Sexy Blake Wheeler

Looking back now I realize just how naive and unworldly I was. Being 20 and in my third year at the University of Minnesota I felt like I knew it all. I had moved from Winnipeg to a different country to study. I had already dated a few hipsters and even had a torrid affair with one of my professors. I was a rising talent in our school paper and a tight comely piece of ass that knew how to use my obvious sex appeal to get what I wanted when I wanted. I was told by many men and women (who I also dated) that I was very intimidating. I had multiple piercings, only half of which were visible to the public. My hair was a kaleidoscope of ever changing colours and styles which complemented my obsession with Japanese style tattoos. I was confident and walked and talked with purpose. I knew I could have any man I wanted and everyone in my faculty knew Melanie Marks wasn't to be trifled with. Because of all this I was able to write about what I wanted and what I wanted to write about was music. I loved live music. The energy, the bass creating a shared heartbeat, the boozy interactions and of course the musicians. I didn't sleep around, really. I just picked the singer or guitarist that filled my head with dirty thoughts and had him. Until I got bored of him. Then on to a Brazilian exchange student or some other exotic play thing. I wasn't too big into college sports like most of the other students. I had a passing interest in hockey because I was born and raised in a country where thats all that mattered. So when a writer couldn't make an interview with the star hockey player I volunteered to do it for him. Athletes were all the same as far as I was concerned. I'd seen enough Hockey Night In Canada to know what questions to ask and what answers I would likely get. I owed the other writer a favour but I wasn't going to go out of my way to do anything other than paint by numbers style sports journalism. The interview would take place after one of the Golden Gopher practices. The Gophers had a room next to their locker room where the interview would take place. I sat inside with my notepad as I heard the rumble of hockey players walking down the hall. The noise moved into the locker room when all of a sudden a face peered into the room I was sitting in. The face gave a small smile as sweat dripped off his closely shorn light brown hair onto his nose and then onto the floor. He walked into the room, all six foot five of him. Even taller on skates. It was Blake Wheeler and my world was about to explode.

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