12 Days

by Dark Angel

  "Fucking cum for me," Colt demands with his hot breath in my ear. I can see a warm flush in his face.

  That’s it. It feels as if he just gave me permission to release everything that had built up inside of me, and I can’t hold it in any longer. "Oh shit," I breath out. Ropes of hot cum shot out of my cock and into his fist and onto the locker room floor. He continues to milk my cock and even when I didn't think I had anything left, wave after wave of cum explodes into the spaces between us.

  I take a deep breath, and I realize that I had my eyes closed tightly. I open them, and the room seems brighter. What just happened? Did anyone see or hear us? We didn't need any more tabloid fodder. Shit, what have I done? I needed to put this behind me. I just know that I needed to get out of this locker room and away from Colt, and fast. I don’t feel ready to confront the reality of what just happened. I put my dick into my boxer briefs, zip, and button my pants, and grab my bag before nearly bolting out of the locker room door. Colt tries to say something, but I don’t turn around to look at him. I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. The only thing I can think about is getting as far away as possible from him.

  * * *

  I'm not looking forward to today's practice. It's damn near 100 degrees outside and the thought of seeing Colt and Julianna is rattling my already fried nerves. And lately, I can't even get a full night's rest in because even in my sleep, my mind is like a runaway train. Images keep flashing through my brain. Am I in love with Julianna? Maybe Colt was right about her. And what about Colt? What is happening between us? I don't know what to think anymore. I look out across the football field—across all 100 perfectly manicured yards, and instead of thinking about the sport, my mind is going back in time—to that penthouse, to the team's skybox, to the locker room. I nearly trip as I step on a thin, black rubber jump rope that’s lying on the field in a messy heap. It’s a rope that one of the players used for his extra cardio workouts.

  Looking down at that rope, I remember a hot summer afternoon when two girls invited me to play jump rope with them. In those days, I was shy, but with a bit of determination on their part, I finally agreed. I can remember them standing there, wearing floral print dresses, holding onto both ends of the brightly colored nylon rope, and stretching it out between them. They told me to stand in the middle as they swung it over my head. On the first spin, I didn't jump in time and the rope caught on my foot, almost causing me to trip. But I caught myself with my other foot, waving my hands and arms in the air for balance. Both of the girls laughed.

  "Again! Again! Again!" they urged giggling. "You can do it, Ethan!"

  They swung the rope around me again, and this time, I fell into their rhythm. They swung, and I jumped, time after time, until my calves ached. I smiled as a thin film of sweat gathered on my forehead. It felt good to finally master the jumps. And then I heard a deep voice that made my heart stop.

  "What are you, a faggot?" my dad asked towering over me. "No son of mine is going to sit here like a little girl playing with girls' toys. Get over here and help me with the farm work."

  Dad used to work for Colt’s dad. And the abuse he took on a daily basis as a ranch hand came right back down to us.

  Down to me. I remember thinking how it was Colt’s fault that I couldn’t jump rope.

  I remembered the deep embarrassment of the moment flooding my face as I walked away from those girls. I couldn't bear to look them in the face. But then I’m catapulted back into the present, feeling the weight of my football helmet's facemask laced between my fingers, sweat beading down my back. I need to stay focused. I'm Ethan Blake, the best defensive end in the league. The most important thing right now is winning a spot on New York Nailers, isn't it? I ask myself. It’s important for me to keep that in perspective. I need to get ahold of myself. My career is everything.

  I look over my shoulder and see Colt warming up. He‘s stretching his right arm and repeatedly throwing footballs to a wide receiver. I watch as his arm and leg muscles tens. Every pass spirals tightly down the field and looks perfect, landing softly into the arms of his open receiver. There is no doubt that he was a gifted football player. He always has been. It's his too-big-for-his-own-good ego that drives me crazy, and not in a good way. Colt suddenly feels my gaze on him, and he looks back at me. He motions for the receiver to wait a moment, and he begins to walk in my direction, but I look away and jog off to the other end of the field. Hell no. There is no way that I can talk to him right now, and he must have got the hint because he doesn’t try to approach me.

  "Hey there, stranger," comes a voice.

  I turned around to see where the voice was coming from and I nearly bump into Julianna standing directly behind me, her blonde hair twisting gently in the afternoon breeze. Holy hell. The other person I wasn't ready to face today. Don't get me wrong, she looks good—almost too good. She’s wearing a tight white tank top that makes her tits nearly spill out of the top, and a pair of shorts that might as well have not even been there. I feel my cock twitch and I have an overwhelming urge to grab her and bring her body close to mine, to pull her breasts into my chest, to run my fingers through her soft hair, and to breath in her smell in deep drunken gulps, but I shake those thoughts from my mind. Perfect, now I'm head case and a depraved human being. I have to stop thinking with my cock all the time. Isn't that Colt's job? I can't think of her right now. Not here. Not now. I have to stay focused.

  "I was watching our tight ends really muff the ball earlier. I think you and Colt will have to show them a thing or two about going third and long," she says, with a grin.

