I woke up to the scorching sunlight burning my retinas. It didn't feel like it was going to be a merry day. I coerced myself to get over the feeling of getting up at the wrong side of the bed and dragged myself to the bathroom. I guess I was just fairly intimidated by 'researching' and having to write about something absolutely foreign to me. I've never known or met a 'jock' in my life, let alone know about the slightest inkling of his behaviour. I finished secondary school at fourteen and was bestowed my Bachelor's degree in Mass Communication at seventeen. What do you expect?
I brushed my teeth and had a quick shave before I met my punching bag and started boxing it like a beast. I was so confused. I just got the vocation of my dreams yet I felt no sense of excitement. After almost an hour of non-stop anger venting, I stripped off my clothes drenched in my sweat and took a hot tranquillising shower.
I stepped out, assuming that it was going to be a chilly afternoon; I slipped on a pair of slim dark jeans and a grey V-neck under a navy cardigan that shaped my well-defined muscles built through months of hard work. There, the perfect attire for my first day of work. I grabbed my laptop, slid my tiny notebook and a pen into my back pocket and made a beeline to the kitchen downstairs.
"Morning, Mummy." I announced, kissing her on her left cheek as I snatched a green apple and rushed to the door.
"No breakfast?" she inquired.
"Bye, Mum." I ignored, instantly having a chilly feeling down my spine as if I was still back home in Vancouver. When I hopped on my car I discovered I was a little bit early, but I headed down to the address I was given anyway. A frustrating half an hour later, I found myself lost in the middle of unfamiliar roads in the big city and reached my destination late. In fact, I almost went headed down to the United States without knowing.
"Is this Northbrook University?" I questioned a security guard in his booth with my head protruding out the side window of my car. He uttered nothing but smile sarcastically while pointing his mug of what I believed read '#1 Dad' to a rather massive sign of the college name. Already agitated by almost an hour of aimless driving, I honked my car horn and watched him spill coffee all over himself.
I found a car lot and hurried out to find the campus stadium. Lost again, I decided to relinquish my ego and ask for directions. Just my luck, I learnt that it was situated at the other end of the college. I was late. I was supposed to meet one of the players from the school rugby team before a friendly match with another school, but it was probably halfway through when I ultimately appeared there. They called themselves the Musks. What a douche-baggy name.
I scoured the seating area for a good view of the humongous field of large men chasing each other. Since it was a friendly match, there wasn't a crowd. Only a group of students scattered across the seating area that could possibly fit ten thousand. I approached the nearest group.
"Hey, can I join you guys?" I asked, to which they consented.
"So... which ones are the Musks? I inquired innocently. I was left flabbergasted as they all started laughing hysterically.
"You're obviously not a student here," a girl with flowing blonde hair commented. "The Musks are in white. I'm Olivia, by the way."
I paused, unsure of why she introduced herself in such a hurry. "Tristan."
Before getting another pinch of embarrassment by asking 'what's the other team?', I chanced upon a black screen that appears small juxtaposed with the gargantuan stadium.
Musks vs. Baudelaires
"Why are you here, anyway?" she asked with her right fist propping her head, gazing at me that made me a little uncomfortable.
"I'm interviewing one of the players in a while." I responded.
"Well, you better get down quick, the game's ending soon."
True enough, the game ended shortly after I arrived at the side of the field. While the big, muscly players do the obligatory handshakes, I spotted a man in his early forties hugging a clipboard.
"Obviously the coach," I thought.
I strutted next to him. "Are you the coach of the Northbrook Musks?"
He replied with an exasperated frown, "Yes. You are?"
"I'm Tristan Oakley. I'm from Colt Magazine." I offered a hand shake. "I'm looking for Adam... Keytor? Kahy-ter? However that's pronounced."
"I was expecting you to come a lil' earlier, son." He said with the frown still stuck on his face. He pointed to the group of men in white tops and short white shorts that barely covered their thighs, huddled together in the field, "He's right over there." I advanced to the field to meet my interviewee.
"Adam Keytor?" I called loudly, trying to battle the deep chants of the winning Baudelaires.
"What?!" One of them turned. He paused and his irritated expression turned abashed.
"Oh, sorry," he said, leaving the huddle and walking towards me.
"Yeah?" He responded while scratching his dark brown hair and wiping sweat off his forehead.
"Tristan Oakley." I pronounced slowly as he looked a bit dizzy.
"Oh shit, man. I'm sorry. I was supposed to meet you before the match but I like, totally forgot," still scratching his head, smiling cheekily in embarrassment. Since I was also the one who came late I realised we both spaced out but I decided to let him take the blame. He turned back to see that his team has left the field.
"You're here to interview me right? Can we do it inside? It's freezing out here." He suggested as his fixed his bright blue eyes on me. I wondered where he meant by 'inside'. I followed him to what appears to be the locker room before he spun around and grabbed my upper arm, pushing me into the room.
He stood close behind me and laid both his hands on arms while squeezing my biceps, exclaiming to his fellow team mates, "Hey guys this is Tristan! He's the guy from the magazine I was talking ab-oo-t." His slight accent made me smile a bit. "He's gonna stay with us for a couple of months."
