Making It (Short Gay Sports Erotica) (2 page)

“Aren’t you hitting the showers?” James asked.

“Not today,” Drew quickly said as he gathered his things and headed to the door. He was still dripping wet and in his practice clothes.

“Or at least change?”

“I have to run. See you tomorrow afternoon,” he said and dashed out the door.

James was worried about his swimmer. Turning up late for practice, it must have been the first time he could remember it happening. He didn’t want to push the topic as he could clearly see something was up with Drew and pushing it would have just made it worse. There was a time while in the pool where he felt a real connection with the kid, like before the Meet and before his and Drew’s Olympic dreams had taken a beating. But more than that he could have sworn there was a few times where he caught Drew checking him out. It was more than just a lingering gaze, he was sure, since he knew when someone was cruising him, albeit if on the sly.

There was no doubt his swimmer was good looking, pretty even, his blond hair framing his cheekbones boyishly. But he couldn’t go down that road, even if it was mutual. He reminded himself mentally as he dropped his swimming trunks that Drew’s father was paying him so much to help get his kid to the Olympics that he had dropped all his other clients. Drew was his only client, and his only income now.

While toweling his legs, he looked at his body in the full length mirror of the locker room. He critically studied his posture, his narrow swimmer’s hips and buff chest, muscled thighs and toned arms and let the towel drop to the floor. He hardly ever allowed himself to go there, but when he did, he allowed himself to feel it all the way.

Drew’s off the cuff question about why he never went pro had hit him out of left field. He hadn’t anticipated it, and those in his personal life knew not to ask him about it. He trailed his hand over his pectorals and let it slide down to his heavy sex. He had tried, he had worked so hard to make it, but in the end he had conceded defeat, the defeat that comes with knowing that you’re just not as good as the best. He felt cold moisture hit his chest and realized as he stood staring at his ageing body that tears were falling from his face and cascading down his chest.

*****

Chapter 3

Drew just had to get away from James after practice ended. He had grown so aroused being that close to his coach, with the intimate touches during practice and knowing he was so close to his coach’s obvious heavy sex. The last thing he needed was to share a shower with his coach, naked, with steamy hot water…

He threw back another shot of heavy liquor and tried ignoring the big screen in the bar that was reporting on the build-up to the summer Olympic Games. Games he should have been at… He hit the shot glass on the counter to get the barkeep’s attention and motioned for another. He was going to have a bitch of a headache in the morning, but what the hell. You only live once. A fact he was made aware of again today. He threw back another and told the bartender to keep them coming. He saw the lack of enthusiasm of the bartender to keep on serving him, but he knew his reputation as a generous tipper would keep him well-oiled for the rest of the evening. A shrill sound made its way across the bar, and Drew felt his ears become annoyed by the female shriek. He labored to turn around in his chair to stare into the direction where the annoying laugh came from, and saw a desperate looking bottle blond hanging off an even more desperately macho, short man, a lot shorter than her in fact, with a lot of excess testosterone. Catching his eye, she made eye contact and decided that Drew must be a better catch than her present date, and started sending him flirtatious looks, which wasn’t lost on her shorter companion.

Drew knew it would piss off her date, so he picked up his shot glass and saluted her before chugging it back in one fell swoop. The sear of the liquid down his throat was a welcome burn that made its way down his stomach.

Short Man picked up on this blatant gesture and his testosterone overridden nature couldn’t let the slight stand. The man shrugged off the loosening grip of bottle blond around his shoulders and staggered his way to the bar area, where Drew was already awaiting his next fill.

“Hey, faggot!” Short Man slurred, “why would you disrespect me like that? Checking out my girl like that in front of everybody,” he demanded.

He poked an accusatory finger in Drew’s face.

“Either I’m a faggot,” Drew said, “or I’m cruising your girl. Can’t be both I’m afraid,” he said, also slurring his words.

He could have apologized and walked away, it wouldn’t have mattered. No matter what his response was, Short Man had already decided to bash his head in. But Drew was quicker on his feet, even drunk as he was. He grabbed the ash tray and cracked it against Short Man’s head before the raised fist could connect to his head. He might have avoided the drunken guy’s fist, but he was unprepared for the army of other, less drunk, equally testosterone fueled friends of Short Man who pounced on him a second later. Soon everyone was throwing punches, and blood mixed with snot and sweat as pandemonium broke out. The last thing Drew remembered before waking up in a police cell some time later was seeing the bottle blond egging everyone on while perched safely on top of a bar stool. 

*****

“What the fuck man,” Drew said as he sat up far too quickly for his sore head.

