First Down
The next three days were a special kind of torture. My mind – normally my greatest asset – had become my own personal enemy. It replayed the scene in the bar on a loop, in slow motion, in high definition. The way he looked at me. The feel of his hands. His mouth wrapped around my shaft. The taste of him. That flat stomach. Those fucking legs. The sheer, cataclysmic stupidity of the aftermath as I called him Lockjaw.
I threw myself into workouts until my muscles screamed, trying to exhaust the memory. I suddenly wished practice would start sooner. I tried fishing. I tried to read. I tried to woodwork. I contemplated learning how to actually build a deck, then remembered the cabin I was in was rented. My hands, which could thread a ball through a needle at sixty yards, were shaking.
I was losing it.
On the third evening of trying to distract my own inner demons and my internal lust for Lachlan Lockjaw Steele, my personal cell phone, the one with about three numbers in it, buzzed on the counter. An unknown number. My heart tried to climb out of my throat. I let it go to voicemail. But there was no message left. A minute later, a text popped up.
Unknown: this sharpe?...its steele
I stared at the words. My first thought was How the hell did he get this number? Followed quickly by He's going to blackmail me. My third thought was no capitals? Followed quickly by why did his words read like he was part caveman?
My final thought, the one I barely listened to because it was usually tied to pessimism, was a flicker of hope that he wanted another blow job. Maybe he wanted to see me again as much as I wanted to see him.
I waited five long minutes before responding with such an intellectual question.
Me: How did you get this number?
No, that didn’t sound remotely defensive or stupid. I was about to try to edit the message but he immediately he responded.
i have my ways…we need to talk…in person…not the bar...somewhere private
And that’s how I found myself the next afternoon guiding the beat-up old boat into the exact center of the lake, far from the shorelines and any prying binoculars in the beginning of June. At least this way my eyes were gazing elsewhere, steering the boat forward, scanning the water for others, trying my hardest NOT to stare at the superstar NHL goalie sitting across from me looking even more handsome and hot in the daylight.
Lachlan Steele sat across from me, looking massive and out of place in the water craft that suddenly seemed much smaller with him in it, his gaze fixed on the water as well, frowning, not saying anything. His blonde hair, free from the winter hat disguise, was still messy but now blowing in the wind. His jaw was clenched hard, and his long blonde eyelashes were practically curling in the sunshine. Every time my eyes drifted over to him, I noticed a new feature: the freckle on the side of his Adam’s apple; the shape of his fingernails, all half-moon looking and trimmed short; the creases in his forehead as he frowned; the curve of his ears and how perfect they looked. I’d feel a shiver run through me before I looked away each time, trying to hide my own fascination at seeing this hunk like this, up close. I was shaking, even though it was warm, and sunny as I thought about how this all unfurled.
His black Ford F-150 came into my driveway slowly, almost as tentatively as my own small steps forward as I waited outside my rented cabin on the front deck, nervously anticipating his arrival after a few more texts. I had already decided to take him out on the lake, rather than feel awkward inside the cabin. As soon as the driver side opened, I announced we were heading out on the lake, not giving him nor me a chance to do anything else. Then I noticed he was dressed in jeans and work boots and looked exceptionally hotter than he did only a few nights ago. And better in person than the images I loaded up on my laptop.
I tried not to look at him, or give him a chance to look at me, so I just hurriedly went to the short dock in my long sleeve hoodie and shorts, barefoot, where I had already prepped the fishing boat, expecting him to follow me. When I finally turned to see him standing nervously on the dock in his outfit, I lost my breath.
His eyes looked away quickly and he kicked off his black boots and then peeled off each grey sock before he looked back up at me and gave a boyish shrug and simply said, “Fine. Let’s do this.”
Neither one of us said another word as we got in the boat. Neither one of us spoke as I started the engine. Neither one of us even looked directly at the other until I slowed the engine down as we reached the center of the lake.
"The cabin was too obvious, I think. Didn’t want anyone seeing you going in there. Figured we could be just two buddies out fishing. This is better, right?" I finally said, killing the engine. The silence that descended was weird, broken only by the lap of water against the boat.
“Except we’re not fishing.” He said gruffly.
I let out a small sigh and sat up straighter, now thinking my idea was simply dumb. “Just remember though that your voice carries over water so be careful.”
We sat in silence again, as I tried my hardest not to look at him, letting the sounds of the water against the boat send me into a trance-like state, my arms crossed over my chest, waiting for one of us to say something.
He finally looked at me and said really quietly. "I haven't slept."
