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Author’s Note, 1/4/06: This story makes reference to USC winning seven national championships in a row. Obviously, as we all saw tonight, that’s not going to happen, after Vince Young led Texas to victory in one of the greatest college football championship games of all time. Nonetheless, as the story was written almost a year ago, and since these characters are fictional anyway, it might just be safe to suppose that this takes place in an alternate universe, where the Trojans still reign at the top of the NCAA.
TO THE READER: this story includes several characters from the series of Jason Garrett stories; however, this story is not part of that series.
* * * * *
Hi, my name is Emily Garrett. I’m the youngest of three in my family. My oldest brother, Jason, is a pastor in Sherman Oaks, and my other brother, Austin, is an Air Force captain stationed at Beale Air Force Base in Sacramento.
The day was December 27th, 2011 – my 21st birthday. Born in 1990, at the height of Operation: Desert Shield, my middle name has haunted me since then and is usually relegated to the middle initial “A”. My parents, wackos that they were, had named me Emily Arabiya Garrett. Very few people knew about my middle name.
I also sometimes wondered exactly what dormant DNA had woken up with me. My father is 6’0″ and weighs just over 200 pounds. My mom is 5’9″ weighs about 150 pounds, and has a fairly small chest – 32B. Both my brothers are 6’2″ and weigh in at about 210 pounds. Somehow, though I ended up coming in at 5’1″, 97-100 pounds (depending on the time of month), with a 34D chest. I’ve been in physical therapy since I was 16 to deal with the back problems inherent with having such huge tits on such a small frame.
Although people sometimes wonder what the hell family I actually came from, I definitely have characteristics from both my parents, so I’m definitely their child. I’m just a throwback to something – God knows what.
Being built like I was, I was extremely popular in high school – for all the wrong reasons. I was heavily recruited for the cheerleading squad, but turned them down, choosing instead to go with what I loved – acting. I was heavily involved with the drama department at my high school, pulling down the part of Adelaide in Guys and Dolls my junior year and the part of Ado Annie Carnes in Oklahoma my senior year. Of course, I couldn’t help but wondering if I was typecast, given that those two parts are supposed to be ditzes with big boobs, but I didn’t care – I put everything I had – big boobs included – into those parts. And it paid off – I got a drama scholarship to the University of Southern California.
I started at USC in the fall of 2008. USC was working on trying to break its own record for NCAA Division I football championships, attempting to bring home a record sixth straight championship under the new playoff system that had replaced the crappy BCS. And they were successful, too. Where was I for all of their games? On the sidelines.
When I got to USC, I was, for the first time since junior high, not pressured to join the cheerleading team. I had wanted to be a cheerleader for the last six years, but I had refused to give in to their pressure to join simply because I had a big bust. So, when I got to USC and nobody pressured me, I decided to try out. All that dance experience from theatre really paid off, too – I made the varsity squad as a freshman.
And so it was that I met Martin Daly, the guy who took Matt Leinart’s place at quarterback as a freshman in 2006. He was two years older than me, and was the starting quarterback for the most successful football program in the history of the NCAA. I should’ve been nothing to him. During the championship game, though, I caught him staring at me during the fourth quarter. As soon as he realized I had seen him, he looked away and his face turned bright red.
A week later, though, after the Trojans had soundly thumped Iowa in the Rose Bowl (now strictly an exhibition game), he came up to me after the game. “Hi,” he said. “You’re Emily Garrett, right?”
I couldn’t believe it. The quarterback for the USC Trojans was not only introducing himself to me, but he knew my name?
“Y-y-yes,” I stuttered.
“Marty Daly,” he said. “Um…”
Okay, this was crazy. He seemed to be at a loss for words, just as nervous about this as I was. He had guided USC to their sixth straight championship, and yet he wasn’t able to find the words to talk to a freshman cheerleader.
Just then, Pete Carroll came up behind Martin and put a hand on his shoulder. “Great game, Marty,” he said. “Team meeting in the locker room in five minutes.”
Then he noticed that I was there. “Who’s this, Marty?” he asked.
At that moment, Martin’s tongue seemed to find life again. “Uh, Coach Carroll, this is Emily Garrett. She’s on the varsity cheerleading squad. Emily, this is Pete Carroll, our coach.”
“Nice to meet you, Emily,” Pete said. “See you in a few, Marty.”
