The Athletic Trainer

by Lana Brazen

  “Go for it, man.” Eric presses me upward, tugs down his shorts and lowers me to sit reversed on his lap. He easily slides into me, grunting against my neck as he fills me. He isn’t wearing a condom, again, but I don’t mention it this time. I reach out for Haywood once again, taking him deep while Eric moves me up and down on his dick. It’s too much. It’s so much, and then Haywood pulls back.

  “Need to let go,” he warns Eric, and Eric mutters, “Breasts,” cupping them between his hands while holding me still on his length and kissing my neck. Haywood leans forward, hand on my shoulder and pumps himself against my breasts as best he can. We aren’t in a position to place his dick between my breasts, but he works his tip over the swells, drawing against the skin while he tugs at himself until white substance paints me with his release.

  “Switch,” Eric demands, and he tugs me upward. My hands catch on Haywood’s chest, and he spins me to face Eric. With his hands on my hips, Haywood and I lower to our knees with him behind me.

  “I need your mouth,” Eric groans, and he holds his thickness upright while I lower for him, taking him into my mouth next and pulling him to the back of my throat.

  “Please let me touch her,” Haywood begs, and my skin tingles. This is insane.

  As I suck Eric, Haywood’s fingers coast along my spine and lower for my ass. I moan around Eric, and he responds, “She wants that.”

  Haywood runs a finger between my cheeks, pausing at my puckered hole. “Take her here yet?”

  I freeze. My mouth simply holds Eric. “Soon,” Eric states. “We’re working on it, but that’s mine.”

  “Lucky man,” Haywood says again, lowering his fingers for my entrance. Slowly, he slips one finger into me, and I purr around Eric’s dick. Haywood’s fingers are long, thinner than Eric’s, but still just as nice. He adds a second to the first, and I moan again. Eric’s hand comes to my head.

  “She’s so wet. How’s she taste?” Haywood asks.

  “Sweet,” Eric strains. “Like her.”

  On my knees, with my ass tugged back, I arch, and Haywood takes the hint. He lowers behind me and gives me a lick. The flat of his tongue is wider than Eric’s, and I almost come undone. I swallow around Eric in my mouth, and he groans, slipping his hand into my hair.

  “She’s not a dirty girl, but she loves it when I talk dirty,” Eric speaks over me. “Like when I tell her my cock loves to be in her mouth. I want to fuck her lips and come down her throat.” I vibrate around him again while my pussy pulses against Haywood’s tongue. “Shit, baby, I’m going to come, but I want inside you.” The endearment surprises me, and I pull back, looking up at him. His eyes gleam down at me as he cups my cheek.

  “Up on my lap.” For a moment, I wonder about Haywood. What’s his role here?

  He follows behind me, guiding me over Eric’s thighs and to the tip of his dick. Haywood’s hands hold my hips, lowering me over Eric who rushes to fill me. Eric’s eyes meet mine, asking all kinds of questions that can’t be asked yet.

  Haywood helps lift and lower me as my legs dangle over Eric’s and my feet can’t touch the floor. My hands clutch Eric’s shoulders. Then Haywood’s hands slip upward massaging my breasts as Eric rocks me by the hips. It’s not an upward motion; he’s rolling me back and forth over him. If he can hold out...

  “I’m going to come like this.” Moving over Eric is like an erotic dance, and I’m not even a dancer.

  “That’s what we want, baby,” Haywood purrs, and I hear the snap of a lube cap. Then the press of Haywood right behind me. I’m rocking on Eric’s dick, but Haywood’s thick, coated tip slides through the crease of my backside. I tense.

  “Just keep moving. I’ll get there,” Haywood warns, moving his tip up and down the crease. His slick cock is hard again, and at one point, the head catches near my hole. I clench.

  “Whatever you’re doing, she’s gripping me like a vise,” Eric groans.

  “My head’s at her exit,” Haywood strains. It’s crass, and wrong, and delicious.

  “Don’t fucking breach her,” Eric hisses, his eyes shooting over my shoulder at his friend.

