Sunday, February 4, 2007

Insert Football Pun Here

“Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated failures. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.”

I’d written these quotes down, taken from inspirational books and The Bible. Mostly inspirational books. They work, but their effect wears off after a while. The more I think about things, the more I doubt myself, and it’s either inspirational quotes or jerking off to distract me. Unfortunately, the game begins in a half-hour, so it’s inspirational quotes.

“Whether you believe you can do a thing or believe you can’t, you are right.”

It’s not just the game. It’s whether I can pull my life off, really. It’s everything, and it all seems to be coming to a head right here, right now, in this equipment room, twenty-seven minutes before the game.

“One of the greatest of all principles is that men can do what they think they can do.”

I nod my head for myself, I guess. I think of church, the woman standing up in front of me repeatedly this morning screaming out “Thank you, Lord!” Her body quivering with it. I thought of what would happen if when the minister asked for testimonials, I stood up and said, “My name is Marshall Cook (pause for applause and whoops)! I am a professional football player (pause again)! And I’m sexually attracted to my kicker (silence)!” It made me laugh. The woman in front of me jumped up and screamed out “Thank you, lord!” again.

“Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are your own fears.”

I read the sentence again and again, trying to get it to mean as much to me as it did when I first read it, but nothing’s happening. Fears lie. Worst liars are fears. What am I afraid of? The words blur.

The kicker is named Steve Richardson. He was a dancer in high school, but was recruited as a kicker in college. The first time I met him he was stretching his leg against the lockers, his toe out and pointed over his head, his nose nuzzling his shin. My body went a little limp, a warmth in my shorts, and I excused myself before it would be noticed. I think he noticed.

“Do the thing you fear and the death of fear is certain.”

This is not what I should be reading right now.

I look at the clock. Twenty-three minutes. I have just enough time. I put the quotes in my hand warmer and make a move for the locker room. Steve is in front of my locker. He sees me coming and holds off moving until the last second, trying to make eye contact with me. He has no luck. I take the lotion out, supposedly there for when my skin is ashy, and head back to the equipment room. I close the door behind me, consider locking it, but decide not to, find a corner behind a bag of footballs, kneel, unlace my pants, drop them over my ass and go in. There’s no time to mess around, trying to think of a woman, and it goes straight to Steve, bending perfectly under my hand, gracefully, on all fours. I ask him if he wants it hard or soft. Hard, he says. I go in.

My hand pulls and twists on my cock. I can hear it, and I pause, trying to judge how loud I am. I’m not. Someone could come in here and they wouldn’t know.

Just as I think that, the door opens. I freeze, slide my back down more on the walls, my knees into a shelf. It’s not comfortable and it’s not fast enough. Before I have time to try to get back into my cup and tie up my laces, Steve is over me.

“Marshall? Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I just came in here to see… to see what’s wrong and I’m sorry.”


Steve is taken aback by this and I’m not really sure why I said it. Maybe I thought I heard something like a hesitation, like he was talking more so that he could stay longer. He knows now. He looks back at the door, drops onto his knees and takes my cock in his mouth. My head whips back into the wall. He pulls my knees out of the shelf, flattens my legs and straddles them. It’s incredible. It’s been too long. It’s been nothing but paid professionals since I joined the team. They keep quiet. I’ve got the money. Steve, though. Thank you, Lord! He knows what he’s doing. But he’s the last person who should be doing it.

“Steve, I can’t.”

He keeps going.

“I can’t. My career. My life. I was the first person in my, ugh, family to go to college.”

He speeds up.

“You’ve got to, mmm, stop. Stop it. Oh God that feels so fucking good.”

All I see is this twisting man, his body strong, but small. Lean. Built. My neck tingles. Fuck. My back pulls back in an arch over the wall, my leg kicking. I knock a helmet off a shelf.

“I don’t care. Fuck, I don’t care.”

I come, as quiet as I can, my hands around his head. He holds just long enough and releases. He takes another look around and leans in, kisses me.

“You’re going to win this game,” he says. He arranges himself a little and goes to the door. “Now.”

And I am.

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