It wasn’t what I was expecting him to say, so I responded with a harsher and louder, "Join the club."
He stared at me for a couple of beats before he swallowed, making me watch his Adam’s apple bob and that freckle danced along his throat. His jaw tightened even more, making me practically drool at how hot he was sitting across from me in his faded jeans, ripped at the knees, bare foot. "Look, I've had... encounters before," he said, his voice flat. "Never with anyone who mattered. Never with anyone who could... you know."
"Destroy your life?" I offered helpfully, giving my coolest eye roll and unclenching my arms to simply hang in front of my knees where I nervously grabbed them together to stop him from seeing me shaking.
I saw him look at my clasped hands between my big legs. "…’recognize me’ was what I was going to say. But yeah. That too." He picked at a frayed spot on his own jeans, where a wide hole was stretched across his knee, giving me a view of that powerful leg, the short blonde hairs poking through, that made me remember the feel of his thigh under my hand. The feel of that massive thigh. And how amazing his cock tasted. "You?"
I let out a big breath as his voice brought me out of my trance, and I bounced my knees up and down nervously, my hands hanging on to them now, unclasped, gripping my bare knees, moving with them. "A few. Always when I was traveling. Different cities. Never anyone who knew my face." I leaned back, the boat rocking gently. "This was a statistical anomaly of epic proportions."
He almost smiled at that. Almost. "You always talk like that? Like you’re reading from a fuckin’ dictionary? You’re smarter than you look.” He looked down again, perhaps at my own bare feet in the boat as I studied his, which were wide and smooth and perfect looking for a hockey player. He wasn’t prepared for a boat, unlike me who was in shorts and a light hoodie.
“Why couldn’t we just talk in your cabin?” He asked me suddenly and I found myself without words. “You afraid of me or something?”
Maybe I was overthinking this a bit too much. I went to answer, but just shrugged and closed my mouth again.
“You don’t have to be. Afraid of me I mean.” He said quietly before he let out a big breath, his cheeks puffing out as he did, making him look rather boyishly cute. “So…I guess the plan's the same then? We forget this happened. We go back to our lives. We keep the secret. And we forget about each other."
"That's the smart play," I agreed. The only play. The sun was warm on my skin, the scene was peaceful, and the decision was logical. It was the perfect conclusion. I looked up at him to see that he was looking at me, and it made me frown suddenly. “So then if that’s it, why’d you demand we meet somewhere private?”
He shrugged. A little boy’s shrug in a fantastically put together man’s body. I studied him for a moment, looking at the way the wind was blowing pieces of his blonde hair, the way he was nervously picking at threads from the hole in his jeans, and the way his eyes were catching my gaze before they looked away.
I wasn’t afraid of him. That I knew. But maybe he was actually afraid of me, and what we could actually make of this situation.
So, I went and threw a Hail Mary.
"Well, let me go first then. My problem is," I said, my voice quieter now, "I know I’m gay.”
He went completely still, his eyes staring up into mine.
“Not that I believe that that is a problem. It’s just a problem in my career. And I know I can’t tell a fuckin’ soul in football. I have no idea if anyone else is. I’m too scared to ask, too scared to be beat up, too scared to lose everything if I talk to the wrong guy. The locker room would never be the same, if you know what I mean.”
He nodded, looking down at his own feet. “I know what you mean.” His words were barely audible, like this was hard for him to admit. He moved his feet together and rubbed them like a cricket did with its back legs.
“After meeting you, I suddenly don’t feel so alone with this secret.” I admitted, carefully looking up at his face, waiting for his eyes to return to mine. “I guess it’s kind of like, I found someone in that locker room now, but you’re not in MY locker room, but you’re in, you know, YOUR locker room, and suddenly it feels like it doesn’t have to a problem to me anymore, and it’s like I finally found someone I can talk to and open up with and maybe…I don’t know, maybe I was thinking we could at least TALK about it, even though I was hoping maybe we could do a bit more…. Sorry. I’m rambling.”
When those green eyes did meet mine, I could have sworn I saw them filling with water. “Same.” He mumbled out a little louder than the last time. One word to sum up his feelings after I felt like I had just spilled my guts. Not the intelligent response I was hoping for.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, I guess I might as well tell you if I’m going to go for this first down.”
Lachlan lifted his eyes and seemed to glare at me. “Do you always talk in football riddles?”
For a brief moment I wondered if I did, before I nervously continued. “Truth is I can't seem to stop thinking about you. Because I’ve always thought you were so fucking hot, and I’ve never told a soul that, and maybe we could, you know, create a new play or something?" I heard it this time and grimaced. “I really do talk in football riddles, don’t I? Sorry.”
