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An Offensive Tactic

Transgender and Ice Hockey Romance

Author: Gayle Keo

© Copyright 2016 by Gayle Keo

All rights reserved.

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

From the Author:

1 Special Bonus Story INSIDE!

Thank you for purchasing this book.

Table of Contents



An Offensive Tactic


A hunky, star hockey player for the New York Rangers walks into the wrong bar one night. He quickly realizes that half the people in the bar are transsexuals. He turns to leave, but he suddenly locks eyes with a blond-haired, green-eyed woman, who just happens to look a lot like his ex-fiancée. There's instant chemistry between them. After a few drinks and lots of flirting, things get physical.

But the macho, alpha male hockey stud can’t go through with the encounter. He’s not into that kind of thing at all. Over the next few days, he can't get her out of his mind. His performances on the ice begin to suffer. He goes weeks without scoring a goal. He fears that if he doesn't find that woman again, he won't be able to get back to his best playing form. So he goes in search of her...

Chapter 1

Colby stripped out of his pads and threw a towel around his waist. Every muscle in his body felt sore, but it was a good soreness. The Rangers had won their eighth game in a row. He’d scored two goals.

Voices were loud and spirits were high in the locker room. Everybody had a smile on their face. All the players had towels wrapped around their waist, showing off their hairy, muscular torsos. The room was full of hockey stars, the ultimate American alpha males.

Colby took the towel off his waist and tossed it into a basket. He walked into the shower, knowing that plenty of the other guys were checking out his impressive physique, the huge pecs, large, perfectly sculpted biceps and triceps, the six-pack abs. He was quite the male specimen.

Even other guys, professional athletes, had to take time and admire the sculpture, the work of art that was his body.

An hour later Colby got home from the arena. It was a Friday night. Some of the guys had mentioned going out to a club. He definitely felt like going out.

Colby popped the top of the beer, leaned his head back and took a long slow sip. It tasted delicious, so refreshing. It felt really good to have a few days off, a few days before he had to hit the ice again, throw on his pads and go to war again with his teammates, trying to bring the Rangers another championship trophy.

It was rare to have three or four days off at this time of the season, when every part of your body ached and creaked, the months and months of playing a physical and violent game, finally taking their toll. So he was especially grateful. Yet he wasn’t the type of guy to sit around his Lower East Side, $3,000 a month apartment, all alone on a Friday night. That’s not the kind of thing you did when you were 27, rich, handsome, and a magnet for all of New York City's most beautiful women. Nope, that's not the kind of thing you did when you were one of the most eligible and desirable bachelors, in a city full of them.

Colby walked out onto his balcony and looked down on the busy streets below. It was only seven. The humid July night air brought sweat to foreheads and arms and breasts and legs, all those beautiful body parts glistening in the heat. Even at night this time of night, the air still hung thick with humidity. It had taken a while to get used to the humid and muggy summer weather in New York. He much preferred the milder summers that he’d experienced growing up in Montreal.

Since the playoffs were only a couple months away, this would be one of the last time he got to party and really let his hair down before the season came to an end. One or two phone calls, and he could’ve had a bevy of buxom beauties bouncing up and down in his apartment, rolling around in his king size bed, servicing him like they were his personal whores. That kind of thing came easily to him. Very easily. And it always had. Even before he became the NHL's leading scorer, even before he became team captain, it was the ultimate acknowledgment of his alpha male status.

He wasn’t in the mood to be surrounded by dozens of desperate, fawning women. He wanted to be around his male friends, some of them hockey players, some of them Wall Street guys. They would hit a cigar lounge or two, then swing into an upscale bar, before taking a nightcap at a fully nude strip club. It would be just the guys, shooting the shit, whistling in the wind, comforting each other. Pats on the back, loud voices, and heart, full-bodied laughter.

They would puff on fine cigars, Cuban of course. Now that the embargo had been lifted, there was little question about what kind of fatties they would be smoking. Colby had always loved how the big cigars felt as they rested on his lips. Something about the act of smoking had always excited him. He’d never given much thought as to why he found it so damn exciting, he simply kept coming back for ore and more, hoping to experience that titillating feeling again and again.

Colby sent a few texts to his closest buddies in the city.

While he waited for them to respond, he flicked through the TV channels: another explosion overseas, terrorism they said, wall-to-wall coverage. Death, carnage, destruction. He wasn’t in the mood for that so he quickly changed the channel, shot through a stream of dull reality TV shows and put the remote down on the couch next to him. It wasn’t even worth trying to find something entertaining. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would ever be content sitting on a couch watching other men push themselves past their edge, overcome their fears and bravely throw themselves into the heart of the action. Action. That’s what got him excited, got his blood firing, and his eyes alight with enthusiasm, determination, and purpose.

It was shaping up to be a pretty boring night so far. Almost 45 minutes had gone by since Colby had texted his friends, inquiring what they were doing on this glorious Friday night in the Big Apple. He’d yet to receive a response. Where the hell was everybody? It never took this long for his buddies to get back to him, especially when the subject at hand was going out, having fun, and enjoying a night out on the town. Where could they be? It didn’t make any sense to him.

He was working on his third beer, starting to lose hope, starting to think that he might just have to hit the streets, maybe the East Village or Chelsea or the Meat Packing district on his own. He always chuckled when he said meatpacking. There was something that seemed so funny about it. And what made it even funnier was that the actual place was full of meatpackers, some of the city's most attractive and eligible gay men.

