You are David Beckham's representative.
Your job is to basically tell the media what David has to say when he doesn't want to about anything at all. Today was one of the worst days for David, he just lost a game 20 to nothing. Which is basically impossible for this footballer star. And the paparazzis and press are pounding through doors trying to find out what happened. You walked down to the press to tell them that David was just feeling sick today so he wasnt at is best. But they werent satisfied with that lie, so you headed down to the shower/locker room to check up on David. He wasnt there, but his teammates said he got his own personal shower/locker room at the second bottom floor. You headed down again dully and knocked on the door with a star.
"Hey David, the press wants you to go talk to them", you hollered through the door
"Go away..", you heard David's weak shout
You knew David was in a dark palce right now, but for some reason, you kept trying to call him out.
"David...please come out! They dont care what I say, they care what YOU say"
"Go away. I'm still cleaning all the sweat on me. Give me 20 minutes", he replied
You knew how much David sweats during his games, but 20 miuntes was a little too much for him. So you just kept knocking and knocking, until finally David was tired of it. The door opened in your face and a sweaty, pissed off Beckham still in his uniform pulled you in.
David then threw you into the wall, and you fell to your knees. You now saw that he was actually sweating in almost every part of his body and he might need more than 20 minutes. You had to cover your nose from the rank smell.
"Look how much I'm sweating right now, and YOU want to pull me outside to go talk a bunch of critics", he said aggresively
"Well....David..", you hesitated
"You know what, why don't you go ahead and clean me up. And why the hell do you keep calling me David, I'm your boss, call me Mr. Beckham.", he started shouting
David then walked towards you and pulled off his shirt, his upper body was glistening in the light, especially his abs. He then approached you and held your face to the wall with his sweat-covered shirt.
"Ummpf! Davi--mr. Beckham! Please stop!", you yelled as he wiped his sweat all over your face.
"No", he continued somthering your face with his shirt, until it was almost dry. Your mouth was now sweaty and salty and you felt very humiliated. " That was actually really stress relieving", he said, "What else should I do to you?"
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