by Rhett Heath
“Can you move it?” I asked, knowing that was important.
“Yeah, but it hurts like hell when I do,” he whispered.
I nodded. “How did it happen?”
“Jared fumbled the ball, Statham scrambled for it. He just hit me low. I guess my knee was just in his way.”
“I’m so sorry.”
And I was. Except that it had put us in this situation.
“I’m not,” he whispered, apparently thinking the same thing as me.
The first cool thing about the situation was that they had taken off his football pants, and he was literally only in his jockstrap and a sleeveless T-shirt, cut off above his abs. The second cool thing was, it was his left kneecap, and because of the space we were in, I was having to sit on his right side, reaching across his amazing, nearly naked body to wrap this thing on his leg. The third cool thing was that at this point his leg was raised up on a weight bench, while the other leg was on the gym mat, at sort of a spread-eagle angle, and his jockstrap was barely holding in his junk.
But the last and best cool thing was that he purposely rested his hand on the small of my back as I was securing the wrap. Then he slowly slid his hand lower so that his fingertips nudged their way just slightly inside my boxers.
I glanced around. Nobody was paying attention, but my hands started shaking, trying to secure the ice wrap. He laughed a little, but kept his hand there, slowly rubbing his rough fingertips on my skin. I started to sweat.
I couldn’t believe how daring he was being. The other managers were sitting randomly among the players, so once I’d finished securing the wrap, I matched his bravery and sat down next to him, our arms touching. I had the best view of his crotch, his hairy, muscular legs, and his washboard abs. His sweat smelled amazing, and I was, for the hundredth time that day, hard. I was wearing button-fly 501s. Everybody wore them, and getting an erection while sitting on a floor in Shrink-to-Fit jeans wasn’t comfortable.
Initially, Bobby didn’t seem to dare do anything more, but he’d rested a hand between us, and he slowly began caressing the outside of my leg with his ring finger and pinky. We sat like that for twenty minutes, my heart pounding in my ears, and then I removed the wrap. I then got daring, and when I sat back down, I rested my hand between our legs. He slowly placed his hand atop mine. His fingers caressed the tops of my fingers and I watched as his cock slowly got harder, forcing its way out from the left side of his jockstrap until it was engorged to about seven inches. It still wasn’t totally hard, because wouldn’t it be standing up, like near his stomach? It was still stretched out on the mat.
I couldn’t tell whether I was excited because of all that was happening or anxious because I was afraid we would get caught. Nonetheless, I was so turned on, my cock started to throb all by itself. I wasn’t coming, but I couldn’t believe all of this was happening.
He lifted his right leg slightly, so as to not restrain his cock as it kept growing, and maybe so nobody else would see if they happened to glance back at us. I had to adjust how I was sitting to rearrange my own cock. But then we just sat there. Neither of us could come without everybody knowing. After what seemed like an hour (but was only two minutes), he finally took his hand from off mine and handed me the ice wrap to reaffix to his leg; his cock, which held my gaze the whole time, began to get limp as the experience waned and the passion passed.
I sensed that he felt bad that we couldn’t do more; that we couldn’t have done anything more, but I was sure he sensed that I understood.
“How’s the pain?” I whispered.
“It’s throbbing.” He snickered.
Blood rushed to my face, and then he turned his head toward me.
“I’ll pick you up as you ride home on your bike, after.”
His breathy whisper sent shivers through my body. I smiled, nodding as my stomach flip-flopped and hope swelled.
The game film went on for what seemed like forever, and I just sat there enjoying being so close to him—enjoying my skin touching his. The background noise of the coaches commenting on different players and plays that team members should pay attention to didn’t even faze me. Bobby was given some instructions and he seemed to be paying attention, which was odd to me because I was guessing he was only thinking about us. I wondered why they were even instructing him. The way his knee was looking, there was no way he was going to be playing anytime soon.
I was lost in Bobby Versailles land, though. I was smitten. Holy Smit! I couldn’t even guess what he and I might do when he picked me up after practice.