Colby preferred to stay out of the gayer sections of town. He didn’t have anything against gays. He would never have made fun of someone because of their sexual orientation. Or maybe that wasn’t true. It most likely wasn’t. But that’s neither here nor there. The only thing that mattered was that he knew he wasn't gay. Of course, he wasn’t. He was 100% sure of that. He was 100% Grade-A USDA beef, blonde hair, and green eyes. All-American. All American? Hell yeah, even though he'd spent half of his childhood in Montréal, the other part in the suburbs of Boston. All-American, even though he was bilingual. He had a bit more savoir-faire, a bit more class, and sophistication in your average, all-American beefy stud.

Just as he was about to give up hope, to call one of the girls in his harem to come over, his phone beeped. It was a text from his friend Jack, a fellow hockey player for the Rangers archrivals, the Boston Bruins.

Colby stared at the screen in surprise. He couldn’t believe that Jack was texting him. There was an unwritten rule amongst players, especially those who played for rival teams, that it didn’t matter how much they socialized during the off-season, during the season, there was to be no contact. Absolutely none.

Colby was the kind of hyper, ultra-competitive guy who usually adhered to those unwritten rules without the least bit of hesitation. But for some reason, this year, he felt a bit different. He didn’t think that it would be such a big deal to meet up with a rival.

He texted back: Let’s just make sure that the place isn’t full of photographers. Not feeling like ending up on page 6. Got it?

Jack texted back immediately: Got it!!! Place is very discreet. 786 Houston Street. Red Plum.

Colby smiled. He couldn’t wait to get there.

Chapter 2

Colby got off the train at the Houston Street station and hurried up the steps.

There was a lively energy in the air. He felt great, cocky, and confident. He always felt like that after scoring in a game. Two goals. Usually, that would've meant that tonight he’d be trying to sleep with two women. But tonight, he didn't know if he was up for that. He was trying to move past that part of his life, put some distance between himself and his playboy days.

He checked his phone for the address. It was right up ahead. Red Plum Bar. He’d never heard of this place before. He wondered why Jack of all people would want to meet him at a new place. It seemed strange, but maybe he was a bit too paranoid. At the end of the day, despite how mean and rough he could be on the ice, Jack, and most of the guys in the league were pretty friendly, laid-back, and cool off the ice.

But during the season things could definitely get testy. Colby looked at the address on his phone, then at the red neon sign that he saw in front of him. This was the place. Looks pretty cool, Colby thought.

There was a woman sitting on a stool out front, smoking a cigarette, big black stiletto boots covering her legs. There was something a bit strange about her face. He couldn’t tell whether she was Asian or Latina. She was a strange, exotic type of chick.

What kind of place is this? He wondered as he walked to the front door.

“Ten dollars, please,” said a lisping, boy with a pretty face.

Colby frowned, took a step backward. He handed the money to the pretty boy and walked into the club.

Red couches lined the walls. There was a huge dance floor and dim lighting. Women in short skirts and high heels congregated and cackled around the bar. There were a couple of guys, middle-aged, balding, overweight, each one of them surrounded by three or four girls. What a strange scene. He didn't know what to make of it. Colby needed a drink, maybe a couple of them. A shot and a few beers would calm his nerves. At least, he hoped they would.

He walked to the bar, hesitantly, his eyes shifting from left to right as he cut across the dance floor. Something wasn’t right. He took out his phone and texted: Jack, Where are you? WTF?

While he waited for his drinks to come, Colby noticed that the girls, if you could call them that, were checking him out. They were looking him up-and-down from head to toe, smiling, and whispering to each other in Spanish. They must be from the Bronx, Colby said to himself with a snicker. That definitely wasn't the kind of crowd that he was used to being around. As diverse as New York City could be, it still remained very segregated, racially and ethnically: schools, housing, entertainment, people tended to stick to their own.

This was really strange. He felt so out of place. He spotted another white guy, mid-20s, blonde hair, on the couch, a Heineken on the table in front of him, and a tranny with her legs tattooed curled up next to him. They were both giggling, petting, flirting.

Colby had never seen anything like that. He didn’t know what to make of it. Sure, maybe these fat middle-aged guys with small dicks, big bellies, and high blood pressure came here to get their rocks off.

Yeah, guys like that would come here. Sissies. Men who'd lost their virility--lost their mojo. But that blonde guy looked like he could have been the quarterback of a professional football team. What was he doing here?

Colby ordered two shots of tequila. Why not? Might as well get into the Latino spirit of the place. He washed them both down with a Heineken. He took the cold brew and went and sat down. It wasn't long before the same woman that he’d passed outside, the one with the black boots, red skirt and ethnically ambiguous face, sat down next to him on the couch. She brushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear, batted her eyes, and crossed her legs in his direction. Then she began rubbing his leg,

“How you doing baby?” She said.

Colby felt like jumping out of his skin. The whore had a thick coating of makeup on her face. But it still wasn't enough to cover up the acne craters and the masculine jaw.

“How about a lap dance?” She said.

She began rubbing the insides of Colby's thighs. He put his hand on top of hers and pushed it away. But that wasn't going to be enough for her. She immediately put the hand back on his thighs and began rubbing, squeezing them even more aggressively.

Colby could feel his breathing picking up. He looked around the club, panicked. Several pairs of eyes seemed to be turned in their direction. He could see people whispering.

“No,” he said. I don't want a lap dance. Please get off me.”

He pushed her off his lap, got up off the couch, and looked around. He could see people laughing and pointing. He needed to get out of there as soon as possible. The dance floor had filled up. The place was packed.