  "I'm really sorry," I say, almost in a whisper. I have to cough and clear my throat just to find my voice. "I have to leave."

  With that I turn around to leave. I gather my things into my silver Porsche with its red leather interior and peel out of the parking lot. I hear my tires squeal as I press my foot firmly on top of the gas pedal. I need to get out of here, and quick. I'm sure that didn't look good, I thought as I turn the corner—leaving practice early and all and brushing Julianna off, but what choice did I have? There is no way I could focus on the game today. My thoughts are all consuming, like a dam spilling over. If I didn't get out of there, I would have drowned.

  I roll down my windows and turn the radio up louder than usual, hoping to blast the thoughts out of my mind. It seems to help because by the time I pull up to my building, I’m tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and no longer worrying about Colt or Julianna. I park, walk into my apartment building, ride the elevator to my penthouse suite, and drop my things on the couch. I need something to drink. Water won’t work. And I definitely don't need anything caffeinated. I need something that will keep me calm. I settle on cracking open a beer and almost smile when I pour the liquid into my favorite pint glass and watch the thick, creamy head form around the rim.

  I take a long sip, feeling the sharp cold carbonation run down my throat. Liquid heaven. I exhale with relief and grab the remote. I decide to turn on the television, wondering what’s happening in the world of sports news. But as soon as I do, I wished I hadn't. SportsNation pops on with a "breaking news" banner flashing across the screen. "Welcome to SportsNation Highlights. We have some breaking news for you this afternoon. Just when we thought the New York Nailers couldn't be rocked with any further sexual scandal—it appears we were wrong. And this recent video provided by The News of the Times will shock you!”

  My stomach sinks and my face grows warm. I can feel my temperature rise when I watch in horror as a familiar scene appears on the screen—our team's locker room. I see my gym bag sitting on the floor—and I see Colt's bag. It’s footage of a scene that has been replaying itself in my mind ever since it happened.

  SportsNation

  SportsNation Highlights

  Sammi Jo: And if you’re just joining us for the late breaking news edition of SportsNation then welcome. I’m your host for the next hour, Sammi Jo, and I’m joined in our SportsNati
on New York City studios with AJ Ledoux, sports reporter for The News of the Times.

  Just to recap our breaking news that’s happening now, another sex tape has surfaced that involves the beleaguered New York Nailers football team in yet another scandal. Just when the Nailers were reeling from back to back revelations of sexual activity between team owner, Julianna Heaton and star quarterback Colt Stackford as well as yet another video of Julianna Heaton and defensive end Ethan Blake, The News of the Times has just released a tape on their website today showing sexual activity taking place in the Nailers very own locker room.

  AJ, can you tell us a little bit about this tape and how you got it and why it’s such a big deal between two consenting adults?

  AJ: Sure, Sammi. Basically, the tape is actually a cell phone recording that was taken at the time that captured the activity. What viewers to our website will see is Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford, in what I can only describe as a moment of intimacy. What’s more —

  Sammi: AJ, wait a second. Let me stop you right there. Are you telling me that someone filmed this? And we’re sitting here getting outraged over consenting actions between two men?

  AJ: Uhm, well, we’re not getting mad at them, per se. But what it’s doing to the team.

  Sammi: Isn’t this a terrible breach of privacy, AJ?

  AJ: I think you’d have to ask the Nailers about that, Sammi. I mean, it’s their locker room, not mine.

  Sammi: And how did The News of the Times get their hands on it? Isn’t this unethical behavior on your part?

  AJ: I think what you need to ask yourself before you ask that, Sammi, aren’t the actions that the video recording shows, of basically one of the most beloved quarterbacks in the game servicing another teammate with his hand a breach of the public virtues? Against all standards of decency we expect our role models to follow?

  Sammi: And what exactly is that breach of the public virtue, AJ?

  AJ: Well, obviously these two star players have been corrupted by none other than Julianna Heaton herself.

  Sammi: I’m not sure I follow.

  AJ: Think about it. Did the New York Nailers have a problem with sex scandals prior to Julianna? No. Did they have issues with players giving other players hand jobs in the locker rooms before Julianna? No. In fact, each of these videos only demonstrate just how categorically unsuited to be an owner in the NFL. Yes, she may have been successful on Wall Street, but the standards for decency are higher in the NFL. And sure, she may have saved the Nailers from bankruptcy, but her own moral turpitude is going to be her downfall. At this point, the corruption has spread into the team as well. Think about Monday’s performance of the New York Nailers versus the Stepbrothers. It was atrocious. Why was that? Because Colt Stackford and Ethan Blake were more focused on having sex with the owner of their team than they were with paying their dues on the field and winning a game.

  Sammi: So how would you attribute the video that’s emerging of Colt and Ethan onto the actions of Julianna though? I think you’re reaching because she wasn’t anywhere near that locker room.

  AJ (with glee in his voice): I’m glad you asked that Sammi. And to answer you, I’m just going to say that you should go onto our website in one day. In exactly one day you’ll see the front page of the next day’s newspaper. It’ll show you exactly why Julianna is nothing more than a corrupting influence on the players and why all three of them need to be removed.

