Mills and Boon, the famous romantic novelists, are planing to do a romance book based around the English rugby team. Not to be outdone the NZ Herald (click here) have decided to see if New Zealanders could come up with a more All Black flavoured storyline. Not to let a opportunity like this pass I have entered into this competition and have included my 300 word segment below.

WARNING: Content may offend. This blog is very explicit and contains language not appropriate for people under the age of 18. 

Stacy propped herself up on the pillow and looked across at Doug. The early morning sun had just risen over the balcony and was beginning to venture into their love nest. This was Stacy’s paradise. Doug’s curly locks hung freely as she reached over and caressed his olive skin. Despite the touch he remained asleep; his chest rising and falling with the regularity of an Aussie scrum. The bed sheets loosely hung around his waist, exposing both his rock hard abs and his Webb Ellis Trophy, as Stacy affectionately called it.

Stacy inched across and snuggled in beside him, engulfing herself in his radiating warmth. Her skin pressed against his, sending warm waves down her spine. She lay still enjoying the memories that flooded into her vision. Doug had been the dependable rock in her life. She smirked as she remembered him nervously showing her intricate backline moves with the pepper shaker during their first date. It was this shyness which had drawn Stacy to the man that lay beside her.

But Doug’s sudden jolt reminded her that things were now different. She braced herself for the onslaught which came quickly and suddenly. Doug’s body turned uncontrollably, arms thrashing wildly as he wrestled with the demons in his mind. As the linen wrapped steadfast around his torso he screamed with pain “Wayne Barnes…Wayne Barnes.”

Stacy grabbed him, held him and comforted him, as she had for the last six months since the French Test. She now accepted it was a different Doug that lay next to her. His shell; the cast-iron abs, the glowing eyes, those crushing thighs, were all the same but now something had changed. Stacy held him tight and forced his head into her bosoms as she repeated her favourite mantra, “There, there Doug Howlett, it’s just a game.”