Winnipeg Jets One-Shots

October 9, 2011. The first regular season game for the re-boot of the Winnipeg Jets. I, along with most of the city, watched the game in a bar and fully expected to lose to the Canadiens. We do lose, but spirits were still running high - after all, we finally had a national franchise back. In the months since I’d hooked up with Ondrej Pavelec, the starting goalie (whose last name I only learned through Jets news), I’d seen several of the other Jets from that night in the pub here and there. They must also have taken apartments near here. I didn’t see Ondrej again, until after that first game.

I was sitting at the bar - technically alone, just chatting with other locals - in my old school Jets jersey and black leggings with boots. Nothing fancy, just here to watch hockey and grab a bite.

A few of the Jets, “our” Jets, came in later, and the 10 or so of us still in the pub cheered. They looked sheepish and Blake Wheeler started to apologize for losing the game. Marky, the bartender, shushed him and offered a round of shots for “our Winnipeg boys.” Still looking a bit scared, they accepted and then retreated to a round table in the corner. I was feeling bold, and went over to say hello.

Bryan Little, his red hair a mess, remembered me and reminded the other guys about our run-ins (like a true gentleman, he didn’t refer to the Ondrej night) here at the bar. I tried to explain to them a little bit about why, at least for this first game, no one cared much whether they won or lost. We were all so excited to have a team in town - but I joked with them that we wouldn’t tolerate losing much longer so they’d better get their act together.

They invited me to join them so I sat down and we started chatting. All was well until HE walked through the door. Those big brown eyebrows were knitted together over a frown, and he slunk into a chair at the table muttering “Five. FIVE. Pet, idiot - pet cile.” (pet = five, cile = goals) My heart jumped into my throat. I knew goalies took losses hard, but this was MY goalie.

Stop that. We hooked up once. Idiot.

Wheeler elbowed Ondrej and said, “Hey, cheer up,” and looking at me, “Explain it to him like you did to us.” At that Ondrej looked up and saw me for the first time since he’d come in, lost in his dark cloud. A huge grin lit up his face.

“Hi!” he said in a totally different, almost childishly giddy voice compared to the lamentations of a moment ago. The boys all dissolved into laughter but I only had eyes for Ondrej.

“Hey.” My voice was softer than I intended, sounding oddly emotional. I pulled myself together and continued, “Listen, Winnipeg folks don’t care if you all lost tonight. We love our Jets, this first game doesn’t matter.” His expression fell a little and he nodded, still wracked with that goalie guilt.

“We should go somewhere and dance,” Little burst out. The suspicious looks they all cast him turned to shrugs and laughter; I suggested a club in the Exchange District we could walk to.

And that’s how I spent several hours attached to Ondrej Pavelec, starting goalie, mashing our bodies together, kissing sloppily and generally causing a scene. We took a break from dancing at some point, and I yelled in his ear (as one does at a club), “I thought you were great tonight.”

He smiled, dazzling me as always, and joked “What, on ice or with dancing?”

Something about him made me bolder than I usually was, so I leaned closer and grabbed his package with one hand while downing my drink with the other. “Both, baby.” His thick eyebrows raised slightly, and that glint came back into his eyes. The look I’d been trying so hard not to dream about these past few weeks was now focused on me again and my knees went all jelly.

“Pojďme. Come on.” (Let’s go) He took my hand and led me to the door. “Your apartment near here, yes?”

I didn’t answer - once we were outside the club, and once I’d made sure there weren’t any people on the sidewalk outside to see, I pressed my back against the wall and grabbed him by the lapels. Yes, he was wearing a suit jacket again. I wrapped one leg around his and put a hand behind his neck. “We can go to my apartment in a minute. First, kiss me.”

The dazzling smile reappeared, and he planted a tender kiss on my lips. He drew back just for a moment, searching my face with those gorgeous eyes. Then he plunged back, his tongue dancing around my mouth - hotter, more urgent than our last encounter. I returned all the fervor, grabbing his ass with my other hand and grinding him into me, reminiscent of our dancing. We stopped, both breathless, and I took off at a slight jog.

I heard chuckling behind me and when I looked back he had caught up, even though I was in flat boots and he had on dress loafers. We came to a traffic light and he grabbed my hand again, a gentleman just like the last time. Keep it together, I told myself.

Any semblance of decorum was totally shot once we got back to my apartment. What was exploratory last time was now, if not familiar, then at least desperately devoted. We pawed at each other, nipping and biting everywhere we could reach. We took off our clothes while kissing, and this time he led me to the bedroom. He seemed to remember everything, and I dared to hope he’d been thinking of me too.

I pulled away to grab a condom, and he said my name - I turned around and he was standing behind me, completely naked. I tried not to drool too much looking him up and down. He said, “This time, I’m here until morning. Okay?” He probably meant he wanted to sleep here instead of leaving after sex, but my crazed mind assumed he meant he wanted to fuck until dawn. As a result of that thought, I practically leapt on him, tackling him to the bed. He laughed again,and our kissing and groping began again.

