The Jock
‘Time is evanescent. Memories are forever.’
Stuck in a traffic jam on the highway,
in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave, Adrian Greene has more on his
fevered mind than praying for rain and getting home. With little else to do,
his thoughts stray to a better time in his life—his youth and an adventurous
three years spent with his first boyfriend. If there’s one thing he longs for,
it’s a chance to relive it all.
Excerpt:
The air was stifling. The pavement and anything metallic caressed by
the sun rippled in heat waves. So far, the summer had been brutal. The worst in
a decade, with no end in sight, according to local forecasts. The Fraser Valley
had gone an entire month, from Vancouver to the agricultural landscape of
Chilliwack, without a drop of rain. Lawns were quilted in patches of dead
grass. Every tree had brown-tipped leaves.
As for where I sat, the black leather seats, black dash, and black
paint added to the sauna inside my Jetta. The air conditioning felt good on my
face and upper torso, but did little to stop the odd trickle of perspiration
from sliding down my spine. I didn’t dare open the sunroof for fear the outside
hot air would get in.
Traffic moved at a crawl. The lights changed and a dozen vehicles
made it through the intersection, but less than a minute later the green
switched to red. Stop and start, that’s all I did for over an hour as the
highway appeared in the distance, the forever-elusive carrot dangling in front
of my face. The highway meant freedom, a break from the clusterfuck I was
fighting and a chance to go home.
I’d been away for several days on a business trip to Seattle,
Washington. My job is to negotiate the export of raw goods to furniture
manufacturing plants; to put contracts in place that will bring both sides a
profit. Once I’d convinced the CEO to sign, we had dinner followed by a taxi
ride to SeaTac Airport and then home. Vancouver International had never looked
so inviting; sleeping in a strange bed, not my thing.
I hooked my fingers around the bottom of the steering wheel and
inched the Jetta forward, then stopped, the breaks exhaling a screech. The
radio started to play a string of memorable tunes from the eighties, and I adjusted
the volume. Singing along did provide a distraction, but eventually my
concentration and the music faded into the milieu—the rush of air conditioning
and vibration of the engine—my thoughts strayed to a period in time I could
never forget. The year was 1986, and I was in grade ten. At that time the
school had seen a large influx of new students.
I’d realized my sexual preference early on. When I’d hit puberty, my
attraction to guys matured as my body did. I wanted a boyfriend, and sex, and
my first glimpse at a true Adonis happened to be a jock by the name of Timothy
McKellen. He’d been the goalkeeper for my high school soccer team, among other
sports.
Perched on the bleachers, I nibbled on
chips—a bag of sour cream and onion—and watched
the game. After countless attempts, our team had finally scored and the entire
sideline roared with cheers. The match had come to an end and we’d won.
Everyone was riding the high of the win; the Blazers would head to the
Provincial Tournament next. The whole structure quaked with movement, but I
remained seated, the wood sinking under my ass as other students jumped down
from the higher seats.
And that’s when I first saw him in all
his glory.
He emerged from the soccer field like a
ship through fog, with a slow, confident swagger, laughing and goofing around
with his teammates. Tall of stature, with an athlete’s build, longish, light
strawberry-blond hair, moss-green eyes and freckle-flecked skin—even
his thick lips. He had powerful calves and solid thighs wrapped in knee length
satin shorts: a paragon of virgin sex appeal.
A bunch of the players crowded the
stands, and he gaze met with mine, unflinching and cool. I dropped the bag of
chips in my lap to hide the growing erection poking my shorts.
“Geek, this is Tim,” said one guy, some
jerk-off from my math class. “He wanted to meet you.”
“Hi,” I managed to squeak.
“Hey.” Tim notched a cleat on the seat
directly below me, climbed up and shoved his hand inside my bag. His fingers
groped, pushing downward and it brushed my hard cock. I stared nervously at
him, hoping he hadn’t felt the physical manifestation of my desire. He grinned
and stuffed the chips in his mouth. Cheeks bulging, he cuffed my shoulder hard
and the other guys laughed. Me, I frowned, feeling the embarrassment rise up my
throat and soak into my already-warm cheeks.
He swallowed and wiped his lips with
the back of a hand. “It’s Adrian right?”
I shaded my eyes from the sun, peering
up at him. “Yes.”
“I’ve seen you around. I think we’re in
the same science class together.”
“We are. Mr. Gilchrist’s, room 201.”
“Since I’m kind of new here, I thought
I’d throw a party tonight at my place…get to know everyone—celebrate
the win. Wanna come?”
I’d never been invited to anything the
cool kids did. I gulped quietly, not knowing what to say.
“I wouldn’t bother asking him, he’s a
geek!” another soccer player chided.
A burly brunet added, “Yeah, geeks
don’t know how to party!”
Tim cracked a huge smile. “Piss off!”
He motioned for them to leave. “Can’t you see I’m trying to make a new friend
here?”
His teammates laughed and mocked me
again, telling him I was a waste of space, and wandered in the direction of the
school gymnasium.
“Don’t pay any attention to them.” He
propped his hands on his hips. “They didn’t mean it.”
My nerves were on edge; we were alone
and he had a great smile—not to mention I’d noticed the nice package
inside his shorts. I couldn’t put two coherent thoughts together with a boner
sticking up between my thighs. “It’s okay…I’m used to it.”
“That’s not something you should get
used to.”
I shrugged, pressing my legs together
tighter.
“So, what do you say?” He suddenly had
his hand inside the bag again and it nudged the head of my cock, sending a
sharp ache straight through my testicles to my ass.
“They’re right, I don’t party…well.”
Clutching my books and snack, I leapt to my feet and without looking at him,
jumped down the bleachers, and nearly took a nosedive at the base.
“What the—Adrian!”
I think he actually pursued me for a
short distance, but I ran. And I could run like the wind when scared. God, I’d
made a fool of myself.
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