My mind raced.
Whatever we do, I’ll have to repent! and Will he want me to give him a blowjob? and Will he want to give me a blowjob? and I wonder if he’ll let me suck his nipples! and Oh my gosh, I’m going to hell, and I wonder if he’ll let me lick him all over! and Oh my gosh, his armpit hair is perfect, I want to lick his armpit hair! and He’ll for sure want to make out and I’ve never even kissed anybody before and I won’t know how and I bet he’ll think it’s cute and he’ll teach me how and he’ll be amazing at it, and he’ll laugh at me and he’ll tell me how he thinks about me all the time… and Will we get in the back of his truck or stay in the cab, and Why me? What does he see in me?
But I never found out any of these answers because he didn’t pick me up.
Super bummed as I got closer and closer to my house without seeing his truck, I circled back several blocks, in vain. I was sensible enough to reason it through: his knee, maybe, or the fact that he lived twenty miles away—one of his friends maybe wanted or needed a ride. Whatever. I didn’t worry beyond being disappointed because I knew he wanted to pick me up. We had just spent an hour sitting together. That added up to two sexually charged encounters already. I fell asleep that night imagining him lying beside me, remembering what his skin felt like, memorizing the feeling so as to never forget.
I COULDN’T get him out of my mind the entire next day. Though he was all anybody talked about at school, he hadn’t shown up. Listening to all the rumors about whether he’d play again, who was to blame, would this ruin our chances of going to the state finals, and all that crap was making it worse, so I had to just ignore it all. I found out he wasn’t in the hospital or I may have dared go visit. He wasn’t at practice, either. Stupid knee injury.
Wednesday came, and I got to school early just to stalk him. His truck was where he usually parked it, and my heart burst with excitement. When I finally saw him at lunch, crutches sat beside him as he sat among his friends on the senior staircase. I wanted to go up and ask him how he was doing, but knew I couldn’t. A couple of the seniors that sat with him knew me from Executive Council the year before, and were also on the football team, but ninth graders just didn’t get to go near the senior staircase.
“Hey, Thomas,” he called. “Come here!” Football players used last names a lot, because the coaches did.
I turned and looked.
Yes, he was talking to me. He waved me over, smiling. I went.
“Hey, J.T.,” a kid named Tyler said. Tyler was popular, good-looking, and had been on Executive Council with me.
“Hey, Ty,” I responded, then looked to Bobby.
“Bobby?” A lump came to my throat. Overwhelmed, I didn’t even think to ask how his leg was.
“Last year these guys couldn’t remember your first name. That’s why they started calling you J.T.”
“Shut up!” cried Tyler. “We knew it was either Justin, Jason, or Jacob, we just always forgot, and he was such a cool little kid, and J.T. was a cool nickname, so it stuck! We know his name is Jacob, though.”
“Now!” Bobby laughed, looking at me. “They just barely asked me what it was!”
A couple of the cheerleaders laughed.
“Why didn’t you call him Jake? It’s short for Jacob!” Celeste, one of the cheerleaders, asked.
“J.T. just sounded better,” Tyler said, defending his choice. He turned to his friend Mark, the other player I knew from the Council. “R
ight, dude?”
“Well, I thought his name was Jason,” Mark said, blushing. “Sorry, pal!”
“That’s okay, Mike,” I said, pausing before smiling as everybody began to laugh.
“You’re totally awesome, J.T.,” said Celeste, as she wiped a tear of laughter from her eye.
“So, listen,” Bobby said, and they all quieted down. “After school Coach wants you to get over to the whirlpool in the new gym and fill it with hot water. I’m going to come over and sit in it and soak my knee. Right after seventh period, I have to take a quiz that I missed yesterday, but then I’ll be over there. Coach said you could help me in and out or whatever. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, feeling the rush as my heart sped from 120 to 1,020 in that instant. “Uh, how is your leg?” I managed to say.
