"What? You're supposed to have six weeks to heal, and even that's cutting it real fucking close." I tried to keep my voice level, to keep emotion out of it, but like always, I failed.
"Yeah, well. You know how it is, man."
Yeah. I knew how it was. Fucking inhumane was how it was. I'd gone into sports medicine because I wanted to help athletes when they were at their most vulnerable. Because I remembered what it felt like to have an occupational therapist who gave a shit, instead of somebody who just wanted to rush you back onto the field so the school could make more money while you developed lifelong injuries.
I wanted to be a part of changing things from the inside. To be so damn good at my job that the team was forced to slow down and allow players time to heal, all while I brought research to legislators who might one day actually give a damn about these D1 schools churning through young men like they were just disposable pieces on a board. It wasn't just me on staff, though. There were people with way more influence than I had, and a lot of them didn't see these injuries as that big of a deal. Who cared if most of these kids' bodies were going to start failing in their thirties? So long as they could play ball now, what did it matter?
That shit made me so fucking angry, and it was always a struggle to keep my cool.
"I know how it is outside of my gym. In here, you go at the pace your body tells you to go at, and you don't push it to the breaking point. Now rest up. I'll get you some water and we'll do some stretches, then you can give it another shot. Maybe less weight this time."
After I filled Ty's water bottle, I stepped into my office for a second to calm the fuck down. I hated seeing the players like this. Talented young men whose only real way forward was football. Men who knew that and gave everything they had to this program because of it. He wasn't the first and he wouldn't be the last.
Raking my hands through my hair, I murmured a Yiddish prayer under my breath. Something my grandmother had taught me, that she always repeated over and over when she was feeling stressed. My mother told me at her funeral that it was filthy. Full of swear words I hadn't known at the time. I'd burst out laughing until I cried. Swear words or not, it still helped. I could feel the anger beginning to drain out of me, and once I had my head on straight, I went back to Ty.
We did some stretches and a few sets with dumbbells before I had him try again. I reduced the weight by forty pounds, then loaded two more tens on once he did okay with that. I wasn't going to coddle him, because that didn't help him. It needed to be a slow, gradual build.
The more he did with the full weight, though, the more I noticed his arms start to shake. Even past the point of muscle fatigue. He was breathing so fast I thought he might hyperventilate and sweat was just pouring off of him. I grabbed the barbell and set it back in the cradle. He didn't fight me on it.
"What's going on, Ty? If your shoulder's hurting that bad--"
"It's not that," he said, struggling for breath. "I mean it hurts, but I just..."
He was quiet for a long time, the sound of his panting filling the gym. I didn't say anything, giving him space to share his thoughts.
"What if I go back out there and I take the same hit again? Doctor said if I fuck up my shoulder this bad a second time, I'm done. And I can't afford this school without football, man. I've got nothing."
It floored some part of me that he was worried about football and school, not about what a serious shoulder injury would mean for his ability to work, perform basic tasks, play with his future kids. I'd been the same way at his age, hadn't I? Worried about football. Devastated when I tore the fuck out of my ACL and then reinjured myself after six months off the field. Back then, it felt like my life was over. It would feel the same for Ty.
"If we do this right, your shoulder will be strong enough, even if it does happen," I said, my voice soft. "We'll work on conditioning. Make sure you've got a good foundation and your body has plenty of time to heal. I'll talk to your coach and buy you some more time."
He immediately shook his head. "He'll say I'm getting special treatment. Won't let me start just because of that."
"You're one of the best defensive players on the team, Ty. If I tell him he risks losing you for the rest of the season, he'll back off."
Ty blew out a breath, his hands coming to cover his face. He sat up, reaching for his water bottle, and squirted some into his hair.
"I think you should talk to a therapist, too. I know--"
"No way."
"I know you don't like the idea, but there's obviously something going on here beyond the physical, Tyler. They can help you, so you don't psych yourself out when you're on the field."
"You think I can afford a fucking therapist, man?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Not like the team's gonna pay for it."
"Why not?"
That was news to me. They were supposed to offer whatever medical services the players needed. Since it wasn't like they were given a salary and health benefits, it was the least the university could do.
"I don't know. Not worth it, I guess? Reardon asked to see somebody a few months ago and they told him it'd have to be on his own time, with his own money."
"Are you fucking..."
My hand clenched into a fist at my side, my teeth grinding together. I knew I was going to lose it, and I didn't want Ty to be here when I did.
"I'll figure it out," I told him through clenched teeth. "Go on and get back to your dorm. Just make sure you walk for a bit and drink lots of water. We'll work on it some more tomorrow."
Ty gave me a concerned look, but ultimately grabbed his gym bag and headed out. I knew he probably wouldn't have a chance to rest. These therapy sessions were crammed in between his classes, since it was the only time he could work with me.
Once he was gone, I tried to busy myself with cleaning the equipment, but my anger just kept building. It was a bad fucking time for anybody to see me, but not fifteen minutes after Ty left, one of the team doctors, Doctor Stephens, stepped into my gym.