This was definitely the wrong bar. There is no way that Jack wanted to meet him here. The place was packed. Music was pumping. They were everywhere. Trannies, shemales, ladyboys, whatever you were supposed to call them. Half man, half woman. A strange, awkward sensation flooded Colby's body. He had to get out of there, had to go meet up with his friend, who right now while the season was going on, was still his enemy. Maybe, weeks, months down the line, he would tell him about this, he would tell everyone. And they would all have a good laugh. A really good one.

The only thing that he could think about was getting out of there as fast as possible. He pushed a few people out of the way. A tall, brown skin tranny screeched as he put his elbow into her back, causing her to spill her drink on her abundant cleavage. Fake tits, no doubt. She spun around and cut her eyes at him. He didn't back down. Eventually, she snickered, said something under her breath, might've been in Spanish, and turned around. That was that. He bumped into another woman. He was about to yell, about to grab her forearms and throw her out of the way. He was about to do all that. But then they locked eyes.

Chapter 3

Colby took a step back and looked at the 5 foot 10 blond-haired woman with abundant cleavage and a colorful, sleeve tattoo covering one of her arms.

He looked her up and down.

“Are you sure you want to leave so quickly?” She asked raising an eyebrow, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

Colby's mouth gaped open. This woman was the spitting image of his ex-fiancé, the Swedish swimsuit model Ingrid Ljunberg. He stammered a response.

“Okay, let's go, baby,” the woman extended her arm. Colby took it under his and they walked to the bar, ordered drinks, then they headed to the back section of the club.

Colby didn’t know what was going on. He’d already handed over $60. He sat down on a black leather couch. She got on top, straddling him. Goddamn, his cock was brick hard.

The woman was taking control of the encounter, bumping and grinding and rubbing his crotch. What a fine female specimen she was!

“My name’s Ivanka,” she said. “This is your first time here, right?”

Colby swallowed hard, then nodded his head.

She reached into his crotch and squeezed. A huge smile spread across her face. Colby swallowed hard, yet again. He was hard, stiff. He could feel cum rising in his cock. He couldn't take this. It was crazy. This wasn’t a woman. It was a dude. He pushed her away.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

Ivanka lay on the floor, her shoes knocked off, a look of surprise and hurt on her face—physical and emotional.

Colby stared down at her, not knowing what to do next. He took out his wallet counted off five more 20s and threw them onto the black couch.

“I'm really sorry,” he said.

He turned and got out of the club as soon as he could. The first time, yes that's what it was. And it would be as last time. There's no way that he would ever go back there. Never. Ever again.

At least, that's what he told himself, that night as he showered off, vigorously scrubbing himself, feeling that the dirt, the filth of his homoerotic contact wouldn't come off him quite that easily.

Chapter 4

Colby had never felt anything like that before. Never in his entire life. He wasn't gay. What the fuck was going on? Doubts and insecurities rattled inside his brain. He felt like he was going crazy. Sleep didn’t come easy that night. It would be weeks before it did. He tossed and turned, gritted his teeth, clenched his face.

What could possibly be going on with him? He was a hot, young, hung stud, living in the heart of the world, playing for a major sports franchise. There was no way that he could be gay. There was no way that he could be anything but a blue-blooded, all-American, alpha male. The ideal American man. That's what he was. It's what he'd always been. But what if it turned out that he was a fag? A sissy? If that were the case, everything that he thought about himself would amount to nothing. His whole identity would be a joke.

He’d spent the majority of his life in hockey locker rooms, tight stinky spaces with other scruffy boys and then eventually masculine men. He couldn't help questioning himself. When he first started out playing the game as a boy in Montréal, he'd hated the stench of the locker room on a Saturday morning, 5:30 AM, zero degrees outside. All those young kids would open up their hockey bags full of musty equipment. He would often feel like he was choking, suffocating on the filthy air that swallowed up the entire room.

Now he had a question his lifelong involvement with the game, his lifelong obsession with hockey. Why had he been willing to fight through all the injuries, all the frustration, on his way to glory? He’d never been one to sit and reflect, to ponder the whys and the hows. That sort of thing wasn't for him, or any of the men in his family. He was a man of action. Furious, frenetic, persistent, unrelenting action.

His cock was hard and throbbing on his belly. It was ready for action. There was no question about that. Action was what he wanted. But how long would he have to wait? There was no way to be sure. He wasn't used to struggling with complex emotions, thinking about, and analyzing his feelings. Usually in these types of moments, hockey would be his refuge. He would have gone down to Madison Square Garden on 34th street to one of the practice facilities that remained open 24 hours a day, just to accommodate the weird, idiosyncratic, and often obsessive work routines of the players.

He would love to have laced up the skates, thrown on the pads, and just skated up and down, working up a good old honest bit of sweat. But the ankle injury he’d suffered in the last game still made it very difficult for him to skate.

When the doctor first told him that he would have to sit out for a week or so, he couldn't help thinking that maybe the injury was the best thing that could have happened to him. Maybe he needed the time off, a couple weeks, to get his mind together, refocus his energy. He tried to tell himself that as a way to deal with the disappointment and frustration of being injured, especially so close to the playoffs. He knew that he would have to be at his absolute best if he had any intentions of leading the Rangers to the title.

But it was clear, after being sidelined for only a couple days, there was nothing good about this injury. Nothing good at all. Being separated from the game he loved, the game he’d given his entire life to, made dealing with these questions surrounding his sexuality that much harder.