  “Would never dream of taking anything from you,” Haywood replies. Silence falls a second, and I’m losing the orgasm. Something passes between them, and Eric moves my hips. Faster. Harder.

  Haywood’s length slides between the crease again.

  “I need this,” I whine.

  “Touch yourself,” Eric hints, but Haywood’s fingers are there. The tips flick at my clit while Eric fills me with his dick, and I glance down at the three of us connected in this manner. The length of one man inside while the other man teasing me from behind is more than I ever imagined.

  “Fuck. I’m gonna come,” Haywood remarks, his voice straining with a Southern drawl.

  “On my ass,” I grunt, working at my own release. His fingers are still at my clit, but his dick pulses over my backside, shooting warm liquid at my spine and dripping down my backside.

  “Finish,” Eric stresses. Haywood’s mouth comes to my neck, sucking and licking at my skin, praising me with dirty words while his fingers continue to rub at the nub.

  “You have an ass for fucking, girl.”

  My breath hitches.

  “A sweet pussy that drips.”

  Oh God.

  “And I liked fucking your mouth.”

  I shatter over Eric, the words filthy and right. I groan, clutching at Eric’s shoulders before slipping forward to wrap my arms around his neck. Haywood’s hand strokes up my spine as I come like I never have before, which is saying a lot after all the orgasms Eric has given me.

  “That’s it, baby. Ride Eric’s cock. Take what you want.”

  His hands come to my hips, helping me up and down over Eric. I’m already satiated, but the slip and slide of Eric within me with the speed of Haywood’s help, and I’m clutching at Eric’s neck.

  “Don’t stop,” I groan so both can hear me although it’s Eric I mean.

  Don’t stop taking from me. Giving to me. Don’t stop this arrangement or this night.

  “Again,” Eric demands, and I whimper, not certain I can reach for one more orgasm.

  “I’m bare inside you. You’re dripping all over me, and I want to feel you break around me. Fucking come on my dick.” The command shatters me as he slams into me, his own release intense as he buries his face in my neck. I come with him, never having experienced a tandem orgasm like this. It’s everything at once and nothing I can describe as I feel one with him.

  His arms slip around me, holding me against his chest, his dick pumping inside me.

  We both breathe hard, pressing against one another, and I sense Haywood stand behind me. He strokes over my head, intimate, appreciative, and then he’s gone, but I’m not letting go of Eric. And he’s holding me just as hard.

  7

  Eric

  Fuck was I pissed to see her on a date even if the guy was a total dweeb, and to think he might have touched her and rocked her world despite his small stature just killed my weekend. I couldn’t wait for Monday to get here. Then I had this idea. If she wanted another damn man, she’d have that man in front of me. It was meant as a punishment, and then…she wanted it. She let me guide her, and the trust she put in me that I wouldn’t let anything happen without her consent, it just did something to me. I wanted Haywood to want her like I do but know he can’t fully have her.

  She belongs to me.

  Haywood dismisses himself, but Alene and I don’t release our hold on one another, and my hand tenderly strokes down her spine until I hit something sticky at the base of her back. He came on her. Her breasts. Her ass. While it’s what we wanted, I don’t want it again. She’s only for me. This is my relationship.

  The thought hits me hard.

  She wasn’t wrong. We haven’t kissed, and I want her mouth.

  “Alene,” I say, pressing her gently back from me. “You okay?”

  She nods, her eyes dazed and her lids at half-mast. My m
outh seeks hers, and we kiss. Our first kiss which is so backward from all that we’ve done. Still, I hold her lips with mine, taking my time to savor the puffy swell of them, and then my tongue slips forward, seeking hers. I keep it slow, tender even. There’s no need to rush for a finish as we already had.

  “Let me take care of you,” I say, pulling back from her and searching her eyes. My fingers comb into her hair, the ponytail loose and strands wild. She nods again, at a loss for words. Standing with her still on my lap, I wrap her legs around my hips and catch her under her thighs.

  “I’m too heavy for you,” she mutters into my neck.

  “I have you, baby.”

  She hums. “That’s nice.”

  “What is?”

  “You calling me baby.”

