The Texas heat at practice on Wednesday was overwhelming, like being scorched in a desert sun for hours. My sweat felt like a layer of glue encasing me in sticky, smelly, armor. When coach finally called off practice (only fifteen minutes early), half of us literally fell to the ground out of exhaustion. Some of the younger guys were even throwing up; it was worse than the war of a Friday night game.
Most of the team immediately started trudging toward the locker room within seconds, a procession of bruised soldiers that I’d go to battle for any day. My eyes found Nash nearby and I took a deep breath, ready to get this over with.
He was pulling off his helmet, his dark, sweat-dampened hair sticking to his forehead, when I called to him.
“Hey, Nash!” I called out, my voice sounding more aggressive than I intended.
He turned, his eyes scanning the field until they landed on me. A sour look crossed his face. “What’s up? What do you need?” It was all business between us now.
I jogged over to him, my cleats sinking into the soft turf. “Hey, Coach,” I said, nodding over to him. He was gathering up the last of the practice cones. “Can Nash and I stay back for a bit? We wanted to go over a couple of defensive schemes.”
It was a plausible lie. As co-captains of the defense, we did it all the time. Coach grunted his approval. “Fine, but don’t be out here all night and don’t think about changing any of the plans for Friday.”
“Yessir,” we said in unison.
Coach headed off, his footsteps heavy on the gravel path leading towards the locker room. We were alone.
“So, what’s this scheme you’re so worried about?” he asked, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He tossed his helmet onto the bench and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. I didn’t sit. I couldn’t. I paced in front of him, my cleats digging little divots into the grass. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides. “It’s not about a scheme, man, come on.”
He frowned, his brow furrowing. “No shit, idiot. What do you want?”
“I needed to talk to you about everything. Alone, obviously…”
His posture shifted and he sat up straighter.
I stopped pacing and finally looked at him. “I have to apologize. I fucked up so bad.”
Bradley’s expression was a mixture of intrigue and frustration. “For?”
My throat went tight. “You know what for, dude, come on.”
He scoffed; a humorless, angry sound. “Nope. No clue what you could possibly be talking about…”
“Fine, asshole. Be like that,” I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat and forced myself to continue. “He…he didn’t randomly try to get with me. I lied. But only about that detail.”
Bradley stared at me, his face a blank mask. He didn’t say anything and just searched my eyes. “Go on…”
“We…talked on an app. I didn’t know it was him that I was talking to…”
“And what app was that, Jason?” He looked impatient.
“Does it matter?” I heard my own voice raise a bit in anger that I was under such a spot light.
“Is that a real question for me?” He didn’t yell, but he was cold. Ice cold. It was the voice he used on the field when he was annoyed with a younger teammates who wasn’t doing something right.
“Okay, I’m a fucking coward, ha ha, I get it.” I said; the confession ripping out of me. “You want me to say I’m gay? That I talked to him on an app for hooking up with men? Fine, all of that, yes, true, all of it! Happy now? I’m not ashamed of it!” Even as I spoke it, I did feel embarrassment. There was no emotional weight lifted off my shoulders, like in the movies.
He stood up, and suddenly I felt very small. He was a good fives inches (12cm) taller than me, and right now, he looked like a giant; an angry giant. “I still can’t believe you thought you could make up shit about my dad like that. You’re fucked up!”
This was it. The point of no return. I could try to backpedal, to make up another lie to get out of this exchange, but I was so tired of lying.
I took a deep breath, the air burning my lungs. “Did you hear me? I’m gay, Nash. I’ve known for years, it’s fucking hard, and I fucked up so bad the last few weeks. I’m sorry.”
Even with what Mr. Nash had said, I fully expected disgust, anger, an inevitable gay joke. I expected him to shove me, to call me a faggot, to walk away and never speak to me again. But he didn’t. He blinked a few times, as if trying to reboot his brain.
“Right…” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
I kept going. “I’ve known for a while. I…I’ve been hooking up with guys for years. On apps. Strangers…”
I watched him process the new information. His eyes darted from my face, down to the ground, then back up again. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tick I’d seen a million times before a big play.
“Thanks for…telling me finally…” he started, his voice trailing off.
I had to force the next words out and felt ashamed. “Like I said…we met on an app. A gay hookup app. I went to meet him. And I panicked when I realized who he was. I was so afraid you’d find out, so I made up that story about him coming on to me. It was a shitty, horrible thing to do. And I am so sorry, man. Clearly, I haven’t been as in control as I thought I was…”
I could feel my heart pounding in my ears.