Chapter 5

For the last several days, Colby had been haunted by the tall, gorgeous blonde tranny’s face. That blend of the masculine and the feminine in her face had left an indelible impression on him. The harder he tried to stop thinking of her, the more forcefully her image surged back into his mind. He was going crazy. He wasn't going to be able to take much more of this. What did it mean? Was it possible, even remotely so, that he had gone this long, 27 years without knowing that he was gay? These days everything seemed so strange to him. He couldn't make sense of his life. He no longer had any idea where he was going or why he was going there.

To take his mind off of that exotic woman, who wasn’t quite a woman, he flipped on his laptop. He made sure to block off all the porn sites: Porn Hub,, You Porn, and a bunch of others.

He felt free, liberated. But he also felt a bit pathetic. He didn't have the self-discipline not to go on those fucking sites. Didn't have the self-control to resist? How had he made it this far as a professional athlete? Once again, he was struck by the feeling that he was a fraud.

His big-cocked stud, playboy image had been such an important part of his public and private identity. Ravaging a woman, really pounding her, taking her over the edge, giving her a body writhing, uncontrollable, screaming at the top of her lungs orgasm, was more than just a pleasurable experience. It was a chance for him to prove, yet again, his manhood, and his alpha masculinity.

He always had to be the alpha male, the big dog. That's the way he was raised. His father would never let him back down in a fight. No matter how many guys wanted to beat the crap out of his son, his father wouldn’t step in. No, he would demand that Colby get up, start swinging, and defend the Mathews name. Make him proud.

Colby's father had died five years ago of a massive heart attack. It made him ashamed to think what his father would have to say about this relationship.

Sucking Dick? A shemale? What are you some kind of fag? His father would've said, bluntly, not afraid to say what exactly was on his mind.

Colby didn't know how he would've reacted to that. But it didn't matter anyway. If his father were alive, there was no way that he be able to tell him. That wouldn’t have been impossible.

He didn't even know who to be angry with. Was there something wrong with him? He didn't think so. It was desire, something that he couldn't control. It was a natural reaction.

The only real contact that Colby had had with homosexuality had occurred while growing up in the Catholic Church. Sure, he'd heard the stories about the priests touching boys. He was pretty sure that it happened to more than a couple of his close friends. But for some reason, he'd always been spared. Maybe it was because he was the most attractive. He was the one that parents would most suspect would be vulnerable to an older predator. Maybe that was the reason. Maybe not. Whatever the case, he was grateful that he never been touched like that.

Chapter 6

That night Colby could no longer contain himself. He went back to the Red Plum bar and made sure to bring Ivanka home with him.

For the next several weeks, Colby and Ivanka went on numerous dates. They made passionate love in his apartment, in the back of a limousine, and even in Central Park during a Sunday picnic. They couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Colby didn’t mind taking Ivanka out in the city. No one would’ve ever thought that she was a transsexual. Unless they knew her. But he was still worried that at some point the story might come out. There were certain places, places where he was known to frequent, that he avoided when he was with her.

He knew deep down that it would be hard to carry on this relationship in secret forever.

Colby lifted Ivanka into his strong, powerful arms and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, pulled her skirt and panties down her legs. He couldn't take his eyes off her cock. It looked so full and thick as it lay on her stomach. A very impressive piece of man meat. He looked at his own cock. It was twitching. It had been a long time since he'd seen it so engorged.

This was the moment he’d been waiting for impatiently. He kissed the insides of her thighs and worked his way up to the huge balls. He wasn't sure what to do next. He took the hard cock in his hands and began to stroke it up and down. It felt so strange, soft and squishy with a hardness inside. It didn't feel anything like his own dick, at least not at first. It was a feeling that he would never forget.

“Hold on,” Ivanka said, quickly getting out of the bed, and retrieving her purse from the floor. She pulled out a bottle of something handed it to Colby.

“Oh and I forgot one more thing,” she said, reaching back into her bag and pulling out a handful of gold condoms. The big size. Magnum, XXL. The only kind that would fit Colby’s huge dick.

“I see you’ve come prepared,” Colby says.

“Always,” she said.

“I like that,” he said.

Colby rubbed a finger around Ivanka’s tight asshole. She closed her eyes, leaned back on the pillow, and moaned. After he had worked his finger around the hole a few times, Colby pushed it in and out. Then it was time for two, and why not three? He worked three fingers in and out of her ass.

“Oh God,” Ivanka said, her eyes still closed, a sheen of sweat covering her nude body. “Oh, my God that feels so good.”

“I bet I have something that will feel even better,” Colby said.

“Yes, please,” Ivanka said. “Please put it inside of me. I want to feel your cock inside of me.

Colby smiled. He could already see the pre-cum leaking from his dick. He grabbed the stiff shaft and jerked it a few times. It was granite hard. He put the condom on, then rubbed the purple mushroom head against the tight asshole. It was wet and stretched out. But it would still be a tight fit. A very tight fit.

He pushed the head into Ivanka’s ass. She bit her bottom lip, wrinkles forming in her four head. Colby grabbed the hard shaft and pushed halfway in.

It was the tightest fit he’d ever felt. He brought his hips back and slowly pushed himself in. He did that three, four, five more times. The hole began to gradually loosen up.

It wasn't long before he worked up a good rhythm, his hips thrusting back and forth into her, each thrust harder than the last one. It wasn't long before Colby could feel the cum rising in his dick. He was going to shoot a huge load!

He let out a loud groan as his body slowed down, momentarily twitching, convulsively. He gripped Ivanka’s ass the whole time, kept his dick very deep in her. Seconds later, cum began to spurt from her dick as if shot out a geyser. Colby smiled, admiring the thick load that she shot into the air.

