Sports & Locker Room Sunday

IAN'S DRY SPOT

written by Xem VanAdams

September, 2003

[UnEdited. UnCut.]

Ian was only 5'9, but his thick chest and horse shoe, arched thighs were cut like smooth pieces of mahagony brown fire wood. He had dark, curly hair, two penny round dimples, thin cut side burns, and long, thread-like eye lashes. He had pretty boy looks, but the sexiest, mandingo, Valley-thug bravado in our entire senior class at North Palisades Senior High School. His voice was deep like a dry, Saharan ditch, and he had the attitude of a fighting bull when he was leading our school football team to yet another statewide championship. He aint take no shit off of nobody. Afterall, he had a 3.6 GPA, his father was the top nuerosurgeon on the West Coast, and every football scout from the major, Division 1 schools across the country were courting Ian to start in their Fall, opening lineups. Ian lived the good life. He drove a classic, Red, 1962, Porsche Roadster, and never let anyone ride shot gun. The front seat was set in place to cushion his gym bag and prize, Dan Marino ,autographed football. Ian's family had a lot of money saved and invested, but he didn't dress the part. Everyday, Ian would wear a pair of loose fitting gray sweats, a tight, white, wife beater, and a pair of fresh, butter tims. I use to stand at the top of the second floor hallway every morning just to watch Ian walk down to his locker alongside his power plunging teammates. Ian's wife beater would cling to his chest like a hot steam engine. I could see Ian's nipples bulging through his top like two brown fingertips reaching out to be touched. Ian would carry his black, athletic bag in one hand, and his muddy, pig skin football in the other. He and the other football players had a 7 o'clock, mandatory workout with the coach each and every morning before the first bell wrang. The sweat from running up and down the testosterone cutting football field would pour from Ian's forehead, straight down to the crevis of his neck. Ian's gray sweats hung low, almost directly under his thick, brownie, banana-nut butter ass cheeks. As he walked, I could see his ass thrusting beneath the top of his crisp, white boxers; especially since his waistline was soggy and damp with beads of dirt & grass stains.
Every morning, between the final call time of their morning workouts and the sounding of the first period bell, the football team had exactly twenty minutes to shower and change their clothes. I knew for a fact that Ian showered every morning with the team because he always walked into our first period History class smelling like fresh baby powder and genuine clean, Cool Water cologne. Pebbles of water would still be dripping from the ends of Ian's dark curls, and sometimes he would have tiny mounds of soap foam still drying on the lobes of his tiny, pretzel ears. It was always so cute how Ian's arms and hands would still be so ashy from the rough, sages of water that blasted from the shower room stalls. The first thing that Ian would do before opening his textbook is that he would pull out a small, travel size bottle of pink, baby lotion, and he would lather it in his palms before smoothing it out onto his skin. My dick would bulge like a fire hose everytime a drop of lotion would ooze down the side of Ian's lotion bottle, and he would catch it on his middle fingertip before pulsating the drop over one of his dry spots. I was tired of teasing myself by laying in my bed at night and simply pretending to be a fly on the Men's Locker Room walls. What I wanted, and what I needed was to catch only a glimpse of Ian's naked, sex stabbing body, standing wet amongst the backdrops of weathering steam, and masculine, brute company. I wanted to pretend, if only for a second, that Ian could be more than the man of my teenage desires. I had to see him and smell him in the essence of his thuggish, school boy, all- star charm.

As the team piled into the locker room one by one, each carrying their gym bags and towels draped across their shoulders, I nervously paced up and down the hall until it was clear of the other students. Today was going to be the day that made high school worth the four years of hiding my sexuality. After number 42, Charles Weston, entered the big,swinging, green and brown doors, I plunged my way behind him. My heart was beating faster than Ian's rapid speed on the grassy terf. I could feel every pound and blood vessle streaming inside of my body. I didn't know what to do now that I was through the first layer of swinging doors, and I certainly didn't know what I was going to do if I got caught. I stood in the corner of the Locker Room foyer for a couple of seconds as I tried to calm myself. I was torn between getting my ass kicked by 26 muscle bound football studs, and kicking my own ass for being this close to Ian's naked flesh and turning around to walk the other way.

