Jock Auction (6 page)

“Dude, you want to just take a photo?” he muttered. I was thankful that his low,

smooth voice was as quiet as it was deep. Still, just getting caught by a single person was hardly less mortifying. I felt my cheeks light up in a blush as I made very awkward eye contact.

“What?” I tried to brush it off, but he gave me a more than knowing look.

“You’ve been staring at my junk for the past five minutes, Kyle.” Had it really

been that long? I knew I couldn’t leave until my cock had deflated, since I’d have to walk the length of the shower to get back to my locker. “I get it; it’s a big black dick.

You white boys are envious.”

I looked up at his face—hang on, when had I looked back down at his crotch,

anyway?—and saw, despite what he was saying, that he wasn’t really laughing at me.

He was just sort of quiet as he rubbed soap under his arms. I knew the suds were

running down his chest and probably dripping down his crotch, and it took a lot of effort not to glance that way again to see if I was right.

“I wa-wasn’t…” I stuttered. “I mean, I was just… I zoned out, dude, I just

wasn’t…” Was that the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth? Out of everyone on the team, Louis was probably the quietest and the most serious. He was also incredibly fit and, no matter what Jeff seemed desperate to proclaim, probably had the most

impressive stuff hanging between his legs. Had I really been staring at it?

“Relax, Kyle.” He turned to the narrow ledge we used to store soap and shampoo

and pumped out another fistful of shower gel. I knew I shouldn’t look at his ass when he did it, but somehow knowing that meant it was inevitable. Damn, it was crazy tight and round.

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“I wasn’t trying to…” I tried, poorly, to explain. He turned back around and fixed me with a blank stare. I dragged my gaze back up to his face, maybe even doing it in time to not get caught in the process. I knew, from the movement of his arms at the edges of my vision, that he was soaping up his groin. I also knew that, if I was to ever live this down, I had to do anything it took to keep looking at his face.

“So, that gay kid got you curious, right?” He was joking, he had to be joking, but his voice was so deadpan that I could feel the panic starting to rise in my chest. I shook my head under the water.

“Damn, Louis, don’t give me that same shit I’ve been catching from Jeff all

practice.” I downplayed it, waiting for him to chuckle or something, or to tell me that this was all a joke.

No chuckle.

“Jeff don’t know shit,” Louis said, wrinkling his nose some. “Guy’s a fucking

idiot.”

There we agreed. Louis tipped his head back into the stream, sending rivers of

soap cascading down his chest. I couldn’t help myself; I had to steal a glance down.

And that made me automatically compare Louis’s inches with what Craig had. Craig

might’ve been behind, but I didn’t think it was by much.

I fixed my gaze back up in time to see him wipe the water from his eyes. I don’t

think I got caught. “Look, what a guy lets some gay guy do to him, I don’t give a fuck about, yeah?” I’d frozen then, desperate not to betray anything just in case this was all a trap of some sort. Louis skewered me with a look. “That shit’s none of my business.”

“Look, Louis…” I started, but he just shook his head.

“Like I said, none of my business.” Louis shrugged a little, flashed me a rare smile.

“Your dick says it all, man.”

I glanced down to where my cock was apparently trying to get as far away from

my body as it could. I still wasn’t quite sure why; okay, I’d had no problems getting hard for Craig to go to town on just a few days before, but when it came down to it, I 36
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liked girls. Girls, not guys. So why was the thought of Craig, crouched on all fours with my length lodged fully in his throat, making me so achingly hard? And why couldn’t I stop staring at Louis’s dick?

“I don’t know why,” I started to tell him, but he rolled his eyes at me, nudged me in the arm with his shoulder playfully. Considering Louis was never, ever tactile, it was the closest I think I’d ever been to him. He grinned.

“Whatever, dude, it’s gotta be good if the anatomy is so happy, am I right?” And

then, throwing a quick glance around the showers, he reached down and flicked a

finger across my cock, setting it bouncing and bobbing in front of me. Then he cracked up laughing.