Chapter 7

For the last several days, Colby had had been receiving calls from a private number. He hadn't answered any of them. He knew better than that. But he was starting to grow curious. Who could it possibly be? Finally after ignoring about 10 of the calls, Colby finally decided to pick up the phone.

“Hello,” he said.

There was heavy breathing on the other end.

“Hello,” Colby said again, on the verge of hanging up.

“You're in trouble motherfucker,” the voice said. “Big trouble.”

“What?” Colby said. “Who is this?”

“How do you feel about being the first gay player in the NHL?” The voice said. “Does it make you proud?”

“What the fuck”? Colby said.

“That's a good question, Colby,” the voice said. “What the fuck were you doing sucking a tranny’s dick? Did you really think no one would find out about that?”

“What are you talking about? I never did anything like that,” Colby said, his lips quivering with rage.

What was going on? He was about to go mad. He was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He had the energy, the rage, the boiling blood to put his fist through another man's face, breaking every single bone.

“Who is this?” Colby said.

“We've got everything on tape,” the voice said. “Before each game of the next series, we’ll be releasing 10-minute segments. You guys have been going at it for the last couple months. We've got lots of footage.”

“Who are you?” Colby said. “I'll kill you.”

The line went dead.

Colby trembled with rage. He would never have imagined that he could end up in this sort of precarious situation.

He sent a text to Ivanka: “Where are you? We have to talk,” he texted.

He had a very bad feeling. Had she decided to go to the press? Had she been recording him all this time?

He sent her three more texts over the next few minutes. A half an hour later she still hadn't responded. He was becoming more and more suspicious.

He thought back to that night, that fateful night when they'd bump into each other at the club. He replayed that event in his mind. At the time, it seemed like such an incredible coincidence, an act of fate, serendipity. Yes, that's what he’d told himself. That's what he’d believed. But now when he thought back on it, when he reflected further on that fateful moment, he wasn't nearly so sure. What if the whole thing had been a setup? But who would do such a thing? That was a silly question. He had so many enemies. It could've been a player from a rival team. It could've been a player from his very own team, from inside the Ranger locker room, a fellow teammate jealous of his success, on and off the ice.

This was by far the most important time of the season. There was no way to build your stature as a player if you didn't perform at the highest possible level in these two frenetic months that would decide the champion. There could only be one champion. Everyone else would be losers.

The series with the Bruins was only a day away. They were going to release 10 minutes of video before each game. Tomorrow they would be releasing the first 10 minutes.

Colby paced up and down his apartment. He’d never been involved in anything like this before. It seemed crazy. It didn't seem like it could be real. It was the worst possible nightmare for a rich, young, hunk. Everything was laid out before him. In less than 24 hours his entire life would be ruined. Everything that he’d built for himself would be torn down, reduced to rubble, a pile of stinking ashes.

He would most likely lose all of his endorsement deals. His teammates would turn their backs on him. How could he continue to be the team captain? The team captain sleeping with transsexuals? They’d be the laughingstock of the entire league. He would be a laughingstock of the entire team. But a lot of the guys wouldn't be laughing. Many of them would be red hot with anger and intent on revenge. They would want to punish him. He’d been the star, the arrogant, cocky, star. On billboards and all the team promotional material his picture always bigger than everybody else's. That would all be over.

That voice on the phone still haunted him. He could feel it jackhammering in his skull.

“You're going to be the first gay player in the NHL,” the voice had said. “Does it make you proud?”

That son of a bitch! Who could be behind this? He racked his brain.

And then he remembered. It struck him like an electric shock. The epiphany. Who could it be? He thought back to that night, that boring, Friday night, when he sat on the couch drinking a few beers, flicking through the channels disinterestedly. He thought back to that night, and back to the text he received. The text from Jack.

Now that he thought about it, he found it really strange. Players rarely did that during the season. Especially players on rival teams. The decisive playoff series with the Bruins was less than 24 hours away. For the next two weeks, Colby would be bumping heads with Jack and his ruthless teammates. It would be a no holds barred death match. Colby was determined to fight harder than he had m ever in his entire playing career. He’d never been more determined to win a series.

It was all falling into place, finally making sense to Colby. Yet he still didn't know what he could do. He didn't seem to have any options. Even though he’d figured out, or had a very strong sense that he figured out what was going on, he still had very few means of going about stopping it. He was trapped in a corner, seemingly with no way out. The beast of public opinion, the hostile, homophobic public opinion would swallow him whole, feast on his flesh, sadistically smiling with each bite.

But what was Ivanka's role in this?

Was it possible, was there any chance, had everything with her had been fake?

Was there a chance that she was in on this from the beginning? Could that really be possible? Had he really been that big of a sucker over the last couple months?

All of these confusing, painful questions swirled around Colby's head.

Chapter 8

“How could you do this to me?” Colby pleaded. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

His lips trembled with rage. Tears welled up in his eyes. He never cried, especially not in front of another person.

Tears streamed down Ivanka’s cheeks. Her body began to shake. She cast her eyes down at the floor.

Colby’s suspicions were confirmed. She was in on it all along. All her words, her promises, all her love and affection, it had all been a game, a trap that he’d fallen into.

“I'm sorry,” Ivanka said. “So sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this.”

Finally, she’d come clean. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any more lies. Colby wouldn't be able to tolerate any more of her bullshit.

“Baby,” Ivanka said. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear I didn't. But they offered me so much money. I couldn’t turn it down.”