He stood up and walked over to me. He put a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and steady. It was the same way he’d grab my shoulder pad on the field to tell me a play. It was grounding.
“Fuck…fine…we’re good, Jason,” he said, his voice low and serious. He looked me straight in the eye. “On the gay stuff, it’s fine. I’m still angry about the other stuff though dude, it’s just really fucked up. I need some time to process it.”
“I get it, Nash,” I managed to choke out. “I know it was stupid. I’ve been…going a little crazy this year. Fucking strangers and hiding it, overplaying my hand bragging to the guys as if it were with girls. Maybe it was fucking me up more than I realized. I fucked up. Bad.”
He slowly nodded again. “My dad told me to forgive you. He said it had to be really fucking hard to be in your spot right now.”
I couldn’t believe Mr. Nash was still in my corner, even behind the scenes. “Your dad is awesome, man. I really needed the wake up call.”
“I understand.” He forced a small grin. I could see him processing and trying to get to a point of forgiveness.
“I want to make it up to you,” I said, my voice dropping lower. I remembered what Mr. Nash had told me. I took a step closer to him, closing the distance between us. “Seriously. Any way I can. I owe you and I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for being a douche…”
I let my eyes drift down his body, from his face, down his chest, to the waistband of his pants, and then back up to meet his gaze. I didn’t have to say the words. The insinuation was clear. I was offering myself up, if he wanted it, as a peace offering. As if it were something I hadn’t been dying to do for years, anyway…
Bradley’s eyes widened slightly as he caught my meaning. A flicker of surprise passed through his expression before he let out a short laugh. It wasn’t a mean laugh, just one of genuine disbelief.
“Dude…what?” he said, shaking his head. “No. We’ll be good. Seriously. I don’t need…that.” He gestured vaguely between us. “I don’t like dick J….” He laughed and I felt a little ridiculous and set up. Maybe I deserved that.
“Uhh right…sorry…I just meant, like…right…” I paused and felt awkward. “But just so you know, I wouldn’t expect anything in return,” I said. I held his gaze, pouring every ounce of sincerity I had into my eyes. “It would just be for you. A way to say I’m sorry. No strings. No one would ever have to know.”
I watched him. I saw the way his neck bobbed as he swallowed. He didn’t laugh this time. The grin was gone and replaced by an unreadable expression. Was he considering it?
“Let’s go up to the team, dude. This is getting weird.” He put a hand on my shoulder again to ease the tension, but his message was clear.
When we got back up to the locker room, it was its familiar chaos. Lockers were slamming shut, guys were shouting about their practice wins, the upcoming game Friday, and the girls they’d been hooking up with at school. Usually, I was in the center of it, the loudest voice, the shit stirrer, but not today. I did my usual routine and wrapped a towel around my waist as I pulled my football pants down and off, before walking to the third row of showers farthest from everyone else.
I stepped into an individual shower stall at the far end of the row, pulled the curtain shut, and let the scalding water beat down on my shoulders. I needed to wash the grime of practice off, but more than that, I needed to wash away the nervous energy I’d been carrying. Water streamed over my hair, down my chest, and over the six-pack I worked so damn hard for. I closed my eyes, just wanting a moment of peace.
That’s when I felt it. A hand, firm and warm, gripped my shoulder. My whole body went rigid. I whipped around, ready to shove whoever was fucking with me, but my throat went dry.
Nash was staring down at me with his pointer finger over his mouth, in a “shh” position, his eyes looking petrified about the risk he’d taken sneaking into my stall. I didn’t even know how he could’ve come in with no one noticing. He must’ve been watching for at least a minute for the perfect time to make a move inside.
He stood in front of me, crowding the entrance to my small stall just inside the curtain, his 6’3” frame seeming to block out the light. I shot him a look of “what the fuck are you doing!?” His lips, framed by his rugged five-o’clock shadow, curled into a slow, wicked grin. I couldn’t help but look down at his hairy chest, stomach, and groin, which was a forest of pubes. Beneath it, sat a nice, hefty, soft dick that poked out from the hair. I’d seen it before, changing in the locker room, but never this close and always in secret. He was such a man. Large, muscular, handsome, and aggressive looking.
Before I could process everything, he shifted his weight. He was still grinning at me, maintaining intense eye contact, as I felt heat hit my leg. I looked down again to see a hot, forceful stream splashing against my thigh and calf. My brain short-circuited.
