Bottom line, I slept with a lot of women I shouldn’t have. Single women, movie stars, poor women, older women, younger women, married women, women with boyfriends, women with girlfriends, female friends of my guy friends and of course, those classy women who say they don’t want no part of Nate Jiggur.

They expect to meet a monster. A misogynist, a bully, a player, a cheat, a crook and a sneak. But that’s not me. That’s just the guy they try to sell you on TV. Everything the world knows about me is true. I’m the world’s fiercest quarterback who led the losing-streak Dallas Cowboys back to the Super Bowl—twice! I’m not just an MVP in sports, last year and the year before…I’m the MVP in real life, baby.

Everything else, the life I live behind closed doors, that’s anyone’s guess.

But you wouldn’t be wrong to say I get laid as much as the pope prays!

When you have countless groupies throwing themselves at you after every game, the same old same old gets boring after a while. That’s why I like the women that say, No way, Hosea! Beware of Nate Jiggur, that shaved head twenty-six-year-old white boy is bad news!

That’s what they all say at first. And when I finally take the bitch downtown, that’s when it feels oh so extra good to pound that sweet poontang until she comes twice. Because there’s nothing sexier than a woman that changes her mind and lets me dance in her forbidden garden, if you catch what I’m saying.

I’ve heard it all before…

I'm a high-class kind of girl and I want a man who worships the ground I walk on. And I've heard terrible, terrible things about Nate!

Oh you heard things?

Yes, I KNOW what kind of man you are. And I don’t fall for players. No sir!

Ohhh I see, because you’re a championship girl, isn’t that right? You’re the highest caliber, MVP little miss special. Waiting for Mr. Right to come along. Million dollar woman that spreads her legs for NOBODY.

That’s right! You’re not all that! I’ve had better.

Wait, wait, sunshine. Let’s get one thing straight. You NEVER had better than Nate Jiggur.

Yeah right! Whatever, Mister Ego!

Now if you want to go tell your friends that you said NO to Nate Jiggur, the star quarterback, and you married your lame ass childhood sweetheart or some shit, you go right ahead. But you and I both know, there ain't nothing better than Nate. So stop lying to yourself. If you say no to me, you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime!

And that’s when this rascal turns on the smile and makes them forget their own name. Is it my chiseled body they love? My handsome, flawless face with those shiny white teeth? Is it my movie star voice or just the fact that I ALWAYS win?

Nah, I’ll let you in on a little secret…

“Please do,” the uppity reporter Brenda Baynes says to me, listening to me rant and rave for a sports interview that’s going to air on HBO. “Just remember none of this is off the record.”

“The secret is knowing when to make a pass,” I say slyly, always loving mixing it up with football and making love. A man makes the throw when a woman is feeling down. Low. Upset about her boyfriend. When she needs a little ego boost. That’s when I bring out the big guns. Not my huge cock, not my bulging biceps or very lickable abs. But my charm, you see. As in, ‘Damn you are so beautiful. You look so hot in that dress. Or my favorite, I’m trying really hard not to kiss you.’”

“You really say that?”

“The easiest ones are the under-sexed. The ones whose boyfriends are stupid enough to keep a woman waiting. All it takes is one smooth line, ‘I really don’t understand why your boyfriend doesn’t want to make love to you all the time! If I were you boyfriend I’d be all over you like grass on gridiron!’”

She stares at me.

“Err, that line usually works on football fanatics. Not neatly dressed ambitious news reporters.”

“Ah, I see. So it’s safe to say that you haven’t matured to the point where you realize cheap sex is not all there is to life.”

“Matured?” I say in giggling disbelief. “Matured? My fellow philosopher, one never matures from the joy of life! One is always living life to its fullest, is one not? If one is so tight-assed Republican that one cannot let her hair down and get it ON once in a while the WORLD feels sorry for such a one!”

She struggles not to laugh and has her tongue firmly in cheek. I’m singing like I’m on American Idol. I love the controversy. I soak it in.

