Gender: Male Age: 24 Location: N/A
|Introduction: Follows Late Four, followed by Late Six|
Oh, boy. Practice. My favorite. Physical discomfort, questionable hygiene, pain, shouting.
“What? No. No. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.” I snatched the marker out of his hand and scribbled all over the mess of loops and circles and Xs. “You’re going to run left, I’m going to throw you the ball, and we’re going to win. We don’t need to diagram it.”
Everybody always wants to make things complicated. We should all just take a nap.
The line assembled. I could see the coach glaring at me. He’d probably spent a lot of time drawing that picture while I’d been watching the Redhead taking it from her boyfriend against the wall behind the storage building. I wasn’t interested. He blew the whistle, and I caught the ball, backpedaling, and watching for Ollie. Brett hit me like a charging bull. I slammed into the ground with him on top of me. We weigh about the same, but he felt heavier. Well, that was that. The last play of the day: me getting sacked. Talk about ending on a high note.
The sky was blue. I stared at it, wondering if this was the end. There were some people leaning over me, and the view was spoiled. Painfully, I sat up and gasped.
“Good stuff, Late.” Brett gave me a smug look, and walked away. Edie was there, looking very worried. The coach looked worried. Everybody looked worried. It wasn’t like me to get thrown down like that. I focused my eyes on the other players. How had Brett gotten through? Had Knepper folded? He must have. I saw him limping, and decided that was what it had been.
There hadn’t been anything wrong with my setup, it had been Knepper’s ankle that had sold me out. That’s the thing about football, you can be absolutely right, and still get your lights knocked out, because there are so many variables out of your control. I should’ve learned to play tennis, then when I got beaten, I’d have no one to blame but myself. This wasn’t turning into a good day. First I had to deal with Red, then my plans to nap were foiled by those two lovebirds, now I was going to have a bruise the size of a continent.
I waved everybody off, then got up. I would get over this. I was always showing Brett up; let him have his minute in the sun. Edie helped me to my feet, and I shook her off. The coach had some words for me, but I wasn’t in the mood.
“I mean, what was that? Did you fall asleep?” Brett said, throwing his helmet on the pile and picking up his towel.
“I guess so.”
“Maybe next time you should run the play.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Yeah, Brett. Milk it for all it’s worth. When my ribs healed, he was going to regret this. I wanted a nap.
“Late, I’m not impressed,” the coach said.
“I wouldn’t be either.” I gave him his glare back with change, and he backed off. I staggered toward the locker rooms, but Edie was there with me like I needed first aid or something. I could see Brett getting angry; this was a small revenge in itself. I was annoyed, and it would have been easy to do something sadistic, but I chose not to. I just got into the showers without a word.
Knepper apologized. I told him it wasn’t a big deal. Brett finally ran out of snide things to say, and I got to stand under the hot water in pain, but also in peace. The showers slowly emptied out, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I was in too much pain to move; I needed time to recharge, and work myself up to getting dressed.
“You okay?” Ollie asked, pausing beside me on his way out.
“I’m good.” It wasn’t true. He shrugged and left. The water felt nice, but I couldn’t hang around all afternoon. I turned around, being very careful about my ribs, and saw that I wasn’t alone. Brett was still here. He was across the room from me, both of his hands on the tile wall, leaning under the spray of his shower head. He wasn’t moving. From his posture, I thought that maybe he was in pain. That was funny, I hadn’t seen him take any hits.
“You all right, champ?”
“I’m fine,” he replied without looking back. I watched him for a moment, thinking. He wasn’t hurt. Was it possible? I thought it was. We’d been playing sports together for almost two years; I’d spotted him half-erect in the showers and locker rooms before. Did he have a situation over there that was preventing him from leaving? Maybe finally getting to sack his rival had given him a sense of elation that was manifesting itself in a particular way. And he was waiting for me to leave to deal with it.
I walked over to his stall and leaned against the divider.
“Hey Brett, can we talk?”
“What is it?” He sounded tense.
“Think about math problems. That’s what they do in the movies.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Turn around. What have you got to be ashamed of?”
“Dude, that is the gayest thing I have ever heard.” He continued to glare at the wall. He was probably the type that couldn’t get it up under pressure, but now that the pressure was on, he couldn’t get it down, either.
“Hey, I’m not the one getting hard in a shower full of guys.”
He looked over his shoulder and scowled at me. “Piss off.”
“No way. I’m having my revenge.”
“Are you coming onto me?”
“Hell no, I loathe you. I just want to see you suffer.”
“Do I look like I’m suffering?”
“A little.” I was trying not to laugh. “Don’t mind me. I’m not leaving.”
He turned around, looking angry. “Bro, I am going to knock you out.”
“Yeah, assault another naked guy in a shower while you’ve got an erection,” I said. “And then convince yourself you’re not gay.” Of course he wasn’t gay; he was in love with Edie. Everyone but Edie knew that. He probably wasn’t even bi; this was just one of those things that happens sometimes. It’s not a big deal if there isn’t someone like me around to provide torment. But I was there. And he’d heckled me a little more than was sportsmanlike. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
He glared at me. My expression was pleasant. He was trying very hard to keep his eyes on my face, but it wasn’t easy for him. Now that I was looking at him like this, I was thinking about how strange it was that of all the girls at our school, he would set his sights on Edie. Edie’s small and skinny. She’s a nerd, not a beauty. But Brett was fairly popular; he was big, tanned, and he had good muscle tone. He was also completely shaved downstairs, which was interesting.