He gave a short chuckle and his face lit up for a brief moment with a smile that took my breath away, but then he stopped it and he went very still as the boat gently rocked in the water. His eyes, when they met mine again, were no longer watery, or panicked or angry. He squinted at me with the hint of that forgotten smile. "What are you saying, Sharpe?"
I felt my heart thumping in my throat as I braced myself to be honest. "I'm saying the secret is safe. YOUR secret is safe. That's non-negotiable. But... we're the only two people on the planet who understand what the other one is going through. We just proved we can be discreet." I took a breath. "And I have to admit that was the best fucking blow job I’ve ever had. It seems a shame to waste such talent." I felt myself relaxing a bit as I felt my own dick stirring at the memory.
“I know the feeling. I had to jerk off again that night just thinking about how well you took my dick.” He mumbled, looking up at me awkwardly, like he’d just confessed to something shameful.
“I did too!” I admitted shyly and rather too quickly. “Twice.”
He gave another snort and nodded, holding up three fingers, which made me gasp in surprise and take a mental note for future possibilities. Then he was silent for a long time, just looking at me, and I let the silence sit between us. I stared at those green eyes, that chiseled jaw full of blonde stubble, that scar across his eyebrow and that slightly misshapen nose that made him look so dangerously attractive. Then, he moved, slowly towards me, like he was scared that I’d run off, or that he’d rock the boat over. Whatever the reason, it was the complete opposite of his frantic hands in the washroom of the bar going straight for my pants. This was rather deliberate and almost in slow motion as he shifted across the boat, his weight making it dip and rock, until he was right in front of me. I held my breath, afraid to make even the slightest movement that might scare him off.
"Just to be clear," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "I’ve always thought you were a pretty handsome guy. For a football player that is. And this could be a terrible idea."
"The worst," I whispered, my heart hammering even louder now.
"Good." He said firmly. Then his hands were on my face, holding me steady, rough and calloused, and he leaned in to kiss me.
He was kissing me. KISSING ME! Lachlan “Lockjaw” Steele from the Vegas Vipers was kissing ME: the all-star (at least in my head) wide receiver of the San Francisco Pioneers that he didn’t even fucking recognize at first in the bar. All 6’2” and 210 pounds of muscle on me started to quiver as the 6’4” 230 pound 32 year old (yes I Googled him again) NHL goalie showed me the rather sensual soft side of his brutish persona.
This was nothing like the bar. This was a passionate kiss. Intentional. Slow. Searching. Intimate. There was no hiding, no frantic rush, no fear of someone walking in. We had all the time in the world, out here on the water. Far from the shore. Far from other cabins. In the middle of a giant lake. Alone.
Our eyes were open as we smiled through the kiss, feeling each other’s tongues invading so naturally. There were slight moans I wasn’t sure who they belonged to, and sounds of lips smacking and mouths opening.
“I really wanted to do that the other night.” He whispered. “I love to kiss.”
“Me too.” I moaned. Thank God, because I really LOVED to kiss.
“It’s what makes us gay guys moan the most I think.” He mumbled.
I pulled back a bit and smiled. “Wait, you’re gay?” I teased.
He gave me a feigned look of anger and grabbed my neck with a little more ferocity and kissed me again, like the man I knew him to be, with a bit more passion and expertise, taking my breath away completely.
“And you’re a good kisser too. Nice.” He mumbled as we spent some time tasting each other’s tongues.
Then clothes came off in a tangle of limbs and quiet like the passion in that bathroom stall from the other night but this time there was breathless laughter as we nearly capsized the boat. The sun warmed our bare skin. There was no tile wall, just the hard planks of the boat beneath our muscled asses as we took each other in. I had brought blankets on the boat for us both that we had carefully folded on the seats to sit on when we left the dock. Now they were placed down on the bottom of the boat, allowing us to now do more on, stretching our naked legs out towards each other, feeling and admiring our bodies as we stripped, maintaining the making out through nervous laughter and smiles, all while trying not to rock the boat. At least, the physical one.
We sat naked now, on the blankets on the bottom of the boat, facing each other, our legs now around each other so that we could resume kissing a bit lower from view, our dicks hard and pressed together, the vast blue sky above as I got to feel the entire naked body of Lachlan Steele all around me.
