I was tired of playing games with guys.
Guys are jerks.
All of them, even my older teammates who had unbelievable physiques. Titans from battle, I often marveled, watching them pull off their uniforms.
I now let myself check out naked guys below the waist.
A few times, especially after a grueling away game, I threw an instant erection in the showers. I couldn't help it. I wasn't even thinking about all the muscular asses and jiggly dicks around me. No one ever called me a faggot, though I saw more than a few guys check out my hard member. Some looked enticed; others repelled.
Jim Carlson was two years older than me. At my former college, he was our second-string quarterback. He had a great arm. And body. He was as tall as me, though more muscular. He had black hair and eyes. His cock was uncircumcised like mine. He shaved his pubes and nuts. His wrinkly scrotum was bigger than mine. His balls looked like jawbreakers.
One afternoon, we were alone in a row of lockers, as we stripped out of our practice uniforms.
I was naked first.
I stood behind him. I enjoyed watching him bend over, his pale, muscular ass in my face, as he shucked off his jockstrap. I caught a glimpse of his balls hanging between his thighs a second before he straightened up naked.
"Seen any clean towels?" he asked, looking around our row awash with used ones hanging from locker doors and in piles across the floor.
He turned to face me, hands on his hips.
I shook my head.
He popped open his eyes, like my response surprised him. His gazed flicked down to my nipples to my cock, then back to my eyes.
His cock went instantly from flaccid and jiggly against his scrotum to fully engorged, pointing almost straight at me, his fat cockhead unsheathed from his foreskin.
He looked stricken.
"Shit," he said.
I threw a raging, unstoppable erection.
He gaped at it.
"Shit," he again said.
I ogled his member. It was fatter than mine and about half as long. Thick veins crisscrossed the shaft. His hairless scrotum looked enormous between his thighs.
Frankly, I imagine gods look like him.
"Tucker, you fucker," he said, stepping up to me.
My racing heartbeat roared in my ears. I wanted to grab his cock, but didn't dare with our teammates all around us in the locker room.
He raised his hand to run his knuckles lightly up and down my abdomen.
It tickled. I giggled.
"I'm in Sutherton Hall. Number 32," he said, stooping to pick up two towels from the floor.
He snapped one at my chest.
When I snatched it away from him, he smiled, looked down at my cock, then pressed the second towel over his crotch.
He marched out of the row of lockers.
I sat down on a bench, trembling, and bunched the towel on my lap to hide my arousal. My head was spinning. A fellow football player had just become aroused by me. And it wasn't just anyone. It was Carlson. We played together. A lot. I'd seen him tons of times undressing and naked in the locker room and showers. It would be impossible to count the number of times I'd jacked off in bed thinking of him naked, showering, shouting in my face as he pounded my shoulder pads during a practice game. In my fantasies, I'd paired him with me, our teammates, coaches, trainers and even hot guys on other teams. As I pumped out my loads, he again and again wore out my favorite porn stars, film actors and pro players.
The sex that I'd imagined him having gave me amazing orgasms, but nothing felt as good as having just seen him naked and fully aroused in front of me, as he ran his knuckles lightly up and down my abdomen. He could've gone for my cock, but he didn't.
"What does that mean?" I mumbled, giving my rigid cock a tight squeeze through the towel on my lap.
I knew that I couldn't jack off here. I was so excited that I had no doubt that I was going to stay hard for a long time.
When more of my teammates came to change in the row, I leaned forward and pressed my chest against my knees. I blinked at the floor between my feet. No one said anything to me, since you generally see guys like this when they're pissed off at themselves or about to puke.
By the time they all left, it sounded like most of the team had also quit the locker room, so I slowly sat up. I swallowed dryly. I looked at the spot where Carlson had been standing naked when he'd thrown an instant erection.
My cock was rock hard.
I needed to go back to my dorm and beat off. I hoped my roommate wasn't there.
I sighed, stood up and tossed the towel aside.
I was naked and fully aroused, dialing the combination to my locker, when a trainer walked by, saw me and stopped.
This excerpt is 800 or so words from my novella, Tucker, about a gay football player looking for love. Here, the main character has an encounter with someone who might be Mr. Right. Tucker is now available here on Amazon.