“Who?” Colby said lunging towards her. “Who offered you the money? Tell me!”

“Please forgive me,” she said. “I didn't mean to do it. But I had no choice.”

“Who?” Colby screamed in her face.

“There was some guy,” she said her voice trembling, unable to maintain eye contact. “From Boston.”

Ivanka closed her eyes and ducked, as if she expected his fists to start flying, pummeling her into submission, leaving her broken and bruised on the floor. It wouldn't be the first time that she had ended up like that, not the first time that she'd tapped into something primal and hateful inside a man’s psyche.

“I knew it,” Colby said, taking two steps backward, releasing Ivanka from his menacing grip.

He lowered his head, shook it from side to side.

“So you were recording me this whole time?” Colby asked. “Everything?”

Ivanka had a strange, surprised look on her face.

“What are you talking about?” She asked.

“Stop bullshitting,” Colby said. “You know exactly what I'm talking about.”

“I swear to God,” Ivanka said. “I never filmed or recorded anything that we did together.”

Colby snickered. No way did he believe her. She was still trying to deceive him. Still covering for somebody or someone. Not revealing who it was who had cut the check and sent her on this deceitful mission.

But he wouldn't give up that easily.

“You said that you would tell the truth,” Colby said. “No more lies. No more games. No more bullshit.”

“And that's what I'm doing,” Ivanka said. “What did they tell you?”

Colby sighed and shook his head. “They told me that they had recordings. Video and audio. Hours of them.

“I didn't do any of that. I swear,” Ivanka said. “They told me that they would snap a few pictures on the first couple dates. And that would be enough.”

Colby turned towards her, eyebrows raised.

“For the first two dates?” He said. “What was supposed to happen on the next dates?”

The silence was long and intense and seemed to stretch on forever. Or maybe it froze time. They were the last two souls on the face of the earth, facing each other, neither willing to back down, both of them full of love and pride.

Ivanka brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly raised her eyes to meet Colby’s.

“They didn't say anything about what was going to happen after the first two dates,” she said, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

Colby hesitated before responding, swallowing with difficulty, then loudly cleared his throat.

He never got like this. He never got choked up when talking to a woman. But he wasn't talking to a woman. But in a certain sense, he absolutely was. It was all so confusing. He had yet to make sense of what this relationship meant for his sexuality. He had yet to make sense of what it meant about his masculinity. Those were questions that he would most likely struggle with over the next few days, weeks, months, even years. It wouldn't be easy. But he was willing to fight against prejudice and against the rampant homophobia that bubble just beneath the surface, just beneath that tolerant veneer that society presented.

Sure, gay people might now be accepted. They were born that way, but he was in a different category, straddling the fence, not black not white but gray, not committing to one side or the other. He was dangerous, unwanted, and unnatural. Perverse. That's what he was. A pervert. Everyone would agree on that. Make up your mind they would say. There is no in between. There is no bi-sexual. You're just a fag on the down low, waiting for the opportunity to take some cock in your mouth and ass. Isn't that right? They would say with a snicker and a dismissive, hateful look in their eyes. Isn't that right?

It killed Colby to think that maybe they were right after all. Maybe he was a fraud. Maybe his heterosexuality was just a bunch of make-believe, plaster put over the real him. A mask meant to hide his deeply and profoundly homoerotic self.

Colby could feel the rage bubbling up in his stomach. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth. Veins bulged in his neck and forehead. Ivanka took several steps backward. She crouched as if preparing to receive a hail of blows.

Colby had never hit a woman before. He wasn't sure how much of a woman she really was. But he didn't want to hit her anyway. The rage he felt, the anger he felt in his stomach, wasn't really for Ivanka. He believed her story. For the most part. Women always left something out. He would get everything out of her eventually.

He saw how the pieces fit into place. This had been the plan all along: to throw him off his game during this critical playoff series. The plan had worked, almost.

Colby had struggled for the last several weeks, unable to score, getting into fights, and generally being the least productive member of the team.

He even got benched for more than ten minutes, which was something unheard of. That had never happened to him before in his career. It was the wake-up call that he needed. Figuring out what exactly was going on with Ivanka, figuring out who exactly was blackmailing him, and why, was just what he needed as well.

He felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

“What are you going to do if they release the tape before the first game?” Ivanka asked.

“I'm not even going to worry about that,” Colby said. “It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter.”

“It matters a lot,” Ivanka said. “Your career, your reputation. Lots of endorsement money. All those things matter and you know they do.”

“Yes, I know. All those things do matter, but I have to be true to myself,” Colby said. “Or else none of it makes sense. None of that shit is worth anything if I have to pretend in order to have them.”

Ivanka lowered her eyes. A slight smile broke out on her face, then quickly disappeared, but it was there long enough for Colby to catch it. He had a pretty good feeling what it meant. He had a pretty good feeling that she was very receptive to what he was saying. Maybe she would be able to forgive him for his outburst, his tantrum, his inability to keep his calm.

Ivanka raised her beautiful green eyes and fixed them on Colby. Then began walking towards him, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. She came closer and closer, stopping inches in front of him.

“I've been waiting to do this for so long,” Colby said. “So fucking long.”

“I know,” Ivanka said, throwing her head back and brushing a long strand of hair behind her ear. “Me too. Every night before I go to bed I start thinking about you, and—”

Chapter 9

That was all Colby needed to hear.

