Date: Sat, 1 Jan 2005 13:46:33 -0700
From: Josh Heilig <josh.heilig@gmail.com>
Subject: Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday (t/t, college, athletics) By JoshBabe
<josh.heilig@gmail.com>

This work contains depictions of homosexuality and sexual
acts between consenting homosexual adults. If that is
illegal in your jurisdiction, please, do not continue
reading this.

This work is copyright (c) 2004 by JoshBabe. You may
download and keep an unlimited number of copies for personal
use, but this work may not be used under any other
circumstances without the prior consent of the author.
Aesthetic changes (font size, font face, whitespace) do not
constitute a change of the text of the story per se; any
non-whitespace changes to the text of the story require
prior permission.


BRIEF NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

This story is not a continuation of "What You Won't Do for
Love" (available in /bisexual/highschool/). Both Josh
and the author are three years older now, so I've fudged the
dates a tad -- he is a sophomore, and should be a freshman.
Those of you who read WYWDFL will also miss Alex, who, as
pretty boys like him always do, blew Josh off and went off
to run cross-country at the U of O. Josh moved on.

This story is a feature-length story, i.e., it is not
episodic and not divided into chapters. It wouldn't make
sense that way. The advantage is that you will more easily
follow the plot, I promise. It WILL have sex, unlike WYWDFL,
but it's gonna take you awhile to get there. Looks like
about 30K. So, keep both hands on the keyboard.

If you have any desire to reenact this, especially if your
partner is now or once was a football player, share away! It
sure sounds like fun.

I haven't written fiction in a really long time, so I'm
hoping this is enjoyable. It's a long-time fantasy of mine.
Please email me if you enjoy reading it.



READERS' NOTA BENE

I've thrown in some clues as to where this is taking place.
But if you DO know where this is, well, leave others a
little mystery. No, I do not know any of the football
players at this university, nor the Coach. The 10% rule says
it's likely nine are gay, but I have no idea. There are
several players named Adam on the team; this is an
unfortunate consequence of having chosen a name I like,
especially since none of the real Adams are blondes. So? All
of my characters are fictional. Now, read the story!



HAPPY BIRTHDAY

--------------------------------
Scene: Friday, October 1, 3 p.m.
--------------------------------

I was having my afternoon cup of coffee at the coffeeshop
around the corner from my apartment when my birthday came
up.

That day was a gorgeous, sunny one, a crisp Midwestern fall
Friday with the color of the leaves turning everywhere. I
was wearing my suede jacket, because, well, I almost always
wear brown in October, but it was just chilly enough that I
was avoiding sitting outside at my usual table. To boot, it
was football season, my favorite time of year, and the whole
town was gearing up for a big Saturday.

Someone had just driven by in a silver beribboned-blue
Honda, just in time for the coming game, with shouting,
chanting frat boys hanging out the windows singing the
school fight song. People were honking their horns and
cheering. I understand that it wasn't always like this here,
but it certainly is now. We may have lost some respect
rebuilding, but we were climbing our way back up the
conference ladder, and people here were awfully proud of
that.

Well, as it turned out, trailing the coupe full of boys I'd
take home with me any day was the boy I take home with me
most every day. He swung his BMW around sharply, as I
watched him spot a parking space on the curb in front of my
coffeeshop, and he pulled into it with the studied patience
of someone who curb parks often. It's a skill I admire,
since I do it so poorly, but, like all things involving
physical talent and coordination, he does it without
thinking.

'He knows I know he's there,' I thought to myself, and I
studiously stared into my skim hazelnut mocha and pumpkin
pie. I decided to play coy.

I couldn't help steal a glance watching him walk around the
corner to the door, partly because I was desperately in
love. The other reason was because he'd decided to treat me
with his favorite pair of faded, worn-out jeans worn low and
a tight blue crew-neck shirt with a pair of flip-flops, and
then tease me with an even rattier school baseball cap
perched precariously over his teased-up blonde hair. His
cheekbones shone like he'd been in the sun recently, and I
figured he'd gotten a bit tan recently.

All this gave him the look of a Bruce Weber model, at least
as much as anyone at this school could claim. Within weeks
of my arrival my freshman year I'd regretted my choice in
that regard; sure, at least a quarter of the school was
either openly gay or in denial, but God forbid it should be
the right 25%. Much less that we should have so many
attractive guys to begin with. But I ramble.  None of this
made my lovely boyfriend any less gorgeous, wearing what I
teasingly described as his 'let me fuck you' clothes. He'd
helped it along by wearing a belt, which happens to be one
of my favorite accessories, but slinging it extraordinarily
loosely so that his pants stayed low.

The only unfortunate thing about the entire affair was that
he refused to be seen anywhere in our town wearing his
maddeningly appealing super-low-rise jeans, which fit him
like they were spray-painted on. They were only for the
clubs, and not even the Chicago clubs; we had to be even
further away. Today would have been a good day, I thought
idly, for him to put on something that would make me melt,
physically, in my seat.

At last he disappeared from my peripheral vision and I heard
the door open, as I stared into my coffee cup, with my
headphones on, bouncing my head to "Happy Together." (You
know, the poppy '60s song. I bet you know all the words.)
Well, I started bouncing my head more and lip-synching
along, teasing him.

He snuck up behind me, and pressed up against me in my stool
and sort of curled himself around me and started kissing me,
a little tentatively at first but then with a definite
passion. That boy's lips were truly glorious, just malleable
enough to enjoy tasting them but firm enough that it wasn't
awful like kissing a girl. He was aggressive, too, then, and
tasted like mint. Mmm. I'm not going to deny that it was a
whole lot of fun. I sucked on his tongue a little, to see
just what the mint would taste like and because I knew
perfectly well he liked that. This merely prolonged things.

But eventually I was starting to run out of oxygen, which,
after all, kissing can do to you--literally taking your
breath away. And there were lots of other people, who, as
liberal as this town was, weren't really watching, but
still. So I broke the kiss off, and I pulled Adam down next
to me at the bar in front of the side window. "Hello, babe,"
I said, giving him puppy dog eyes. "Have a nice afternoon
ignoring me?"

He glanced at me. "Your phone is off." I saw a glint of
steel in his eye. He was not happy.

"Is it now?" I took it out of my pocket and waved it at him,
and then raised the middle finger of my right hand at him.

He took it right out of my hand and pressed a few buttons --
I knew I shouldn't have taught him how to use my phone --
and then showed it back at me. "2 missed calls. Somebody
been playing the music a little too loud on the iPod,
perhaps?"

I stared into his eyes, and then shrugged. "Eh. I turned it
off vibrate because you made fun of me, called Black Betty
my little pocket rocket. And then, when I don't hear it, you
make fun of me. I can't win. What would you like?"

"I would like your attention," my glorious boyfriend told
me, batting his eyelashes at me. He decided to go into Ricky
Ricardo mode. "I would like for you to do somesink that does
not involve ignorink me."

So I giggled. So what?

OK, fine. Fuck you.

Eventually I summoned up the strength to respond, "I am
hardly ignoring you! I'm actively pretending you're not
there."

He darted a hand in under my sweater and started tickling
me. A shriek escaped me, and so he pushed a little higher
and tickled me under my arm. Oh, my God. It's like the
automatic panic button. One time, he was merciless, and I
ended up peeing my pants on the floor of his apartment. I
wasn't going to let this get that far in the coffeeshop. So
I pushed his hand further to the right and let him tweak my
nipple just a tad, and while I was silent, I deliberately
let my eyes widen so he knew I'd felt it, and I'd liked it.
Then, I grasped his hand and pushed it out of my sweater.

I was still gasping for air. "Come on, at least pretend to
be an adult," I spat out. I was feeling a bit pissy, after
being tickled. He reached in with a big, callused hand and
pulled me toward him, for another kiss. I felt his stubble
grazing my cheek as he curled my head into his neck. He
embraced me. I loved the rasping sensation of his stubble
against mine, but I never wanted much more than stubble from
him. It was pretty fine, and blonde, like all -- every last
inch, truly -- of the rest of him.

The coffeeshop was empty, except for the proprietor, which
was good, so he would feel free to be himself. He spent so
much time acting, playing the straight jock, that I felt
like my boyfriend was an entirely different person from the
boy everyone knew. I twirled around in my chair, to face him
squarely. Part of me sighed, mesmerized by the sight of him
wearing those slack Abercrombie jeans, the tight blue Busted
Tees shirt I'd bought him, the obscenely expensive designer
flip-flops he'd bought in Milan, indulging his inner wealthy
queer. It was like the perfect package deal -- a gorgeous,
well-dressed blonde jock, who wasn't at all afraid of his
homosexuality, in private. And I loved him so much, so very
much. As beautiful as he was, that wasn't the reason we'd
stayed together as long as we had.

I looked over his shoulder, as he grasped me again, pulling
me into his chest. It was then that I saw the
barista-slash-owner eyeing me, and I nudged us around a
little further and winked at him.

"Chris, this is Adam Vanderhuyden," I said, pushing Adam 180
degrees by the arm and motioning at my Scandinavian god,
whose hand was now resting gently above my shoulder. "Adam,
this is Chris, who routinely keeps me in a good mood by
feeding me caffeine in the mornings. I'm his best customer."

Adam nudged me a little. I knew instantly what he was
thinking. I don't think I really have to go into that here,
now, do I?

He really was a good boy, but I tell you, he certainly had a
bit of an immature streak running through him. All those
fantasies you read about--well, I do, and clearly he
did--rang true for him, and so I never knew when I'd wake up
to him nudging me to help him out a little before class with
a bit of a crack about breakfast.

At any rate Chris smiled and extended his hand, so Adam took
it and shook it, doing his best straight-boy impersonation:
firm handshake, but not quite making eye contact.  "Pleasure
to meet you. Thank you for keeping Josh here awake and in a
good mood."

Chris nodded, and Adam pulled me off my stool and started
walking me out, more or less against my desires. I reached
backwards around Adam's back and slid my mug up against the
dirty dishes bin, and waved at Chris, saying, "Bye! I'll see
you tomorrow!"

As soon as we were out of the door, Adam steered me toward
his car and whispered huskily, seductively, in my ear, "You
know, it's your birthday tomorrow, baby."