And he wasn’t having any luck making that hard-on go away. I’d seen him flaccid here and there, and in that state you wouldn’t look twice at it, but that was deceptive. Like this, I was impressed. He was long, thick, and he curved up a little. He was also glistening because of the water running over him. If only Edie could see this – or that Oracle writer.
“You know how you have to get rid of it,” I said.
He gave me a disgusted look, but he looked down at me. I wasn’t hard, of course – if I was, there’d be no point to this. But I’m pretty big, and I could tell he was surprised. It wasn’t helping him. “Go on,” I said. I knew he wouldn’t actually lose his temper and knock me out. Brett and I don’t like each other, but that’s because we’re always at odds on the field. He’s not actually a bad guy, and he’s pretty civilized. He won’t throw a punch without a good reason. Though he still looked like he was pretty close. I couldn’t tell what was redder, his face, or his manhood.
But he knew it too. There was only one way he was getting out of here without making a scene. So he turned around and put one hand on the wall, and the other between his legs.
“You’re a dick,” he said without looking at me. I didn’t say anything. Nothing I could say would make him more miserable than he already was. All I had to do was stand there. I watched his back as he started to masturbate. I could picture his hand wrapped around his penis, pulling up and down. He was going fast, but trying not to look like he was going fast. He wanted this to be over with, but he wanted me to think that this wasn’t a big deal to him.
I watched the wetly gleaming muscles of his back, legs, and buttocks as he got started. Initially his head had been raised, and he’d been looking stubbornly at the tiles, but now it was bowed, and he had leaned farther forward. I could tell from his arm that his hand was working steadily.
I went around the side of the stall and leaned on the divider to look at him from the side. It was quite a view: the superbly-muscled athlete stroking his large and shapely erection, water streaming over him.
“Does this happen to you a lot?” I asked. I was curious; I’d never paid much attention to any of the guys in the shower.
“I’ll go when you do.” He gritted his teeth and continued. He was moving his hips a bit too, but it wasn’t helping him. I could see the veins in his erection throbbing. His body kept tensing, like he thought he could flex his way to orgasm. He could tell it wasn’t working. The stress of having me there was killing it for him. Not enough to make the situation go away, just enough to keep him from the edge.
Making a point of not turning toward me, he grabbed a bottle from the rack, and soaped up his shaft. Once it was fully coated, instead of pulling he began to slide his hand all the way up and down, squeezing hard. As he increased the pace, he started to breathe harder, but it was more from exertion than pleasure. He couldn’t enjoy masturbation with an audience, and the pleasure that he was feeling was bothering him - and he was feeling some. I could see his slick abs sucking in and out as he pumped faster.
“You need some help?”
“I swear,” he gasped. “You are even gayer than Sandy.”
Something about that annoyed me. Sure, Sandy looks like a girl, and despite what sometimes goes on between us, I know for a fact that he’s not gay. Though these days, he does seem to prefer me to girls. Still, I felt defensive on Sandy’s behalf. I’d have to make Brett regret saying something insensitive like that.
“I’ll give you a hand,” I said, and entered the stall.
“Dude, don’t you touch,”
I reached around and grasped him, and that cut him off. I’d never touched a penis this size before, and his whole body felt different from Sandy’s. Sandy’s firm and lithe; Brett was hard, and very hot. He’d been under the water too long, and his erection felt like it might burn me. He was covered in water and soap and sweat, so every inch of him was slippery, but I was only thinking about what was in my right hand.
Brett grunted and doubled over, and I leaned down with him. His hands were pressed against the stall dividers, holding him up, and my right picked up where his had left off. He was too surprised to react in any other way, and I realized that for him to be so overwhelmed by this, maybe this was the first time he’d ever been touched by someone else.
He tensed, and a jet of cum struck the tiles in front of him. I let him go, and his knees gave out. He went down on all fours, his hand flying to his penis to jerk out even more. He twisted to sit against the wall to finish. I watched it spew out all over his belly and chest in big, thick ropes. More was swirling around the drain. He was shaking all over. Finally his hand stopped, and fell to his side. He looked like he’d just been sacked. I’d gotten him back.
As he regained his senses, he began to look very mortified. I’d set out to give him a hard time, not traumatize him. He wasn’t even mad at me; he was horrified at himself for letting me get him off. “Relax,” I said, yawning. “You’re not gay. You had a curious moment. Get over it.”
I left him there on that note, a boneless mess on the floor of the shower, covered in his own semen and filled with guilty pleasure, probably questioning his sexuality and hating me more than ever. I know. I’m all heart.
I got dried off and dressed, then headed into the main building to see our school nurse. I wanted to make sure my ribs weren’t cracked or broken. After some painful probing, she assured me they weren’t, and expressed concern that I wouldn’t be ready for our next game. I told her I would be, and she seemed relieved. I was well aware that she was an avid gambler on our school’s teams, and more than once she’d made suggestive offers to me, intended to motivate me to win. Well, I intended to win anyway, so nothing had ever come of it. It sounded like she had quite a bit riding on our next game. I didn’t care; I went home.
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