I hid behind a tree when I could clearly hear the voices. When I peeked around the tree, I was shocked to learn that one of the voices belonged to an ...gly brown wolf. Wolves don't talk do they? I would have ran away screaming except I learned that the second voice belonged to pretty blonde wearing a red hood who was at least twenty years old. Her beauty attracted me so I decided to listen for a while."Who is that basket for?" the mean wolf asked."It-it is for my Grandma," the woman shyly. She was pretty panicked by the end of the season and promising never to ever bet again and to never believe her dad when it came to football.In pity, and because there was a reason I never did argue about the pervert part, I offered her a way out. One final bet on the last game of the season, Broncos and the Raiders at Mile High or Coors Field or whatever the hell they called it. The Broncos needed the game to get into the playoffs. The Raiders had quit on their coach weeks earlier. This was a. This time only one flail struck the shield. The other chain wrapped around a nearby lamppost. Jennifer noticed it in time and got out of the way as the monster pulled it down in her direction. “Time to be aggressive. B, E, aggressive. Punching and throwing doesn’t work, how about we split the difference. Something with some reach,” Jennifer said. She twirled the baton again and threw it into the air. “Spinning...” She caught it on the way down and kept the twirl going. “Ignition...” It was. ” At least the laughter and conversation made my erection subside, and we had one more slow dance, before the deejay put on a rap song, and Karla said, “Not your style, is it?” We left the floor to rejoin Krystal and her boyfriend. “What was so funny out there?” Krystal asked.“I stepped on Allan’s toe,” Karla answered, to my relief.“Heels,” I added, to help out.“I guess you had to be there,” Krystal said, looking at us like we were two very odd people. Later in the evening, I stood with my.