Nobody had seen us, I knew that, but I couldn’t get the thought of him out of my

head while I was getting dressed, having turned half prune under the water waiting for the rest of the shower to clear. I even considered putting my jock back on, since it might at least keep my unruly dick in check, something my usual boxers were basically failing to do. I buttoned up my jeans, trying my best to trap my cock up and across my hip.

* * * *

classes. It was Thursday by then, and I’d finally managed to get my groin under control, mainly by jerking off twice a day—okay, sometimes three times—and otherwise trying to avoid thinking of anything more sexually provocative than cold oatmeal.

I’d forgotten quite how stick thin he was, how he picked clothes that emphasized

that. The skinny jeans and the tight black T-shirts and the narrow black sneakers. I spotted him sidling down the corridor from afar, but before we closed the gap, I saw him get shoved, hard, against the wall. A pained wince flashed across his face just for a second before the disaffected mask clamped down again.

“Fuck you, faggot,” I heard someone spit. It didn’t take much to guess—and

visually confirm—that it was Jeff doing the pushing and the cussing. He had his fist JOCK AUCTION | 37

bunched up in Craig’s shirt and the other hand raised in the unmistakable I’m-gonna-pound-your-face gesture.

I quickened my step until I was right next to Jeff. I could see Craig looking at me, fearfully, out the corner of his eye. His face was ghostly white with what looked like little more than a couple of chips of color across each cheekbone.

“What the hell, dude?” I demanded. Jeff snorted through his nose.

“Shady little faggot was looking at me,” he sneered. “Obviously needs a real man

to fuck him up.” I suppressed a shudder at his language.

“For fuck’s sake, Jeff, put the guy down.” He made no move to do so. “Look, if

you mess him up, I’m not gonna get paid for the auction and Coach is gonna be pissed at both of us.”

Jeff looked over at me after that, though his fingers still kept a tight grip on the front of Craig’s shirt. I knew Craig was looking at me too, but I made sure to keep my expression neutral, my gaze fixed on Jeff and nobody else.

Jeff squinted, mistrustful. “I though you said you’d done all that shit last

weekend?” he asked me, shaking Craig by the chest as if to emphasize what he was

talking about. I steeled myself, both for the lie and what I suddenly realized I was about to admit to Craig, even if nobody else around would get the significance.

“I’ve got another weekend of it, dude,” I told Jeff, purposefully being as vague as I could. “No work, no charity cash, no starting position in the next game, right?”

I could practically see Jeff’s brain clicking through the possibilities and potential outcomes and presumably concluding—just as I’d hoped—that I was needed on the

team. He let go of Craig’s chest with a push, sending his head ricocheting off the plaster.

“Little fag should watch where he’s looking,” he said with a snarl, throwing a

threatening glance in Craig’s direction. I resisted the urge to put myself between them; it would only make things worse and make Jeff extra suspicious. Anyway, I could feel Craig’s eyes on me, and I could only guess he’d seen the significance of what I’d said 38
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about going to his place again. After all, the last time I’d seen him, I’d hinted that I might come back, and chores were not what either of us had in mind.

Jeff stalked off down the corridor, and the small crowd that had gathered at the

first whiff of violence quickly dispersed. I waited a while before I risked a side look at Craig. He was still staring at me.

“Look, dude, I’m sorry about—” I started to say.

“Are you really coming back, or was that all bullshit?”

I looked at him properly now. If anything, he seemed more anxious, more nervous

now than he had when Jeff had been looming over him. That blush crept across his face, staining his cheeks crimson.

“Craig, I just…” What was I trying to tell him? That I wasn’t interested, or that I didn’t think it was right, or even safe, for me to be at his house again? If it wasn’t safe, it was only because I could so easily imagine us doing stuff again, gay stuff, and that’s something I’d need to somehow explain to myself, like how it fit in with the fact that I knew I was straight.

His eyes hadn’t shifted from me. “Saturday afternoon, okay?” I told him, and the

faintest of smiles cracked the corner of his mouth before he turned on his heel and, without even bothering to adjust the shirt that was still messed up from Jeff’s heavy-handed treatment, walked away from me.

