A Football Player's Cocksucker

The days grew colder, and my sleeves grew longer, but I found myself not minding it much this year.

Usually the winter months meant that I'd get the cold weather blues. Both Michael and Dwayne were waiting for it to hit. While I liked to think it was because they cared about my well-being, it was mostly because I got excessively whiny and self-absorbed, and they loved reminding me how much they hated dealing with it.

But it wasn't coming. I was surprised, but the weeks passed and it didn't come. In fact, the colder it got the happier I got. I didn't know why, exactly, but I wasn't in the business of double-guessing good things in my life.

One evening I was contemplating taking a break from studying when I got a text. I grinned and grabbed my phone, expecting the typical, but it wasn't.

"Come bowl with me."

I stared at it for a long moment. Bowling? Bowling! Like, the sport?

It was an aberration of our text conversations. There was a long line of "Come over. Now"s, followed up with "Come bowl with me". I was annoyed; that last text stuck out longer than all the ones preceding it. I wanted to smash it down with my thumb so that it was the same length.

I frowned. I should call him up and ask what the hell he was talking about.

But no, wait, I didn't call him. I just listened to his texts.

Not that I minded listening obeying his texts, of course.

I shrugged. Hell, I was thinking of taking a break anyways, and a bit of bowling never hurt anyone. I wasn't great at bowling by any stretch of the word, but Brandon was pretty nice company. Well, good in bed, at least. Maybe that would extend to bowling. Sex and bowling had a lot in common, right?

Eh, there were long things and heavy balls. Close enough for me.

I grinned. Maybe he would be excited again, just like he was after the game. He always tried to play off being cool, but it was nice seeing him so animated. And so animated about me, too, though that was probably just because of after-game adrenaline.

I put my books away and headed out. I found Brandon squatting in front of his closet, tossing things out. Normally his room was fairly clean-or at least as much clean as you could expect from a college football player-but now things were strewn all over the floor.

I leaned against the window. His squatting tightened his jeans across his ass. I knew I admired the front of him plenty enough, but I never took much chance to admire his backside as well.

After getting as much of an eyeful I really needed, I invited myself in.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

"Bowling shoes," he grunted.

I chuckled. He had his own bowling shoes? That was pretty funny. I spotted what looked suspiciously like bowling shoes peeking out from underneath his bed, but I let him tear apart his closet for a little while longer before pointing them out.

"Oh, thanks," he muttered, fetching them. He took account of his room, running a hand through his hair, and muttered, "Shit." It was a disaster. He shrugged and muttered, "Later," and tossed his shoes in the bag on his bed. There was the smooth top of a bowling ball bag sticking out of the top as well.

He glanced at me as I stood next to his window, oddly bowling-ball-less. "Do you have your stuff?" he asked.

"I don't have stuff," I said and rolled my eyes. "I'll just rent it."

"Oh." Brandon shrugged, then pulled me close and kissed me. I blinked at him, confused. Was this kissing thing going to happen all the time now? Or maybe bowling really turned him on.

He hoisted his stuff over his shoulder and the two of us went downstairs. The rest of his frat brothers were huddled around the couch, playing some football video game. I rolled my eyes. As if playing it in real life wasn't enough for them.

They made a touchdown as we reached the front door, and their shouts of excitement drowned out the sound of the front door opening. "Going out!" Brandon called out, and one of them raised a hand in acknowledgment, but no one turned around. Thank god; I didn't want to explain why the hell I kept hanging around.

I took a deep breath as we stepped onto the front porch, and the sound from inside quickly died down as Brandon closed the door behind us. The air outside was cool and fresh, the kind of cool late-autumn nights that was comforting and inviting. Brandon put a hand on my lower back, directing me towards the parking lot a block or so down. He drove a old beat-up red Mustang with a little plastic football hanging from the rear view mirror and an old soda cup in the cup holder. Brandon tossed his gear into the backseat and got in the driver's side.

"You ever go bowling before?" he asked.

"Of course I've gone bowling," I said and rolled my eyes. "I'm just not too good at it." I raised a brow. "I guess no one else is coming with us?"

"Nah, they're playing games."

"Unlike bowling."

"Yeah."

I chuckled.

The college was a little out in the middle of nowhere, so we had to drive through ten minutes of trees to get into town. I leaned my forehead against the side window and watched the foliage zoom by as night fell. We were the only ones on the road. That was my favorite time to drive, in the dark when there was no one else out and about. It was just you and the road.

Or Brandon and the road and me in the passenger seat, but I guess that it didn't matter that much. At least I didn't have to do anything.

We were quiet on our way there, and Brandon pulled into the parking lot of the little bowling place right outside of town. I'd gone there once during my freshman year before I met Michael and Dwayne. I was still trying hard to make friends and be sociable back then, but I'd lost interest in being interesting since then. Funny how that happens when you find two friends with the exact same lame interests as you did, and those interests definitely didn't include bowling.