  I used to use endearments with my wife, and she hated them. She found them demeaning to her womanhood. I fell out of practice just as I’ve fallen out of practice with a lot of things. I won’t falter here. I carry Alene to the restroom where a large shower stands. Setting her down, I position her to lean against the sink as her legs wobble. Reaching into the shower, I start the water and allow it to heat as I remove my clothing. I watch Alene who watches me strip with a sheepish expression on her face. Once I’m naked, I stand and cup her face, taking her mouth again, keeping it tender as before but savoring each press of our lips.

  “I’ll take care of you,” I promise her, finding the words even more meaningful than anything I’ve said in years. I want to take care of her.

  I reach for her skirt, tugging it down her legs and then lead her into the steamy shower.

  “I don’t think I can handle more,” she says with a soft chuckle as I press back her hair, fully satisfied to just stand here under the warm water and process what’s been happening between us.

  “Can I ask you something? Why did you come to me? I know Andrew referred you, but what did you want?”

  She swallows hard, looking down at our feet. “My ex-boyfriend said I was fat and lacked spontaneity.”

  Some guys are just dicks. I reach for her face and cup her jaw, so she’ll look up at me. “You are not fat.”

  She shrugs, and I grip her face harder. “You are not fat,” I repeat. I know what I’d like to do to prove to her she isn’t what he said or how she sees herself, but we’re both physically spent.

  “Anyway, I came here to learn…things.”

  “Sexual things?” I clarify, a slow smile forming on my lips.

  “I just thought it would help when I started dating again.”

  I freeze with the comment. Does she want to date? Companionship, she called that douche from the baseball game. Is that what she wants? A second later, my thumb slowly strokes along her jaw. I’m still trying to reassure her, but of what I don’t know. Could I date? Would she go out with me? Since my divorce, I hadn’t considered such things. I knew I’d do it eventually, but this seems like an unconventional manner to start dating. After my divorce, I didn’t do the typical fuck anything with two legs like a few of my friends recommended. I wanted something more meaningful than random sex, yet here I stand with a girl I hardly know in a gym shower after fucking her silly.

  “And you want to date dick guys?” I tease, thinking of her ex-boyfriend.

  She shrugs again, and her face falls.

  “The water’s getting cold,” she mutters, when it’s not really.

  “Okay,” I whisper, knowing I’m a dick for ruining this moment. Reaching around her, I turn off the water even though we haven’t washed, and then I hand her a towel from the rod. Two hung there anticipating my own shower after she left tonight, but I’m not ready to let her go. Her sudden quiet tells me she wants nothing more than to leave, but I don’t want her to run away.

  “Let me take care of you,” I say again, keeping my voice low as we stand wrapped in towels. “Let me take you home.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” she states, keeping her own voice quiet although we stand in a small space. Hell, we’re the only ones left in the entire gym.

  “What if I want to?” I question, holding my breath on her answer. “What if…I just want to hold you instead of always watching you walk out of this gym and away from me?”

  Her violet eyes widen, looking up at me with such an innocent expression for a woman who likes dirty talk and crazy sex positions.

  “Okay,” she says, her voice hesitant, unsure of me, unsure of this suggestion, but like everything else we’ve done, she’s willing to give it a try.

  + + +

  I follow her to her apartment, suddenly feeling uncertain myself. What am I doing with this woman? Is it just that she’s my first since my divorce? I quickly dismiss the thought as that isn’t true. She’s technically the second, but every minute with her has meant so much more to me.

  Getting out of my car, I find her waiting for me on the sidewalk. I offer a smile as I hold out my hand. Gazing down at it, her brows pinch before she reaches forward and takes it. I squeeze her fingers, and she leads me to her place.

  Inside is kind of plain, like it’s a temporary housing instead of a permanent home. I know the feeling as I spent months in Andrew’s guest room before moving out to a small apartment of my own. I’m looking to buy a place, give myself a fresh start, but I haven’t decided where to live yet.

  “Want something to drink?” she asks.

  “I think we should both have some water,” I suggest, as we’ve both lost a lot of fluid this evening. I follow her to her kitchen where again the place is sparse but clean. “You planning to run away?”