I couldn’t remember ever being more attracted, more aroused, by a man and when he slipped a hand between us to stroke at my folds I moaned immediately. The sparkle of mirth in his blue eyes drove me wild. His fingers were broad and strong, but soft - not rough like the stick handlers’ usually are. I gyrated my hips while his deft strokes sent pulses of heat through my body. He finally inserted one, then two fingers, moving them slowly in and out. When he curled them in that come-hither motion, I yelped.

He looked concerned by the sound, so I caught my breath enough to assure him “It’s good, really good. Do it again.” He took my coaching to heart and kept pressing at the spot, I kept calling out; he kissed a trail from my neck down my stomach and when he flicked my clit with his tongue I came hard. He must have felt the contractions around his fingers, judging by the edge of cocksure bravado in the smile he flashed up at me.

“Again?” he asked.
“Wha-, uh, if you want tooohhh,” my words were cut off by his mouth returning to the most sensitive spot. He pulled out his fingers, and replaced the feeling with alternating rapid flicks and strong languid strokes of his tongue.

I don’t remember how many times I came, but he kept going - using his hands and his mouth - for what must have been hours. Somewhere in the haze of pleasure he asked - he ASKED - “Sex now?” I don’t know what ridiculously un-eloquent thing I responded but it was a resounding yes from me.

He brought my legs up so they were between us, my feet resting on his incredible broad shoulders. He slipped on the condom and teased my swollen lips with just the tip. He was looking down and smiling at the sight, clearly enjoying my squirming for more.

“Please, Ondrej,” I begged.

“Chceš? You want?” he asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious. I nodded desperately, and he drove forward. I yelped again from the sensation of him filling me completely, unexpected but so perfect. I lifted my ass off the bed, using my ankles on his shoulders as leverage - he pulled out just a little, and slammed himself back in; out, then back in - a little further out each time, and fully in up to the hilt. I moaned ‘yes’ with each thrust, taking sobbing breaths with each pull back. Ondrej picked up the pace slowly, finding a speed where each stroke made me moan.

I brought my legs down from his shoulders, wrapping them around his rib cage. His strong hands held my hips, and I could feel the muscles in his arms against my legs. I’d missed his moaning - the little ‘o’s and sharp inhalations - and I hadn’t forgotten the intensity of his icy blue stare roving over my body.

Soon enough conscious thought evaporated and the speed of his thrusts accelerated. I came, yet again, screaming his name this time as he plunged into me with one last powerful thrust, feeling his cock twitch inside me. He laid on top of me for a moment, then rolled off. He took off the condom and put on his boxers. He picked up his jeans, and although I was still fairly dazed I called over to him, “No, no.” He stopped and looked at me, his face tired after the hours we’d spent together but his eyes as lively as ever.

“I can stay?”

I held out my hand and he came over to the bed, taking it and kissing my palm. This guy. I pulled him back into bed with me, curled up against him and laid my head on his shoulder. “You’re staying for a while, pal,” was the last thing I remember saying before I felt quite soundly asleep.

* * * * * * *

After that, we started dating, properly. Dinners and movies and not just fevered hookups at bars, although those continued as well. The other players started collecting puck bunnies and real girlfriends, as suited, but they all seemed to appreciate me a bit more. I was sought out for ‘local’ insight and I started coming to more games at the MTS Centre instead of hiding in a pub.

When the NHL lockout came, Ondrej went back to the Czech Republic to play and I was devastated. I hadn’t really realized how much time we were spending together until he was an ocean away. I flew out to visit him for Christmas and New Year’s. Even though we’d only been dating just over a year, he introduced me to his family - his entire family. Parents, aunts and uncles, cousins of every sort, I must have met a hundred of them. I could trace the blue eyes in the gene pool but that smile seemed to be singularly his.

I had been back at work a week in Winnipeg when the PA finally ended the lockout. Ondrej came back to Manitoba and I moved into his apartment a few weeks later. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.

Over the years he’s had his ups and downs, hockey-wise. The shooters in the league are better now than ever in history, but he still beats himself up about the big losses. Which brings us back to today, another Jets loss.

We’d finished drying the dishes, and we went to the couch to watch a movie, keep his mind off the game. But it didn’t take long for his attention to drift - though not to the game of hockey, to a different game entirely. Teasing kisses along my neck and jaw quickly turn into lip biting and tongue dancing. I push him back onto the couch, his head resting on the arm. I straddle his hips, and resume kissing him while I untie his track pants. I slide them down, leaving his boxers on. I grind my hips against him, and he starts laughing.

“What?!” I demand.

“We are like teenagers. Movie, clothes on, humping like teenagers.” I laugh too, glad he’s happy again. I kiss his face - his forehead, his cheeks.

“Miluji tě” (I love you). His smile is warm and his eyes bright and happy - he kisses me gently.

“I love you also.” He looks up, thinking a moment, “I love you most when you speak in český,” he says with a wide grin.

“Pojďme,” (let’s go) I say, pulling him off the couch toward the bedroom.

Notes

Do you guys want a part 3 with the present-day sex scene? Or are we tired of Pavelec