Maybe it was the jeans, but I had forgotten that my birthday
was approaching rapidly. As in, October 2. The next day. I
was pretty psyched, because my mom had already promised me a
car as a 19th-birthday gift and was going to be visiting the
next weekend, but I'd kept my distance from it since I had a
lot of work.

I shivered at his tone of voice, the feel of his breath on
my left ear. "Mmmmm," I whispered. "Don't do that, not
here." I paused. "Why do you bring it up?"

"I have a surprise planned for you," he whispered back, a
shit-eating grin on his face.

His car fweeeeeet-fweeeeeeted as he unlocked the doors, and
then he grabbed the passenger door for me. I glanced at it
-- a silver M3 with dark grey trim and black leather, with
his iPod mounted on the dashboard; did his teammates really
not know he was gay? Come on. The display in the coffeeshop?
The car? But it was also a really, really fun car to drive.
Who was I to complain?

He slid his arm around me as he slid into the driver's seat.
The wind whistled in through the tinted window he'd left
cracked open, as we pulled away from the curb and started
cruising toward his place. I knew what that meant. It was
about three, and practice would be starting at five, but I
shared an apartment with two other guys and they always
complained loudly when they had the misfortune to hear us in
the bedroom. They were probably right -- I disliked it when
forced to hear their girlfriends screaming all sorts of
disturbing things loudly for half an hour -- but Adam and I
were relatively quiet.

Adam, in contrast, lived in a one-bedroom in one of the
high-rises near downtown; it was a magnificent place, with a
view and everything, and they had a posh lobby and a doorman
and an electronic entry system. I was always impressed.

His family had money, and lots of it. They took me to Mexico
with them for spring break last year, and ooooh, we had fun
on the beach in Cancun, with so many gorgeous boys and
alcohol flowing like water. This year they were talking
about Tahiti for Christmas break; 'Who buys tickets in
November for a trip in December?' I found myself wondering
from time to time. Especially first-class tickets. Adam has
been quite lucky. But I digress.

He gunned the car into the parking garage under the
building, and as he slid out of the door I saw him step back
into his straight-boy persona again. He straightened his
shoulders and pushed them back, bringing his impressive
pectorals front and center, and spread his legs a little
farther as he walked. It never ceased to impress me how he
could handle that code-switching so well.

He reached back over his right shoulder, grey backpack slung
casually over the left, and clicked the button on his key.
Fweeeeet-fweeeeet. The gay-boy persona locked away with a
button press.

We walked into the elevator and Adam punched the button, and
we slid smoothly upstairs to the 15th floor, where he had
his humble abode. It smelled like, well, Adam, the byproduct
of his leaving his dirty clothes just about everywhere, all
intoxicating to me and probably disturbing to most everyone
else he knew. He pushed all of the old underwear and dirty
socks into a pile in the corner of his room as I followed
him in there.

Adam fell on top of me on his bed, and I felt his hands
sliding all over me. He may have been the one with the
physique, but I was no slouch, just slender rather than
muscular. He seemed to enjoy it.

I reached down and touched him. "Mmm, you are enjoying
that," I whispered seductively in his ear. I nibbled a
little on the lobe. "C'mere, give me some of that."


--------------------------------
Scene: Friday, October 1, 5 p.m.
--------------------------------

The alarm on Adam's bedside table went off with a loud buzz
at five on the dot, just like it always did on Fridays. I
woke up groggily, and curled myself a little deeper into his
arm, still wrapped around my chest. He teased my right
nipple a little, and I arched my head back and kissed him.
He pulled back.

"Dude, c'mon," he said, smiling at me, "don't start, I have
practice."

I slid down and started sucking on his left nipple instead.

Adam whispered, "Shit, don't do that, I have to... fuck. Oh,
Jesus. Why the fuck not? Just be quick."

My cell phone went off. Well, there goes that. I was hungry.
But I glanced over at it and saw that it was my best friend
Kirsten, who had seemingly chosen the worst moment
imaginable to call. I took the call.

"Hello?" I asked.

A shout blared out of the speaker. "JOSH!" I pulled the
phone away from my ear. What was it with all the women in my
life and shouting into the phone. "I'M SO GLAD YOU ANSWERED
THE PHONE! YOU HAVE TO COME NOW!"

I couldn't help myself, I giggled.

"OH, YOU GUTTER MIND! STOP THAT!"

My fingers, still shaking, with Adam shaking his head at me,
somehow found the volume adjustment button on the side of
the phone. Kirsten said, persisting, "You know, you could at
least do me the courtesy of not answering the phone when
you're in bed. I know that tone of voice. Or, well, laugh.
But I need you to come over now, I have something you need
to see."

I rolled my eyes at Adam, and said, "OK, fine. Meet me in
front of Adam's building?"

Adam flicked the tip of my nose.

"Sure, why not?" Kirsten said. "I'll give you fifteen
minutes to get presentable."

I rolled over in his queen bed -- the space, the glorious
space of it -- and lay on top of him. "That gives us a
little time if you want."

He playfully pushed me off of him and got out of bed. "Nah.
Just hearing you talk that way to a girl ruined the moment.
Sometimes I wonder if you really do love me."

We both laughed. "Oh, goodness," I said, deliberately
lisping and crossing my legs left over right, "don't you
know how I feel about you, you pretty boy?"

Adam swatted at me with a towel he'd picked up off the
floor, apparently to use in the shower. Gross. "Go away! Go
away before I change my mind. I have to get all ready for
practice anyway," he shouted, laughing through the
syllables. "But I warned you not to start, that we didn't
have time. Now, where the fuck is my... oh, Jesus."

I grinned at him.

"Did you fucking take it again?"

I continued grinning.

"Goddamnit, am I going to have to go over to your apartment
myself and get my fucking jock strap again? Would you stop
the fuck taking them? I need them."

Finally I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and
handed him one, folded up and clean. "This is last week's.
It was so foul to start with once I was done with it I
washed it."

He glared at me, and then his glare softened into a bit of a
cocky grin. "You are one sick fuck," he said, his grin
widening. "And it fucking turns me on. Now get the hell out
of here, so I can get ready for practice."

"What about that surprise?" I asked innocently. "You
mentioned something about that earlier. While you were busy
trying to get into my pants on the street."

Adam smiled, a beautiful wave of a smile spreading across
his face. "Yeah. That. Why don't you call me after practice,
baby?"

I nodded, and then he made a shooing gesture with his right
hand. "Go on, now! Some of us have shit to do!" I grabbed my
clothes and started putting them on right there, being
careful not to rumple them. I knew Adam never cared, but I
liked to fold my clothes up and put them on a chair or
something, so that all I had to do was brush my hair again
and no one would know I'd been busy with my boyfriend of a
year.

A year. Jesus. I set down the clothes for a moment to think.
That always hit me hard, when I realized it. It was, now. A
year and two weeks. I still don't know how I got lucky
enough to meet our exciting new recruit, a star wide
receiver from southern California, at a party -- and I felt
like an idiot when I told him I honestly hadn't heard
anything about his arrival, a couple of days later. We'd
really hit it off at a party an upperclassman I knew from
home was having at his apartment, and it helped that Adam
was drunk enough not to remember that he was supposedly
straight. He was glorious that night, in a tight
short-sleeved red polo and cargo khakis with his beautiful
blonde hair teased up in a thousand different directions;
and I could tell there were a lot of boys jealous when I
went home with that one.

The good news, for Adam, was that none of the other gay boys
(i.e., almost everyone) at the party knew who he was,
either, and he hadn't told any of them. Except me, who he
was clearly trying to impress. I woke up in his bed the next
morning to find him in a panic. It's still a mystery why he
doesn't just tell his teammates.

After a year, they must know, right?

All those times I've met him at the stadium after practice
"to go catch up and have coffee," all the times I've come
and gone from his dorm and his apartment building, all the
times he's done what he did today at the coffeeshop?

Maybe they don't. Or maybe they just don't want to see it.
It's right there in front of them, after all.

A year and two weeks. Today. I picked the clothes back up,
unfolded my jeans, started putting them on again, watching
my boyfriend put on his requisite Jock Wear: university
logo-emblazoned sweats, white T-shirt, sweatshirt, sandals.
He grabbed a gym bag full of stuff he didn't keep in the
locker room, and, just as I finished putting on my belt and
pulled my shirt over my head, he put his arm on the small of
my back and started pushing me toward the door. "Do you guys
need a ride?"

"Nah, I'm fine," I said. I needed a walk anyway. Although
I'd be damned if it wasn't going to be a bit tougher than
usual, after that afternoon. Something sure lit a fire under
that boy. I slid my feet into my Birkenstocks and went with
his pushing.

Once we'd finally made it to the ground floor, I waved back
at him. I knew he couldn't very well respond effusively,
there in the lobby, but I very discreetly sent him a little
air kiss anyway. He flushed, and the door shut. Mmm. I love
that boy.

As soon as I got outside, Kirsten was waiting for me,
standing there with her hands on her hips. She reached out,
as I got close, and instead of embracing me smoothed my hair
down. "Someone looks like they had a little fun this
afternoon," she said, pulling me in for a hug. "I bet it was
more than a little, too. Anyway."

She smiled at me as I watched Adam pull out of the garage
and zoom off northward. I heard him shift -- he'd insisted
on stick -- and speed up as the light turned orange, then he
just flew away.

"That boy," she said, shaking her head at me and smiling a
little. "All right, let's go over to my dorm."


--------------------------------
Scene: Friday, October 1, 9 p.m.
--------------------------------

I met Adam out in front of the football stadium, about a
mile due northwest of campus, after practice at nine. On the
walk up there, which was at least two and a half miles, I
noticed that most of the storefronts in town had their
windows painted with cute slogans and pictures encouraging
the team for Homecoming. How exciting! Our little town was
all brightly colored, ribbons and banners and flags flying,
with painted windows everywhere.

The game was scheduled for four in the afternoon that
Saturday, and they were hauling in the big cameras and
everything for ESPN. You might imagine this is routine, but
to an NCAA football fan, ESPN is never routine. It means
you've arrived. (Or your opposition, I suppose. Shh, don't
burst my bubble.)