  Her confused expression is cute when she looks up at me.

  “The place is a little empty. Are you a minimalist?”

  She chuckles softly, and I remember when she laughed after our first night together, her back pressed to the mat as I fell next to her. She has a hearty laugh as though something is really funny, and she enjoys it. I want to hear it more often.

  “I just haven’t had time to personalize the place.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Eight years.”

  I almost choke on my water. Why the temporariness? That’s too long to be unsettled, unpacked, undecorated. I’ve been divorced over a year, and I’m already itching to make a place mine.

  “Got a bed?” I tease, and she nods. “Time to crawl in.”

  “Are you staying the night?” she questions. Her head tips to the side as she bites her lip, and I reach for the sensitive skin under her teeth.

  “May I?” I wonder, hoping for her permission. Giving her more, I add, “I want to hold you.” Maybe she’s not a cuddler? Maybe she doesn’t need after care? Maybe she doesn’t want to settle into a relationship just like she isn’t settled into this apartment?

  “I’d like that,” she offers, and that glow I’ve seen on her skin when I enter her, lick her, fuck her beams at me ten times brighter, and I want to soak up all that warmth. Stepping up to her, I kiss her again, keeping it tender. No pushing. No rushing. Just taking this moment to breathe her in.

  8

  Alene

  The aftereffects of what we’d done hit me hard by the next afternoon.

  I had sex with a man while another touched me. It was the most incredible thing I’d ever done and the craziest. I hate how much I liked it, and I hate myself a little more for feeling dirty from the experience. Eric hadn’t ever kissed me until afterward, and then he was so sweet. He came home with me, held me all night, and quietly left this morning with another chaste kiss.

  Why had it taken what happened for him to be this way with me?

  He accused me of dating dicks, and I just hated myself, but I’m not unjustified in wanting to spend time with someone. What’s wrong with wanting to date? Although my preference wouldn’t be dating in the random sense of trying out different guys to see which one fits best, I’d prefer to date a single man, one whom I’m in a relationship with, and I guess, admittedly, that isn’t Eric, but I’d like it to be.

 
By the time I leave work, I don’t feel so great. It isn’t just the lurking headache but full on chills, and I realize I’m sick. I’m a lab tech, so I know enough about germs to know I didn’t just catch something from being with two men. It could have been anything that brought on this feeling, and by midnight, I know I have the flu. Fever. Aches. Exhaustion.

  I crawl into bed and drift into a haze.

  When my phone rings, I’m hardly lucid when I answer. My voice is scratchy from disuse and pain. “Hello?”

  “Alene?”

  I don’t recognize the voice, although I don’t recognize myself either. Weak and trembling, I hold the phone. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Eric.”

  “Oh, hey,” I say.

  “Oh, hey,” he retorts, irritation in his voice. “It’s Thursday.”

  The phone goes silent, and I close my eyes. Has it been two days since I came home not feeling well? “Okay,” I whisper, not understanding why he’s mentioning the day of the week or even why he’s calling me.

  “It’s Thursday,” he repeats, pausing a second. “If you weren’t going to show, you should have called.”

  My lids flip open, although my eyes are dry, and the action scratches the sensitive orbs. “I’m sorry. I’m sick.”

  Silence fills the line again.

  “What’s wrong?” His tone still holds an edge to it.

  “The flu,” I groan for no reason other than my back and legs ache.

  “Shit. Do you need anything?”

  “Too tired,” I whisper, my lids closing again. “Sorry.”

  “Is anyone with you? Do you have a roommate? Someone to take care of you?” He didn’t ask me these questions the other night. In fact, we hardly spoke, just undressed and climbed into my bed like he requested. He curled his big body around mine, tucking my back to his chest, and wrapped an arm over me. We drifted easily to sleep the other night—no words necessary. His rapid-fire questions surprise me because we don’t actually talk. We fuck.

  “I’m alone,” I say, the words coming out as sad as they sound. I’m alone, taking care of me because I’m all I have. He’s right. My apartment does look like a minimalist lives here, perpetuating my feelings of loneliness. It’s not a home but a place to go at the end of each day.