I love football.
I love the rush. I love playing in the crisp, cool autumn weather. I love the roar of the crowd on a Friday night. I love tackling another player, and smashing him flat on the ground. I love getting a hold of the ball and running down the field to the adulation of a whole stadium full of rabid fans.
I love the game.
I've played football since I was a freshman in high school. It was the first sport I lettered in and the one I hold above all others. My dedication showed in that I was the only freshman at my school to be picked for the varsity squad after first year summer tryouts.
And while the game has many finer points to love, as with all sports, one of the best parts is of course the cheerleaders.
What could be better than playing the game all the while knowing that some of the most beautiful girls in school would be cheering you on? Doing their sexy little routines. Their tits bouncing up and down while they cheered. Their asses shaking in those tight little outfits. Their short skirts riding up their thighs.
The lucky players had a cheerleader of their own for after the game. And I was often a very, very lucky player indeed. Man, there is nothing better than winning a hard fought game and then a quick fuck right after the game with some tight little bitch in the back of a car, so horny that you can't even wait to get your clothes off. There were plenty of girls who didn't want anything more from a young jock than to just help him relieve some of that post game tension. And the coaches quietly looked the other way of course, because it gave us players something to focus all our left over pent up energy on.
Yes, I love football.
But I didn't love practice nearly as much.
We had a game that Friday night, as we did most Fridays. But before the big game we had practices. This was the one inevitable evil that I could think of. And the Coach was a hard man. He always put us through all our paces, making everything especially rough, a real workout. And this practice had been no exception to the general rule, in fact maybe a little worse. If I had spent more time concentrating on the game, rather than on the cheerleaders doing their routines across the field, I didn't think I would be feeling it quite as much as I was about then.
My muscles ached.
Coach had made some of us run extra laps in full gear. Ostensibly to make sure our stamina was up to mad dashes across the field, but truthfully because we needed to be reminded who was boss. Most of the players had left the field earlier, except for those lucky guys like me who were sent running around the field a couple times.
When we were finally finished we went into the locker room and started stripping off our uniforms and gear, joking around as usual. A lot of the guys had already showered at this point and were getting ready to leave or had left.
The simple fact is that in a locker room guys razz each other. It is common and it is the accepted and expected practice. If you don't engage to show you can take it, you just wind up making it harder on yourself. That's what a lot of shy guys don't understand.
I walked up to my locker as I heard one of the junior linebackers say to another, "Hey, man, I heard you laid Jen Franklin the other night. Is her pussy really as tight as Nick says it is?"
"Man, its better!" came the wholehearted reply.
"Fuck you know McFarland?" responded someone else from further down the line, who made a crude hand gesture as he said, "The only action you ever got was with your own right hand."
"Funny, man," said McFarland, not taking it seriously, "That's not what your mother told me last night when I had my dick in her loose pussy and she was calling my name like a whore."
The whole aisle erupted in general laughter.
Having reached my locker, I opened it and started taking off my gear. My locker was near my friend Greg's. He was laughing at some joke with our other friend Steve, whose locker was across the aisle. They were both just back from their showers.
Steve said to no one in particular, "Did you see that new red-headed girl in Chem?"
I was naked by this point and wrapping a towel around my waist in order to head to the showers.
"Naw, man," I asked "What's she like?"
"Big hooters, man," said Greg, making gestures to indicate their size.
"Yeah, you think you can get some of that, man?" Steve asked him, knowing Greg's type.
"Don't know," Greg pondered, "She gives me a woody whenever I look at her, man. I feel like I'm gonna break my desk apart it's so hard."
He paused thinking it over, "Yeah, I think I'll have to try her tight ass out."
"Not if I get in there first," I said jokingly and I gave him a playful shove as I turned to go to the showers.
You had to go outside the area where the lockers themselves were and down a short hallway to get to the actual showers. I stopped to talk to a few guys along the way. I was pretty popular and on friendly terms with most of the other guys. When I finally made my way down to the showers there were some guys still under the running water. I put my towel on the rack outside the door and walked inside with a nod to one of the guys. It was a big open room with a bunch of shower heads. I picked one that was a couple away from the next closest guy and I started soaping down my body, closing my eyes as I let the feel of the warm water pulse over my aching muscles.
Calgon take me away. The spray felt damn good and I swear I was about a million miles away when Frank Jameson's voice pulled me out of my daydream.
"Harry, you fag!" he shouted over the spray, "Get away from me man! What the fuck are you doing with that boner?"
