Divorce and the Holy Puck

It was mid-week so I drove to my apartment by the law firm’s offices to spend the night. I took my skates from the bag and made sure the blades were dry - I didn’t want any rust forming on them - and was about to enter the shower when the doorbell rang. Sean Maynard was a huge kid for his age. He just turned ten and already stood five feet six inches tall and weighed 147 pounds. His parents owned a sporting goods store and considered Sean to be the premier athlete in the area. According to the President of the Shooters, last season Sean played on a line with Andy Rooks and scored twenty-six goals. The President knew the goal total because Herb Rooks had emailed the team statistics to the entire Board of Directors. Andy Rooks would normally have the puck on his stick and rather than pass he would skate with it for while and then shoot it at the net. Sean would just stand in front of the other team’s goalie and he was so big and strong that no one on the other team could push him out of the way. If Andy didn’t score Sean would tap in the rebound. Sean played football, basketball, hockey and baseball. It was widely opined throughout the city’s coaches that he was a mediocre talent in all of them. But he had size and sometimes that was enough. Sean’s mother stood outside my front door holding a large cardboard box, slightly out of breath. “I’ve got some stuff that might be good for the boys but I didn’t want to show it to you at the rink,” she said. “It was just delivered to our sporting goods store. We can give everyone on the team a huge price discount. Can I show them to you?” I looked about. “You followed me here?” “No,” she said. “I Googled your address. I came after dropping Sean off at home.” “Oh.” “Can I come in and show you?” “Uh, okay, sure.” “I didn’t want the other parents to see this,” she said and then forced a laugh. “They’ll think it’s a bribe to give Sean lots of ice time and let him play with Donnie this year.” “I already put Sean on Donnie’s line.” “Where’s the bathroom?” I pointed and she carried the box to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Amazing, I thought, debating between using The Lawyer persona, the hockey coach persona, or my typical, real self. The hockey coach persona seemed to fit. She came out of the bathroom and walked towards me. “What do you think?” Mrs. Maynard asked. If pressed, I would say she slightly resembled Jennifer Aniston except for her rear end, of which she could be a body double for Kim Kardashian. Her stomach was fairly flat and her thighs and calves appeared sculpted from granite. All of this was obvious because at the moment she was wearing some type of red bodysuit that flowed from the nape of her neck to her toes. The silky material clung to her skin so tightly I thought it must be restricting the flow of blood to her arms and legs. I stepped back towards the center of the living room. “It’s the newest sports fabric,” she said. “Professional hockey players will be wearing it. It keeps the body warm, collects sweat but stays dry against the skin. It’s amazing and works whether the boys are playing on an outdoor ice rink in February or sitting in a sweltering locker room in August.” She walked towards me, hefty breasts jiggling as she spoke. She touched my chest, dirty blonde hair tickling my nose, turned and walked away. Her bottom rolled with each step as if it was constructed of ball bearings and the red fabric dug into her like miners searching for gold. “What do you think?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, hands on her hips, smiling. She smelled sweet and fresh and clean. “I can talk my husband into giving the team a huge discount if we order a bodysuit for everyone on the team,” she said. “My husband really wants to help out, given the new store in St. Joseph.” St. Joseph was a town over an hour away. “New store?” I asked. “We’re opening a new sports store there. He’s going to have to work most weekends, for months, all winter long. He won’t be traveling with our team this season. It will just be Sean and me. My husband will want the coaches to be looking out for us on the road. He can be talked into a huge discount for that.” She smiled again. They had a name for women like Teri Manyard: MILFs. Mothers I’d Like to Fuck. Since my divorce, I had spent each night in bed or on the couch at The Ranch Retreat, alone. In all my life I had never slept with a woman most men would deem attractive. In social situations I fumbled for words and my appearance could not make up for my lack of charisma. I had no close relatives. Except for Jenny, I had no close friends. I wasn’t good at anything besides practicing law or coaching young hockey players. When the sadness bubbles struck, there was no future hope to fend them off. I faced the world alone. She was the mother of one of my hockey players and she stood before me willing to trade the pleasures of her body for some unspoken agreement to treat her son well. I knew it would be entirely wrong and inappropriate to peel off her clothes and tongue her salty, soft skin and then drive into her body repeatedly with reckless abandon, without any need to worry if she was satisfied and happy. But it had been a long time since I had been with a woman and tonight I was The Coach so what the hell, I did it anyway.