“Dude, what the fuck!” I whispered, but my own outburst quickly turned into a wild laugh bubbling from my chest. I found myself trying to quiet my laughter at how ridiculous he was. He grinned back at me and suddenly, we were back. This was no different than the bullshit pranks we’d been pulling on each other our whole lives but now there was obviously an underpinning of meaning behind such a ridiculous act.
He kept grinning, the sound of our mingled laughter barely audible over the shower and the chaos outside our curtained room.
When he finished, he shook himself like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say a word and lowered his gaze, pointing at me, then down at his dick. “Suck it.” He mouthed, with no audible sound behind his words.
There was no negotiation. No discussion. It was a command. An answer to the offer I’d asked on the field. I didn't hesitate.
Dropping to my knees on the tiled floor felt like coming home after our conflict the last few weeks. The water fell over my back as I looked up at him. His expression was unreadable, his jaw tight, as he looked up and away from me, probably trying to imagine I was some girl. I reached out, my hand wrapping around the base of his penis. It was thick and the tight cut of his foreskin was perfect. The nest of dark, wet hair at his groin was rough against my knuckles. I wasted no time in taking his semi-hard cock into my mouth.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound I knew from the football field but had never heard directed at me like this. His taste was already clean from the shower water. I licked up the length of him, teasing the head, feeling it pulse and start to thicken in my mouth. This was what I was good at. I knew how to do this; how to please.
His hand came down, tangling in my wet blonde hair, and it wasn’t gentle. He gripped a fistful, tilting my head back, forcing me to take him deeper. There was no tenderness, no romance. This was raw and aggressive, and I fucking loved it. Every rough thrust, every demanding pull of my hair, sent shivers of pleasure through me. I was his. In this moment, I was nothing but a mouth for his pleasure.
“Yo where’s Nash?” We heard one of our teammates yell from the locker room. Nash’s hand suddenly held my head in place, his other one rushing to his face in a “BE QUIET” motion. I wiggled away from his hand and slowly sucked down, deep throating his whole cock, and watching him squirm in an attempt to stay completely silent. His mouth gaped open and he silently communicated a ‘stop, quiet!’ to me.
I ignored him and buried his dick down into my throat, and heard him squeak a high-pitched moan through his efforts to stay quiet. After it sounded like whoever was in the hallway disappeared, Nash reached down and lightly tapped my cheek, almost as if he were slapping me as punishment. It only turned me on more.
I pulled back to make sure I savored a full view of his hard cock. Holding it in my hand and slowly jerking it, I sized it up at probably about six and a half inches (17cm), but definitely thicker than mine by a good amount. I looked up at him and saw he was still staring straight ahead. I rubbed the hair on his stomach to get his attention.
What? He mouthed down at me.
I smiled back, jerking his cock up and down, slow and seductively.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. You like it? He mouthed again.
I nodded slowly and took the head back into my mouth, sticking my tongue out to show off how much I wanted to lick and pleasure his head.
While I kept up on his mouth, my free hand went exploring. I reached around his thick thigh, my fingers finding the curve of his ass. It felt exactly like it looked. Solid muscle under a hairy, rough texture. I kneaded his ass, squeezing his strong glutes, digging my fingers in. He grunted in response, his hips bucking harder against my face. He was so damn strong. Such a man.
His breathing becoming harsh gasps. He pulled my head back further, his grip tightening. He started fucking my face with short, brutal thrusts that slammed him against the back of my throat. I gagged, but it was a sound of submission that I loved. I could tell he was close from how his big ass cheeks squeezed in my hand.
He drove into me one last time, his whole body tensing up and I watched his mouth go agape as he tried to fight back his moans. Cum poured into my throat. It was hot and thick, and I swallowed every last drop, my eyes locked upward at his face in a state euphoric release. I didn’t want to waste a single bit of him; that was my apology.
I stayed on my knees, panting, as he slowly pulled out of my mouth. His chest was heaving, his eyes glazed over with a post-orgasmic haze. He leaned down, his voice a low whisper that stayed quieter than the water.
“Apology accepted.” He gave a sharp, definitive nod. And then, as quickly and silently as he had appeared, he poked his head out, saw no one around, and was gone.
The plastic curtain swished shut, leaving me alone in the stall, the water slowly rinsing me clean. I stayed there on my knees for a long moment, the taste of him still on my tongue.
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