed reached Brendon just before the big game. But instead of directly confronting me about allegedly hitting on his girlfriend, he did these bitchy little passive-aggressive things on the ice during practice to see if he could get me going.

I managed to keep my cool initially, but, well, it was only a matter of time. We were about halfway into the first period of the big game, and it was time for my shift change. I was skating back, and the dickhead tripped me. Being twenty-one and lacking impulse control, I punched him, and it took two refs to pull us apart. Everyone who had come to the game expecting a big fight with the other team was shocked. However, since Brendon was the golden boy and I was the rookie, he got a ten-minute penalty while I got benched for the remainder of the game.

“Go on — get out of here and cool off,” the coach said. “We’ll talk later.”

I was so pissed that I slammed my helmet down on the locker-room floor and punched the wall. I was getting sent home when I’d worked all season for this game — and for what? Some jealous loser?

I had stripped off my jersey and pads when I heard the door open.

“Go away!” I bellowed.

“Patrick? It’s me, Sheila.”

I froze and took a second to compose myself. “I’m sorry, I uh — ”

“ — yeah, I know.” She patted me on the shoulder. “I feel like this is my fault.”

“No, not at all. I shouldn’t have lost it.”

Sheila inhaled: “Well, you have every right to. Brendon’s a dick; I dumped him this morning.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The “power couple” of our little hockey world was finished. “Oh. I’m sorry — well, I mean, I’m not sorry, actually. Just as long as you’re OK.”

“I am.” Sheila smiled.  “And you might have something to do with that.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. That night you took me home, I realized that it’s time I started seeing nice guys, not these selfish macho meatheads.” Sheila stepped closer to me. “And I feel bad that you’re missing this game, so I hope you’ll let me make it up to you?”

“Really?” I couldn’t believe my eyes — or my ears.

Sheila leaned in and kissed me, and suddenly the noise from the crowded arena dissipated; only our little corner of the men’s locker room existed. All I could hear was my heart pounding with adrenaline and the sound of her moaning as I kissed down her neck.

She lifted off her shirt and unhooked her bra. Her nipples were like little pink strawberries, and her lips above were the sweet jam that I wanted to spread all over my body.

My cock was already so hard it felt like it was going to tear a hole through my hockey shorts.

“Oh my God,” I blurted out.

Sheila giggled and tousled my hair. “Don’t worry, Patrick. I’ve got this.” She nudged me to sit down on the bench and then got on her knees.

What followed remains one of the most memorable blowjobs of my life. Sheila took my swollen member out of my shorts and began to lick the shaft like a popsicle. One hand cradled my balls, which she planted occasional kisses on, while her other hand stroked down the base of my cock.

I strained to keep myself from coming; the sweat dripped down my chest, even more so than if I’d be skating.

“Oh God, Sheila — ” I tried to catch my breath.

Mercifully, she pulled back. “It’s OK.” She kissed me and stood up. “Why don’t we head into the shower?”

I helped her out of her jeans and boots, and we streaked into the showers, holding hands, giggling.

I turned on the water and started worshiping her body. I savored her nipples in my mouth, sucking and pinching them until they stood up like little gumdrops.

“Oh, yes! Patrick, don’t stop — ” Sheila moaned as I knelt down and kissed my way down her navel to that sweet peachy red patch of fuzz above her pussy.

Balancing on one leg, Sheila leaned against the wall of the shower as I probed her sweet snatch with my tongue. She ground her pussy into my face, getting more turned-on by the second.

Her moaning was music to my ears — how many times had I dreamed about having her? I stopped to catch my breath and look up at the sight of her soaking-wet naked body.

Sheila met my gaze and smiled: “You can’t stop now, you know.”

“I wasn’t going to.” I planted another kiss on her adorable peach fuzz patch.

I slid two fingers inside her and licked her clit, which shortly caused her whole body to quake with orgasm. After she came for me, we kissed again. I lifted her up and entered her standing there in the shower.

“Oh, my God!” Sheila dug her nails into my back.

“You like this?”

“Mmm, yes! Fuck me harder, Patrick!”

I pumped as hard as fast as I could. At no point did I even hesitate or worry about someone walking in — Sheila’s pussy clenching my cock was the whole world in that moment — even hockey didn’t exist.

When it became too intense for us to continue fucking standing up, Sheila had me sit back down on a nearby bench and rode me so dirty. I loved seeing her tits bounce up and down and the way she wiggled her hips. I couldn’t tell you how much time passed, but she quenched both of our desires.

Sheila came before I did and collapsed on my chest, panting and still soaking-wet from the shower. Her pussy clamped down on my dick with a vise grip, and almost immediately thereafter, I shot my load deep inside of her.

Afterwards, we stepped into the shower again to wash up for real — and then reality caught up.

“Shit, what time is it?” Sheila asked.

“Oh, God, we better hurry up. It’ll be intermission soon.”

Sheila and I threw on our clothes and grabbed my stuff — in just enough time to be seen by my teammates (and her ex) walking out of the locker room together with incriminating wet hair.

All the guys wanted dirty details, of course. But I wouldn’t say a word — and my silence on the subject fueled the rumor mill even more. Naturally, Brendon wanted to kill me, but he graduated that year and moved — which paved the way for my good friend and I to become the new captain and co-captain, respectively.

Sheila and I stayed friends after our encounter, but then we lost touch the following year when she graduated and moved to the UK.

I sat on the bench inside my old locker room, reeling from the visceral memory of our lust. I wondered how I managed to let that one get away. And where was she now?

As I walked down the long hallway leading out to the ice, out of nowhere the redheaded answer to my question appeared in the flesh; and she was even more beautiful than I had remembered.

“I saw your name on the alumni listserv. And the guy on the Zamboni said you were back here.” She smiled at me.

You better believe we rushed back to the locker room — and then to my hotel — for a marathon catch-up session that went into overtime.