He illegal bahis walked away toward the locker room.
“Uh, listen,” said Martin, “I have to go, but…”
Looking around, he spotted a clipboard hanging on the wall. Tearing off a piece of paper and grabbing a pencil, he jotted down something, and handed it to me.
“Bye,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
As he followed Pete Carroll down the hall, I looked at the piece of paper.
661-555-9587 cell – give me a call – Marty Daly
No way. I had the cell phone number for Martin Daly.
Later that night, I was talking to my brother Jason online. He was off at seminary in Iowa at the time. I told him about getting Martin’s number.
“Wow,” was his reply. “Go Emily – you’re the regular pimp now, aren’t you? ;-)”
The next morning, I sat next to my phone, debating whether or not to call him. I had been sitting there for about an hour when my roommate staggered out of her bedroom. Unfortunately, she spotted the piece of paper immediately.
“What’s that?” she asked. Grabbing it, she picked it up – and immediately dropped it.
“HOLY SHIT,” she said. “Marty Daly gave you his phone number? Have you called him yet?”
“No,” I said. “I’ve been sitting here next to my phone, trying to decide if I should call him.”
“Good Lord, child, what the hell are you waiting for?”
With that, she picked up my cell phone, entered the number, and hit talk. Then she handed it back to me. “Talk to the man, for God’s sake!”
Marty picked up after three rings. “Hello?”
“Uh, hi, Marty, this is, uh, Emily Garrett,” I said. “We met after last night’s game…”
“Yeah,” he replied. Wow, his phone voice was very different from his in-person voice. Very deep, very sexy. “I was wondering if you’d call…”
Well shit. I didn’t know what to say. “Well, here I am!” I said brightly, with my cheerleader voice. Oh hell, I sounded like a complete moron.
“Well…” he paused. “Let’s see. Are you doing anything tonight?”
OH MY GOD. HE WAS ABOUT TO ASK ME OUT ON A DATE.
“No plans,” I replied.
And that’s how I became Marty Daly’s girlfriend. We never had sex, though – he had gone to a private Christian high school and was still trying to work out the fact that he would, in fact, NOT go to hell if he had sex before marriage. We were both still virgins – an amazing thing for a couple living in Los Angeles at the beginning of the twenty-first century!
Three years later, I was a senior, one semester away from graduating. Marty and I were still together, although he was now playing for the Marauders – L.A.’s expansion NFL team that had started play in 2009. Their first season – his last at USC – had been awful, but with the addition of Marty and wide receiver David Boston in 2010, they had had an 8-8 record, and this season, they had gone 9-7 and gotten a wild card spot. Granted, they were going to have to face Arizona in Phoenix in the first round, but even if they got creamed, they could still say that they had reached the playoffs in just their third year of existence.
Tonight, my twenty-first birthday, he was taking me out for dinner at On The Border at Northridge Fashion Center. Our reservation wasn’t until 8:00, and it was just after 7:00, so we were walking around the mall to kill a little time. That’s when lightning struck.
“Emily,” he said, sounding somewhat nervous, “Have you… have you ever thought about the two of us having sex?”
Had I ever thought about the two of us having sex. What kind of a stupid question was that? Of course I had!
But I didn’t say that. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Why?”
“I think I’m ready,” he replied.
And Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus played in my mind.
“Alright,” I said. “When do you want to? Do you want to go back to your place after dinner?”
“How about right now?”
Then I followed his gaze to my left.
There was Santa’s castle. At two days after Christmas, it was still very much up, and it was very, very abandoned. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked, a mischievous grin playing across my face.
“Yeah, I think I am,” he replied.
Grabbing me by the hand, he quickly led me inside. Nobody seemed to notice us go in, and with Christmas over, the windows and doors were all shut – but not locked. There wasn’t much room in there, so we were going to have to do this doggystyle. The only thing that concerned me was the fact that there was no roof.
“We’re on the second level,” said Marty when I voiced this concern. “Nobody’s going to be able to see us.”
Okay. Why was I delaying this? I was about to lose my virginity to, and take the virginity from, the starting quarterback for an NFL franchise!
Marty hooked the first two fingers of his left hand inside the waistband of my jeans and gently slid them down to my knees. With his right hand, he slid my dark blue panties down as well, exposing my trimmed pussy. Turning me around, illegal bahis siteleri he bent me over Santa’s chair and went to work on my pussy with his tongue. Okay, so he was a little clumsy, not really knowing what he was doing, but it was my first time experiencing it, and at the time, it felt unbelievable.