Adam was leaning against his BMW, wearing a pair of blue
warm-ups and a T-shirt so tight on his torso I couldn't even
imagine taking it off. Well, no, I could, but it wasn't
going to be easy. He had a cocky grin on his face, and a
baseball cap -- this time, a team cap, which said "FOOTBALL"
in big letters to the left of our logo -- cocked slightly to
the right on his head. The parking lot was mostly empty.

"Hey, Adam," I said, my voice catching slightly in my
throat. What a sight to behold he was.

He smiled at me. "Hey Josh. 'Sup?"

I extended a hand as I approached, and gave him the usual
straight-guy handshake-and-a-back-slap excuse for a hug. I
was sure I was glowing, but I knew he was pretty sensitive
about his cover, so I tried.

"Not so much. We still going to get coffee?"

He clicked the key, and the car made its usual high-pitched
noise. He popped his door open and stretched out in the car.
"Of course! Hop in!" he said, smiling, and pulled his door
shut.

I got in, and slid into the seats, enjoying the cool feel of
leather upholstery on my back. "So where are we headed?"

"Anywhere but here," he said with a smile. "How does ice
cream sound right now?"

Somehow I found myself unable to resist. "Well, I wouldn't
mind something white, gooey and sticky melting in my
mouth..."

He punched my shoulder.

"OW!" I shouted at him. "Hey! That hurt!"

"Don't you dare," he said, laughing at me. "Am I going to
have to pull over and make you pay for that remark? You have
any idea how fucking horny I am right now, after practice?"

"Did the fucking quarterback make a pass at you again?" I
said, looking at him. "I'm going to kill him. He came to me
at a party, a couple of weeks ago, and told me if I'd suck
his dick as well as I must be sucking yours..."

Adam looked panicked for a moment, and then he laughed. "Oh.
Haha. I thought you were serious for a second."

"So what's the toll?" I asked, putting on a sweet face.
"What am I going to have to pay you for my remarks?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "We are not doing this. We are
definitely not. Do you realize how that would look in the
Daily on Monday? 'Receiver caught having sex in car near
stadium'? No. We're getting ice cream, unless you have a
better idea."

I shrugged.

"All righty, ice cream it is!" He grabbed the stick and
upshifted, as dramatically as always, and floored the car
down one of our two major thoroughfares, weaving into spaces
I didn't realize were there and braking and turning on a
dime. He drives like the wideout he is, I guess, always
looking for the hole, the big break. We were there pretty
quickly.

Since the ice creamery was even further south than the
coffeeshop, we were allowed to be publicly affectionate
there. No one knew what he looked like outside a football
uniform except his teammates, or so he'd claim, so he'd
learned to keep sight of anyone who could out him even while
he was kissing me. It could be... disconcerting. But who was
I to complain, I was getting to kiss him.

One of the difficult things about dating a football player,
I'd discovered over the past year, was that I wished I could
tell all of my friends. I mean, damn, if they wouldn't have
been jealous, if they'd known what I slept next to (or on
top of, heh) at night. But of course, I couldn't tell
everybody, because I couldn't go jeopardizing my boyfriend's
status. Eventually someone was bound to know him. So my
closest friends knew -- they were the ones who I would cook
for, or who would have us over for small parties. It wasn't
easy, but I got by.

I'd ordered a scoop of rum raisin in a waffle cone, mostly
because their ice cream and waffle cones were all made by
hand and it was amazing. Adam, who definitely had the
appetite of a football player, got a double-scoop dark
chocolate in a chocolate-dipped waffle cone. We sat in a
booth, quietly eating our ice cream, a while.

"So are you gonna be at the game tomorrow?" Adam asked me, a
childlike grin on his face.

"Hell, yes!" I said, beaming at him. "How could I miss
watching you run down field in tight pants and pads?"

He laughed. "Is that why you go?"

Adam knew perfectly well that I was a rabid football fan,
the kind of person who got all dressed up in school colors
and brought a painted cowbell to make noise whenever the
visitors were in the huddle, who stood down in the first
five rows screaming and cheering for five hours a Saturday.
Adam would tease me that I was as rabid as a Pike, and once
or twice suggested it would be really hot if I were one. He
knew how much I hated fraternity life, and he wasn't a fan
himself, but the image was what counted; I could understand
that.

"I'd go no matter what," I said, a touch indignantly. It was
a sore topic. "Come on, you know me better than that, baby.
But I especially go to see you tear defenses apart, rip them
to pieces and dash down the field for the score. It makes me
feel... very special inside. Knowing that that's my love."

I glanced at him, and saw Adam nod. "That's fair enough,
babe," he said softly. He was fidgeting nervously with the
napkin holder.

"Is something the matter?" I was a bit concerned, and
rightfully so, since it was Homecoming tomorrow and I
couldn't very well have him nervous all night. "Are you OK?"

A long pause. Very, very long. Finally he blurted out, "Oh,
God, I'm fine. I'm a bit nervous about tomorrow."

It was Homecoming. Damn. I needed to get this boy relaxed. I
looked over at him and gave him a wicked grin. "Baby, I bet
I can get you all loosened up before the big game, if you
give me the chance. I'm the best physical trainer you'll
find."

"Are you now?"

I looked him straight -- ha, ha -- in the eyes and just
licked my lips a little bit, watched his eyes flick down and
back up and down again. Adam folded his napkin up and tossed
it over my shoulder at the trash can in the corner of the
ice cream shop. "Let's go."



---------------------------------
Scene: Friday, October 1, 10 p.m.
---------------------------------

I stood pressed up to his back in the elevator and slid his
keys out of his pocket with my left hand, a neat trick I
could pull off because he was wearing those baggy warm-ups.
I flung them from the one hand to the other, right over his
head, and whispered, deliberately making my voice a little
raspy, "I'll handle this, you poor thing, so tense and
nervous."

Once the elevator reached the 15th floor, I gave Adam a bit
of a shove out and into the hallway, and then opened the
door to his apartment and pushed him inside. With a quick
kick the door was shut, and then I grasped his shirt and
pulled him into his bedroom.

Adam moaned lightly into my ear. He had always liked it when
I got aggressive with him. Now, that didn't change my usual
role in bed, but it did certainly get him more than a little
hot under the collar. I slid my hand over the crotch in his
pants, feeling his dick pushing back at my hand, and I
deliberately brushed it a little harder, feeling him bite at
my earlobe. My other hand was up under his form-fitting
T-shirt, feeling his beautiful pecs, flicking at the tips of
his nipples, while I teased him in his jeans. I shoved Adam
backward onto his bed, an enormous king bed his dad had
bought especially for us when Adam moved in here in
September and God damn how I had been embarrassed when his
dad unveiled it while Adam was showing me around, and I
began to tug at his shirt, finally pushing his arms up over
his head and then sliding it off. He giggled as I straddled
him and kissed him, passionately, running my fingers through
his flax-like hair, ruining the look he'd so carefully put
together. His hat was lying just inside the door to our
apartment, which was kind of a shame since I had to admit I
loved the smell of it, and had seriously gotten off on that
in the past, but it was a casualty, I supposed.

Then I did something I'd never managed to pull off before,
which was to slide myself down his chest and undo his canvas
belt without using any hands at all. It was so fucking hot I
had to stop myself for a moment and calm down. Then, I
pulled the belt off and undid his button and his fly with my
teeth, thankful all the time that he wore the jeans baggy
enough I could pull this off. I yanked his jeans off, and he
was lying there in just his delicious green plaid boxers, in
his bed. I slid up to his face, kissed him for quite a long
while while massaging his beautiful smooth muscular chest,
then slid my hand under his waistband and began pulling
slightly up and down on him while I nibbled on his earlobe.
I was waiting for him to start whimpering.

That was when the real work would begin.

As soon as I heard the whimpering, I backed off and pulled
off my clothes, giving him a bit of a seductive striptease
in the process. He whistled at me when I pulled my brown
sweater over my head, my jacket hanging on his doorknob, and
I saw his eyes widen when I pulled the undershirt off. I
deliberately left my arms up for a bit, remembering his
thing for armpits, and then I pulled the shirt off, and was
standing there only in my damn-sexy Lucky jeans and shoes. I
slid off my Birkenstocks, and then undid my belt and then my
jeans. I stepped right out, and threw myself on top of him
in just my white boxers.

"I love those things," he whispered. "2xist. Fucking hot.
They make you look so fucking gorgeous." He slid his hand
under my waistband. "And God damn. Mmm." He licked his lips.

"Unh-unh-unh," I said with a smile. "You wish I were going
to let you do that. Remember, I'm the physical trainer,
huh?" I paused. "You look like you're bulking up, Adam.
Well, more than you already are. Trying to peel me away from
those Matthew Rush videos?"

He smiled at me, but didn't say anything. He gave me a
mischievous look.

What now? "You look like the cat that ate the canary, babe,"
I told him, licking my lips. "Now spit the bird out."

"I... uhh... I have some plans for the weekend. We should
have a lot of fun. I've, well, made some preparations."

"Preparations? Something to do with the game tomorrow, I
heard you muttering on your cell phone the other day," I
said, grinning at him. I pressed my forefinger to his chest,
squarely between those magnificent pecs.

"Fuck. Well, pretend you didn't hear that. Some of it should
be a surprise. We'll talk later, Mini-Adam -- well,
Giganto-Adam -- needs some attention right now. That is why
you're here, Mr. Physical Trainer, right?"

He had a point, I had to admit.

I planted sloppy wet kisses all the way down from his lips
to his waistband, and then I snaked my tongue under it. I
looked up at Adam, who looked like he was in heaven, and
licked my lips seductively. He gave me a cocky grin, looking
down at me, and then he whispered, "Go on ahead, suck it."

My fingers slipped under the waistband and I pulled his
boxers down, sliding them down to his ankles and then
pulling them off his delicious feet. I looked at him,
completely naked, just a little patch of light brown hair
surrounding a beautiful piece of equipment. I licked my
lips. I kissed my way up his legs, hairless but for a faint
blonde fuzz, and then I slipped his right nut into my mouth,
enjoying the hair -- so unusual on his pretty body -- and
once I could feel his legs quavering I pushed that one out
and slipped the left one in. They were delicious, musky just
like the rest of him, the scent of my jocky football player
overwhelming me.