Colby closed his eyes reached out and pulled her full-figured body to him. He loved Ivanka's long legs, her big tits and huge, pointy nipples, and, of course, her round, soft ass. Yes, he loved all those things. There was no question about it. But at the same time, there was no denying that he thoroughly enjoyed the sight and then the feel and the taste of her cock.

A beautiful, slightly curved circumcised purple headed cock with the big thick veins running down the middle of the meaty shaft. It was his first cock. The first piece of dick meat that he’d ever held in his hands. It was so strange. It didn't feel anything like his cock, at least not at first as he stroked the semi-hard shaft up and down, on his knees in front of her, her hand on top of his head.

He never would've imagined that something like that would’ve been possible. He was the submissive? He was the bottom? No, this couldn't be happening. But it felt so good. He looked down at his cock. It was hard and twitching, ready to go, ready to plunge into a tight asshole, pump in and out, in and out and covered with ass juice. Then he would pull it out and tell her to turn around and give it a good suck. Lick it clean. That would be so primal, so fucking primal. Just thinking about it was sending the pre-cum leaking out of his cock onto the carpet. He could explode at any second.

Chapter 10

After they had finished making love, they lay in bed, sweaty, panting, legs and arms intertwined.

Colby turned to Ivanka, brushed a long tangle of blonde hair out of her face, and stared into her golden green eyes.

“You're so beautiful,” he said. “More beautiful than any woman I've ever seen.”

Ivanka ran a finger down his cheek and smiled sadly.

“What's wrong baby?” Colby asked.

Ivanka turned away, covered her mouth, and hid her eyes.

“What's wrong?” Colby asked again.

She completely turned away from him and threw her head down on the bed. She was shaking convulsively, sobbing.

Colby didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Had he said something to offend her?

“Please, tell me what it is,” Colby said.

He felt bad. He still wasn't quite used to this dating arrangement. Dating a woman, who wasn't quite a woman? It was still so strange to him.

For the next ten minutes or so, Colby held Ivanka as she cried, sobbed, cleansed herself. He didn’t badger her with questions. He was doing all that he could do. He was doing exactly what she needed him to do, just being there, being her rock, her emotional ballast, the man to hold her in his strong, powerful alpha arms.

After a while, she’d finally calmed down. She wiped the tears clean from her face, sniffled, laughed and smiled as if she were embarrassed by her inability to control herself.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It's stupid. But I get like this sometimes. I can't help it.”

“That's okay,” Colby said. “It really is. If you don’t want to talk about it, then we don't have to. That's perfectly fine with me.”

Ivanka sniffled, looked away, looked back at Colby, and then looked away again. Colby had never seen her like this. He was worried. What could possibly be eating at her, gnawing at her soul, keeping her from enjoying this wonderful moment that they’d been experiencing together?

“It's just… this isn’t the first time that I've been with a macho, alpha guy,” Ivanka said. “And it's never worked out before.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Colby said. “I'm not any of those other guys.”

“Well, how long do I have to wait before you introduce me to your friends? To your family?” She asked.

“I don't know,” Colby said, defensively. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a couple months now.”

Ivanka crossed her arms over her chest. She didn't seem convinced by that answer.

Colby had been thrown off guard by the question. He loved spending time with her. He really did. And it went beyond the physical. He was sure that. There was a real connection between them. But introduce her to his friends and family? He definitely wasn’t ready for that. He still had so much to lose if this affair were revealed, if the tabloids got wind of the fact that Colby Matthews, NHL star, leading candidate for the MVP award, was gay. That wouldn't go over well at all.

“I hadn't really thought about that,” Colby said.

“Bullshit,” Ivanka said, throwing off the covers off and getting out of the bed.

As she walked towards Colby’s closet, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Colby couldn't help but admire the bounce of her tits, the jiggle of her ass.

She went to one of Colby's closets and pulled out a robe and slipped into it. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed, lowered her head into her hands.

Oh no, Colby thought. Is she going to start crying again? I don't know if I can handle any more of this emotional shit.

He would’ve never said that out loud, would never have wanted to hurt her, to show that maybe he was getting a bit annoyed, a bit tired of her clinginess. They'd only been together for two months. Why did he have to introduce her to his friends and family?

But he knew that he wasn't quite honest. He did feel somewhat ashamed, worried what family and friends would say about him. He was also worried how quickly the rumors would spread if anyone outside of his close personal circle was to find out.

“How about this?” Colby said. “I'll throw a big party for my friends and family, and you'll be my date.”

“Really?” Ivanka said, her eyes lighting up with excitement and optimism. “When?”

“The day after I win the MVP award,” Colby said.

“The MVP?” Ivanka said. “What does that have to do with us?”

“It's just that I wanted it to be a really big celebration,” Colby said. “Everyone there will be people that have known me for a long time. I'd love to introduce you to them as my new girlfriend.”

Most of what he’d just said was true. But there was one part that he wasn't telling Ivanka, one part that he’d left out of his explanation, and that had to do with the MVP trophy itself. He’d been the front runner all year long. Lately, things that tightened up a bit. But he was still thought to be the favorite because he played in the massive New York market.

He had to win that award. It was something he’d dreamed about all his life. Of course, he’d dreamed about winning the Stanley Cup as well. But individually, he’d always wanted to prove himself as a great scorer. He'd always wanted to win the MVP trophy.

This was the best chance he had yet in his career. It may be years before he had a chance this good before he got this close to the trophy. He didn’t want to take any risks, didn't want to compromise himself in the voting. There was no way he could let this cat out of the bag before the results were made official.