When I started moaning, though, he reached up and put his hand over my mouth. “We have to be quiet,” he said. “If somebody walks by and hears noises like that coming out of Santa’s castle, we’re fucked in more ways than the good way!”
That was very true. We had to stay quiet, otherwise we’d be in serious trouble.
After a few more minutes of his oral ministrations on my pussy, he stood up. I heard his jeans unzip and fall around his ankles. He pulled down his boxers, exposing his eight inch cock. I didn’t know that that’s how big it was at the time – after all, I had my back to him – but no matter, it felt wonderful that night.
He gently moved in behind me, sliding his cock under my pussy, up against my belly. The warmth of his rock-hard member rubbing against my exposed slit almost made me moan again, but knowing that I had to be quiet, I clamped my mouth shut and bit my tongue instead. He kept rubbing himself against me, but not entering, and I was getting extremely frustrated, so reaching down, I grabbed his cock, and guided it so that the head was against my entrance.
He seemed to take the hint. Very gently, he began pushing his way in. OH MY GOD, it felt so big going in – it was like somebody was trying to force a soda can inside of me. And then –
SON OF A BITCH! DAMN! Jesus H. Christ, that hurt! I surmised (correctly) that he had broken the hymen which I had heard so much about in sex ed class. But the pain was quickly replaced by a wave of the most incredible feeling ever as he continued to push his cock inside of me.
It took him nearly a minute just to go all the way in the first time, but I finally felt him begin to withdraw. As he did so, he pulled his cock all the way out, leaving me feeling empty. But that feeling was short-lived as he quickly reinserted himself. He began to thrust a little more quickly, but still took his time. It didn’t take very long, though, before he was pumping his cock in and out of me at a very fast rate. With each thrust, his balls slapped against the lips of my pussy, adding a strange, but nice, little sensation to the overall feeling.
After just a couple of moments, I felt an orgasm coming on (no pun intended). Now that, I knew what it felt like – after all, I was 21, and had done more than my fair share of masturbating in my time.
“Oh God,” I whispered. “I’m cumming…”
And once again, I clamped my mouth shut and bit my tongue, as waves of intense pleasure wracked my body. “Uh-oh, me too,” Marty whispered.
His thrusts grew more and more frenetic, and then, as he slammed into me one last time and began cumming, disaster struck.
Santa’s castle, which had been creaking a little during the whole episode, started to disintegrate. First, the back wall fell out. That wouldn’t have been so bad, since Santa’s chair was hiding us, but then, the other three walls fell outward as well, exposing Marty and me to the world, his cock buried deep in my pussy, pumping cum into me.
I think that the people at the mall thought it was an earthquake at first when Santa’s castle fell over – after all, Northridge had been the site of one of California’s most disastrous earthquakes in January of 1994. As they hit the deck, I still harbored the tiniest hope that maybe Marty and I would be able to get away with this – but that hope was short-lived.
It was a group of teenage guys that looked up first, and recognized Marty – and then realized that he had been fucking me when Santa’s castle fell over. Standing up, they began applauding and whistling. By this point, Marty had finished cumming, so he quickly pulled out of me and pulled up his jeans. I followed suit.
Unfortunately, not all the people around Santa’s castle had the same reaction we did, as I saw a rather severe looking woman with two kids pull out her cell phone and dial a number, that number, I assumed, being to the police.
And indeed it was. Within just a few moments, the Los Angeles Police Department showed up at Northridge Fashion Center, and arrested Marty and me for indecent exposure and lewd behavior. Of course, we went along – it wasn’t like we had a choice, we knew that we had done exactly what we were being arrested for!
I had never been in a jail before. Marty and I were placed in separate cells, but they were right next to each other.
“Sorry,” Marty said. “If I had known that this would happen, I never would’ve even suggested it…”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I wanted to do it as much as you. I had fun, too. That was the greatest experience of my life, and trust me, I would rather have been arrested for having sex with the guy I love than for any other reason.”
“Yeah,” canlı bahis siteleri he replied. “Me too. Strange though it may be, tonight has been one of the best experiences of my life.”
