Brady and Bledsoe (2/4) by Boston Beth
THE USUAL DISCLAIMER: Although this was inspired by real events, the following story is complete fiction. I do not work for the NFL, Buffalo Bills, or New England Patriots. The true sexual orientations of Drew Bledsoe and Tom Brady are not known to me. I don't own them and I don't want to (although I can tell you every other woman where I work wants to own Tom). I am not being financially compensated for this.
TOM'S POV:
Everybody warned me. Don't wish for something so hard, Tommy. If you get it, it won't be as satisfying. Now I see what they meant. Lately I've found that in the matter of all things elusive, the pursuit creates a more ecstatic, emotional high than the capture. Yes, winning the Super Bowl as a rookie (for all intents and purposes) has been incredible. The attention makes me dizzy but I wouldn't want it to stop just yet. I'm proud of what the team and I accomplished. It feels good that people recognize the work we did. Still, there is a problem in my life related to the job I love. There's a problem that must be resolved before it's too late.
And it all has to do with Drew Bledsoe.
He didn't do anything to me, not at all. It's got to do with what I did, or didn't do with him. I'll explain that later. Just let me say what I have to say.
My heart almost flew out of my chest when Adam's kick was good. In that moment, all of us were superstars. The celebration after the game was the world's party. With all the attention on me, I felt like a prom king or something silly like that. But it's true-suddenly it was all about me. I was the big man. Little kids started wearing jerseys with my name on them-what a thrill! Every magazine from SI to People clamored to interview me-what a pain, but fun. I was invited to the Oscars, Disney World, and to party with Donald Trump. Everybody used to ignore me, step over me. Now they want to pick me up, brush me off and raise me to the heavens like a star.
Now, I know what you're saying. If that's a horrible life, let me suffer, baby. I won't lie to you. It's exciting to travel and meet the interesting, famous people who influence our world. I'm not tired of that, I look forward to more of it. Football is my main focus, but I can appreciate the extras that come with the status I am enjoying right now. But there's one part of stardom I don't enjoy as much.
I understand the way I'm being promoted is strictly business. Football is intense and violent. They want to put a cute and cuddly face on it. It's great that the underdog won the Super Bowl. They can do a lot with that. But with me looking like this nice, all-American guy is like finding two prizes in the cereal box when you were expecting only one. I give football a good name with the general public. To public relation types, it's a plus that all these girls think of me as their dream guy. Everywhere I go, women throw me their phone numbers. Girls who look like librarians yell things at me that would leave Opie and Anthony stammering for a comeback. Grandmothers wish I would date their granddaughters while they wish they were young enough for me. It's a weird position to be in, to be lusted after and desired like this by strangers. It's completely flattering, of course. Who doesn't like to be complimented? It's a position any other guy would gladly give up everything to be in. If I were any other guy, that smile you always see me wear would be permanently on my face.
But I'm gay.
That's right. Tom Brady, New England's sweetheart, likes boys.
Now you probably think I never had a problem getting any man I wanted! But it's always been tough to live some version of the life I want. In college I had to search for sex. I never did it with a teammate. That would be too risky for me, for him, for the school. How dare Michigan have a little gay-boy on the team! The nerve of them. My social life was pretty dead during football season. During the off-season I would go to bars out of town on the weekend. You know the kind of place. A bar hidden on some side street or tucked away in some nondescript strip mall, with no signs or markings to disclose its purpose. The kind of place where they all know you're not quite old enough to be there, but then again you are. Invariably I would get a lot of older men. Some of them played football in college. Apparently they got some kind of weird kick out of reliving the past by screwing a younger version of themselves. The sex was good enough for my purposes. But after a while I wanted something more. I wanted a man who could exhilarate me more than playing football could. No one in my small circle of acquaintances could do this.
Until I got up close to Drew Bledsoe.
Believe me, I put all that time sitting around to good use. I studied Drew-in the way you're thinking, of course, but in the interest of becoming a better player. When I finally got the chance to start, I put everything I learned from watching Drew into my passes and my strategy. He was such an enthusiastic, supportive teacher, no matter how long training took. He would show me what I did well and how I could play better. Not only that, we would chat about the importance of family and of charity. He imparted a sense of being a complete athlete-it was important to be great on the field and better off it. I make those lessons a part of my life everyday. Of course, you know where this is going. Spending all that time with Drew led me to fall hopelessly in love with him. Who wouldn't want to spend all the time he could with Drew? The way his eyes look like they barely stay open kept me at his side like a puppy. I had to control myself not to tousle his hair some more. And when Drew got hurt, I was devastated. I prayed every day for recovery.
That's why I feel so awful about what happened. I have a lot of pity for him. His ego had to have been crushed like powder now that he's pushed back into the spotlight while it beats down on me. I can't believe the papers haven't caught on that he's been acting rotten and cruel to everyone, including me. I can't blame him in a way, but that doesn't mean it doesn't sting me. He doesn't even want to chat about little things anymore, not even some stupid topic like the weather. Now he just told us he's going back home and he intends on missing the victory parade. How could he do this to the team? Our victory was a team effort. That's how we were introduced at the start of the game, and I thought everyone supported what that idea meant. Whether he wants to acknowledge it now or not, he is part of that team. Maybe he didn't play much this season, but part of our success came from the leader he was when things sucked. I wish he could remember that. I hate saying this, but I can't help but feel he's acting petty and unreasonable.
Still, his current behavior is not affecting my respect for his playing and for his guidance. I wonder if some of his resentment stems from me. I wish he would be honest with me and tell me if he were angry at me. I would rather he do that than just lock it up inside. I wish he would be honest with me and tell me if he resents me at all. I would rather he do that than just lock it up inside. If he leaves the team, I want us to be on good terms. I don't want him to remember me as the back-stabber who took what he thought was rightfully his.
I regret that in all the excitement, I haven't had a chance to get him alone and thank him for helping me. Of course, in a perfect world I wouldn't use words to thank him. I want to run my hands all over his muscles. I want to free him from his clothes and press his body against mine while I hit him with kisses harder than any hit on the field. I want to be inside him so deep that when I come after giving him my own hits it'll shake his brain loose. Too bad he's not gay.
So that's the truth about me. Now you know the reason I smile so much in every photo. The photographer has a little trick to get that special Tiger Beat look out of me. I am asked me to think of what would make me the happiest man alive. Automatically I think of Drew and the many ways I know to show him my appreciation for everything.
NEXT UP: Our heroes meet up after the parade. Sorry this took so long-I've been busy at home and I just got over a cold. Part 3 will be up ASAP. If you're reading this, thank you very, very much! Comments are still welcome at writeongirl77@yahoo.com-I will answer as quickly as I can.