"Hey, Reuben. I'm here to get your report on Tyler Knowles," he said, tablet already in hand. "Just give me the basics. I've got a few more kids to round up before lunch."
Something about the way he said that irked me. Then again, everything was irking me right now.
"He won't be ready as quickly as they want him. He needs another two full weeks at least, and I'd say three to be safe."
"Can he do the circuit?"
"Most of it. He's struggling with lifts and shoulder presses."
"Hmm." He tapped a few things on his tablet, swiping to the side once before saying, "I'll up his pain meds, and maybe throw in some Prednisone to reduce the inflammation."
"What?" I snarled, glaring at the man. "Doping him up and sending him out isn't the answer. Are you fucking serious?"
"Thanks for the insight, Reuben, but I think I know what my patients need. Let me know how he does tomorrow after he starts the new doses."
He didn't give me a chance to get a word in edgewise. He just kept looking at his tablet, turning to leave without even acknowledging me.
All I could do was stand there, stewing in rage and helplessness, knowing it was going to be on me to calm the hell down and advocate rationally for Tyler, or he was going to pay for the team's greed for the rest of his life.
3
Elliot
I couldn't stop thinking about Keith's words.
Getting home from the restaurant, I let myself into the nice, three-bedroom home I'd intended to live in for the rest of my life. With Barb. Maybe a couple kids once we were both settled in our careers. After a long stint of emergency rooms, ICUs, and month-long stays at the hospital, that dream had gone up in smoke. Now I was left with an empty house I'd had to refinance just to afford.
Tina had gently nudged me to rent it out. It was a nice place, in a good neighborhood. Close to a bus route, and not far from the university besides. I could find a college-aged tenant, so long as they weren't overly rowdy. Or someone my age who ju
st needed a little help. It was a good thought, but some part of me had grown... comfortable in the loneliness. With no one here, there was no one to care if I walked around in my boxers. No one to care if I let my dick air dry after a shower. No one to care if I ate ice cream out of the tub or left the Chinese takeout in the fridge a little too long.
The trade-off for all that freedom was the fact that loneliness sucked, though. I liked the quiet intimacy of just talking to someone about their day. I missed being able to casually touch another person whenever the whim struck. Obviously I missed sex, because while me and my hand had become a lot more acquainted over the past year, it was still no substitute for the real thing.
Hooking up with someone was a step in the right direction, wasn't it? I'd get the sex part out of the way, and I'd have some companionship. Even if it was just telling a guy he did a good job while the cum cooled. I had no idea what guys talked about after fucking. Probably not something I should admit in my profile.
Right now, I didn't want anything serious. I would eventually. I knew that. I would never be able to keep up with the lifestyle Keith enjoyed, even if I did envy him sometimes. But, I was afraid any search for a partner right now would mean looking for a replacement to Barbara, and that just wasn't possible.
So maybe the key was to be someone else. Just for a night. Get out of my head and out of my comfort zone. Have a good time and an experience I wouldn't forget. As I settled onto the couch, a pint of Ben & Jerry's in my lap and phone in my hand, I opened Grindr for only the second time since downloading the app.
I'd had it for about a week, but I'd been intimidated by all the profile pics of rippling, hairless abs. My abs weren't ever going to ripple, and they were far from hairless. Barb always called it my "baby rat fur," which was possibly the least endearing endearment I could imagine, but she'd liked the fuzz on my belly and chest, so I'd never complained.
Somehow I didn't think a random guy on Grindr was looking for "baby rat fur," so I hadn't uploaded a pic. That didn't mean I was excluded from being messaged, though. When the inbox showed a notification, my heart had sped to a nearly unbearable pace. I'd tapped the icon and found a message from a guy whose username was basedalpha94. I should have realized from that.
Instead, I'd opened the message, only to see a guy's hard dick staring back at me and the text 'u wanna suck it?' beneath. I'd stared at the thing for a good ten minutes, wondering why someone would send an unsolicited dick pic for a dick that... honestly wasn't that great. It was average at best, with a weird curve that looked like it'd been broken once or something. And the grooming was just awful. If I put that thing in my mouth, I was going to have hair up my nose for sure.
I'd texted Tina right after to ask about her experience getting anonymous dick pics from random guys who thought they were hot shit, and we'd commiserated with one another for the rest of the night. That was the last time I'd even bothered to open Grindr, and doing so now, I was sure my inbox would be flooded with more pics of mediocre penises. Thankfully there was not a dick to be found, but no messages, either.
Of course not. You haven't even filled out your profile.
Letting out a breath, I focused my attention on that. I told myself I'd just get the profile done and then see what came of it. No reason to be overly aggressive. Of course, I had no idea what to want. Keith had made it clear my normal hobbies and interests wouldn't be helpful here, and I didn't want it known I was a teacher. Partially because I wasn't interested in engaging with teacher kink, and partially because I didn't want it getting back to my work. I didn't think they'd actually fire me for being bi, but I wasn't willing to take any chances.