“Best… and strangest,” I replied. “The last time my crotch was this wet, it was in kindergarten when I wet my pants.”
Marty’s cum and my own juices had leaked out of my pussy and turned the crotch of my jeans into a sopping mess in the last hour. I hadn’t had time to clean up, and now it was all leaking out.
Marty couldn’t help it. He fell over on his side laughing. When he recovered, he pulled himself up – but only partway.
He stayed on one knee, as if he was taking a knee on fourth down. But he didn’t have a football. Instead, he reached through the bars between our cells and took my hand. “I had intended to do this at dinner,” he said, “but since we never made it, I’ll do it here.”
Oh God. Oh God. He was going to ask me to marry him. Oh my God.
“Emily,” he said, “I love you with all of my heart. I would give up the Marauders for you. I would give my life for you. I would get arrested in a shopping mall for you.
“That type of love just doesn’t happen by chance,” he continued. “It’s the type of love that I’ve been looking for my whole life, and I don’t want to lose it. I want to live with you, loving you like that, for the rest of my life.
“Emily Arabiya Garrett,” he said, “will you marry me?”
I couldn’t speak for a moment. When I found my voice, I was only barely able to whisper, “Yes.”
And just at that moment, the door to the cell block opened, and I heard a very familiar voice say, “Holy shit, I don’t believe it.”
I turned to see my brother, Pastor Jason, standing in the doorway, accompanied by the duty sergeant. At that moment, Jason started laughing, almost hysterically.
It took him a moment to recover. “There was a news flash on channel 5 about twenty minutes ago,” he said. “They said that L.A. Marauders quarterback Martin Daly and his girlfriend had been arrested at the Northridge Fashion Center for indecent exposure and lewd behavior. I had to see it for myself – and then, I walk in, and he’s proposing to you!”
“And I accepted,” I replied.
“Well, congratulations,” said Jason. “Now, let’s see about getting you out of there.”
Turning to the duty sergeant, he said, “Five grand a piece, right?”
After the sergeant confirmed this, Jason pulled out his checkbook, wrote a check for ten thousand dollars, and the sergeant let us go free.
In May, Marty and I were sentenced to five hundred hours of community service each – not bad, really. He did his community service working at a children’s center in Watts, while I did mine serving as a volunteer camp assistant at Camp Tecuya, a Girl Scout camp about fifty miles north of L.A.
We got married on Saturday, December 29th, 2012 – one year and two days after the incident at Northridge Fashion Center. Jason presided, and about half of the NFL (or so it seemed) attended. It was a beautiful wedding… but when Jason got up to give his toast, I was a little concerned. The Marauders’ P.R. department had done a very good job of covering up for me and Marty, and very few people – my parents included! – knew about what had happened that night in Northridge.
“When Emily was born, I was nine years old,” he started. “When she was about six months old, I caught her trying to get into our parents liquor supply. From that moment on, I knew that I was going to have to watch out for her.
“It’s been an interesting twenty-two years,” he continued with a grin. “Watching out for your little sister can mean many different things – kicking another guy’s butt for her, picking her up from places she probably shouldn’t have been and making sure our parents didn’t know about it, walking in on her as she’s being proposed to… in a somewhat interesting location… and then making sure she got out of that location…
Well, at least he was clever about it.
“And, of course, presiding at her wedding. I’ve presided at both my siblings’ weddings, and they’ve both been quite interesting. On the one hand, I had my brother -“
He stopped and indicated Austin, sitting toward the end of the table.
“- marrying my old friend, the amateur pornstar.”
This drew quite a laugh, as nearly everybody present had seen the pictures of Kat Garrett, neé Warbington, first naked in Playboy, and then getting her brains screwed out in Hustler nine months later. Kat turned bright red, but still had the good grace to laugh and wave it off.
“On the other hand, I have my sister, marrying the NFL quarterback who seems to want to be a pornstar.”
Now it was my turn to turn red as everybody laughed. Apparently more people knew than I had realized.
“But in the end, the pornstarishness of the spouse-to-be doesn’t matter. What matters is the love between them, and this is quite evident of Emily and Marty. I offer you my congratulations, and a bit of advice – steer clear of Northridge.”
As Jason sat down, I looked at Marty. Yep, I loved him. I loved him enough to fuck him in public and get arrested for it, and I loved him enough to be his lifelong friend and partner. What a wonderful thing.
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