“Not bad at all, thanks for asking. It’s just a little stiff,” he said, winking. “They said I’ll miss two games for sure, three at the most. I guess Coach said you’ll need to fill the whirlpool to about ten inches above the bench that’s in it. Is that cool?”
“Cool, I’ll get the towels started, too, while I’m there waiting for you.”
“Okay. Hey, thanks a lot.”
I started backing away, sensing my cue to leave. “Okay, see you.” I gave a little wave to them all as I turned to leave. They all said goodbye in one way or another—
“See you.”
“Bye, J.T.”
“Bye, Justin!”
“See you later, cutie!” one of the other girls called out.
I looked to see who it was, but caught Bobby Versailles’s eye instead. “See you,” I said, again.
My life is so cool. Everybody in the entire school had to have heard me carrying on a conversation with the most popular seniors in the school on the senior staircase!
How in the world?
“I can’t believe that just happened,” murmured Craig, my supposed best friend, as he appeared by my side as I made my way down the hall. “What did they want? You stood there talking and laughing for, like, five minutes.”
“Just stuff about football practice.”
“Totally tubular,” he said. “Jenny Statham called you cutie! Oh, she’s so hot!”
“And Celeste told me I was totally awesome,” I bragged. “I think she’s hotter.”
And I did. Even though I wasn’t sexually attracted to any of the cheerleaders, I preferred Celeste over Jenny. Craig pandered for more details, but the bell rang, and I was literally saved by the bell because he and I had different fifth-period classes.
Of course, I could hardly concentrate throughout the afternoon. I had a hard-on most of the time and couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen that afternoon in the training room with Bobby. We would be alone. He would possibly be naked in the hot whirlpool tub. Would I really be helping him in and out of the tub? I was dying. This was it. We would finally get a chance to do something.
Chapter Four
Bobby
AT 3:15 p.m., the bell rang. At 3:27 p.m., I began failing the quiz I had missed. At 3:42 p.m., I clumsily set it on Mrs. Tatton’s desk, hoping she’d have mercy on me and not start talking to me.
When “Thank you, Mr. Versailles” was all she said, I bolted.
At 3:49 p.m., I closed the door behind me, entering the training room on my crutches. The look on Jacob’s face when he saw me made the last forty-eight hours melt away. I hobbled over as he walked toward me to help. Bracing my crutches to my sides with my arms, I immediately cupped his face and drew him in for a kiss.
He kissed back, and his tongue explored my mouth. I slid one of my hands around to the back of his neck and the other around his waist to lift him up. His hands went up my shirt, exploring my back and shoulders.
When we came up for breath, I said, panting, “I’ve been wanting to do that for over a year,” and kissed him again.
“You have?” he asked.
I laughed. “Yes,” I said, deliberately.
“We’ve got to get you in the tub,” he said, blushing. “I think we’re safe from Coach Lafferty coming to check on us. He already scared the bejeezus out of me when he came in the training room earlier. He had heard me start the water running from his office across the hall and came in to give me instructions as to how to help you before he headed to the old locker rooms. He put Epsom salt in there, too.”
We were in what was called the new gym. We called it the new gym because it had just been built a few years earlier, but the other gym was still being used, too, so that one was being referred to as the old gym, which had the old locker rooms. Simple folk we were.
Jacob kept talking and I let him, liking the sound of his voice.
“Coach had already started the laundry and I thought I was going to have a heart attack and die because waiting for you was torture and you were taking forever. I turned the water off when it was only six inches above the seat, and will turn the hot water back on once you get in, so the water will be as hot as it can be for your leg. Where were you yesterday?”
“When I got home Monday night, my dad ran me to the emergency room. The doctors checked me out and said I should keep off my leg for a day or two, so I was at home all day.
“My mom wanted me to stay home today, too, but”—I blushed—“I could not go another day without seeing you. And now, we’re here and I need to get in there.
