New Jock Tales–Sophomore Year–Chptr 1

New Jock Tales—Sophomore Year—Chpt 1

Summer had been totally awesome. The best ever. Having finally gotten the jeep was the best part—independently mobile, lol. The yard jobs were going great, and the ‘personal service’ that followed up on about half of them, I was bringing in about a grand a month. That was just about a years salary for a teenager working part time at a grocery store.

I took a 3rd place ribbon at the motocross meet, which was fine. Mostly just a stress reliever, and a chance to get dirty. I also knocked down my first golden gloves—again not a major thing in my life, but it was kinda cool to just get in the ring and just beat the shit outta some dude.

Today was the first day of practice. Varsity at last. I went into the day gleaming with pride, and totally psyched up. But the day would soon come crashing down, and I was gonna feel like the biggest fool on the planet, and all I wanted to do was disappear.

Practice was nothing like last year. I guess I had gotten used to running the show—but not anymore. Fuck—we had 5 coaches. And neither of them were interested in my input. All that was happening was us five ¼ backs just throwing the ball to some 9th graders to catch. I mean fuck—no plays, no running, no weights—what the fuck. I was already miserable. I noticed Maurice going out for some catches. Guess he would prolly make it—but with no control of the team, I could kiss that deal of that sloppy head every week goodbye.

“Im sorry Matthew—but I got three Seniors. You can’t be first string—let alone a starter”. The words hit my brain like a bullet. “These b o y s got a dream just as big as you—you got to play for the team now, and support them. I know you probably haven’t thought this through—but we did have ¼ backs before you got here. Now, unless you want to consider another position for a while for some more game time, your going to have the take the bench for awhile. It’s not all about you anymore”. “So, I guess ur saying I might as well get on my knees and start suckin dick, huh coach? Cause looks like that’s all the action I’m gonna get this year”. Someone had just walked into the room, and all I heard was “woooah there cowboy”.

I grabbed my helmet and headed for the locker room. Slamming into my locker door made a few heads turn. I sat on the bench to take off my cleats, and socks. Didn’t even have any funk going on, not even my pits, cause I hadn’t done a fuckin thing all day. I tore out of my practice jersey, and turning, slammed my fist into the locker door. Yanking it open, I threw the jersey, and cleats into the floor. Sitting back, now coming out of my football pants, and striping down to just my jock, I likewise threw them and my helmet into the floor of my locker, didn’t even bother to hang anything up.

I grabbed my Levis, but before I could get them on, someone barked out “woah there cowboy—what’s with the attitude?” It hit too fast, and too hard. I lunged towards the player, not even seeing who it was. Grabbing him by his jersey, slammed him into the row of lockers just behind him, and literally knocking them over. Jumping up on his chest and shoving my jock right in his face, I just scream out “does this look like a b o y to you”?

In moments about half the players in the room were on me, pulling me off what turned out to be Cameron White—just the starting Senior ¼ back. Cameron jumps up from the floor, and calmly, but urgently, pointing his finger right in my face, comes back with “Don’t know what ur problem is Dillon, but you better get it in check, boi. Your not the star here punk— One more stunt like that, and you will be cut”.

“Jesus fuckin H Christ—what’s all this racket”? Three of the coaches had blasted into the locker room. “It’s nothing coach—we got it under control. Dillon there just wanted to wrestle around with some of the big dawgs”. “Looks like he found out he ain’t all that badd”, replied one of them. A few chuckles were heard, which was just adding fuel to the fire. I turned back to my locker, and sat again on the bench, just long enough to tie up my PF Flyers, and sling them around my shoulders. I stuffed my tee in my back pocket, and proceeded out the locker room, shirtless, and bare foot. As I exited into the hallway, I hear one of the coaches hollar “somebody git him—see what the fuck is up his ass”.

I needed to fuck something, And I knew just where to go.

I arrived at ‘the spot’ about 11:30 PM. It was about 15 miles North of town on old RT 5. Small dusty road in the middle of nowhere. Some of the older folks in town referred to it as ‘that place where the homosexuals go’. I laughed my ass off the first time I heard that—how the fuck do they know that if they ain’t been there themselves ?

Mostly out of town truckers, bikers, and construction types. Pretty rough dudes mostly, lots of muscles and ink, or maybe some married dude from town that couldn’t get head from their wife. I went straight to the back of the field to the motel. It only had about 25 rooms, and this late on a Friday night, I would be lucky to still get a room. Actually, not being 18, I would be lucky at all.

I park the jeep off the corner of the building. Hopping out, still shirtless and barefoot, and pulling my ball cap down over my eyebrows, I stroll into the lobby. Holding my head kinda downwards, I glance up at the clerk, and just say “gotta room left”. They guy kinda snickered, “So—you hold your head down so I don’t see your baby face, or—you waltz in here looking like gods gift, with all them abs, hoping Im queer and I’ll let you have a room in exchange for some of that dick ur packin, or—your going to try to make me believe your really 19, but you don’t have your ID on ya, after driving out here in the middle of no where without it, and would I be really cool and run over to the store and get you a six pack. So cowboy—which is it”?

I raised my head up, and shifted a bit, making the abs flex. Looking ‘Jason’ right in the face, I sheepishly replied, “all that, I guess”. Jason, looking peeved, fired back at me “you know the kind of trouble I could get in for renting you a room ? How old are you, anyway”? With a slight Elvis smirk, I replied “16—that’s the truth”. Jason shakes his head back and forth, and just mumbled “oh fuck man, I dunno”.

“Look dude, it’s like this—I had a really bad day. I got demoted in football, got in three fights today, my best friends told me I was a prick, It’s the same as anybody else out here—I just wanna empty these balls down somebody’s throat. I been pent up for three days now. I won’t be any trouble, I promise”.

Jason, still kinda put out with my pressure, finally turns around and yanks a key off the rack. Slamming it down on the countertop, he looks me square in the eyes, “24, back side—in the dark, all the way down.