This choice: Ulf Stromson, the 900lbs Center • Go Back...Chapter #5Ulf Stromson, the 900lbs Center by: Viking John   (Co-written with Sho (http://www.writing.com/main/portfolio/vi...)
Ulf Stromson was a beast. He was seven foot eleven and 900 pounds. He was the center, and he loved his job. He could tackle three guys at once and keep them pinned the entire play. He was a tank, a beast. His hair was shoulder length and dirty blond (it may have just been blond—he sometimes skipped post-game showers) and a full beard. It looked funny with his helmet on, but you don’t want to know what he did to the last guy who told him to cut and shave. He was also notoriously aggressive and gross. Not a day would go by you wouldn't hear him rip a fart in the locker room, belch, or have him toss his massive triple wide shorts on top of your head.
The other players were just leaving, but Ulf was sitting in front of his locker, punishing the bench. It bowed under his titanic ass. The splinters and re-bar they reinforced it with seemed to be struggling to hold his weight.
Keith approached from behind, pushing his towel cart.
“Great game eh? Say, can I ask you a question Ulf?” Keith said.
Ulf, who was draining a massive sport bottle, pulled the straw from his mouth and let out a belch. “Sure kid, shoot” He was shirtless wearing just his grey, sweat soaked triple wide athletic shorts. Even sitting, Keith only came up to just under his shoulders; a height which made him have to stare into the bushes of armpits hair poking out from under the centers thick arms. He winced a little catching their pungent odor. He averted his eyes downward only to see, despite the enormous size of his shorts, the round globes of his ass poking out the top, with a thick forest of dark hair poking from between his mountainous ass cheeks. The tightness of his shorts made his crack even easier to spot, especially since the majority of the sweat that ran down his back seemed to collect there in one deep, dripping spot. This put Keith with a rank bush of pit hair just above his head level, and an even worse ass-hair forest just below.
Keith blushed a little nervous. "Dude…” he said, trying to relax a little. “I’ve always wanted to know. Have you ever farted on the Quarterback?"
Ulf let out a big, deep laugh and pat his giant gut. "Have I ever? How about EVERY goddamn play! That guy's gotten more blasts from me than any other guy on the team! Shit, his uniform probably stinks after all the times I ripped ass on him in a game."
“That’s what I thought. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be farted on by a big powerful guy like you"
Ulf grinned and laughed a little more. He leaned to the side, slapping one of his big cheeks. "You want one, then step into the blast zone, if you dare"
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