I know him...


 I know him. He's the boy that smells a little like traditional Polo and he likes to smile right at me from across the room. I wont look away and neither will he and he doesn't care that everyone see's what we're doing to each other. 

He has a healthy teenage boy muskiness about him but it isn't strong enough to smell bad - just strong enough to drive me nuts when he gets close enough to me to say "Hi." 

In the locker room we live right next to each other. It's coaches idea of team building - he's my quarterback and I'm his tackle so we have to have a "relationship" that works on and off the field - "That's how we build champions" coach tells us. 

When I sit down on the bench he's quick to walk up and chat a little - his groin in my face and his cock and balls outlined nicely under his designer underwear. I can't take my eyes off him and he wont stop watching me watch him. 

Eventually he'll turn around, or to the side, to make sure I get a good look at his tight ass also. The way it's barely contained by the underwear - they way they travel up his butt crack and when he loosens them - pulls his shorts out of his butt - a wave of butt musk hits me hard. It's right there - in my face. 

He'll pull those off and slowly, ever so slowly, he'll get his jock in order and put that on. He'll sit down on the bench now and fiddle with his socks and let me get my pants down and pull my underwear off - my cock half hard - the sweat rolling off my chest. Now and then he'll slap my naked ass with his long fingered hand "My trusty, sturdy, stead!" he'll say and I "whinny" in response and we'll be like little boys again - if only for a moment.  

Warm ups. Stretching. Practice. Showers. Long, hot, steamy showers that we both linger in together and we refuse to leave until someone, a coach or a team mate, or more, bitches about us being "to fag in there" and then we'll be satisfied to vacate our spots. 

Dried off and dressed - workout clothes, and pads,  put away properly and lockers in order and locked. We head out the door of the field house and emerge on the edge of the varsity field. It always smells of cut grass even if it hasn't been cut. Behind us a view of the city and in front of us the school envelopes the stadium. Just ahead is the field itself - our home for six years. 

"I wanna drive today." he announces. 

"You gonna drive better than you threw the ball today?" I snarked at him.

"You're lucky I didn't just throw it up your ass the way they had you backing into me all day." He tried not to smile. 

"Leave your led feet in the locker room. You can't afford another ticket." 

When we get into my car - I give him the keys so he can drive us to his folks place - we sit for a moment with the engine running and the cooler going. The windows are up and our scents are filling the cabin, mixing and mingling and filling our sinuses. 

"Get us home!" I gasp. 

"The long way?" He teases with a smile. 

"Get us home! Bitch!" I smile and we chuckle and he takes the short route home.  

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