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An excerpt of the book is below…
She was tall, about 6 feet.
Brown skin, tanned by the sun, a Don Henley song.
A woman of 35 years or so with Caucasian and Native American parents who had erotically mixed their DNA about 35.75 years ago.
He, a mid-career college professor, and she, the new athletic director of the same college.
It was love at first height.
Both were tall and into basketball.
That wonderfully sticky fluids exchange that happens to all of us lucky enough to take part, took part with these two folks in her apartment nearly 36 years ago.
With the exchange, they created their little bundle of Jamie; a now fully functioning, stunningly beautiful, statuesque, basketball-o-haulic human being.
The orange sphere with black lines draped across it had a new addict, and that addict was now blowing her amazingly loud whistle right near some rather sensitive ear drums; my own.
‘Foul! Number 14. Moved your pivot foot. Traveling. Green ball!’
‘Jesus, I barely shuffled at all, Ref! What are you talking about?!’
‘You want a technical?!’
I glare and just run back down the court to get on defense.
‘Why is she not wearing any shoes?! And WHY is she SO beautiful!’ I think uncomfortably as I eye my man on the opposite team who’s dribble up the court.
‘Women refs are not supposed to look like this! Flowing platinum blonde hair, probably dyed, still God-awful sexy!
They’re supposed to be greying, middle-aged, soon to be grandmas, not in shape, and no make up! In essence, not a DISTRACTION!
But THIS ref, Jesus! She looks like she just rolled off the Victoria Secret runway line, stealing a black and white low-cut halter top on the way out the door, AND losing her heels to boot!’, my inner dialogue continues.
‘This is going to be WAY harder than I thought to concentrate and beat this team!’
‘I can handle exposed breasts, tight fitting skirts, but attractive naked feet on an attractive woman? I’m a goner!’
Clearly this woman has no idea just how much of a foot fetish I have, and how much I want to figure out a way to suck her toes after getting into a friendly shouting match that leads to us take matters off the court!’
‘Ref, have you no DECENCY?!’, I cry inside.
My man comes at me hard. I call out loudly, ‘I’ve got ball!’ to help my teammates know who I’m focusing my defensive efforts on.
I hope Bobby behind me on #34 can roll to help me if I get beat.
There’s a decent chance I’m getting beat.
He tries a slick crossover move on me.
I’m still with you #23.
You’re no Jordan. No LBJ either.
I got this.
Second crossover, oops. I lost a step.
My eyes diverted to you know who, and you know what.
That’s all #23 needs, and he blows by me.
Bobby’s too busy defending #34 to help even amidst my cries for the same.
I think my man knew he could attack me in my moment of weakness! Damn him! He dunked on me too. Right in front of her. Hell, right in front of everyone. Well, at least I didn’t foul. I’ll take my lumps. I just don’t want to foul out.
I need a BREAK for God Sakes!
So much inner dialogue.
I make eye contact with her. She shoots me the subtlest of smiles, the kind guys get from someone who admires them. I interpret it as,’Did I distract you with my little toe ring?’
Yeah, as if the beautiful ref with beautiful feet isn’t bad enough for me, she decides to wear a toe ring.
Not only are rings strictly prohibited for basketball players, but we’re almost trained from a very young age to spot jewelry on the court, and call it out.
I guess they let the toe rings slide with tall, blonde, beautiful, athletic, and unbelievably fast on their bare feet refs!
Again, I say to myself…’THIS is going to be my toughest game yet!’
‘Maybe SHE should be getting a technical! She is ‘too many distractions’ on the court all rolled into one!’
Her huge, yet feminine size 10s conform to the hardwood beneath them effortlessly as she runs back and forth; her red polish resting on exquisitely and perfectly shaped toes.
I get passed the ball at mid-court, try to dribble to my left reading a screen from Bobby (thank you Bobby!), but I come in too close to my teammate and I let the rock spiral off my foot.
‘Damn it! I know better than that!’
I glance over again at her.
Another subtle smile creeps over her ruby red, voluptuous lips. She’s flexing her toes on both of her feet as if playing a piano and warming up her fingers.
I want to scream out to her,’NOT FAIR! I can’t concentrate with you doing that with your gorgeous bare feet! You’re killing me, Ref! Killing. Me!’, but I keep it bottled up inside.
I catch another sublime uptick of her sexy lips and a tongue peaking out and going to her right.
‘What the Hell?! Is this ref purposely teasing me?! Does she know how all powerful these foot fetishes are to guys?’
I think for a moment.
Wait a minute! The Astros just got hosed with a cheating scandal for hacking signals. Could this opposing team be hacking my own signals; my social media signals more precisely. Maybe they hacked my Instagram account and gained access to my personal information?! My very personal information!’
The accusations soar inside my head.
The more I make eye contact with this ref and see her flexing her toes in front of me the more I start to suspect foul play.
