by Cassie Cole
Feña strode forward and swung his leg in a smooth arc.
Everyone around me held their breath as the ball sailed through the air. From our angle on this side of the field, I could tell that the kick had plenty of distance. But I couldn’t tell if it was accurate…
The two referees underneath the field goal raised both hands into the air.
“Field goal from Martinez is good,” the announcer said in a neutral tone. “Appleton able to capitalize on the field position after all…”
On the field, Feña punched the air excitedly and then received praise and ass-slaps from his teammates. The Appleton students around me cheered, but I only sighed with relief.
Hopefully that’s enough to restore his confidence.
33
Roberta
The game was a slug-fest filled with strong defenses and lots of turnovers. Middle Texas blitzed constantly—rushing the quarterback with extra men. Danny was able to get rid of the ball quickly, but it kept us from having any big plays. As a wide receiver, Lance was almost totally useless downfield all game.
In the end, we won 16-13. Aside from our single rushing touchdown from the running back, Feña’s three field goals made the difference in the game. Even from my seat in the bleachers, Feña’s enthusiasm and excitement was obvious to see.
The bus ride home was peaceful enough that I was able to study.
Lance’s hamstring was doing better, but I still spent an hour on Sunday working on it and stimulating blood flow. Danny took a beating during the game, so I spent the rest of Sunday afternoon working out the knots in his muscles and icing his ribs. He moaned with pain while I worked, but he was grateful for the PT when I was done.
That night, since he was too sore to move, I laid him down in bed and straddled his cock, riding the quarterback slowly and passionately until he was moaning with pleasure instead of pain.
We fell into a nice groove over the next few weeks. I was with the boys for a significant portion of my day, even if I wasn’t actually with them. Lifting in the mornings, then watching their practice in the afternoons. I even started going to their study hall more often under the guise of being a tutor—which there were plenty of already among the football team, so nobody looked twice when I joined my three boys at their table.
Despite our very long days, Danny and Lance found the energy to have their way with me at night. Not every night, but more often than not. Sometimes I would sleep with Lance, and sometimes it was Danny. Every now and then we had another threesome. I loved being shared by them, passed from one hulking football player to the other on the bed. Tossed around like a football for their pleasure. Their little physical trainer play-thing.
I found myself ravenous for their love. It was a bottomless desire that began distracting me during the day. Who will fuck me tonight? I wondered while listening to professors drone on about one thing or another. It was tough to focus on my Sports Psychology lecture while thinking about the way Lance had shoved his cock down my throat the night before, grabbing a handful of my hair so he could fuck my mouth, while Danny buried his face into my pussy and ate me out until I was moaning around Lance’s hard meat.
The more I had of them, the more I wanted. It was like something inside of me had awoken, and now I could never go back.
Feña seemed cool with it all. Sometimes he made a joke about our arrangement, or teased me about which of the two guys was a better lover. It was all in good fun, and gave Lance an opportunity to make one of his extravagant boasts.
But when I went into Danny’s or Lance’s bedroom at night, sometimes I caught Feña watching me with a thoughtful expression. I wondered what he really thought about the whole thing.
Occasionally I saw the guys on campus between classes. Danny always played it cool with a smile and a wink, but Lance liked to wave and shout my name and come running up to me, even if he was across the campus lawn. It was clear he took immense pleasure out of embarrassing me, and the other students—especially the girls—stared at me and wondered what made me so special.
But I had to admit: I enjoyed the smug feeling of knowing they were mine. I began to love the lustful stares the other women gave Lance and Danny, and the jealous looks they gave me when they saw me with them for brief moments. For once in my life, I was hanging out with the popular kids. And even though I’d spent all of high school and college pretending that I was above it all, I began to enjoy how popularity felt.
We beat West Texas A&M in week four 45-21, and then trounced Tarleton State after that, 52-18. Feña only missed one kick, and that was because it was a long 55-yard field goal with a strong side-wind. The Appleton Stingers were beginning to dominate teams they should dominate.
But the tough part of the schedule was coming up.
The first real challenge of the season was in week six against Midwestern State. The game was on the road in Wichita Falls, a five hour drive from our campus, and unfortunately I didn’t get in line early enough to get a spot on the travel student bus. So I was stuck watching the game in the dorm room with Aly.
The game was like a boxing match among prize fighters: trading blows over and over. Danny and Lance were perfectly in sync, constantly finding and exploiting holes in the Midwestern defense. But every time they scored a touchdown, Midwestern came right back and scored too. They had an offense built around two incredible running backs, and slowly marched down the field a few yards at a time. Our defense spent so much time on the field that it was obvious they were getting tired—even though it was the beginning of October, it was still 90 degrees outside in the sun.
Back and forth the two teams went. Sometimes I sat on the couch hugging my pillow, and other times I paced around our living room. I didn’t plan on drinking today, but I opened a bottle of beer in the third quarter because I needed something to calm my nerves.
“Come on!” Aly shouted as the Midwestern running back split two defenders and sprinted into the end zone. “Make a damn tackle!”