At long last Adam started making high-pitched squealing
noises, which was my cue to stop. I'd been enjoying it, but
I knew I couldn't keep it up or he'd come without my ever
touching his beautiful cock. This had happened to us once
before, when I was busily enjoying sucking on his balls and
sliding my index finger slowly in and out of his ass and
Adam had suddenly tensed up, screamed and shot a mile-long
string of semen all the way to his Adam's apple. It was
pretty cool, but I had missed the candy tasting, so I
decided I wouldn't do that again.

I gently extracted his very sensitive right nut, the last
one in, from my mouth, and then I slipped up his long,
expansive chest and kissed him. It was intended to be just
brief enough to keep him from going off immediately, but it
turned into something a bit more passionate than that. He
began to push me over onto my back, but I shoved his arms
behind his head to keep him a little off-balance, while I
whispered in his ear, "Who's the physical therapist again,
huh? I'll tell Coach if you misbehave."

Adam giggled at the last part. "Oh, fuck, I'd love to see
the look on Coach's face. He might make some crack about
pickle boats, though."

I flicked the tip of his nose, gently, told him he was a
geek--he was--and then started kissing my way back down. He
grasped my ears and started pushing, then the top of my head
when I resisted, but surprisingly I held my own while I was
gnawing on his nipples, tooth on one and fingers on the
other. I switched, while he was pushing down and groaning,
and finally he gave up and cradled my lower body with his
magnificent legs. I felt his dick huge against my stomach,
which was trim but certainly not six-pack--ripped like
Adam's, and I could feel the precome slowly slicking its way
out of Giganto-Adam, as he liked to call it. It twitched
against me every time I would squirm against him, and I was
really enjoying it.

Finally I started sliding the rest of the way, nibbling on
his stomach, and then finally licking my way down his pretty
little honey-colored treasure trail, and I heard him moaning
his assent.

"Oh, fuck, please," Adam whispered, hoarsely.

I giggled a little. "What was that?" I said, my chin propped
up on his very hard, very large dick. "I couldn't hear you."

"Fuck," he said. He looked down at me, intently. "Fuck it,
we're not in the dorm anymore," Adam muttered, then said,
louder, "Come on, suck it. I want to fucking face-fuck you.
I want to ream you with my cock."

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. He knew how to push those buttons.

Adam kept on. "I'm going to keep pushing my big cock in and
out of your mouth until you're begging me to come, just so
you can rest your tongue and your jaw. Then, I'm going to
keep doing it until I feel the fuck like coming. Now, get
your mouth on my fucking dick, before I have to go find a
cocksucker who can handle it."

I gasped. I stopped right there. My blood pressure went up a
few notches. "Fuck you."

"What?"

My eyes were probably bulging out. "Did you have to call me
that, damnit?"

"God fucking damn it, now is not the time for word games!
What happened to the fucking physical therapist schtick? Was
that not good enough?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "I'm all for the control thing, but
you know I hate that word."

"OK, fuck, you win. I know I'm sorry very sorry now get your
fucking mouth on my dick or I'm going to jack off in the
bathroom OK? C'mon, baby."

I looked up at Adam, and I said, plainly, "I understand.
It's easy to get caught up." I was cooling off, and even if
I weren't, fuck it, I needed that big dick in my mouth. I
backed off, and breathed deeply. "Maybe you're the one who
needs to give up the authoritarian porn, huh? I draw lines.
If you're going to do that, send me the memo, OK?"

"Finefinefine OK Igetit
I'msorrynowgetyourfuckingmouthonmygoddamnfuckingcock or
I'mgoingtofuckingjackoff!" Adam gasped, the whole sentence
one long word. "C'mon!"

As I said, I'd already given in.

I stretched my lips open and licked them, knowing he was
watching lasciviously, and then I prolonged it a little to
tease him while I used my left hand to play with his balls
and his perineum, which I knew would drive him wild. Then, I
plunged down, taking his beautiful long shaft as far as I
thought I could and a bit further, and backed off, slicking
him with my saliva. I kept playing with his nuts, enjoying
watching him gasp and buck his hips slowly into my mouth, as
I built up a rhythm.

I would pump up and down with my head on his cock for a
couple strokes, then I would pull off and suck on just the
head for a bit, then pull back further and flick the head of
his cock with my tongue. Lather, rinse, repeat. Two strokes,
two count, two flicks, two strokes, two count, two flicks,
two strokes, two count, two flicks. Adam's eyes rolled back
into his head with every flick, and he would moan with each
count. It was amazing, the control I had over this boy's
body.

Watching from a great vantage point, between two magnificent
legs cradling my head between his thighs, I could watch the
sweat beading up on his chest and forehead, so occasionally
I'd reach up and rub his pecs, which was sure to generate
more sweat. The scent was overwhelming. I rubbed his feet, I
massaged his perineum, I did everything I thought I possibly
could. After a few minutes, I stuck my forefinger in the
path of my tongue-flicks until it was wet enough, then I
slowly worked it into Adam's truly amazing ass, in search of
his prostate, a bit elusive. I'd graze it in time with the
tongue-flicks, which elicited a little scream.

My rhythm was starting to speed up a little when I could
feel him swelling up, and I decided I couldn't tease him any
more or he would explode the next time I touched him. I
removed my finger from his ass and pulled his hands down
onto my jawbones, and let him do what he said he wanted to,
face-fuck me. He was pistoning in and out so fast all I
could do was keep my tongue against his cock, and my jaw was
aching, but it was going to be over soon.

Finally, I looked up and saw Adam's upper back slightly off
the bed, and his eyes were closed and his mouth slack, which
meant he was about to come. I braced myself, and heard him
scream louder than he ever had before, "OH FUCKING CHRIST IN
HEAVEN I'M GOING TO--"

Then he came, screaming without words, just loud noise, an
"AUUUUUGHH" sound straight out of "Monty Python and The Holy
Grail."

His come was a tidal wave of tasty white cream in my mouth,
falling out of my mouth onto my lips and his groin and legs
and lower chest, dripping off my tonsils, as I tried to lick
it all in and suck it all down. I reserved just a tiny bit
in my mouth, so Adam could snowball it out. He always
enjoyed that. Delicious. I could see why.

It's really amazing, how much more cognizant Adam was of
what was happening than I was; my experience has been that
when he goes down on me, I only vaguely recall events that
happened in the interim. One time the phone rang and I
didn't even hear it, and Adam somehow grabbed the T630 out
of my shorts pocket and hit 'Reject'.

I slid my way back up Adam's body, kissing his body, and
finally I kissed him and deposited a bit of his come in his
mouth. He giggled and swallowed it, and followed that up by
kissing me passionately, desperately, his beautiful hair
matted with sweat and the room smelling of nothing but raw
physical exertion and semen.

"Oh, God, I love you. I'm sooooo so sorry about earlier," he
said, and I saw his eyes were cloudy with tears. "I didn't
mean to hurt you. You know how I feel about you."

I nodded. Fuck, I am not getting choked up over his apology,
I am not some fucking girl. "Yes, I do. I love you. More
than anything else. Why do you think it hurts so bad when
you say that?"

"I know, I know, I know," Adam whispered at me. "Can you
forgive me? I promise next time if I want to play games I'll
tell you."

Another nod. "Sometimes, it's just hard to say, baby. I
know." We kissed, his tongue flicking lazily in and out of
my mouth. "Trust me. I'm still so insecure about my
fantasies."

Adam looked at me. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you shared one with
me. That was fucking hot. When I brought home my jersey and
pads and pants and came in all suited up for you? I thought
you were going to cream yourself right there, or at very
least start jacking off just looking at me. I knew you
wanted me to just take over, when I saw that hungry look in
your eyes."

"Yeah, well."

"'Yeah, well,' what? Dumbfuck. You're supposed to be the
smart, articulate one?"

I laughed. "That's my day job. Here, you're the talented
one."

"Talent is different. Talent I got. The NFL wants this ass
more than your index finger."

"Index finger?!" I gasped, mock-indignant. "That's a fucking
huge index finger, asshole! All seven inches of it? You sure
enjoyed that finger the last time I used it, screaming, 'Oh,
fuck, fuck me harder with that big hard cock, Josh, fucking
fuck me.' Some index finger!"

Then it sunk in. "The NFL? Huh?"

"Oh, shit," Adam whispered. "Did I say that? Oh, fuck. Fuck.
You can't tell anyone. They'll fucking kill me."

"The NFL -- the National fucking Football League -- wants
you?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"They actually recruit OUR players? On OUR squad?"

"You betcha. Well. They can't technically contact me, but I
... well, let's say I've received a few calls."

My mind was racing. "Do you intend to do it?"

"No." Adam was unequivocal. "Absolutely not. And you can
tell NO ONE about it. OK?"

"OK. Wait. You don't want to play on Sunday?"

Adam laughed. "Did you HAVE to use that expression? I hate
it. No, I don't. Not Monday. Not Friday, or whenever else
the hell they play. Maybe you forgot, I want to go to law
school. Maybe you didn't notice the legal studies minor?"

"Yeah, I know, but think about how much money you could make
us in the NFL."

"There can't BE an us in the big leagues. Why do you think I
don't want to do it? You think I don't want to catch passes
from a real QB legend somewhere?" I giggled. He laughed.
"Not like that, babe. Anyway. I don't want to hide even as
much as we've had to hide here -- and if I go pro we can't
just hide when we're within a mile and a half of campus.
Case closed."

I looked at Adam, looked him in the eyes, then finally
mustered up a smile. "That's good, then. Two more seasons of
your tight little ass all over our opponents!"

He giggled. "All right, now, time to deal with something
else. You're sure all over my LEG right now... are you sure
that's not an index finger? Sure doesn't feel like seven
inches. More like four."

"Dickhead," I muttered. "Come on, you know you want it."

Adam laughed, and nodded at me. "Yeah. I do." He slid his
head down my chest, seductively looking me in the eyes while
he sucked on my chest, leaving a bunch of hickeys on his way
down, and wound up with his mouth sliding up and down on my
cock in almost no time. He was all business; that was part
of the personal trainer act. I was also rather more
short-fused than Adam was. In about two minutes, he had me
screaming his name and coming like crazy. Then we cuddled a
while longer, kissing.