“You are so full of it,” she barely says with a big smile on her face.

“Kiddo, I am bulletproof!” I say, smacking my hands together and ready for a touchdown dance. I’m dressed in my t-shirt and shorts and rocking back like a king.

Yeah I do have an ego the size of Jupiter and that’s because I’m motherfucking MVP, the man who they say – who THEY say – brought the Dallas Cowboys back to the Super Bowl. Nobody throws it like I do.”

“Right, so I’ve heard,” she says with a sneer, acting as if she’s above me.

“And it’s like, my throws are so solid it doesn’t matter who catches. A fucking dwarf could catch a ball that I throw. Because I don’t ever throw something that I know can’t land. That’s why we set the record for touchdowns this past season. I know each and every one of my players. I know when I make a good throw. And I know when a person can catch. And if he fumbles, he answers to me. Because I know what a man can catch and what he can’t.”

“Right…”

"And believe me, baby, when I throw my game at a girl, I KNOW what she can catch. And believe this, she's going to take it all. Take it ALL. You hear me? You feel me? Take everything I have coming. Take it all down like a good girl."

Brenda folds her arms and gives me a grump face. “You seem like a man who’s never been humbled.”

"That's because I never lose!" I say ebulliently. "On the field, in the bedroom, and on the mic. Win, win, win! Show me the numbers, baby!"

“Well let’s talk about the things you do OFF the field and OUT of the bedroom, Mister Jiggur. What do you have to say about the recent incident where you were involved in a fistfight outside Ralphy’s Tavern in Dallas?”

“Look,” I say with a smirk, “that whole story was blown out of proportion.”

“Oh really? Multiple scars, big fight broke out between dozens of men and all over a woman?”

“No, no, no, exaggerated. Nothing like that. Yeah I was there. Maybe I drank a little more than usual.”

I laugh heartily, mentally undressing Brenda the foxy reporter with my eyes. She’s acting all superior and professional…but I’ll be tapping that ass by midnight tonight. Every reporter wants a JUICY story to tell off the record, believe that.

"But here's the truth, Brenda. The guy I fought started it. And besides, we made up afterward. It was a misunderstanding, that's all."

“Well from what the press knows about you, you seduce women, you fight men and you don’t seem to give a damn about anyone but yourself.”

“Of course.”

“Of course that’s true? So you’re a narcissist?”

“Yes, in the eyes of the press it’s all true. See, the press, the media all those people don’t care about the truth. No one wants to hear that Nate Jiggur the baddest man in the NFL is a big puppy dog. They want the pit bull. They want the unstoppable force, the womanizing, MVP that sets the world on fire.”

“And you’re saying that’s not the real you?”

“Girl, you don’t even know me. You don’t know the first thing about the REAL ME.”

“Uh huh, well I know one thing. I don’t like to be called ‘girl’!”

I roll my eyes and snicker. Always some hot shot reporter got something to prove. Wants to tame Nate Jiggur and tell the world how she did it. There is NO taming the beast.

“All right…” I sigh. “I admit…I’m not the Nate Jiggur you see on TV. That’s not me.”

“Oh?”

“The truth is…” I lose my smile. “I just play a character for the camera. But the real me is lost. Brooding. Vulnerable.”

I keep my gaze soft as I look at her, my heart breaking. I even got the lower lip protruding. I bet if I could even make a tear roll on cue, if I needed to.

“The truth is I’ve never been in love.” I say staring straight into her soul. “And…and sometimes I wonder if I’m just beyond it. Maybe I’m not built for anything real, you know?”

“Ohhhh,” she swoons. “I knew it. I always suspected it. You’re not the player everyone says you are.”

She gets up and walks forward, eager to comfort me.

“Listen…” I say with teary eyes, almost got my tear roll going on! “How about we talk for real. And I give you a real piece of my mind?” I take a sniff.

“Yes. I would love that, Nate,” she says already getting touched in the feels.

I smile…

And…touchdown! God, I can't wait to smack that serious journalist booty tonight!

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