By Jon Moray
This story was first published online for AWS Publishing in March 2016. Can you guess the identity of the woman before the end of the story? Enjoy!
Her aura is sprawled all over the sports scene. Her succulent scent of success saunters among competitor sweat and trampled fresh cut sod. Athletes covet only her, but she gravitates to them all. A vixen of victory, she has the pick of the litter when she surveys the field. Their ability to perform is weakened without her. Players that have enjoyed her company suffer in heartbreaking agony when she departs from them. Her intrusions are a welcoming breeze in scorching heat but her exit is a one-way ticket to Depressionville.
When she is in their midst, they ooze of extreme confidence. Their gallant strides mimic the likes of a proud stallion. The gleam in their eyes scream of devilish delight and their smiles are like elongated crescent moons. Their tongues tremble with egotistical gloating. Their battle for supremacy is moot without her passionate ways. Her seductive presence is their prize. Her unpredictable yearnings render the gladiator-like athletes drowning in either failed sorrow or victorious ecstasy.
She is moved by the excitement of their super charged adrenalin. Their stab at greatness is rewarded with her desired company. She beams with sensuality when a play is executed gracefully but bonehead error will redirect her attraction towards another faster than the speed of light.
Her presence is highly coveted. Most of the players have enjoyed her adoration but none have been able to keep her. The elite hold her the longest but she is still as elusive to them as a wet bar of soap in buttery hands.
The roar of the crowd may sway her devotion but it’s the players that draw her to the contest. She basks in the grunts and screams of their intense rivalry. She volleys back and forth, methodically deciding which one deserves her companionship. She swoons in desire over the aggressive bravado between these sports warriors as she carefully selects her next willing victim, if only for a short while.
A woman of the night, you say? She balks at your shallow assessment.
Who is she? She is Momentum, and she is faithful to no one.