I wouldn’t say she’s a slut, but her favourite shade of lipstick is penis. - Kristen Proby

October 10, 2023 :: 7:55 PM

I could have written this scene, but I didn’t. Elle Kennedy beat me to it.

I’m still on my mission to read EVERY. SINGLE. hockey romance out there.

FUUUUUUUUCK. There are a lot of them.

I’ve been trying to focus on the MM ones, but every once in a while, I’ll read a MF one. As a palate cleanser.

Because even this girl can’t take that much dick 24/7/365.


That didn’t come out quite right.

(In case you couldn’t guess it, I’m all about the dicks tonight. (AGAIN!) I blame Elle Kennedy. I just finished her book The Deal and it was so well written. Not the hockey stuff, because it never is, but I flat out fucking DIED when I got to the part about the penises.)

Story time, kids!

A thousand years ago, in a much different lifetime, I got a part-time job working for the Men’s Ice Hockey team at my college.

True story - Coach told me he had had a problem with the former Team Manager keeping her legs shut. He most definitely couldn’t get away with saying it now, but I appreciated how honest he was. Fucking the players would get me fired. Period. And there was no way I was losing out on (what was then) the job of a lifetime because he thought I was easy.

Alternatively, as Vaddo once told me, in typical Vaddo fashion, “Dobbsey was a vending machine. You could get whatever you wanted from her.”


I told Coach that I liked girls.

I’m pretty sure we both knew I was lying, but I made a point to act like the last thing I cared about was the boys.

Of course, lines were blurred from time to time over the two seasons I worked for the team - sometimes, I don’t think any of us knew what my job was.

I would patrol the hotel halls on road trips to make sure the guys weren’t getting ‘spice’ after curfew. (Oh, dear god, was there a lot of post-curfew spice after that one game at Bowdoin. Like there was an ENTIRE spice rack in the hotel that night.)

I was the target of their pranks. The little sister they wanted to protect. The girl who would often rescue players from the more obnoxious puck fucks.

(No, dude. You don’t understand. You can call them puck bunnies all you want, but if the girls weren’t spice, they were puck fucks. It’s an important distinction.)

I had a few beers ‘spilled’ on me. I drove more than one player home after a night at Huskies.

I was the one that players would confide in.

I was even the one who took A FUCKING SNAKE home over Christmas because it couldn’t go home with the player and he didn’t want the snake to be alone in the dorm.  (Thank fuck I didn’t have to feed it over break. It was bad enough being in the boys’ room the one day they did feed it. I will never be able to unsee the snake swallowing the mouse, nor the mouse sized lump inside the snake.)

At that point, UConn was still playing in an OUTDOOR ice rink.


We had a small warming hut and two locker rooms. There was ONE restroom in the warming hut. ONE.

Needless to say, if the boys had to piss, they weren’t doing it in the restroom.

Nope. They used the garbage can in the center of the locker room.

Ask me how I know.

Go ahead.

I dare you.

Let’s set the scene:

It’s the first home game of the season and your girl Wendell Gee has absolutely no fucking idea what she has gotten herself into.

Home games are different from practices are different from hanging out in the hockey office… I thought I knew those boys. I didn’t think there was much left that could shock me.

I. Was. Wrong.




Here I am. It’s the first home game with my boys, we’re between periods, and I’ve been told to get something and bring it to the locker room.

Not a single thought went through my head except to get the thing and give it to Coach.

In retrospect, I’m pretty sure it was a test.

Fuck pretty sure.

It was definitely a test.

Because when I walked in, Coach was nowhere to be seen, but





I caught sight of the two captains using the garbage can as a urinal first and then I looked around the room slowly.

I could tell I had their undivided attention as I bounced from penis to penis.

(Oh god, I didn’t mean that literally.)

I think it might have been Captain Douchey McDoucheface who shook himself off and asked me if I liked what I saw.

I believe my exact words were “Mine is bigger.”

(It’s amazing how much your relationship with a guy (or 28 of them) changes once you let them know that you’re not impressed by their snack size weenie…)