“So, take off my clothes.” I changed my voice to sound more seductive and let the gym bag hanging from my shoulder fall to the floor. He froze.
“My pleasure, Bobby Versailles,” he said, suddenly sounding a little bit bashful.
He took hold of my shirt, slowly lifting it. Then he prompted me to raise my arms and slipped my shirt over my head. His lips immediately locked on to my left nipple as his hands quickly began unbuttoning my 501s. Because the ace bandage was so cumbersome, I had cut off my left pant leg to just above the knee that morning. I wasn’t wearing underwear, either. Not wearing underwear was a thing a bunch of the junior and senior players were doing.
“Eh,” I said, taking in a breath at a brief stab of pain, “careful.”
“Oh, sorry! Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I whispered, still leaning on my crutches, “but let’s sit me down to get them completely off, and my shoes and socks too.”
“Okay.”
I stood there as he brought over a tall stool for me to use.
“Conveniently a perfect height,” he said, as I sat.
“Can I kiss you again?” I felt awkward but hopeful.
“Uh, duh! Of course.”
This time it was a slow, gentle kiss. Our nerves were gone.
“Okay, we can do more once you’re naked and in that tub.” He started with my shoes and socks.
“Oh my gosh!” He sort of cradled the foot of my good leg, rubbing his hands along it, once he’d gotten that sock off. “I hate feet, but you even have perfect feet! Unbelievable! You’re perfect! Holy crap!”
I laughed. “I wish! I’m gay! It sucks!”
“It does. I’ve been in denial. I’ve prayed and prayed to have God make me straight. It’s not going to happen, and now I wouldn’t want it to. Bobby, you’re perfect to me, though, and you being gay is perfect for me, too.”
He got my other shoe and sock off, then he gently pulled off my pants. He was taking such care to not hurt me, my eyes filled with tears.
“Hey. Were you friends with Bryce?”
I swallowed the lump that came to my throat. Bryce was a kid a year older than me. He had committed suicide a couple of years earlier. Nobody since then would say he did it because he was a gay kid in a small-town Christian community, but everybody knew that he was.
“Not friends, but I was never mean to him. It scared me a little that because he was so girly-acting, if I was nice or friendly toward him somebody might suspect something. I’m a jerk, I know, but I was dealing with my own shit.”
“You’re far from being a jerk.”
Jacob wrapped hi
s arms around my neck and I hugged him back, pulling him close. “None of the churches in town said one word about him being gay. Nobody acknowledged the fact that he might still be alive had people been able to unconditionally love—like Christ taught, and not like bigoted jerks or dumbasses or whatever.”
“Who are you?” I asked, quietly in his ear. “You’re like an angel. That’s exactly what I thought.”
We broke the embrace as he shrugged a shoulder.
“I’m just this lucky guy who happens to have a look that you like, I guess. You have no idea,” he continued as he led me to the whirlpool, “how totally happy I am.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. There wasn’t much I could brag about. Except for football, I was ordinary. But I could just tell he was sincerely happy.
“Same. I’m totally happy. It’s weird, but I don’t feel, like, awkward,” I said, my voice resonating in my torso as he stood deciding the best way to get me into the water.
Grabbing the edges of the tub, I hoisted myself over the water, then slowly lowered my legs in.
“Hot, hot, hot!” I gasped, lifting my feet back out of the water.
“Careful!” he said, with real concern in his voice.
Then, still grasping both sides of the whirlpool, I eased my body down until I was sitting in the tub.
“I thought that I’d have to put in more water, but with your body in it, the water comes several inches over your leg, so I think it’s perfect. Coach said to turn on the whirlpool, but if your leg starts to throb, you’re supposed to tell me, and I’ll turn it off, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, unable to hide a smile.
He smiled, too, then walked around to the end of the tub, which was only about five feet long with rounded ends, and flipped the switches to start the water whirling, setting a timer for twenty minutes. When he looked up, he caught me still smiling at him.
“What?” he asked, with a glint in his eye.
“I’m the lucky one.”