  Sammi: Aren’t you on your seventh divorce? Do you think the women of America want to hear a man talk about how an independent woman is someone to be chastised because of her sexuality?

  AJ: I think you’re a bit biased against me. But trust me, the video I have will have you changing your tune pretty fast.

  Sammi: I see a grin on your face. Care to tell us what the video is?

  AJ: No, I think it’s best that you wait for the surprise. Because when the world sees this, I have no doubt that the media circus that’s going on will get even worse. And that the Commissioner will personally come on air and suspend both Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford. And then order Julianna to sell the team to anyone - for any price.

  Sammi: It would have to be something terrible.

  AJ: Remember, this woman has a history here. In the last week since the second sex tape became public we’ve seen her ex-boyfriends who have come forward showing how sexually dangerous this woman was. How she had no regards for the feelings of men at all in the bedroom. How it was always about her. How she would talk about other men and their bodies when in the company of women. How she would objectify men’s bodies - they didn’t have to be there, but the fact that she was doing it was enough.

  Sammi: Isn’t that what women have to put up with everyday?

  AJ: It’s not the same thing. This fixation with her own pleasure first that her ex-boyfriends complained of was a symptom of a greater problem. The unraveling of the moral fabric of our nation. This woman has risen too far, too fast. And she’s let the power go to her head. It’s about time someone show her what flying too close to the sun can do.

  Sammi: Still won’t tell us what’s on the video?

  AJ: You’ll just have to wait and find out, like everyone else. I will say one thing though. For too long, Julianna Heaton has been the bad girl of the NFL. It’s high time that she brought back down to earth and taught a lesson that if this league and this nation has no patience for bad girls.

  Sammi: And there you have it folks. Stay tuned as we continue our breaking news coverage of the New York Nailers.

  Colt

  You ever hear of a shit storm?

  Yeah?

  Well, that’s kind of what my life is now like.

  I’m watching the rerun of the SportsNation broadcast in the team lounge. The lounge that just a few days ago I had the fucking greatest sex ever. With the baddest girl ever. And the only other bad boy thats ever mattered to me, apparently.

  The other players are looking at me as the television goes on and on, zooming in to show my hand on Ethan’s cock. Yeah, they blur that shit out. They can’t show Ethan’s cock on national television.

  But they blur it in such a fucking way that literally nothing is left to the imagination.

  You can tell exactly how long and how thick that giant fucking cock is of his.

  Fucking Christ. I had no idea this was on endless loop until I walked in and sat down with a plate of food.

  It’s not like I can get away from it either. This shit is going to be blaring from the corners. People in some small African country without internet are somehow going to fucking find out about this.

  “Hey playboy,” DeShawn comes up to me with a fucking grin, “You been holding out on us or what, man?”

  Fucking Christ. These guys are going to pound the shit out of me.

  They’re going to fucking think I’ve been staring at their cocks in the shower or some shit like that.

  I mean, I know I’m not gay. I’m not attracted to these men. I’m like not drooling over DeShawn. It doesn’t matter that I think personally my body is ten times more attractive his. It’s just that I like women.

  And men - sometimes.

  I had one other experience with a dude back at Ole Miss. But that was after like 24 beers and with another brother in the frat. I never really took that as a sign of anything.

  Now these guys are going to hate me.

  Yeah, I know what you’re going to say.

  I’m going to say ‘I’m Colt fucking Stackford and I can handle anything’ or some shit like that.

  Because you're tired by now of what an arrogant fucking prick I am.

  Fucking Christ, you’re not going to be far off.

  I don’t say anything to DeShawn as he looks at me, and I’m not going to say anything to you either.

  Because you’re fucking right. You’re absolutely 100% right.

  I deserve whatever is going to happen to me.

  What, they’re going to kick the shit out of me. I mean, Ethan’s the one that got the fu
cking handjob. I’m the one that gave it out.

  I’m not ashamed. If given the opportunity I’d do it all over again. It unlocked something in me - something that I think I knew for the longest time - but still something that needed to be let go.

  But these guys?

  The ones that watch me strut and swagger and preen every fucking day.

  The ones that read about how I fuck super models and actresses and see me with a different girl at each fucking event.

  They’re going to fucking tear me to shreds.

  Starting with DeShawn.

  I sigh and get up off the chair that I was sitting on and sigh out loud.

  “Look, DeShawn,” I begin. I don’t know where to fucking start, to be absolutely honest. For once in my entire life, I have nothing to say and don’t know what to do.

  I’ve been hit with media blows before. Hell, you don’t become the most motherfucking badass payer in the NFL without some scandals.

  But I always knew those scandals were making my rep in a way, you know?

  Like fucking look at me, I just banged this hot piece of ass. Now another. Now another.

  It didn't really matter to me what was happening to them because I was just doing whatever I wanted to. I was going for a ride and they were each getting their 15 minutes of fame.