I was on my third beer when we were losing 39-42, with two minutes left on the clock. Danny marched the team down the field with quick passes to Lance on the outside. Over and over the tall wide receiver leaped through the air, caught the ball, and then quickly darted out of bounds to stop the clock.
They were on the 40 yard line when Lance made a mistake.
Danny caught the snap and pump-faked to one receiver, then turned and threw another pass to Lance. He caught the ball and landed on his feet, but the defender had given him enough room that he had extra time.
So instead of running straight out of bounds, he tried to get an extra yard or two by running upfield.
Lance juked left like he was going out of bounds, then darted toward the middle of the field. It should have faked out the defender, allowing Lance to run around him and then get out of bounds before the safety came over to cover. But the defender was ready for it. Lance juked left, then darted right, and the defender leaped at him and wrapped him in a tackle, dragging him to the ground in-bounds.
The clock ticked down 23, 22, 21, 20…
“Stop the clock!” I screamed at the television.
Danny scrambled to get everyone up to the line of scrimmage so they could spike the ball and stop the clock, but some of the linemen were slow to get there. By the time they snapped the ball and Danny spiked it into the grass, the clock had run down to eight seconds.
“Fuck!” I shouted.
Aly put a hand on my arm. “Why don’t you give me that.”
I realized I was gripping my beer bottle so tight that my knuckles were white. I let her take it away and hugged my knees to my chest on the couch.
It was third down, and they were losing by three points. They had enough time to run one more play, but if Danny was sacked or the receiver remained in-bounds again, the clock would run down and they would lose. After a short timeout, Coach Mueller sent the field goal unit onto the field.
“51 yards,” I said as Feña took his position.
A
ly looked over at me. “Is that too far for him?”
“It’s pushing it.” Not only that, but Feña had only kicked extra points during the game. This was his first field goal. That made it tougher than if he’d kicked a few already.
“Fernando Martinez out to make the kick,” the announcer said. “He has been flawless since that disaster of a game against St. Edwards, but this is right on the edge of his range, even with the wind helping. The game is on his shoulders!”
The camera zoomed in on Feña’s face. He looked calm and focused behind his helmet. Confident. Aly and I held hands on the couch, and as the play began I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch!”
“The kick is up… It’s on track, but does it have the distance… Yes!”
My eyes shot open in time to see the ball landing on the other side of the field goal.
“It just barely crosses the post! Appleton has tied it up with three seconds left on the clock!”
Aly and I screamed and jumped up and down so loud that the neighbor directly below us banged on the ceiling with a broom. “Oh, go fuck yourself!” Aly shouted at the floor. “Appleton tied it!”
“I can’t believe he made it,” I said. “I mean, I can believe it, but…”
“So now what? We go on to overtime?” Aly asked.
I nodded. “I don’t think my nerves can handle any more of this.” Despite my anxiety, my body was surging with adrenaline. It felt like I was a contributing member of the team. Lance and Danny were healthy, and Feña just drilled one of the longest field goals of his career. It made my stomach tingle.
Oh, how things have changed in one week.
Feña lined up to kick the ball to Midwestern since there was still three seconds left on the clock. I took the opportunity to grab two more beers out of the fridge. The cool, tasty beer felt good on my throat, but did little to calm my nerves.
“Have we ever gone undefeated before?” Aly asked.
“Don’t jinx it!” I snapped. “But no, I don’t think so. There’s a lot of season left. Tulsa is going to be a tough game, and of course San Antonio…”
Aly grinned. “With the way they’re playing? I don’t see how they lose to them!”
“Did I tell you I met the San Antonio quarterback last week?”
Aly made a funny face. “Don’t tell me you’re expanding your little fuck-harem to their school, too!”
I shoved the beer at her with a glare. “It was when Danny took me out to dinner. Three San Antonio players showed up to the restaurant and talked some smack.”
“Were they as cute as Danny and Lance?”
“Hah! Not even a little bit. Their quarterback’s name is Nicky Tarkenton.”
“Nicky? What is he, five years old?”
“Not to mention he was a dick,” I added. “He could be the hottest guy in the world and it wouldn’t overcome that personality.”
“I don’t know. I kind of like cocky assholes. Like Lance.”
I pointed my beer at her. “Lance is cocky, but he’s definitely not an asshole.”
Aly sighed back into the couch. “It’s still no fair that you get two of them. Hey! Is Fernando seeing anyone? You could set me up with him! I could use a little Chilean spiciness.”
A burst of jealousy flared up in my chest at the thought of Aly going out with Feña. “No!” I blurted out.
Aly leaned away from me. “Okay, okay. Jeez.”
I blinked, and then pushed my jealousy back down.
“No,” I said soothingly, “I mean I don’t think he’s dating anyone. But he seems pretty set on not seeing anyone during the season.”
“Figures,” Aly grumbled.
That was weird. I hadn’t really thought about Feña that way, beyond sort of acknowledging that he was an attractive man with a silky smooth accent. And feathery dark curls. And a body that had almost no fat on it, his honey-colored skin pulled tight across his muscles whenever he flexed while lifting the weights…
A sudden burst of excitement from the TV announcers ripped me away from my daydream.