After being acknowledged by hard punches on my chest by some of the guys, Adam pulled me into the middle of the locker room before I could even introduce myself officially but I figured that was already done. I examined the place. It wasn't so bad. I could survive being here for two whole months. Just a few jockstraps thrown indiscriminately around the wooden benches and the air smelt only lightly putrid, like the smell of my own sweat magnified tenfold. Honestly, I expected far worse. I settled on the bench a metre from him.
"Ok, white boy, let's start with the basics." I began, flipping through my notebook and getting my pen ready.
"Tell me everything about yourself – your age, your major, your position in the team, where you live – everything.
"Ummm..." He muttered, turning around to crack a big blue locker open. "I'm eighteen, I major in Ling..." he puckered his lips, strenuously struggling to unravel the laces of his rugby boots. "...guistics. I'm the half-back. I live downtown?" His questioning tone at the end indicating he's out of ideas what he should say. I'm assuming he isn't a good ice-breaker.
"How did you get in the famous Musks?" I aided.
He scratched his head like he always did when he was confused. "I dunno, I guess I just kinda like rugby."
"He...just...kinda...likes...rugby..." I voiced satirically while noting it down.
He giggled, "Fuck off." He learned over his locker to balance himself while he slips boots and knee-high socks off. "Do you play rugby?"
"I think I'm more of a hockey kind of guy." I affirmed. I watched him tuck his shirt out and the room started to get a little steamy as the men in the room undressed themselves before they hit the showers. Before I could excuse myself out of the locker room to offer him some privacy I was halted.
"Why do you need to ask so much stuff anyway? You're gonna be stuck here with me for two months. I guess that'll give you plenty of time to know me."
"Great." I murmured when I realised I had to spend sixty long days just for a stupid article. My seemingly innocuous remark was apparently a little too harsh for the big boy's feelings.
"Oh..." Adam whispered, his eyes and voice dropping to the floor. "Coach said he needed someone to help you with the article. I just volunteered... If you're not really comfortable with me I can try to get someone else to help."
"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. For what it's worth, I'm quite excited." I smiled.
"O.K." he laughed. "You should be. Anyway, you're starting tomorrow morning bright and early." He smirked before grabbing the bottom hem of his jersey and gently taking it off, unveiling a beautiful, muscular body underneath.
"Can you pass me my towel there, man?" I jumped and caught myself staring at him. What was I doing? I grabbed the white towel resting beside me and tossed it at him. I pretended to scribble some notes as he began uninteresting chatter with a guy who previously introduced himself as Nate. Adam wiped the sweat off his face with his towel, only giving me another opportunity to survey the muscles on his chest, his arms, and his broad shoulders. His pumped, athletic chest, his washboard abs and the muscles creating teasing lines that go down hidden under his shorts. I tried to look away before he removed the towel off his face, only to lay my eyes on other stripping men.
What the hell was I doing?
As he became increasingly engrossed with his conversation with Nate he calmly unravelled the knots that tighten his white shorts and glided it down to his feet, leaving him with nothing but tight black spandex shorts hanging low down his waist hugging his strong trunk thighs. My heart was beating faster. Doesn't this place have a changing room of sorts? But I wasn't complaining.
He strode next to me and bent over to the benches to reach his black sports bag, which I didn't realise was right behind me. As he retrieved his water bottle I couldn't help but to take a whiff of the strong musky smell when his body grew closer. I turned away to make it seem less obvious but the scent of this sweaty hunk was intoxicating; a strange feeling bred inside me. I was having an erection.
"Stop!" I rumbled silently to myself, biting my lips.
"Hey, are you ok?" he placed his fingers on my jaw and pushed it so I would face him. His gorgeous sky blue eyes anchored sternly on mine. "You look a little light-headed." He smirked and gave me a light tap on my cheek.
Quickly, he was distracted by Nate resuming their conversation about a mundane account of Nate's brother in the military. I, on the other hand, was distracted by a dog tag hanging around his neck by a silver chain, settling itself in between his smooth ripped pecs. He combed his fingers down his short, dark hair before he took a mouthful of water.
After placing the bottle on the shelf of his locker and still in the midst of busily yakking with his fully-clothed team mate, his thumbs dug beneath the band of his spandex shorts and casually began to lower it down, gradually, revealing a teasing amount of a dark half-shaven bush little by little. My heart throbbed violently and I could feel my erection getting rock hard before he finally lowered it down, exposing his manhood.
I could feel a warm feeling in my stomach but I couldn't explain why. I've never looked at a guy this way. I wanted to leave but...
He took it all off and tossed it into his locker. My eyes lingered on a drop of sweat at the back of his ear that trailed down his muscular neck before slithering below his collarbone and his wide hunky chest and winding past between the each crevice of his abs; down his smooth shaven testicles.
I shook my head vigorously in hopes of recouping myself.
"I gotta go," I said, downright disconcerted. I calmly rushed out of the door as my heart raced.