The next day, Colby woke up bright and early, stretched his arms and yawned. His body ached. It would be another long hard day. No, it wouldn't. He smiled. This was the day. He would be crowned MVP. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, checked his messages. Nothing from the league. Nothing from his agent.

What was going on? They were supposed to call. Wasn't that what happened when you won the MVP? He went into the living room, flicked on the television, turned to Sports Center.

Breaking News: George Simmons Named NHL MVP.

Colby gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath. Then he slammed the remote on the floor. How the fuck did this happen?

Chapter 11

Four games into the series with the Bruins and none of the tapes had been released. Everybody could tell that Colby's game was off. The media kept asking him whether or not he was injured. No. He wasn't injured. And even if he were, he wouldn't have used that as an excuse.

The Rangers were down three games to one in the series. They were on the brink of being eliminated from the playoffs. This would be the end of their season.

Colby was tired of worrying about when the videotape would be released, or if any of the videotape footage would be released. He couldn't keep worrying about that anymore. It was destroying his self-confidence, completely eroding any ability that he had to concentrate. If the Rangers lost to the Bruins, he would be at fault. He would never forgive himself.

The night before game five, the decisive game, he made one of the most important decisions of his life.

Just before they fell asleep, Colby turned to Ivanka, took her hand in his and squeeze, staring into her eyes lovingly.

“I want you to come to the game tomorrow,” Colby said. “I want you to sit right behind our bench.”

Ivanka’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “You're serious?” She said. “Wouldn’t I just be a distraction?”

“This whole series I've been distracted,” Colby said. “And it’s because I haven't been true to you. Haven't been true to myself. I don't want to do this any longer. Even if I win, I’d feel like a coward if I didn't have you there at the games with me.

“If you're good enough to lie in my bed then your good enough to come watch me do the thing that I do best.”

“Well, you do a bunch of other things pretty well also,” Ivanka said reaching under the covers and letting her hand slither and slide down Colby's hard chest, resting it on top of his semi-hard cock, giving it a light squeeze.

They were down three goals to one with 10 minutes to go in the third period.

Colby hadn't been able to focus all game. He kept looking back behind the bench, seeing that empty seat. Where was she? Where the hell was she? The one time he invited her to a game, the one time he really wanted to see her there, to feel her love and support and she hadn't shown up. He had no idea what had gone wrong.

Everything seemed lost.

Bang! Bang! As he sat on the bench, he heard a fist hanging into the glass behind him. He hated when people did that. He turned around, ready to give the fan a telling off, to release all his frustration on the disgruntled customer. What he saw completely changed his mood. It was Ivanka, dressed up in her fur coat, look looking sexy as ever, waving and smiling and trying to tell him that she had some sort of hang up at the club.

Colby felt a surge of adrenaline pass through his body. It had been weeks, maybe months since he’d felt this good with all his equipment on.

“Let's go boys!” He bellowed.

A few of guys looked at each other in surprise. It had been a long time since they heard Colby take the role of the vocal leader, the alpha dog willing to get out in front of the pack.

For the next ten minutes, the Rangers skated as hard as they had all season, fighting for every loose puck, desperate to get back into the game.

Goal! Goal!

Their hard work finally paid off. They scored two quick goals and sent the game into overtime. Sudden Death. First goal wins.

Goal! The Rangers Win! The Rangers Win!

The crowd went crazy. The Rangers won the next two games defeating Boston and moving on to the Stanley Cup finals. They made quick work of the Los Angeles Kings. Four straight wins and they were champions.

Colby had a great series. He felt like he could be MVP. But unfortunately, yet again he didn't win the trophy. This time, it didn't matter.

After the final game of the series, he brought Ivanka back into the team locker room with him. Then he brought her on the championship parade through Manhattan.

It wasn't long before the tabloid seized on the story. The Ranger captain was dating a transsexual? Could that be possible? There was plenty of laughing and giggling and whispering. But in New York the only thing that really mattered, the only thing that counted at the end of the day, was winning. Colby had won. He could date, love, or fuck whomever he damn well pleased.


Bonus Stories

1 special bonus story!

Please go to Next Page to start reading your first bonus story!

The Seducing Touchdown


Sick of his hoarding and a house filled to the brim with junk, football player Romeo Tuckett’s family goes behind his back to hire a professional cleaner who specializes in cleaning the houses of hoarders. When Romeo finds out, he is completely against the idea and rejects any outside help, but when his family threatens to expose his secret, Romeo is forced to act.

Arissa Suarez, owner of Tidier Homes, Inc., is no stranger to the houses of hoarders. Her own mother was a hoarder and the experience compelled Arissa to start her own company to help those who want to clean and organize their homes. She doesn’t expect anything but a normal job, but when she meets Romeo for the first time, she can’t deny her immediate attraction to him.

As a relationship between the two develops, Arissa know she must reveal her deepest secret to Romeo. But it’s a secret that could end their blossoming romance.

Chapter 1: Arissa

“You have a call waiting on line one,” Kayla said as her boss walked through the door. “Sounds urgent.”

Arissa Suarez’s eyes widened in surprise. “Already? It’s only eight thirty.”

“I told him you don’t come in until nine. Said he’d wait.”

“Okay,” Arissa nodded, “I’ll get to it.”

She entered her office and closed the door behind her, although she wasn’t sure why she did that. Kayla was her assistant. She knew everything about the company and was the first person anyone calling would speak to. Whatever she didn’t know, Arissa would tell her eventually. She collapsed into her chair and fired up her computer. The phone line blinked impatiently and Arissa sighed and picked up.

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