All my previous pent-up frustration and secret life disappeared. I kissed him back nonstop, moaning into his mouth as our naked bodies fused closer. Our chests touched – his bigger. Our hands grabbed at our asses – his was beefier. Our dicks gyrated against each other – mine was bigger. Actually, as I gripped them together in my own hand I noticed how similar they really were. So to be fair, I’d say we were both the same size and thickness and I couldn’t wait to suck on it again. I couldn’t get enough of him.
My controlled, strategic brain seemed to meet his frantic, raw power in perfect unison, turning our heads perfectly, grabbing our cocks easily, sitting there on the bottom of the boat moving in sync like we’d been doing it for years. He was definitely the brute, going after what he wanted with a confidence and strength that made me almost submissive to his needs. But I was just a calculated athlete, reading his plan, and plotting my own attack. My hands roamed over the dense, powerful muscles of his back and shoulders. His touch was surprisingly deliberate, learning the outline of my own body with a focus that was utterly captivating at the bottom of that boat.
Holy fuck I even THINK in football plays, I thought to myself as I heard myself moan in his mouth.
His body seemed thicker than mine in every way despite only being a couple inches taller. Where I was carved and lean, athletic muscle, with little to no body fat, he was thicker, with extra beef packed into his muscle for a body that seemed to just attack with force. I was trimmed, my dark hair clipped around my cock and shaved smooth practically everywhere else. He was manly, with light blonde hair across his chest that felt soft and fuzzy, that sexy line of blonde hair down his abs to around his dick which was trimmed short, with fuzzy nuts and equally fuzzy legs. His hands seemed to glide over my body, appreciating the feel of my smooth toned and leaner physique. My hands seemed to grab at his, enjoying the feeling of the hunk I had masturbated over many times before in my head. We never stopped kissing as our bodies collided on that boat floor, legs around each other, pulling our bodies together as close as we could. We were completely naked, making sure we could SEE one another out there on the lake, hidden below the lines of the vessel, sitting there making out and groping beside the life jackets and sounds of water against the sides of the boat as it bobbed lifelessly on the lake.
Our cocks were hard, our mouths were hungry, and we sucked each other off again. We took turns going down on each other, him leaning back as I sucked on his big cock, before his big hands pushed me backwards and bent over me, taking in mine again like the fucking pro he was. It wasn’t comfortable or easy, but we made do as best we could. I decided the cabin WOULD have been better, but too late now. I wasn’t stopping.
I heard him moaning as he enjoyed my dick, jerking it and staring at it, holding it up to his face as if he was super impressed with it. But we couldn’t seem to stop kissing each other. As we kissed, our hands wrapped around our dicks. Instead of returning to sucking, we got lost in kissing, and jerking our cocks together in one hand, feeling the thickness of our shafts rubbing together. We kissed and grinded our cocks together, against our own bodies, grabbing hold of one another in such a fury we dry humped ourselves into simultaneous orgasms, me imagining what it would be like to fuck him while thinking how amazing he would be fucking me.
“I need to fuckin’ blow my load.” He announced as we kissed, our fists wrapped around each other’s cocks, stroking fast as we continued to make out. I simply nodded, urging it out of him with my hand as I panted in his mouth.
We came together, shooting our loads recklessly over one another, spilling off the blanket and into the mixture of water in the boat. It was unbelievable, doing this with another guy like this, but there was no shame, or fears, as I exploded with him. Just a profound feeling of rightness that silenced every fear, every calculation in my head. The boat rocked with our rhythm, a gentle, steady pulsing that subsided along with us as we were left breathless and spent, tangled together in our legs and arms in the bottom of the boat as the afternoon June sun began to dip toward the mountains.
For a long time, we just sat there, facing each other, legs wrapped around, foreheads resting on each other, catching our breaths. His arms felt good around me, his face eventually buried in my neck. The only sound was our breathing and the water. I don’t know how us two behemoths managed not to capsize the boat during the explosion of lust.
He was the one who broke the silence, his voice muffled against my skin. "This changes everything Sharpe."
I stared up at the endless blue sky, feeling the smile on my lips for the first time in days. "Yeah," I said, my fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm. "I know Steele.”
He gave a small snort again, like he did in the small stall at the Aspen Grove. “Sharpe and Steele.”
He suddenly hugged me, and I found my fingers playing with his blonde hair on his head as he rested his chin on my shoulder. “Sounds like a knife company.” I said suddenly. He gave another snort but didn’t answer, nor did he stop the intimate move.
In my own head, I couldn’t help but silently agree with him. Things were already changing. I suddenly felt the shame lifting, feeling a bit more brave with this man in my arms. Plus, his little snorts were already becoming rather endearing.
Next time, I thought to myself, I would let him in the cabin.
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