Adam knew perfectly well I was always exhausted afterward,
and I would probably have difficulty talking for five
minutes. I also needed about two minutes in which he didn't
touch me at all. It was kind of awkward, but he'd gotten
used to it. Truth be told, after our fifth date, the first
time Adam fucked me, it was probably for the best that I
came while he was busy working my ass over, and had to keep
doing it, or it would have been awfully awkward to explain
that I needed to just lay there with him not anywhere near
me for a few minutes.

"So what was this you were talking about earlier, baby?" I
asked, mischievous. "Something about this weekend?"

He looked at me. "Well, it is your birthday, after all.
What, you thought I'd forgotten or something? We'll be
celebrating all weekend, Josh, babe."

I laughed quite loudly. "Funny you should call me that. My
last boyfriend called me that too. And you've never called
me that before."

"I haven't?"

"Nope."

"Huh. Go figure. Well. This last boyfriend was... Alex,
right? Hmm. You broke up with the girl for him?"

"Yes."

"The sex was better?"

"Actually. Well. Yes."

"Better than with me?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny that allegation," I said
with a scowl, doing my best Oliver North.

Adam giggled. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"What did it sound like?"

"It sounded like a no."

I looked up at him. "Believe whichever makes you happiest, I
don't so much care. I'm not sure I could decide on a yes or
no anyway." I paused. "OK. So. This weekend! Don't forget,
baby, some of us have lots of stuff to do... I need to know
when I have to be free."

"Well, all day tomorrow. The game should be over by eight or
so, so I want you to be able to meet me in front of the
workout facilities up by the stadium at nine."

That brought a smile to my face. "Really? Jesus. Cool. Don't
shower for me?"

"Oh, you betcha I won't. I know what that does to you." He
smiled. "The last time I did that for you after a game, you
could probably see your erection from downtown Chicago, it
was so big."

I smiled sweetly, and pursed my lips. "Would that be before
or after you were screaming for me to thrust harder?"

He laughed. I loved it when we got to just cuddle like this.
Not enough time, really, for it, but who needs to do your
work when you have a big, strong, loving man to curl you up
in his muscular arms and make you forget about the outside
world?

I fell asleep at Adam's, in his arms, in his gigantic and
comfy bed. I hated doing that, since it meant my roommates
would tease me about it in the morning, and because he had
to get up at 8 for the team's big pancake breakfast and I
wanted to sleep till 10 or so and then head over to a
friend's for a little pre-gaming. But we never had time to
sleep together, anymore, not that way. It felt so good.



-----------------------------------
Scene: Saturday, October 2, 10 a.m.
-----------------------------------

God damn, I hated that buzzer alarm. Would it kill the boy
to buy a CD alarm?

I stirred and rolled over and turned it off, knowing that
Adam was long gone. It was nice of him to re-set it for me
after he got up to go to the pancake breakfast. Not like he
was ever anything but considerate. He'd left me a cute
little note folded into the corner of the mirror in his
beautiful antique armoire, which read, "Off to breakfast.
Won't be able to see you till after The Big Game. Love you.
Enjoy the liquor." There were two little blue hearts in the
lower right hand corner. What a flamer. Heh.

Eventually I made it out of bed, pulled on a pair of pajama
pants over my naked-as-the-day-I-was-born ass, ran my
fingers through my hair until it behaved, and then wandered
into Adam's kitchen. I opened the fridge, and, as usual, had
to stifle a laugh: three packs of Sinai Kosher hot dogs,
four bottles of white wine, five sticks of butter, a dozen
eggs, a gallon of milk and two two-liter bottles of Coke.
Typical Adam. I don't think he could have made a meal at
home if he'd tried. At least he had hot dog buns in the
bread box, today; often, he ate the hot dogs sans bun. I
pulled the loaf of wheat bread out of his breadbox and
cracked a couple of eggs, and soon enough I had some highly
improvised pain perdu. Mmm.

Around eleven I threw myself in the shower, enjoying Adam's
significantly better water pressure and nice bathroom. It
was glorious, and I spent quite a lot of time, just washing
myself over and over again. I got out, put on one of the
spare outfits I always left at Adam's just in case, which
happened to be a tan wool sweater and a brown plaid shirt
under it, with a pair of Sevens and amazing brown Pumas. Can
you tell I like brown? I put on my suede jacket and headed
out for coffee.

I dropped in to my coffeeshop, told Chris hello and went
through my daily latte, waking up slowly but surely. My
caffeine jolt was so terribly necessary, these days. We
chatted for a bit, and he grilled me about The Boyfriend,
who he had somehow honestly never heard much about until he
met him yesterday. Chris was straight, which was good or I
might have felt a tad poached-upon, but even he could
appreciate just how gorgeous Adam was. I beamed, when he
told me how happy he thought we had looked. My face was
burning. He gave me my coffee on the house, which I thought
was awfully nice of him, and I warned him briefly that he
couldn't go about parading my boyfriend around, because he
was reasonably well-known. He nodded. "I knew who he was...
tell him he should consider being a bit more discreet, this
town is smaller than it looks."

Chris waved me away, eventually, and I headed off to my
apartment, to change into appropriate football wear. I got
in the elevator, got off on my floor, opened the door and
gasped at the mess. I wandered through picking up leftover
beer bottles and ended up Swiffering the floor a few times
after my not-so-terribly-clean roommates. Out of the dresser
came a bright blue-and-white sweater, the most important
part of the outfit; then I dug up a white university hat
Adam gave me last year for Christmas, which had his number
tastefully embroidered on the back of the hat, in lieu of
the usual logo. I changed out of the Pumas and into a pair
of rubber-soled Adidas, so I could stand for the entire game
without losing a limb, and I was off. I called Kirsten, who
was hosting our pre-game party, on my walk over to her place
-- she lived about ten minutes west of me -- and let her
know that I was en route.

Lo and behold, a few minutes later I was getting acquainted
with a tequila sunrise and dancing along to show tunes.
Apparently, whenever I have alcohol in my hand, I
immediately start singing them. I don't understand it. It
helped that I was pretty psyched about getting to see my
gorgeous boyfriend in his football jersey and tight pants,
always a delicious sight, especially while he was busy
weaving his way through the secondary. I had always wondered
what a football game looks like, standing on the field, but
Adam had never figured out a discreet way to get me down on
the sideline to watch a game. So I'd never really seen it.

Eventually, after much merriment involving myself, Kirsten,
and a couple of our other friends, we wandered out to the
street and caught a shuttle up to the football stadium. We
were pretty psyched and, yes, pretty drunk. Once we got up
there, promptly as the gates opened, we presented our
tickets and got frisked down, which meant Kirsten's roommate
only very narrowly kept her hip flask full of brandy, and
headed down to the front row. We had arrived in time to
stand in the very front row, which was both a blessing and a
curse since I could watch Adam play but had to keep from
blowing kisses or batting my eyelashes at him. That would be
vaguely inappropriate, although I'm sure he would find it
terribly distracting and endearing for a few seconds. Until
one of the big scary linemen asked what was up with that fag
in the front row blowing kisses at them in the huddle.

I loved football, and not just because the game loved me
back. I lived for it, enjoyed arriving an hour and a half
early to watch warm-ups, couldn't wait for Saturday to come.
I even loved the smell of the field, the dewy look of the
grass and the chalky white of the paint, the echo of the
empty stands and the enormous beige brick towers rising up
at the corners of the stadium. Such an addiction. At least
it wasn't as expensive as alcohol, or pot, or tobacco.

All in all I was in heaven sitting there on the ice-cold
bleachers, on a very cold Saturday afternoon in early
October, watching a bunch of big, hunky college boys from my
school warm up against a bunch of big, hunky college boys
from another school in our conference. There was a lot of
tension hanging in the air, although--or maybe because--it
was your classic David-and-Goliath matchup. We were the
underdogs by a long shot, because, well, we were always the
underdogs, no matter how bad the team. The fact that we had
won six games last season was treated as a fluke, not an
accomplishment, and we felt just a tad slighted.

We were not helped by having an even lamer mascot than the
average conference mascot. Who names their team the
"Thrushes"? An apocryphal story gives credit to a newspaper
columnist who insisted our 1933 team's defense was on top of
every offensive mistake "like a flock of birds to carrion,"
and it seems to have stuck. That made it no less lame. And
it meant the school fight song made no reference to our
mascot--because it was written twenty years earlier.

Eventually even I tired of watching the warmups, although
between the amazing legs on their punter and his perfect
pass-like punt spirals I had something to pay attention to
throughout. The stands were starting to fill in, and ESPN
had backed the light trucks up to the far posts of the
stadium, and I stood there lamely watching my breath fog up
in front of me. My friends had been babbling, because they
were bubbly people, but they knew what I was like on gameday
and they tended to ignore me until the game had begun.
Though when Kirsten's roommate offered me some brandy I
couldn't very well refuse. I liked brandy fair enough, and
it would keep all of us warm in a way no fur blanket could.
Brian, one of my friends, had another flask of whiskey. We
had to be careful not to get too drunk, or be too visible,
but now that the stands were starting to fill in--Good Lord,
I thought, looking up into the stands, it's like an ocean of
students, no one ever comes to these games--we could be
somewhat less cautious.

I scarcely noticed the clock ticking down to the 20-minute
mark, and then the marching band proceeded onto the field.
They had a strange way of marching, but their entry fanfare
was beautiful, a perfect way to start a football game. It
was brassy, loud and martial, without sounding pompous like
USC or like a bad German drinking song like Oklahoma. (I bet
some of you don't like hearing that. Well, it's true. Have
you ever really sat back and LISTENED to the OU fight song?
And USC fans... come on, you know you're pretentious
upper-class elitists anyway, just own up to it.)

Our entry, in contrast, was understated, which suited us
well. It was no M Fanfare--even a non-fan can get a thrill
from that one--or Michigan State's flawless martial
posturing. It wasn't even as worthwhile as the University of
Illinois', which was beautiful until it was ruined in the
mid-'90s.

Anyway, enough. I hummed along to the last part, and the
last few raised notes at the end always gave me thrills.

We felt obliged to sing along to the fight song, and then
the alma mater, during which time it was clear to everyone
within a ten-mile radius that every person in the stadium
was drunk, and then, well, it was gametime!