"Ready?" Brandon asked as we got out of the car. There was a little competitive edge to the word.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't expect a challenge. You're the one with his own bowling ball."

Brandon chuckled and we went inside.

"How much do you like bowling?" Brandon asked as he approached the counter.

"It's okay," I said and shrugged.

"Two games, then." He paid and we got lane number 3. He went to drop his stuff off and I went to the shoe rental counter.

"I'll pay," Brandon said as the shoe guy got my shoes down.

I stared at him. "What?" I asked.

"I'll pay. I asked you out here, I'll pay for you."

"I... well, okay." I shrugged. I sure as hell wasn't gonna say "No" to free rentals.

"You want anything to eat?" Brandon asked as he paid for my shoes.

"What, are you paying for that, too?"

"Sure."

I laughed. "Way to spoil me!" I said.

He smirked. "I'll get us some nachos."

He got us some nachos, cheese fries, and some sodas, and I put my shoes on. He put in our names as "BRAN" and "TINY" and refused to listen to my complaints, but I guess that's what happens when you let a guy pay for you.

I wasn't very good at bowling, but apparently sometimes I was on my game, and I actually managed to kind of keep up with Brandon throughout our first game. It wasn't unusual for me to end up with a score somewhere in the 70s at the end, but I was already in the 90s at the 8th round.

"Not doing too bad, Tiny," Brandon said, ruffling my hair. I scoffed at him.

"It's cause you're a shitty bowler," I said. Brandon's score, in comparison, was almost up to 120.

"It's all in the wrist," Brandon said, and made a subtle, lewd gesture. I flushed and looked away. He laughed and went up for his turn.

After the first game I'd actually managed to pass 100 points, at 102, and Brandon had 129.

"Beat you by 27 points," he said and ruffled my hair again, then lowered his hand to the back of my neck.

"Oh, I'm heartbroken," I said and rolled my eyes. "Bowling's just my absolute favorite game, and some lame amateur just beat me."

Brandon laughed again. That cool facade that he always had going on was starting to relax, and I could see the excited post-win Brandon I saw after the football game. He jumped to his feet when the second game started to bowl first.

"You want a burger?" I asked as he went up to the lane.

"Huh? Don't pay for it, they're expensive."

"What, you expect me to sneak into the back and steal one?" I chuckled. It's not like I was ready to see how bowling alley burgers were made.

"I've got a twenty," he said and started patting down his pockets.

"Come on," I groaned. "Just let me pay."

"But I don't want you to," he whined.

I stared at him. "You want to pay for everything?" I asked.

"Yeah." He put his ball back on the ball holder and fished his wallet out.

"Why? That's weird."

"Then you pay next time."

"Fine!" I snapped.

"Fine." He held out a twenty. "The bacon burger."

"I'm taking you out somewhere expensive, then," I continued.

"You'd better, I've spent like sixty bucks on you this evening."

I snatched the twenty out of his hand and got the burgers. I came back to Brandon's first strike of the game.

I played worse the second game as sleepiness chewed into me. I flopped sideways over the chairs and yawned.

"Tired, Tiny?" Brandon asked, ruffling my hair.

I stretched. "What time is it?"

"After nine."

"Man." I laid across three chairs and closed my eyes. "That's not that late."

"A little bit of bowling is probably more exercise than you've gotten in the last two months."

I flushed. "Shut up."

He was quiet for a moment. I heard the bowling system beeping, indicting for the next player to go up.

"You look cute," Brandon said quietly.

I opened my eyes. "What?" I asked.

He shrugged. "You're all tired."

"That makes me cute?"

"Sure."

I rolled my eyes and closed them again. Brandon got up to play his turn. When he got back, I told him to just play for me, but after prodding me in the side with his pointy shoes I finally managed to get myself up.

At the end Brandon played even better, hitting the 130s, whereas I barely got to 81. I yawned as we returned the rented shoes and got back out to the car.

We were driving in the darkness. Brandon kept glancing at me.

"Hey," he said.

"Hmm?"

"Stay over tonight."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Sleep over tonight. In my room."

"Why?"

"Because I want you to," he said simply.

I smirked. "You think you can just get whatever you want just because you want it?" I asked.

"You think I can't?" he asked with a dark tone in his voice. He turned on the hazard lights and pulled over to the side of the road.

"What're you-" I started, but he got out of the car and walked around it to my side. He opened my door, unbuckled my seat belt, and pulled me out of the car. "What are you doing!" I said and stumbled on the gravel on the side of the road.

