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The Rush: How the Linebacker Met the Cheerleader

I am an adrenaline junkie, but not in the way you would imagine one to be. My high comes when I go to places I shouldn’t and do nasty things with a guy or a girl: bathroom stalls, public places, you name it and I get wet instantly. It’s the thrill of getting caught that heightens my excitement. The very first instance of my adrenaline rush came when I first began college at State. I had attended a basketball game my freshman year when a guy sat next to me and ran his hand up my leg. Lucky for me, I wore a miniskirt. I put my jacket over my legs and let his fingers do the walking. I came just as my school’s team made the game-winning three-point shot at the buzzer. I knew then I was hooked.

The biggest rush came during my junior year at school. I was in the library when he came in. Rumor had it that he stood at about six-foot-two inches and packed a lot of heat down below. I didn’t know his real name, but everyone called him Linebacker for some reason. I spied on him while I pretended to write a research paper on my laptop. Linebacker was over by the periodicals when a group of bubble-headed chicks came up to him and asked him ridiculous questions. I eavesdropped on the conversation and rolled my eyes. He must’ve sensed someone was watching him and looked in my direction. I quickly looked down at my laptop, smiling.

An hour later, I put my laptop in my rolling book bag and then rode the elevator to the top floor, where the older books were stacked high. I found a dark corner that would be useful for fucking whomever I chose. It also made for a spot where I can do what I needed to do right there. Looking to see that nobody was around, I unzipped my jeans and rubbed my mound through my red lace boy cut panties. The crotch of the panties got moist as I imagined Linebacker watching me masturbate. I moaned and quieted down, realizing where I was. I continued, allowing myself to get excited and the thought of getting caught with my pants down.

“Oh, Linebacker,” I moaned. “That feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Need an extra hand?” a voice asked.

I opened my eyes and Linebacker stood right in front of me. His skin was the color of butter pecan, eyes the same shade as Cognac, and a megawatt smile. He took my ‘getting busy’ hand and sniffed it. He then kissed my fingers and put them in his mouth one by one.

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