Blond October

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.