Date: Sat, 22 Jun 2002 21:05:15 -0700 (PDT)
From: Boston Beth <writeongirl77@yahoo.com>
Subject: Brady and Bledsoe part 2

Brady and Bledsoe (2/4) by Boston Beth

THE USUAL DISCLAIMER: Although this was inspired by real
events, the following story is complete fiction.  I do not
work for the NFL, Buffalo Bills, or New England Patriots.
The true sexual orientations of Drew Bledsoe and Tom Brady
are not known to me. I don't own them and I don't want to
(although I can tell you every other woman where I work
wants to own Tom).   I am not being financially compensated
for this.

TOM'S POV:


     Everybody warned me.  Don't wish for something so hard,
Tommy.  If you get it, it won't be as satisfying.  Now I see
what they meant.  Lately I've found that in the matter of
all things elusive, the pursuit creates a more ecstatic,
emotional high than the capture.  Yes, winning the Super
Bowl as a rookie (for all intents and purposes) has been
incredible.  The attention makes me dizzy but I wouldn't
want it to stop just yet.  I'm proud of what the team and I
accomplished.  It feels good that people recognize the work
we did.  Still, there is a problem in my life related to the
job I love.  There's a problem that must be resolved before
it's too late.

     And it all has to do with Drew Bledsoe.

     He didn't do anything to me, not at all.  It's got to
do with what I did, or didn't do with him.  I'll explain
that later.  Just let me say what I have to say.


      My heart almost flew out of my chest when Adam's kick
was good.  In that moment, all of us were superstars.  The
celebration after the game was the world's party.  With all
the attention on me, I felt like a prom king or something
silly like that.  But it's true-suddenly it was all about
me.  I was the big man.  Little kids started wearing jerseys
with my name on them-what a thrill!  Every magazine from SI
to People clamored to interview me-what a pain, but fun.  I
was invited to the Oscars, Disney World, and to party with
Donald Trump.  Everybody used to ignore me, step over me.
Now they want to pick me up, brush me off and raise me to
the heavens like a star.

     Now, I know what you're saying. If that's a horrible
life, let me suffer, baby. I won't lie to you.  It's
exciting to travel and meet the interesting, famous people
who influence our world.  I'm not tired of that, I look
forward to more of it.  Football is my main focus, but I can
appreciate the extras that come with the status I am
enjoying right now.   But there's one part of stardom I
don't enjoy as much.

     I understand the way I'm being promoted is strictly
business.  Football is intense and violent.  They want to
put a cute and cuddly face on it.  It's great that the
underdog won the Super Bowl.  They can do a lot with that.
But with me looking like this nice, all-American guy is like
finding two prizes in the cereal box when you were expecting
only one.  I give football a good name with the general
public.  To public relation types, it's a plus that all
these girls think of me as their dream guy.  Everywhere I
go, women throw me their phone numbers.  Girls who look like
librarians yell things at me that would leave Opie and
Anthony stammering for a comeback.  Grandmothers wish I
would date their granddaughters while they wish they were
young enough for me.  It's a weird position to be in, to be
lusted after and desired like this by strangers.  It's
completely flattering, of course.  Who doesn't like to be
complimented?  It's a position any other guy would gladly
give up everything to be in.  If I were any other guy, that
smile you always see me wear would be permanently on my
face.

     But I'm gay.

     That's right. Tom Brady, New England's sweetheart,
likes boys.

     Now you probably think I never had a problem getting
any man I wanted!   But it's always been tough to live some
version of the life I want.   In college I had to search for
sex.  I never did it with a teammate.  That would be too
risky for me, for him, for the school.  How dare Michigan
have a little gay-boy on the team!  The nerve of them.   My
social life was pretty dead during football season.  During
the off-season I would go to bars out of town on the
weekend.  You know the kind of place.  A bar hidden on some
side street or tucked away in some nondescript strip mall,
with no signs or markings to disclose its purpose.  The kind
of place where they all know you're not quite old enough to
be there, but then again you are.  Invariably I would get a
lot of older men.  Some of them played football in college.
Apparently they got some kind of weird kick out of reliving
the past by screwing a younger version of themselves.  The
sex was good enough for my purposes.  But after a while I
wanted something more.  I wanted a man who could exhilarate
me more than playing football could.  No one in my small
circle of acquaintances could do this.

     Until I got up close to Drew Bledsoe.

     Believe me, I put all that time sitting around to good
use.  I studied Drew-in the way you're thinking, of course,
but in the interest of becoming a better player.  When I
finally got the chance to start, I put everything I learned
from watching Drew into my passes and my strategy.  He was
such an enthusiastic, supportive teacher, no matter how long
training took.  He would show me what I did well and how I
could play better.  Not only that, we would chat about the
importance of family and of charity.  He imparted a sense of
being a complete athlete-it was important to be great on the
field and better off it.  I make those lessons a part of my
life everyday. Of course, you know where this is going.
Spending all that time with Drew led me to fall hopelessly
in love with him.  Who wouldn't want to spend all the time
he could with Drew?   The way his eyes look like they barely
stay open kept me at his side like a puppy.  I had to
control myself not to tousle his hair some more.  And when
Drew got hurt, I was devastated.  I prayed every day for
recovery.

     That's why I feel so awful about what happened.  I have
a lot of pity for him.  His ego had to have been crushed
like powder now that he's pushed back into the spotlight
while it beats down on me.  I can't believe the papers
haven't caught on that he's been acting rotten and cruel to
everyone, including me.  I can't blame him in a way, but
that doesn't mean it doesn't sting me.  He doesn't even want
to chat about little things anymore, not even some stupid
topic like the weather.  Now he just told us he's going back
home and he intends on missing the victory parade.  How
could he do this to the team?  Our victory was a team
effort.  That's how we were introduced at the start of the
game, and I thought everyone supported what that idea meant.
Whether he wants to acknowledge it now or not, he is part of
that team.  Maybe he didn't play much this season, but part
of our success came from the leader he was when things
sucked.  I wish he could remember that.  I hate saying this,
but I can't help but feel he's acting petty and
unreasonable.

     Still, his current behavior is not affecting my respect
for his playing and for his guidance.  I wonder if some of
his resentment stems from me. I wish he would be honest with
me and tell me if he were angry at me.  I would rather he do
that than just lock it up inside.
I wish he would be honest with me and tell me if he resents
me at all.  I would rather he do that than just lock it up
inside.  If he leaves the team, I want us to be on good
terms.  I don't want him to remember me as the back-stabber
who took what he thought was rightfully his.

     I regret that in all the excitement, I haven't had a
chance to get him alone and thank him for helping me.  Of
course, in a perfect world I wouldn't use words to thank
him.  I want to run my hands all over his muscles.  I want
to free him from his clothes and press his body against mine
while I hit him with kisses harder than any hit on the
field.  I want to be inside him so deep that when I come
after giving him my own hits it'll shake his brain loose.
Too bad he's not gay.

     So that's the truth about me.  Now you know the reason
I smile so much in every photo.  The photographer has a
little trick to get that special Tiger Beat look out of me.
I am asked me to think of what would make me the happiest
man alive.  Automatically I think of Drew and the many ways
I know to show him my appreciation for everything.


NEXT UP: Our heroes meet up after the parade.  Sorry this
took so long-I've been busy at home and I just got over a
cold.  Part 3 will be up ASAP.  If you're reading this,
thank you very, very much!  Comments are still welcome at
writeongirl77@yahoo.com-I will answer as quickly as I can.