As his eyes focused on his surroundings, the smell of putrid puke and stale piss hit his nostrils, before seeing the metal rails that made up the cell he was locked in. He sighed softly as he tried to collect his thoughts. He remembered arriving at a bar, ordering a lot of shots and wanting to forget what he’d had to do that morning. Images came back of him being dragged down the street by police and thrown into a police van. It all became far too clear to him now.

“Hey,” he called as he made his way to the bars. “Who’s in charge here?”

A police officer made his way over to the cell and greeted him. He told Drew that he was being released on his own recognizance.

“Do you want to call someone?”

He winced as he made his way down the hall. He thought about whom he’d call at that time of night, or morning, and only one person came to mind.

*****

“Seriously?” James asked.

“Dude, I can’t take this now.”

“What the fuck is happening with you?” James said.

“I only needed someone to fetch me because the cops wouldn’t let me leave by myself,” he said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you this late. You can just drop me off at the robot and I’ll catch a cab home,” he said.

“I’m not dropping you at the side of the road,” James said, his annoyance obvious.

His concern had made way for unconcealed anger.

“Put your safety belt on,” he said as he locked the doors and slowed to a stop at the robot.

“I’m taking you home,” he said.

“Thanks,” Drew said and settled his head back.

“What were you thinking?” James asked again.

“I said not now,” Drew said.

In their five years working together since Drew was seventeen, never had he seen him this bad. Sure he’d had his rough patches, especially after dropping out of the Olympic qualifier, but nothing like this.

“You actually have what it takes to go all the way you spoiled, prissy little bastard,” James said.

He couldn’t help himself. His anger was boiling over, even though he knew this was not the time.

“What are you on about?” Drew said. “And who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Obviously not the man I thought you were,” James said.

He accelerated the car as his anger rose to the top.

“Phone call half past three in the morning, ‘fetch me at county.’ What the hell were you thinking? Getting wasted and involved in a common bar brawl? Do you realize what could have happened? If your hands or legs or arms had been injured? You’re an athlete for god’s sake!”

“I know,” Drew said a bit too forcefully and bit back a grunt as his head throbbed.

“What is wrong, Drew?” James asked.

He was getting to the bottom of this, right now.

“What is wrong with you?” He stared at Drew and waited for a response.

He could see something was plainly causing him a lot of pain.

“I thought we’d gotten over the qualifier, we’re just going to work harder and try again in four years…”

“Oh my god dude, it’s not about the fucking Olympics,” Drew said, exasperation obvious in his voice.

“Well then talk to me, please. I don’t know how to make it more obvious. I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t invested,” James said.

He wanted to achieve a breakthrough and get through to him.

“I need food first,” Drew said in response.

“You want to come up for an early breakfast?”

“Fine,” James said.

He sighed as he turned into the long driveway to Drew’s home, or mansion really.

This guy had everything, and still he was miserable.

“Won’t we wake your dad?”

“He’s in Europe,” Drew said.

“It’s just my brother and me, the staff comes in early morning.”

James hung his coat and followed Drew into the living room.

“Do you want to get things started? I’m going to take a quick shower. There’s bacon in the freezer and banana and eggs in the fridge,” he said.

“You’ll find everything you need in there,” Drew said and motioned in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll be quick,” he said.

His mind drifted to his young charge as he searched the cupboards for pots and pans. He was getting way more involved than the pay check required, but he knew that ship had sailed years ago. He was finding his way around the chef kitchen and noticed the pictures on the wall of two blond boys and a striking woman smiling lovingly into the camera. Some photos included pictures of his father with the woman, smiling contentedly. The pictures were old, obviously during Drew’s younger years before his mom’s cancer had claimed her. He smiled at the life and promise and mischievousness behind the boys’ eyes.

The bacon was well underway and grilling to perfection when Drew bounded down the stairs, hair dripping and skin pink from the hot shower. James noticed he was wearing the dark blue hoodie he’d given him the year before as a Christmas present. He’d thought it would complement Drew’s frame perfectly and he was right. Water dripped from his hair and came to a tantalizing stand on the tip of his bruised nose.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Much,” Drew said.

He washed a handful of painkillers down with orange juice and gave an appreciative whiff of the grilled bananas and bacon.

“So are you going to tell me what this is about,” James said as he dished up the food and motioned to Drew’s face.

“Andy was diagnosed with Lukemia two months ago,” Drew said.

He shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth and chewed loudly.

“I was late yesterday because he was sick after his chemo. I didn’t just want to drop him off at home and leave him to the nurse’s care. I wanted to be with him,” Drew said.

He looked up at James and a range of emotions was vying for dominance behind his sad green eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” James said after a while.

“It’s not about me,” Drew said after a while. “Goddamnit,” he said and picked up his juice glass. “It’s not fucking fair!”

Glass shattered as Drew threw the glass against the fridge.

“He’s just a kid,” he said. “He’s just a kid.”