This story is an erotic adventure that features a married couple in an open and caring relationship having sex with other partners. If that offends you, stop reading now.
Side note: Please don’t let the reputation of Philadelphia Eagles fans taint your view of this story. We’re not all rude, arrogant or rowdy. And that whole incident with throwing snowballs at Santa happened in 1968, for Christ’s sake. Let it go.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE AT LEAST 18 YEARS OF AGE OR OLDER.
When Chuck arrived at Time Out Tavern on Sunday, February 4th, 2018, he knew it would be a great night. What he didn’t know was that it would become one of the most memorable nights of his life.
The Philadelphia Eagles had finally made it to the Superbowl, and Chuck had decided to watch the Big Game at the local sports bar not far from his place. While he lived on the other side of the bridge from the city, South Jersey was still very much Eagles territory. It’s not until you get north of Trenton that you start running into Giants fans.
Work was slow for him this time of year and he’d already scheduled the next day off with his boss, who’d laughed when he asked and said he’d probably be “calling in sick too.”
Chuck had no plans on getting shit faced. Somewhere in his thirties, the idea of getting falling down drunk had lost its appeal, and the hangovers had become far rougher to deal with the morning after. But he figured he could stay out late, have a few drinks, hopefully celebrate a win and not have to worry about getting up early on Monday.
Most of his friends did have to work the next day, and had decided to watch the game at home with their families.
Being single, (Chuck got divorced four years ago, and it had been six months since his last girlfriend dumped him) he was also hoping against hope of maybe meeting someone. It was going to be a wild and hopefully celebratory night, and sure to be a packed house at the bar. There had to be at least a few single women, right?
Chuck arrived an hour before the scheduled 6:30 PM kickoff and sure enough, the place was already filling up.
While several giant high definition flat screens filled much of the available wall space, the best spot to view the game was right at the bar itself. He got lucky and managed to find an open stool. Pulling out a small stack of cash, he slapped it on the bar, staking his claim to the space.
A live band was churning out a decent set list of upbeat classic rock hits while the pregame shows played silently on the screen. No one really cared about that stuff at the moment. People were too busy getting the celebration started; drinking, dancing, high fiving total strangers and singing the Eagles Fight Song whenever the band paused between tunes.
Chuck didn’t move from his seat often, too afraid of losing it. But he did socialize with those around him, discussing the chances of an Eagles win and their mutual disdain for Tom Brady. He also joined in with every Eagles cheer, along with the hearty booing of the one knucklehead who’d walked into the place with a Patriots jersey. (I promise you though, no one beat him up or otherwise abused him.)
Then it was kickoff time. The band stopped playing as the TV volume went up, the sound broadcast through every speaker in the place.
For the next hour, the place was absolutely electric, and when the Eagles lined up with thirty-eight seconds left in the second quarter to pull off what famously became known as the “Philly Special,” bringing the score to 22 -12 at the half, the gathered crowd went ballistic.
No one bothered to watch the halftime show, the band had started playing again and everyone was far too celebratory.
The noise in the place was so loud Chuck could barely hear the voice beside him. “Is this seat taken?”
He turned to see the beautiful, dark haired woman with even darker eyes addressing him. He hadn’t noticed when the guy next to him had vacated his stool, but saw no signs of anything left behind indicating his return. “Looks that way,” Chuck shrugged with his best welcoming smile. “You’re more than welcome to it.”