So that was it; I was going. The rest of the week passed in a sort of daze; I wasn’t sure why, but it almost felt more like a date than anything else. I guess my body

knew—even if my brain didn’t want to admit it—that I was expecting something sexual to happen again.

That’s why my stomach was churning when I knocked on Craig’s door that

Saturday and why I considered getting back into the car and driving away before he came to answer it.

“I really didn’t think you’d come,” he told me, standing to one side so that I could walk in. He was in what I realized was regulation black: T-shirt and skinny jeans, JOCK AUCTION | 39

though this time barefoot. I didn’t wait for him to direct me, just walked up the stairs to where I knew his room was.

Still that same mess too. Clothes everywhere, towers of CDs spilling over. I

thought back to when I’d wondered if Craig’s goal was to get me to tidy things up in here and how naive I’d been about his true intentions.

I heard the door shut behind me. Part of me expected to feel his hands touch me,

to trace across my back perhaps, but they didn’t. In the end, I turned to look at him, standing with his shoulders against the door.

“Why did you come?” he asked me, frowning slightly. I shrugged.

“Guess I just wanted to come back,” was all I could come up with.

Craig nodded, slowly. “I’m glad.”

I could see that he was too. That, despite the perpetual air of disaffected

ambivalence, I was starting to see something legitimate and authentic from him, even if it was just the slight smile that cracked the very edge of his mouth, or the way he glanced up almost shyly from behind his bangs.

“I should thank you, for…Jeff,” he told me. I shook my head; I didn’t want to

think about that dumbass.

“Don’t worry about it.” Craig was looking at his feet now, and I couldn’t help but ask, “So were you actually looking at him?”

He grinned, rolled his eyes at me. “Jeez, Kyle, didn’t you get the memo—it’s all

about you these days.” Now it was my turn to blush.

Craig watched as the flush spread. “I want to kiss you,” he said, quietly, not

moving from where he stood. He sounded almost ashamed. “I want more of what we

did last week.”

I don’t know what brought me back here, beyond wanting to get Craig out of a

tough situation with Jeff. But I didn’t have to actually go through with it, and that 40
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meant—as far as I could figure—that Craig wasn’t the only one interested in a second encounter that would go something like the first.

Eventually I had to say something just to break the silence that had spread

between us. “Look, if you want another lap dance, this time you have to pay,” I warned him, with a half grin. He nodded, seriously.

“Get ‘em hooked with the first freebie, and then you’ve got ‘em caught forever,”

Craig observed.

I smiled in agreement.

“You’re quite the businessman.”

I gave him a knowing shrug and grabbed at my junk through my jeans as if to say

here’s the magic
. I liked joking around with him. But I also knew from experience that if I didn’t take the lead sometime, Craig might never do it himself.

“If there’s no dancing, maybe you’ll just have to come over here,” I told him, my

eyebrows flicking up suggestively. Craig looked at me with what I realized was hunger.

There was that feeling of being wanted again.

He pushed away from the door, closed the gap between us. I could feel the heat

coming from his body, his chest inches away from mine. When I saw that he wasn’t

going to go any further, I reached down and grabbed him by his right wrist, lifted his hand up and underneath my T-shirt.

I pressed his palm flat against my skin, watched as Craig’s eyes snapped down to

where his fingers dimpled the muscles of my pecs. My shirt had got caught on his

forearm, dragged up to expose my abs, and as I waited, Craig let the fingers of his other hand gently ease around their ridged contours.

“I didn’t know I’d get so turned on by you controlling me,” he told me, voice little more than a whisper but plenty loud with our proximity. “When you fucked my throat, I thought I was gonna blow so hard my balls would melt.”

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I nodded, dropped my hands to his waist. Craig’s hands were swarming over my

torso by now, slowly at first and then building in hunger. I let my fingertips worm their way under his shirt until the bare pads were brushing the sensitive band of skin just above the waistband of his skinnies.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about how big your dick is,” I admitted. There was

something mesmerizing about it swinging from his boyish hips. I shouldn’t be thinking about another guy’s piece, but Craig’s kept jumping into my head all week.