He pushed me forward against the hood of the car and pressed his body against mine. "You think I can't get whatever I want?" he cooed. I bit my lip. We were out in the middle of nowhere, and his body pinned mine against his car. His hand wormed down my front and between my legs. I jumped as he touched my balls through my pants. "What if I wanted you? I bet you'd just let me have you, wouldn't you, faggot?"

A warmth filled my body, and I squirmed. I was getting hard, fast, from his touch, his words, his breath on my ear. I wanted to argue, say "No," but he would easily tell that I was lying.

"You'd do whatever I wanted if I was rough, wouldn't you. Maybe I should stop asking..." He sucked on my earlobe, making me whimper. "Hmm?" He bit the back of my neck and nudged my feet apart. He grabbed my ass, then started undoing the front of my pants.

I huffed and pressed my face against the warm hood of the car, feeling the rumble of the engine against my body, against my cock. Brandon yanked my pants down, exposing my ass to the cool autumn evening air, then pressed himself up against me again. I could feel his cock, already hard, through his jeans. He pulled it out and laid it out between my buttcheeks.

"Feel how hot I am for you?" he asked and thrust several times. "You're making me so hard..."

I whimpered and pressed my face into the car.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asked.

I nodded, not saying a word.

I wasn't sure where he got the lube, but his lubed up cock was now aimed at my entrance. I bit my lip. We'd never done it without him finger fucking me before. I didn't know how it was going to feel, or if it was going to hurt-

I let out a soft little moan as he slid inside of me. It was rougher, hurt a little more, but once his cock was inside of me, suddenly I didn't care. All I could think about was his cock in my ass and his hips against mine.

"So warm," Brandon muttered and fisted his hand in my hair, and started to fuck me slowly. I winced as he lubed up my ass by fucking it, but I couldn't stop myself from jerking my hips back against him, wanting more. He picked up speed, fucking me against the hood of his Mustang.

He pushed up the back of my shirt and started planting little kisses along the back of my shoulders. I shivered against the cool air, but his cock inside me and his mouth on my skin kept me warm. My body throbbed with his dick inside of me.

"I should fuck you over my car more often," he muttered and ground his hips against mine. I couldn't respond, just braced myself against the car so I could rock back against him.

He picked up more speed, and I could feel him swelling inside of me. He yanked me back against him as he came deep inside me, then placed one more kiss on my back before yanking my shirt down and pulling himself out.

He stepped back, freeing me, and I stumbled slightly. My legs were shaking and my cock was still rock hard. I fumbled with my pants, shoving my throbbing cock in them and tripping my way back into the passenger seat.

Brandon sat behind the wheel and tossed the little bottle of lube he had back into the glove compartment. I didn't even notice him taking it out; when did that happen?

I pressed my head back against the headrest, trying to calm myself down. I was still brimming with so much pre-orgasmic energy that I couldn't sit still.

"So," I said, trying to get my mind off things, "was that whole bowling thing just so you could fuck me over your car?"

Brandon scoffed. "If all I wanted to do was fuck you over my car, I'd just drag you out to my car. Don't need to spend sixty bucks to get you bending over."

"What's with the lube, then?"

"Just in case."

I sighed. My erection was just not going away.

"What's wrong?" Brandon asked innocently.

"God, shut up," I muttered. I wasn't going to drag it out and jerk off right in front of him in his damn Mustang. That would be too much.

But Brandon had other things in mind. He reached over, blindly groping for a bit before unzipping my pants and pulling my cock out.

"What're you..." I muttered as he started stroking me. I grunted and jerked my hips uncontrollably up. "Fuck..." It was so hot that he was driving with one hand and jerking me off with the other. I moaned and wriggled in my seat, getting his hand right where I wanted it as he stroked me. "Mmm-ah-" I came hard, still with memories of his cock inside of me flooding my mind. I coated his hand and dripped down onto my pants.

I collapsed against the chair, breathing heavily. "Jeez," I muttered.

Brandon held his hand up so he could see it in the town street lights. It was covered in my cum that shimmered in the poor light. Then he licked some of it up.

I stared, slack-jawed, as he slowly worked his tongue around each of his fingers, lapping up everything I gave him.

"Fuck," I muttered as he cleaned up his hand. I grunted and rubbed my thighs together as my cock struggled to stay erect.

"So," Brandon asked. "Stay over?"

"S-sure," I muttered, my eyes still wide. Why was that so hot?

Brandon grinned. "See? I always get what I want."

I flushed.

I wasn't sure what staying over at his place would be like, but it turned out to be pretty innocuous, all things considered. We listened to music and cuddled on his bed. He slid in behind me and wrapped his arms around me and pressed his face into the crook of my neck. His hands roamed underneath my shirt and gave me a few innocent gropes here and there, but I was too tired to respond, and I think he was too tired to care.

I found it pretty easy to fall asleep that night.