As I heard locker doors slam shut, and streams of water hitting the hardwood floors, I knew that I had come too far to turn back now. My plan was to walk straight toward my old gym locker and pretend as if I had to get something important out of it. I didn't know if there would be a new lock on old number 126, but I didn't care. To see everything that I had come this far to see, I was willing to do just about anything. I could pretend that my locker is stuck, and that I couldn't get it open. Either way, I only had to get my glimpse of Ian. I counted to ten in my head, and stormed my way into the Locker Room as if I were the new team quarterback. The room was filled with thick, lines of white steam and forest fire smoke. I could hear the loud antics of horseplay and drum thumping voices echoing from every direction. The walls were sweating testosterone. My dick was dripping cum as every loin inside my droors plunged upward. I immediately walked to my old locker,number 126. The lock was still on it, but of course I didn't know the combination anymore. As I played with the dial of the lock, pretending that it was Ian's rock hard nipples, I began to let my eyes wonder the room. My locker stood parallel to the entrance way of the shower room. I could see just about everything. I was on the verge of physical combustion. I could not believe where I was now standing, and what I was finally doing.

As I stood at the locker, fondling with the lock, stallion after stallion walked passed me; dicks slinging, ass' thrusting, muscles pulsating, and water justa' drippin'. All of the white boys were walking towards the shower room already. Many of them weren't too cute, but their bodies were. To my surprise, a few of them had pretty nice size pieces. They didn't even pay me any mind as I held my head downward to allow my eyes to mentally capture their naked bulges that never seemed to pierce through their khaki cargo pants when I checked for them in the halls. OH MY GOD!!! As I turned away from the shower room to adjust the thick wood that was growing in my own cargo pants, Ian walks into the same aisle of lockers that I'm standing at the end of.

Ian catches me as I'm caught in a deep, sex savvy stare at his entire being. He smiles quickly exposing those adorable, penny round dimples of his that I'm so in love with. He says," Can't get that locker door open my man?" I didn't know what the fuck to say? I quickly looked away from him and started jumbling the lock again."Nah, I can't. This shit fucks with me everyday", I said. Ian opens his locker after banging at the door once and says to me, "Just keep juggling it. It usually gives way after you tug it a few times." He had absolutely no idea just how many times I've tugged at my dick, thinking about him, giving way to a palm full of nut everytime I would bust. Just then, Ian begins to undress. I had to watch.

Charles comes around the corner yelling to Ian about a change in the play book that coach wanted to remind the team about. As Charles is talking to Ian, and the two of them are trading off football play suggestions, Ian begins to casually strip off everything. His shoes were already off when he first entered the aisle of lockers that I'm standing in. He had already placed those on the top shelf. As Ian took off his whife beater, it wripped. It tore off of his muscles like a wet newspaper being unwrapped from a hard, glass vase. One line of sweat trickled down the spine of Ian's back and landed at the tip of his waistline. Then, Ian tossed the shirt inside of his bag, and slowly pulled his gray sweats down as he bent over, still chattin' it up with Charles. I was about to bust. Not even two seconds later, Ian turns toward his locker, throwing his sweats inside of it, and pulls down his white boxers. Ian's dick was the size of a five pound sledge hammer with a huge, mushroom shaped clamp at the tip of it. His balls hung like two chocolate covered candle apples on a stick. His ass was phat and bubbly like a thick, mud pie cut in half, and I wanted to stick my tongue between it.

Ian grabbed a towel out of his bag, shut his locker door, and told Charles that they would continue their conversation after he got out of the shower. Ian came walking towards where I was standing, and stopped in front of me.Just then he says,"If you want me to help you tug that, meet me at my car after I get out of football practice this afternoon." He grins, pats me on my ass, letting his middle finger rub the crack, and he walks away. I knew I couldn't hold it back any longer. My nut erupted inside the warmth of the patches of my pants, and I just clutched the lock as hard as I could. I knew then that Ian would be able to have me in any way, shape or form that he wanted to. I would now be the one to help him spread that baby lotion all over those hard to reach, dry spots. My high school years would be complete.