I settled on just putting the most generic things ever. Things like "I like good movies and good food," which was true, but to me "good movies" meant While You Were Sleeping and "good food" meant a slice of pepperoni at Satchel's. I said I was "just looking for a good time," which was also true, but I also felt like one of the prostitutes in a spaghetti western, enticing the man to go upstairs with her. It was all weird and uncomfortable, never more so than when I had to figure out what to do for a profile picture.
Having my face in it definitely wasn't going to happen. Again, I didn't want it getting out that the 10th grade English teacher was on Grindr looking for guys who were apparently as bland as him. I had to decide which of my non-face features was the best. In the end, I just snapped a picture of my shirt pulled up in one hand, my soft, fuzzy body on display. Maybe there were guys out there that didn't want somebody ultra-ripped. I guessed I'd find out.
Confirming everything before I could talk myself out of it, I sat back to enjoy my ice cream and waited. It only took about fifteen minutes before I had another message.
Gaytor69: hey cutie
That was promising. He hadn't immediately sent me a dick pic or asked me if I wanted the privilege of sucking him off. I looked at his profile, finding a chest and abs pic of someone who definitely spent their life in the gym. And someone who waxed. I could still see the red irritation around their nipples, and I winced. There were no red flags, though. No "no fems" or blatant racism or anything like that.
So I messaged him back.
DorianGay: Hey. How's it going?
Gaytor69: better now ;)
DorianGay: Oh yeah?
Gaytor69: yea
Gaytor69: u a top or bottom
Ah. There it was. Just a few words to get to sex stuff. Which... I shouldn't be so critical of. This was a hookup app, after all. I started to write "either or," because I was interested in trying both roles. Then I remembered Keith's words of wisdom and decided to go for a bolder route.
DorianGay: Whatever you want me to be.
Shit. Should I have used an emoji there? Maybe proper grammar was too much for Grindr. He was definitely going to see through this. He--
Gaytor69: mmm thats what I like to hear
Okay, that was promising. I was going to respond again, but saw he was typing something.
Gaytor69: love 2 hear u say that 2 me while ur on ur knees
Gaytor69: or maybe while ur bent over with my tongue in ur ass
Gaytor69: u hairy there too
Gaytor69: I fucking love a hairy hole
Oh, God. I was blushing. So much. My face felt like it was on fire. If this was how guys talked to each other when they wanted to fuck, maybe I needed to just get with the program. It couldn't be that hard. Could it?
DorianGay: Maybe. You'll have to earn that information, though.
Gaytor69: u gonna make me work for it huh ;)
Gaytor69: bet u got a nice tight ass
Gaytor69: bet u squeeze my dick like a good little boy
Gaytor69: fuckin milk me when I cum in your ass
Gaytor69: u like that
In theory, I did like that. I loved watching a bottom flex his ass muscles in porn, driving the top wild and forcing him to cum. But talking about that with a stranger -- a stranger who wanted me to do that to them -- was... different.
Just play a role. Be... I don't know. Be the cock-hungry slut you've always wanted to be.
Bad self-advice notwithstanding, I replied.
DorianGay: I'll like it better if I'm the one who makes you cum.
DorianGay: If you get so close just from sliding into my tight ass, then you try to hold on, and I work you until you can't take it anymore.
Gaytor69: fck yea
Well, that was promising. And I didn't feel completely insane. It was a little pornier than I ever thought I'd be, and if he expected me to talk like that in person, he had another thing coming.
Gaytor69: so hard rn
Gaytor69: u wanna see what u do to me
I blinked at my phone, surprised he was asking, and intrigued enough to say yes. He sent me a pic of a pretty nice dick. Not very long, but girthy. My ass clenched as I imagined having it inside of me. I'd used dildos before, but I knew they wouldn't compare to the real thing.
Swallowing back my embarrassment and ignoring how hot m
y cheeks were, I wrote back.
DorianGay: Nice pic, but I'd rather see that fat dick pounding in and out of my ass.
Okay, I was pretty proud of that one. And this was doing something for me. I squeezed my cock through my jeans, undoing my fly to get some relief.
Gaytor69: me 2
Gaytor69: show me ur hole
Gaytor69: pls
Gaytor69: im gonna nut
It sounded like he didn't really need my help for it, but I was just horned up enough to decide it wouldn't be the worst idea in the world to send a stranger a picture of my ass. Pulling off my jeans and boxers, I gave my hard cock a couple strokes, holding my hand around the base as I positioned my phone behind me to take a shot.
The picture wasn't bad, all things considered. I'd put one leg up on the couch and had leaned forward, so my cheeks were spread. The second time I'd even had the foresight to grab one of them and draw it away, so my hole was more visible.
I sent it, the picture appearing in our exchange. Then, I promptly realized just what I'd done. I'd sent an absolute stranger an actual pic of my asshole. What the fuck.
Mortified, I closed the app before I saw his response. What if he didn't like it? I hadn't bleached or anything. Was that something men were always supposed to do? What if it was shaped weird or too hairy or somehow screamed "I've never actually had a real dick in me"?
Worse, what if he liked it? He'd probably want to meet, and I wasn't ready for that. Getting railed by some random guy seemed fun in theory, but--
Role Play Page 2