It’s definitely getting harder to concentrate as she’s making it a point to be near me at all times as we run up and down the court together.
Maddening. Just maddening.
We’re down by 3 in the closing seconds of the 2nd quarter. As the shot clock inches lower on the horizon in near lock step with the game clock, I have the ball at half court and ‘chuck it from the cheap seats’ (thanks Dennis Hopper from Hoosiers fame) and the shot goes in and out of the iron rim.
The crowd let’s out a cathartic ‘Awwwww!’ watching my last attempt to help my team even the score.
I try to run quickly off the court and avoid any reporters, but I’m caught by one of my all time favorites. She’ll remain nameless, but she reminds me A LOT of the lovely and talented Golden State Warriors sideline reporter, Kerith Burke.
And you guessed it…SHE’S BAREFOOT!
This has got to be one of the strangest, most fortuitous days I’ve lived in quite some time.
And not only is she barefoot, but as she’s motioning me over for a quick comment on the 1st half score and our team’s play, she grabs the hot female barefooted ref that’s wreaking havoc on my concentration.
‘So, Adam, we’ve noticed alot of tension between you and referee, Jamie Townsend. Hi Jamie, thanks for joining us!’
‘My pleasure,’, Jamie says with a wide smile into the camera.
‘Adam, care to comment on what’s going on between you two? Why all the drama?’, the Kerith-look-alike stuns me with her brazen approach at information gathering.
‘You’re good. You’re very good!’, I think looking into the steeliest of blue eyes set below a perfect coif of long flowing blonde hair styled probably in some high end salon in Carmel.
‘Do you always report in your barefeet?! What gives tonight? Usually you’ve got on mile high stilettos? I can barely hear your questions from down there.’
That was mean, I know. I should take it back, but I don’t. I’m in no mood to apologize tonight. I’m pissed and turned on at the same time. Two tall hot women with their gorgeous barefeet taunting and teasing me.
The Kerith-look-alike is probably around 5’9″, 6’0″ with heels. Jamie’s at near eye level with me flat footed, smiling ear to ear, and awaiting my next response as if an Oscar was being awarded for Best Picture.
I don’t want to expose myself too much at this baited half time event, but I also want to confirm that this all is a set up from the other team. It just HAS to be!
‘Ha ha, very funny, Adam. Always the joker. My heels were killing me. Just needed a little air time for my freshly pedicured toes. Like them?’, the Kerith-look-alike asks as she wiggles all ten of her beautiful bare toes and hugs the hardwood beneath them.
I instantly think about how amazing it would be to transmute into hardwood right now.
The Kerith-look-a-like is WAY more conniving and clever than I give her credit for.
‘Uhhh, yeah, yeah I do like them actually. Your feet are gorgeous. You’re in the wrong business. You should be a foot model. Hashtag that!’, I crisis-avert the delicate moment as best I can.
‘Awww, you’re so sweet! Thank you! Maybe I will. Back to my original question; what’s going on between you and this lovely barefooted ref? Do you guys need a room?!’, she laughs heartily.
‘Wow, you never miss an opportunity do you?!’, I respond embarrassingly.
I gather and continue…
‘There’s nothing going on. It’s just another game in The Barn. Nothin’ special.’, I recover.
‘Well, #14, speak for yourself. I’d say you have a little problem with how I’m officiating this game, and I don’t appreciate it. I think you have a thing against women who ref in their barefeet! Am I right?! Think we should just stay in the kitchen?!’
, Jamie comes back strongly.
‘Hey wait a minute! I don’t. No thing. And I love barefooted women in the kitchen…’
‘WHAT?!’, the two women cry out incredulously.
‘I mean, Ok, that probably didn’t come out right. Let me start over. I think women who WANT to be in the kitchen and WANT to be barefoot should be allowed. They also should be allowed OUT of the kitchen too. I’m not a sexist.’, I say straight to the two sexy barefooted women and the camera man pointing his video camera now awfully close to my sweaty face.
‘Really?! Well, Adam, you’ve been staring at my feet all game. Don’t think I can’t see you doing it! You can’t put yourself together to make even the simplest bounce passes to your teammates! What gives, turnover boy?!’
This is out of control. This is TOTALLY contrived BS that’s a ploy from the opposing team to get me all flustered. Gotta hand it to them. They sure did a LOT of homework. Not sure how they found out about my deep abiding affection for women’s barefeet, but they did, and now they’re going for the juggler. This interview is over!
‘This interview’s over. I’ll see you both after the game where the score’s going to be in OUR favor. Thank you kinky, I mean kindly, ladies. It’s been fun. If you’ll excuse me.’
And with that I run back into the locker room and meet up with Coach and the rest of my teammates.
‘What the hell happened to you out there, Adam?!’, Coach yells at me as I take my seat.
If you want to read more and find out how Adam and Jamie end up in a ticklish tryst, click on the link below:
And, as always, thanks for stopping by! 🙏