The whole affair proceeded in a blur for me. It started out
very slowly, neither team earning a first down till almost
the end of the first quarter, but our offense exploded--at
least, for our offense--for two touchdowns in the second
quarter. Adam tore up the secondary, just like we expected,
and he was running circles around the corners every chance
he got. Once, he made a thirty-yard catch on a ball a bit
overthrown by jumping up over three defenders, bringing the
ball in, and staying up to run for another fifteen yards to
take us from our 10 to their 45. It was amazing. He'd flash
little looks my way whenever he headed back to the bench
from the field, whenever Coach wanted a running play to keep
wearing the clock down, and I just melted inside. I would
get little elbows from my friends whenever they noticed me
weak in the knees.

Halftime was an amazing experience for me, as I could watch
the marching band formations, but I always missed seeing
Adam in uniform for a few minutes. Whatever it took, I sure
hoped Coach could keep them fired up for the second half.

When they took the field after halftime, though, they must
have forgotten what it was they were doing. Our QB attempted
a pass -- one! -- to Adam in the entire third quarter, after
relying on him all first half. Coach had decided he wanted
to wear the clock down, but it wasn't working. The defense
was exhausted, and you could see it every time they went
back to work. Our opponents scored one touchdown, then
another. Adam was sitting on the sideline, hanging his head
in his hands watching the defense get beat up on again.

Then, the defense burst through, picking off their
quarterback -- on the one yard line. We'd bit a bullet. The
crowd went wild. But there were only four minutes left.

Very slowly, they started working their way back upfield. It
wasn't easy going, but Coach wanted to kill the clock as
much as he could. Adam was back on the field, but he still
wasn't getting the ball. Clock control. It made me want him
that much more, that he was such a team player and so
willing to play by Coach's rules even when it hurt him. My
heart -- and yes, another part -- was so swollen with desire
for him.

At about a minute before the end of the game, Kirsten
whispered in my ear, "It's a good thing we're in the front
row, Josh, or that gigantic 'hip flask' in your pocket would
be poking whoever was in front of you no matter what you
did. Good Lord, don't you see that boy in uniform often
enough?"

The score was tied, and I was nervous as hell, but I still
managed a laugh. We were driving downfield, and with only a
minute left, it looked like if we could just score we'd keep
the game out of overtime. I took my eyes away from the field
for a second, to watch the out-of-town scores on the
Jumbotron and did a little dance as I saw that the Ducks
were winning. I heard someone behind me shout, "GO DUCKS!"
so I turned around and cheered loudly. We were beaming, this
guy about five rows back and I, and I shouted up at him,
"WHERE ARE YOU FR--"

Just then, the crowd started screaming. What happened?!

I looked up just as our quarterback threw an interception.
We up in front cradled our heads in our hands, since one of
the poor cornerbacks had finally out-jumped Adam and gotten
the ball. He ran, and ran, and ran downfield until finally
the quarterback himself managed to tackle the guy, having
run thirty yards with superhuman speed. I could hear him
scream in anguish as he pulled a defender five inches taller
than him to the ground, and then -- POP! The ball came out
of his fingers.

We waited. No whistle. The ball was rolling toward the end
zone. The crowd roared. Someone behind us, above us
screamed, "GET THE BALL!"

Out of nowhere, Adam appeared, reached down and grabbed the
ball on a roll, and started racing back the other direction.
It was wild. The play was already fifteen seconds long, and
it seemed nothing could stop it. I heard the ripple of the
crowd's ecstatic moaning while we were riveted to Adam, who
somehow broke one! -- two! -- three! -- four! -- five!
tackles near the original line of scrimmage and started
racing downfield as fast as I'd ever seen him run. He was
being pursued by the entire defensive line, and the other
safety, who'd never made it very far downfield, was closing
in on Adam around the 30-yard-line. Oh, God, what if he
caught up to him?

One of our linemen, though, never the fastest runner on the
team, somehow caught up with the guy and slammed him hard.
We heard the crunch as the safety landed on the turf. The
field open ahead of him, Adam continued racing and then
spiked the ball hard onto the turf.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!" the crowd
roared its approval. The play had taken 34 seconds, the ball
had switched directions twice, we had scored somehow, and
now the band was striking up the fight song.

Victory was glorious!

Well, not quite. We still had to kick off. I watched the
other team's head coach shouting at his players. He threw
his hat on the ground, and started screaming some more. I
looked at Coach, just in time to see him give the
quarterback a good slap on the ass. Mmmmmmmmmm. I shut my
eyes and thought about what I would do with the
quarterback's ass if I...

Shit. Football game, Josh.

Everybody grabbed their keys, to jangle at the kickoff. We
waved them, hard, making lots of noise, and screamed our
lungs out, even all the wealthy alumni down in the front row
on the 50-yard line. The ball went up, came down, and was
caught by their running back, who was on special teams for
punt returns. Just then, he got hit hard by one of our DBs,
and, just like last time, POP! the ball came loose.

The crowd roared.

The lucky DB raced for the ball, scooped it up, and started
racing downfield. He started on the 25, and just kept
running. Suddenly, he slipped. His knee went down, and the
clock stopped.

The crowd moaned. But if you knew anything about football,
you knew that this was better. Now we could keep wearing out
the remaining 1:24 on the clock. Especially since our
opponents were out of timeouts.

Coach put the ball in our running back's hands, and he tore
ahead for a first down, and then another one. It was first
and goal, with the clock reading :54. But he got nowhere,
standing on the nine, on first down, and again on second
down. The clock kept ticking. The QB spiked the ball on the
next snap, and the huge LEDs at the north end of the field
said :09.

At the next snap, on fourth and goal, just trying to kill
time, the quarterback started in the pocket, and rolled way
back. There were defenders on his tail, but he stayed on his
feet and kept running. Out of nowhere he got a great block,
and he kept killing time. The clock read :01.

Suddenly, he raised his arm back and unloaded, back at the
line of scrimmage. The pass was a bullet, but a little too
high. I moaned. But just then I saw -- unexpectedly, but a
pleasant surprise -- Adam leap way out over a pack of
defenders, and catch a ball thrown easily two feet over his
head standing.

He was in the end zone.

The crowd erupted. Somewhere above someone came down hard on
an air horn. We were screaming and cheering and dancing with
elation. The band started playing the fight song. We were
waving our hands, and then the chant started.

"OVERRATED!" Clapclap clapclapclap. "OVERRATED!" Clapclap
clapclapclap.

It took me a second. Oh. That's right. They were the
fifth-ranked team. We didn't have and wouldn't have,
assuming Hell wasn't frozen over, a ranking.

I started chanting loudly. Then, we realized that the
stadium security force was backing off -- so I stood up and
leapt over the railing. To be the first attendee on the
field was a glorious feeling.

And I was standing there, on the beautiful green natural
grass with crisp white lines, jumping up and down and
screaming while the team came and surrounded us, singing
along to the fight song, after a 28-14 defeat of the No. 5
team in the country.

I felt a sharp clap on the shoulder, and there he was. Adam!
He shouted at me, "WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH!"

I blinked.

"WAH WAH!" He had his mouth guard in, he was
incomprehensible.

I looked at him. "Adam, you're going to have to take the
mouthpiece out. I can't understand a word."

He reached into the mask and pulled it out, and spat on the
ground. "Really? Coach has no trouble."

"Coach hardly ever talks to you without the mouth guard."

He unstrapped his helmet then, and pulled it off, and then,
suddenly, pulled me in and kissed me.

I saw stars, like in the movies, and I swooned. It was all I
could do to keep my knees from buckling. The whole world was
obscured by that kiss. I couldn't see the sky, couldn't see
the ground, could only see Adam. So I closed my eyes, and
let the moment wash over me.

Eventually, we had to break off the kiss.

I looked at Adam. "Mmm." I could kiss that boy all day long
and never tire of it.

Then I realized where I was. Shit. "Wait. What the FUCK?!
Adam!" We were standing in the middle of a fucking football
field, our fucking football field, and my extra-macho
straight-acting boyfriend just kissed me in the middle of
the fucking field.

"What the hell was that about?"

Adam reached in and stroked my hair. But I was in panic
mode.

"What the FUCK do you think you're DOING? This is YOUR
fucking hangup, not MINE, and you're fucking blowing it!"

He looked at me. "Oh." He looked down at his shoes, and I
saw him shake his head like he was crying. He was sobbing!

My poor baby! I had a flashback to the last time he'd gotten
himself outed, at a party where one of his friends from home
had shown up and he was cozying up to me on a couch, and
he'd almost instantly gone in panic mode. He spent the rest
of the night on an adrenaline high, like a madman, so it
became my job to call everyone I knew and try to put to rest
rumors, making admissions and denials and excuses of
drunkenness and whatever else it took. I spent three weeks
vehemently denying that anything had ever happened between
us, and I wasn't even allowed to see him on campus until we
got back from break the next quarter. Fuck, and he was
exhausting, too, would spend hours crying in bed while I had
to listen to him on the phone. I loved him, but he was so
insecure about being gay.

I put my arm around him and pulled him in close to me.

Then he looked back up, and flashed me a bright smile. "HA!
HAHAHA!"

I was shocked. What?

"FOOLED YOU!" Adam giggled. "They all know. Well, as of
about two days ago. Hehe."

My face must have been ashen, because he leaned in and
nuzzled my neck. "Come on, baby, it's just a joke," he
whispered throatily in my ear. Well, it didn't make a
difference, but when he did that, I gave in.

He reached for my hand and started pulling me across the
field. The guys gave him huge slaps on the back, and then,
the entire starting defensive line came upon him and grasped
him and tossed him in the air, while I watched. One of them
shouted something, and soon, the offensive line was tossing
me up in the air.

I looked over at Adam. "What is this, some kind of crazy
Fiddler on the Roof reenactment?" I screamed, as they almost
dropped me. They all laughed. "I know, I know, I scream like
a girl," I shouted at them.

Eventually the big, strong linemen--hee, hee; fuck, I'm so
bad sometimes--marched us over to the north goal post, which
was being slowly extracted from the turf like a tooth from
someone's gum. They all started pulling, and I climbed up
onto the crossbeam, and then started climbing back down when
it occurred to me that when they finally got the post out of
the ground I was going to die. Just as I hit the ground,
with a thud, the goal post came loose, and the crowd hoisted
it and then started marching it toward the far end of the
field, where the exit was. Coach shouted loudly over the
din, and corralled the football players into the locker
rooms, while we rushed toward the lake with the goal post in
hand.

