Getting Past His Defenses

In a moment I was rushing forward, slipping forward and moving directly into the bulk of him. All of it happening so quickly that he only had a single moment to react before I was on him entirely.

On the face of it, it was ridiculous. The movement, rushing straight towards him, would have made sense if I was his size or bigger. Big enough that I could use sheer physical strength alone to muscle him out of the way and tackle him to the ground. Powering through him and getting past him by sheer **** of will alone.

But the fact was that he was big and I was small. He was tall and I was short. He was muscular and I was svelte. He was a man and I was...

I mean look, I'm not one to say that there is automatic differences between men and women. I know that sexuality and gender and fucking body type all exist on a spectrum and there are men who are slight and petite and women who are tall and muscular.

I know that.

But I'm not going to deny the reality of the situation when it is staring me in the face, nor am I going to ignore the truth of things when it is so very simple to understand.

Jake was a monster of a man. Six foot something and a couple hundred pounds and in perfect shape and all of him muscular and youthful and energetic and powerful.

And Emily... me... I was in pretty fucking good shape too but it was an entirely different kind of shape.

And maybe if Emily had been a man... actually scratch that I know what kind of man Emily would have been if she was a man because I was that kind of man and I can confidently say that I wasn't anything like the kind of man that Jake was. Is...

Fuck, did I really just forget that I used to be a man?

Not the point. Not the fact of the matter right now which is that Emily has a whole lot of an edge on Jake but none of it has to do with the necessary skills and statistics to bowl him over and get him on his ass. No amount of training or skill, neither of which I had, was going to get me to do that.

But what I could do was rely on what was working for me so far, which was distraction.

Putting him on his back foot. Waiting for him to commit. Watching until he leaned in and his arms started to close in and he was certain that I was going to be one place and then, and only then, would I move to put myself somewhere else.

If he goes high, I go low. If he goes forward? Well then I'm dodging to the left.

My left. His right. Putting my weight on the ball of my left foot and pivoting and doing a little twirl while I'm at it and for emphasis kicking that ass of mine back just enough that it presses at my shorts and puts forward a whole new distraction for him as I tease and sidestep and duck beneath his arms and reach out with my hand, quite easily and quickly slipping my hand out with the ball palmed within it.

Coming closer. Coming so damn close to it. Coming so fucking close that I could taste it and grinning, already picturing my victory and already planning out how I was going to take my victory lap and how I would use this as an introduction at practices to prove my bonafides and how I'd use a version of this in our championship game to win it all and how that night I'd tease Jake one too many times and he'd show me what he really thought of it.

And I could almost picture his hands on me then. I could nearly feel them on me in real life.

But then I could, because I forgot.

Because I forgot about what he'd already shown me.

Because I'm fast.

But Jake is faster.

For a limited time you can join my Patreon for only $2 and get access to over a month's worth of new pages of My Second Chance as well as SEVEN FULL STORIES with a new one every month! Join here: https://www.patreon.com/SophiePert