Star Goalie Sequel Ch 01
Two former soccer teammates meet in the summer
Last August, I published "Miguel, Our Star Goalie" on Literotica. I received many requests for a sequel. This is a side story which leads into a two additional chapter sequel. This is a stand- alone story, however. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. ©Brunosden 2024. All rights reserved.
I was relaxing on a chaise by the pool after my regular late afternoon workout swim. It was early August in Fairfax, Virginia and still hot and muggy, but it felt good to just chill. It seemed that we would be spared the typical afternoon thunder shower. I had just completed a particularly intense ten week internship working on the Hill and would report to summer varsity soccer practice at William and Mary in less than two weeks. My Mom and Dad had agreed to almost two weeks "off" between work and my junior year. I'm Carlos Lopez, by the way.
William & Mary, although small in size, is reputed to be one of the top soccer schools in the US, often nick-named the "farm team" for professional and Olympic scouts. I'm a good player, really a very good player, and W&M had recruited well my year and built a winning team. Our goalie, Miguel Allende, is probably the best in collegiate athletics at the moment, and I was neck and neck with Jeff Bridges for "forward" honors last year. I knew that Miguel and Jeff were occasionally together, but they were good-looking and popular. So they dated often—so it wasn't clear they were in any kind of relationship. They were probably just good teammates and bros—although Latinos and Anglos are usually not so close around here. It was probably because they were both from the same prep school near San Diego and had played together there.
My father is an Army colonel, currently assigned to ISA at the Pentagon. He was a specialist on Central American politics, Latino cartels and insurgency resistance. Mom is a social worker, employed by a nearby hospital, to assist patients having coverage issues with their insurers. I'm an only child—and spoiled, thank God! The house is small and old, but the yard is large, requiring significant maintenance—which I'm not required to do. So we had hired a landscape team—which had been at work for several hours. It was probably near the end of their work day.
I had graduated from the Vienna High where I played (and starred) as soccer forward. I'm a good student with lots of AP credits and had won a scholarship to W&M—along with several other schools including UVA—but I wanted to play serious soccer. I'm about 5-11, 155 lbs of soccer muscle—thighs, bis/tris and a cut six pack. I've got a narrow waist and a small bubble butt, nurtured with hundreds of squats. I'm fast, agile and smart on the field with unusual stamina, I'm told. I'm always moving and pop up where other players don't expect. You know the type, I'm sure. My natural coffee-colored skin had darkened during the summer with weekends by the pool, producing a pronounced and sexy color change where my Speedo had been (when I wore it). I've got thick black hair with a little curl, deep brown eyes, a squared-face and a perennial smile. I know I'm popular and have been told that I'm magnetic--the kind of guy who invites you to approach and start a conversation. I'm really easy to be with.
And the Speedo I usually wear even in the privacy of their yard does little to conceal my package. I'm really proud of CJ—it's thick and about 7 and a half when erect, uncut and man-scaped with decent sized hangers. I'm gay. Mom and Dad know—and he's none too pleased, but accepting. I don't flaunt it, and I'm definitely macho acting. I haven't broadcast my choices. I even date (girls) occasionally although ususally inb a group. And I wasn't sexually active until W&M—and not much there.
I'm a "nice guy" with dozens of friends, male and female. I like people. I'm friendly and funny—the life of any party, always with a joke and a good word, ready to help anyone anytime. This was probably the result of the fact that we've moved every few years for my entire life—and I had to make friends quickly in each new place. Dad's Pentagon gig was now in its fourth year—the longest we have stayed anywhere. There is even talk now that he might retire at the end of this assignment and join a DC political think tank.
I'm excited at that prospect. I'm really getting into politics, and if we stay in Northern Virginia, I'll be closer to the action. This summer, I got to work on immigration policy—particularly the camp conditions at the border. Privatizing those activities has resulted in unbelievable suffering—and unconscionable profits to the operators. I learned, for example, that a few large corporations are making billions (yes, that's billions) from the chaos and the incarceration—and they are dumping millions into the coffers of some politicians because they don't want the problem solved—it's way too profitable. Fuck, with my ancestry, I could have been in one of those camps, torn from my folks and without any reasonable alternative. But, Dad had met, fell in love with and married my mother (a US Citizen) when they were in college and earned his citizenship. Now he's serving this country in the Army with one of its most difficult problems—drug cartels.
The two landscape trucks had pulled up a little over an hour ago. The lawn had been cut and one guy had already left with the riding mower and the heavier cut-off branches and clippings to handle another job, leaving one guy to edge, trim and clean-up. The younger guy entered the enclosed yard which held the pool and started to smooth the privacy bushes using a very long power clipper. I quickly pulled a towel over my middle as I'm now sunning naked on the chaise.
The gardener was a young man, bare-chested with his tee tied around his neck to catch the sweat and wearing ripped and torn cut-off jeans and Nikes without socks. He was wearing ear protection and aviator reflective lenses—and was thus oblivious to everything around him. His hair was short, spikey, blonde and moist from the humidity. He moved with grace and strength, wielding the long bladed electric clipper in wide arcs, totally intent on his job, and oblivious to my presence on the chaise on the terrace. He had nice muscles—from work, not the gym. His guns were pumped from the weight of the clipper, and he was glistening in the heat. But, the most engaging feature was his height—probably 6-6 or more.
I recognized him almost immediately when he turned slightly. He had been a high school teammate and had gone on to NVCC after Vienna High. We had been friends and attended many of the same parties. Since both of us had been on the soccer team, we were actually more than casual friends. I quickly pulled on the Speedo and went in to grab cold water for Sean. I approached and tapped him carefully on the shoulder. Of course, he hadn't heard me approaching and jumped, nearly loosing the clipper. Fortunately the clipper had a dead man switch. His finger left the trigger and it stopped immediately, leaving the area silent. He swung to face me with a curse forming on his lips, ready to reprimand or worse, when he realized who I was. I was smiling and holding out the frigid bottle. Sean's eyes widened and the frown turned to a smile. "Carlos, what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you had some fancy internship on the Hill?"
"It finished last Friday. I've got a little over a week before I go back to W&M. How about you? Where are you headed after NVCC?"
"I think I'm going to be doing this work for a few more months. Then I've got to find a real job. Dad had an accident and the fucking insurance company is being really slow and cagey with the disability decision. Money is really tight. Mom works, but for a family of seven, it's not enough. So I'm needed at home—or at least my income is. Otherwise, I'd be heading down to W&M on a scholarship as well—although I've been away from soccer for a couple of years, so I'm going to have to try out with the new guys." I noticed that while he was talking, Sean was staring at my six pac—and maybe just a little lower, at my package.