At some point, I became aware that I had walked the mile
from the stadium to the lake, and that I could hear the
sloshing and splashing as the goal post bounced on the
waves. It was pretty cool.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket, just as I was getting
over my exciting stoner's realization. (And no, I did not
have any pot.)

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby," Adam breathed.

I looked out at the lake. "What's up?"

"Oh, give it up, what, anyone's going to think YOU'RE
straight?"

"Hey!"

"Anyway. ANYWAY! You're still supposed to meet me here,
babe. In front of the team locker room. Where are you?"

"Lakefront, Adam. Remember? Goal post?"

I could hear the gears ticking. "Oh. Yeah. OK, twenty
minutes. Be there or be square. Hustle that cute little ass
of yours!" Click.

Well, that was that. I whirled around and waved a friendly
goodbye to my friends, and then hustled back to the stadium,
as fast as I could. It's a pretty town, but not all that
exciting on foot; much easier by car. I was enjoying looking
at all the pretty little houses, cute bungalows and the
like, and then I crossed a major intersection and walked
through the hospital to the stadium.

My heart was thumping, and I was pretty sweaty, although the
sweat was mostly from the brisk walk. You could say I felt
nervous about what Adam wanted, what he had planned. Sure,
it was my birthday, and I was pretty psyched, but still. So
as I rounded the corner to where the athletes' facility was,
I could practically feel my heart pounding against my ribs,
and I'm sure you could hear it from a block away. The
parking lot was completely deserted.

If I had a less loving boyfriend, or for that matter, if
this were anyone else, I'd start going into panic mode. I
don't any idea how many gay boys are beaten up every year in
situations like this, but it's got to be astronomical.
They're just so flattered some gorgeous jock has taken a
liking to them, and end up getting beaten and battered and
often enough raped in a dark empty parking lot, alley, etc.,
somewhere. Thankfully, I had Adam. But the notion certainly
gave me pause.

As I came up to the door, Adam was leaning casually against
its frame, wearing his pads, jersey, pants and long socks,
but no cleats or helmet. That was certainly a bit odd. He
gave me a devilish look, or at least what I think he thought
that was, and then he kind of leered at me, looking me up
and down.

"That'll do."

Huh?

I came up to him, and he looked at me, and gave me a kiss.
"So, happy birthday," he whispered, and then kissed me
again. I was swooning, and it just lasted and lasted and
lasted. His tongue tasted vaguely of mint, which was a bit
surprising since he'd just finished a game, but I noted that
his hair was still a bit damp, as I wrapped my fingers up in
its long, matted down, tangled back near the top of his
spine. It was damp with sweat. Mmmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmm.
Delicious. I pushed my pelvis, where I was hard as a rock,
against his hip, and I heard him giggle. "I love the way you
taste when you're all sweaty," I moaned hoarsely in his ear.
He pressed back against me with his right hip.

"I read your LiveJournal," he said, at long last, when I was
just standing there nuzzled up to his neck, breathing in his
musky masculine smell. He smelled powerfully of football. "I
know what you want."

"You did? You do? And how the hell did you find it?"

"You left a window open in Safari with your LiveJournal
open. On my computer. I couldn't really resist. It's not
like you wrote anything about me anyway."

I was shocked. "Yes I did!" I couldn't believe he would do
something like read my LiveJournal. I would say just about
anything in there. I was shocked.

He giggled at me. "You must have locked them or something, I
didn't see a single mention of my name, except, like, 'Adam
and I went to dinner last night' or 'Adam made my ass hurt
so bad I couldn't walk today and I loved it.'"

"IDIDNOTWRITETHAT!"

Adam looked at me. Then he burst out laughing. "OK, fine,
you didn't say the last part. But it would have been damn
funny if you had. Anyway, you mentioned, a couple of weeks
ago, how hot you thought it was that one of your friends
from home got snuck into the soccer team's locker room for a
quick fling with her boyfriend."

It was my turn to stare at him.

He smiled sweetly. "Initially I figured, well, I couldn't
give you that, since I'm not a soccer player. But that's
pretty cool. About thirty seconds later, I remembered, 'Oh,
you dumb fuck, you're a football player. And that's even
hotter.' I kind of had to come out to the team, but it was
bound to come up anyway. They were very supportive. Even
Coach!"

"So?"

I knew the glare was coming, but Adam's unique Condescension
and Disbelief Glare was always difficult to withstand. "So?"
He kept glaring at me. "So?! I come out to the team, which
means we don't have to hide anymore, and you don't care?!"

"No, baby, I do," I whispered, trying to strike a
conciliatory tone. But I was a bit pissed about that remark.
Can you tell I anger easily? "I do. After all, I've never
come out to anyone before. I've never swung around campus
desperately trying to figure out how to disprove rumors that
you're gay. Oh, no. No, no. I don't care at all. Why on
Earth should I care?

"You could have at least fucking warned me, Adam, you know!
God damn it! Do you know how fucking hard I've worked this
quarter just to make sure no one finds out, after this
summer, after that little stunt you pulled after practice in
August? Do you have any idea how much explaining it could
have taken after you did what you did this afternoon? Jesus
fucking Christ, Adam, you don't even fucking care about all
the hard work I had to put into this!" I shouted angrily.

He looked at me, astonished. It was my second big outburst
in 24 hours. I'm not ordinarily an outburst kind of person.
I've been kind of on edge though.

Finally, Adam wrapped me up in his arms and pulled me very,
very close. "I'm sorry, baby. But it's a surprise."

"What's a surprise? This is a fucking surprise?"

A smile slowly spread across his face. "No," he said. He
motioned behind him with his hand at the facilities. "THIS
is a surprise."

It began to dawn on me.

"ESPN is leaving the lights here until 11. Coach gave me the
keys to the locker room, I just have to lock up tonight.
Come on!" Adam grabbed my hand and started walking, pulling
me along. My shoulder didn't like that. But he kept
dragging, and dragging, trying to get me into the stadium.

But in a few seconds, I was giddy like a little kid, walking
down the ramp where the marching band and the opponents
enter. I started humming the band's entry fanfare, and
mock-twirling a baton like the drum majors. Adam laughed at
me, but I kept on, doing the drum-major strut and waving my
arms in the air.

As we walked on to the field, I marched straight out to the
thirty-yard-line and prostrated myself in front of the
crowd, just like the drum majors, as Adam stood on the
sideline and laughed at me. It was almost a perfect reversal
of our roles. I looked up into the stands and saluted. They
were perfectly, completely empty. It was an amazing
sensation, to look up into 45,000 seats and see no one,
nobody in the press box. Like a scene in a movie. Very
elating.

I giggled a little. "Is it always like this for practice,
babe?" I asked Adam.

He stood there, hand on his hip, still laughing at me. "Yes.
Well, yes and no. People actually come to some of the Friday
practices. The other ones, no."

"It's really amazing." I smiled at Adam. I stood there,
staring at him, and then I gave him The Look, the one that
says, 'If you don't get your ass out here on the field right
now you're sleeping alone tonight.' He started walking out
toward me, onto the field, doing his little straight-boy
strut, but this time, it was just for me. God damn. I could
feel myself growing hard, just watching that, and I was
swooning, because it meant he was going to take care of me.

Adam had stumbled across, inadvertently, my oldest fantasy:
to be used for some hunky football player's pleasure, in the
locker room, after a game. I know, I know, it's basically
every gay boy's dream. But I'm the one dating a football
player.

Fuck, this is going to be kinky, I told myself. It's so
amazing to have a boyfriend who cares.


-----------------------------------
Scene: Saturday, October 2, 10 p.m.
-----------------------------------

As soon as I could read his face, once he was about ten
yards away, I knew that we were already in play-acting mode.
So I went along.

"Looks like you need a hand finding your way out, dude,"
Adam said, peering at me. "Nobody's s'posed to be on the
field this late."

I gave him a nervous smile. "I'm sorry, I was just enjoying
the view. I love football stadiums."

He smiled at me, patronizingly. "Well, that's cool, and we
try to make sure that our fans can enjoy the stadium during
the games, too," he said, "but Coach won't let anyone in
after the game is over. Everybody was s'posed to be gone an
hour ago."

"I'm sorry. I just enjoy it. I'll get out now, though," I
said.

Adam nodded, and then said, flatly, "Good." Then he
absent-mindedly--well, fake-absent-mindedly--slid his hand
down to his crotch and scratched. My eyes bulged out, as I'd
never had the privilege of seeing him do anything like that
in a football uniform, and my mouth went dry. He continued
scratching, and I continued watching, for a bit.

He had been gazing around the stadium, but finally he looked
at me. He saw me watching him scratch his crotch, and he
monentarily sneered at me, but then he smiled and winked at
me. "I see how it is."

"Huh?" I put on my best confused look. "What do you mean?"

His smile grew broader, but it wasn't a happy smile, it was
a very smug smile. "Fucking faggots. They're everywhere.
You've been watching me, haven't you, huh, faggot?"

I stammered, "Uh, n-n-no, I ha-ha-haven't been, no." My
heart was thumping in my chest. Fuck.

"I bet you want a piece of this, huh? Huh, bitch?" He rested
one of those giant hands on my shoulder. "Come on, you can
say it."

I shook my head violently.

He started slowly massaging my shoulder, my left pectoral,
my shoulder blade. "You like this, don't'cha?"

I giggled.

"Huh?" He removed his hand. Adam was still standing in front
of me, in Big Man On Campus stance -- you know what I mean,
legs spread slightly, shoulders pushed back to stretch the
chest muscles -- and he was looking straight at me. Well, at
a point about two inches above my head, I suppose. "What was
that?"

I made a big show of not being able to say anything, and
then stammered, "I-I-I li-li-liked it."

Adam nodded at me. "Of course you did." He gave me another
sneer, staring down at me now. "Now, I know you fucking want
a piece of this. Just admit it and you can have it!"

I stepped back and appraised my quarry. This wasn't QUITE
how it was supposed to go, damn it, Adam. But, hey, roll
with the punches. I fluttered my eyes at him, tried to get a
little color so I would look flushed, and then, I just let
my eyes drift down his body.

Ooooh, fuck.

Why not get a natural flush? Why act? I trust Adam, I
thought. I'll just let myself fall into it.