“…he avoids two tackles, and now runs to the sideline at the 30-yard line. Time has expired from the clock, so he can’t go out of bounds, but he’s got three blockers! They’re clearing a path! He’s to the 50, now the 40, there’s just the kicker Martinez left to stop him but he misses the tackle, oh my God! There are no penalties! Midwestern runs back a kick-off with no time on the clock to win it!
My jaw hung open as I watched Midwestern storm the field to celebrate. “Oh no.”
“What an exciting end to an already thrilling game, as Midwestern hands Appleton State their first loss of the season!”
The camera panned to the Appleton team. Danny and Lance just stared at the field, stunned.
Aly curled up inside of herself. “Roberta,” she said in a small voice. “I think I jinxed it.”
34
Lance
Losing fucking sucked.
Our football schedule was set months in advance. It was always a big party for the team to get together and wait for the schedule to be officially announced by the NCAA. We always played the same teams in our conference, but the first few games of the year were different. We also cared about when we would be playing certain teams, and whether they would be home or away games.
Knowing the schedule ahead of time was a huge motivator. I printed out that shit and put it on my bedroom wall, and put another copy in my athletic locker. Whenever I was bored, I found myself looking at the schedule and daydreaming about the coming season.
We also visualized each game long ahead of time. What strategies the other team might use. Whether they were better offensively or defensively. If their offense was built around passing or running. The atmosphere of the stadium, the skill of their quarterback, and how many trick plays they liked to try. By the time we stepped onto the field for the actual game, it was like arriving to a wedding that had been planned for months.
Midwestern wasn’t a bad team. We’d beaten them last year, and the year before that, but they had a young core of players that showed a lot of promise. Still, we expected to beat them handily today, even on the road. Their record was 3-2, and we were 5-0.
Instead, we spent 60 minutes of the game in a knock-down, drag-out fight. Midwestern’s defense didn’t give up any ground lightly, and made us fight for every yard. Their defenders smothered me and made my job annoyingly difficult. Despite that, we were able to buckle down and tighten up our game. Danny passed the ball like a surgeon wielding a scalpel, slicing through defenders with incredible precision. It was the best game of his life, hands-down.
But Midwestern’s offense was just as formidable, and our defense couldn’t stop them. And despite Feña’s incredible game-tying field goal, we let our guard down long enough for them to run back the ensuing kick-off.
So yeah, losing fucking sucked. But it really sucked to lose like this: getting a glimmer of hope at the end of the game, and then having it torn away.
I would’ve rather gotten our asses stomped 50 to nothing.
The five hour bus ride home was as quiet as a funeral. Nobody spoke for a while. We were too tired, too upset, too deflated. Just a miserable group of athletes.
It was too quiet for me. After a while, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I twisted in my seat to face Feña behind me. “Bro, that kick to tie the game was fucking awesome. I’m proud of you.”
Feña frowned. “You sound like you are trying to be my father.”
“Fuck that,” I said with a dismissive wave. “A guy can’t tell his friend that he’s proud of him? That’s bullshit. I’m proud of you, dude. Even if you do have a silly accent.”
Feña and I went way back. We’d been roommates since our freshman year. He was a lot more self-conscious about his English back then, and I was one of the few people who could talk some shit to him to pull him out of a funk.
“My accent is exotic,” he said with a smile. “Better than sounding like a boring white guy from Virgini
a.”
“Bro, all our founding fathers were boring white guys. Madison, Jefferson, Washington…”
“They were very much not boring,” Feña insisted. “They did not say bro all of the time.”
I jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t know that. I bet Jefferson called Madison a bro all the time. Especially if he drilled a 50 yard field goal to tie the game.”
“51 yards,” Danny chimed in from the seat next to him. “A career best, right?”
“Tied,” Feña replied, shifting his eyes downward. He didn’t like to brag. “I hit a 51 yard field goal against Austin College two years ago.”
“Well, I’m proud of you too,” Danny said, slapping him on the shoulder.
One of the offensive linemen in the back suddenly spoke up. “Too bad it didn’t fucking matter,” he shouted bitterly. “It sucks to score 42 points and still lose.”
“Hey, we did our best,” said one of the cornerbacks.
“Didn’t seem like it.”
“We were gassed by the fourth quarter,” the cornerback shot back angrily. “They ran the ball down our throats the whole game. If our offense had run the ball too, we could have had more time to rest between possessions.”
“Excuse me?” said Derek, our tight end. “Are you complaining because we scored touchdowns too quickly?”
“I’m saying we were gassed,” the cornerback said stubbornly. “Plus, we didn’t give up the final touchdown. Blame the special teams.”
The guys at the back of the bus started shouting at one another, throwing blame back and forth.
I glanced at the front of the bus. Coach Mueller should have put a stop to this bickering, but he was wearing noise-canceling headphones and wasn’t paying any attention to the team. I turned back and shared a look with Danny. He seemed to have the same thought as me.
“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Danny shouted. He stood in the aisle to address the team. He waited until everyone quieted down, and every eye was on him. He gazed across the team with an icy-cold stare.