Mmmm, I told myself, that boy, some fucking gorgeous. I
wonder what he looks like without his jersey and pads on.
Mmmm-mmm. I licked my lips a bit lasciviously, at long last.
My eyes glazed over as I stood there gazing at him, and then
I found myself sliding my hand down to my waistline.

"AHA!" he shouted. "You do, don't'cha, faggot?"

I looked down at the ground. "Yes."

A big, broad smile spread across Adam's face. "Hell, yeah,"
I heard him murmur to himself. "What was that?" he said,
much louder, to me. "I couldn't hear you."

"I do." I said it louder this time.

"Ya do what?"

My hand, which had been resting on my stomach, started
quivering a little, so I slid it over to my hip and pushed
it down harder. No weakness. Fuck. "I want to... J-J-Jesus.
I want a piece of your big, hard jock body."

Adam looked at me. "You fucking fags. You're all alike. All
you ever want is to suck my cock. But the girlfriend hasn't
been putting out lately. So I tell ya what. I'll give you a
taste."

I licked my lips.

"And you can even have dessert," he said, with a cocky grin
on his face. "Make you big and strong someday."

He reached over and put his hand on my ass, just below my
belt, and started pushing me toward the locker room. "Now,
come on, what, you thought we were going to do this on the
fucking football field? God damn." Adam peered at me, and
then he laughed out loud. "You fags really are alike. Well,
I can't, we'd mess up the paint, but fuck, I'd love to let
you do whatever the fuck I want, right here on the grass."

"So why can't we?" My voice trembled, but just a little. It
felt like it had been so long since I said anything. I
looked right up at Adam, and the desire was so palpable I
thought I could touch it. I licked my lips again. Adam... he
looked so hungry, like an animal, I thought he would throw
me to the ground and have his way with me.

Finally, I took the initiative and reached over and pulled
his jersey off. I made an "mmmmmmm" sound as I did that, and
gazed up at Adam, lustily licking my lips so he could see
it.

"Lemme just get something straight," he said, not looking at
me. "You listening? I am not some fucking fag. I'm in
charge."

I whispered, "Yes."

He made a relieved, deep breath sort of sound. "Well. C'mon.
My balls are so blue I could make them into a fucking school
flag. Help me out of this shit."

I slowly undid all the velcro and straps on his pads, and
pulled them off, and then I undid the lacing on those tasty
stretchy spandex pants. My hands were trembling, and I could
feel his enormous hardness pressing out from under them. I
giggled, as my hand brushed over it, and I could hear him
gasp in. "Fuck," Adam muttered under his breath.

My hands then slid his pants down, till they were around his
ankles. He was standing there, then, in just a pair of Under
Armour shorts with the pads in. I remembered, distantly,
that he liked to wear that instead of a jock, on gameday.
What a delicious sight. I licked my lips, and I could see
his cock pulsing in the cold air.

"Fuck this!" Adam said. "Are you going to fucking tease me
all night or are you going to fucking go down on that big
jock cock? I know you want it. And I can find myself another
one of you fucking fags anytime."

He looked deadly serious, so I figured I'd better get to
work. I knelt down in front of him, and slid my thumbs under
the waistband of the shorts. I looked up lustily at him, and
then I pulled down on the shorts. There he was, Adam Jr., a
magnificent and formidable piece of work.

"Mmm, I need some mouth, bitch," he said, staring down at
me. "C'mon, fuck, I'm horny! Ain't had the woman put out in
a week. Get on it!"

I hefted his cock in my hand, felt it up and down, gave it a
stroke. I felt like I was seeing it for the very first time.
It was beautiful, with large, ponderous balls, mostly
hairless, and a long shaft at just the right thickness, and
a well-shorn patch of pubes. He had almost no hair on him,
except under his arms, on his balls, above (and not below)
his cock, and on top of his head, plus a little peach fuzz
on his legs. Soooooo fucking sexy. Ohmygod. I could feel the
saliva forming in my mouth. Well, good, that would be of use
soon enough.

He reached down and stroked my hair a little, and then, I
think realizing he was out of character, grasped it and
pulled my head toward his cock. I blew on it, and he gasped
audibly. "Fuck!" I heard him grunt. "FUUUUUCK!" His voice
had raised an octave.

So I went ahead and slicked my tongue up the entire length
of his shaft, leaving it wet where I had already finished,
and then slurped back down -- the back of it. (Well, the
front, from his perspective.) This elicited more gasping and
groaning.

Then, unexpectedly, I sucked the entire thing, in one fell
swoop, into my mouth, letting the head push on the back of
my throat. He screamed.

I pulled back off and sucked on the head for a few seconds,
then slid the entire length in my mouth again.

This made Adam so happy I couldn't resist doing it. It
wasn't the most original blowjob, but it was pretty hot.
Soon he grasped my jaw with both of his hands, though, and
started pistoning in and out, in and out, in and out.

I watched his face, and then watched his cock, as it slid in
and out, in and out, as I tasted his precome as it flowed
out liberally into my mouth, I listened to the slick sounds
that it was making. Sweat was beading up on his forehead. As
he built up a rhythm, he started grunting, "Fuck fuck fuck
fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck fuck fuck oh fuck God fuck oh fuck
fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck oh fuck oh
God oh fuck..."

He kept that up for about three minutes. My jaw was starting
to hurt. Then, he started pistoning in even faster, even
longer, and that much further. I hated this part. Always. I
felt a little faint, as he constrained my oxygen supply.

But then I looked up and watched my Adonis, my Olympian god,
dripping with sweat, hair matted down, eyes rolled back into
his head, and decided it was all worth it.

I reached out and started toying with his balls. And fuck.
Those nipples...

I stretched my left arm up and started making little circles
around the left nipple with my forefinger. It was hard as a
cherry pit, and about as red as one, engorged with blood. He
moaned.

"I'm going to fucking fuckfuckfuck come in fuckfuckfuck OH
FUCKFUCKFUCK in your fucking mouth, bitch," he gasped, in
what came out as a shout.

My right hand was still on his balls, and I felt them
tensing up, so I braced myself.

Suddenly, the torrent came, with his voice screaming at a
pitch he couldn't have had since he was twelve,
"AAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK HOLY JESUS FUCK
I'M FUCKING COMING BITCH!"

I felt the first volley, and then the next, and then the
next, hit the roof of my mouth and then the back of my
throat. It was overwhelming already, and there was jizz all
over my mouth, and it just kept coming. Delicious. I tried
to swallow it, to get it down, but it was like emptying the
Titanic with a hand bucket.

Finally his magnificent cock began to soften. He gasped,
hungrily, as he slowly pulled it from my mouth and removed
his hands from my jaws. They were sore from his grasping and
clenching, and I'm sure my face was red all over.

He looked down at me. As one last gasp in character, he
moaned, "Fuck, that was amazing, bitch. You'll have to keep
on top of that game more often."



--------------------------------------
Scene: Saturday, October 2, 10:30 p.m.
--------------------------------------

Adam then proceeded to collapse on top of his uniform on the
field. I lay down next to him, and curled up, and kissed
him, desperately, hungrily. I was as hard as a rock down
below, but I knew how Adam was.

Oh my fucking Christ that was hot. I was laying on top of my
gorgeous football player of a boyfriend, who had just
enacted my deepest, darkest fantasy.

He looked at me, in a break while I lay there on top of him,
not kissing him for a moment. I watched as his eyes filled
with tears, and then he began to sob. "Look what I did to
you," he moaned.

"What?"

"Your jaws look like they've been in a C-clamp." He moaned
again, and his chest shook as he sobbed.

"They were, baby," I said, trying to lighten the situation.
It didn't work.

"Fuck. I got too far into it, too deep. I was doing my
research, you know. I'm so sorry. I love you so much," he
gasped.

I looked at him, and I loved him so much in that moment.
"Baby. It's OK," I whispered, stroking his hair. "That was
the hottest sex I've ever had. It's always been my fantasy.
Since I was in high school. Oh, God, I would have spread my
legs for the quarterback any day he wanted, right on the
fifty yard line, if he'd only asked me to. Well, he did,
once, but he was roaring drunk, and when I slid my hand down
in his pants, he couldn't stay hard. I told him, no thanks,
I'll take a rain check. Maybe next time I'm in Portland. But
fuck, that was way hotter than anything with Brandon could
ever have been. Best fucking sex I've ever had."

He looked at me, wiped his eyes with the back of his right
hand, ran his fingers through that gorgeous blonde hair,
brushing my hand aside, then kissing the tips of my fingers.
"Really?"

My cock stirred. "Yes. Absolutely. Even beats the time Alex
fucked me in the back seat of the Discovery, in front of his
house."

Adam gasped. "You did that?"

"Hell, yes. He fucked me in the back seat of the Discovery,
in front of his house, and that was pretty amazing, although
I couldn't stand up straight for a week. My mom laughed at
me every time I left my room. Good thing it was summer. The
outline was still in the seats a month later. And we think
-- thought -- I broke the motor in the left-side passenger
window when I slammed down with my foot on the door, right
as I came all over us. It was really hot. We had a scare
when his sister got home from a party, though."

"Did she see you?" His eyes were big and wide.

I laughed. "Thank God, no. They had tinted windows on the
car. It definitely saved us. Though if he'd still been
pummeling my ass like that... all you had to do was see the
car shaking."

My babe of a football player laughed, a sharp, sweet sound
in the night. Then, he looked at me, slid his hand down to
my jeans, where I had a wet spot the size of Nebraska and a
gigantic bulge like the Ogallala Aquifer under it, and
whispered in my ear, "Well, happy birthday, baby. I love
you."

He paused, as I cooed and snuggled up extra-close against
him. He slid his forefinger into my mouth, as I sucked on it
and then nibbled, and then he kissed me. After that, he
rolled over onto his back, and said, "ESPN's gonna cut the
lights out soon, but... Want to try out the locker room,
babe?"



CONCLUDING NOTES

If you can read this... you are not the president. (A
bumpersticker I saw recently. ;P) Anyway, I sincerely hope
you enjoyed "Happy Birthday"! You should email me. How? Open
your email client, and send a message to:

<josh.heilig@gmail.com>

Tell me how much you liked it, or didn't like it. I don't
read flames.

And thank you, every one.