copyright © 2002
Written for Rubbercody
Practice was going great, no surprises there, but I had to fight extra hard to hide my erection. More than ever, I was totally aroused by seeing these young athletes covered in rubber.
I watched as the players followed the strategies I'd help lay out, scrutinizing their movements and play executions. Most of the guys were clad only in their rubber suits with their pads strapped over the top of them. I watched them with increasing attention, and fought a losing battle against the stirring in my crotch. I looked down at the clipboard I'd been scribbling game notes on, then glanced back at the field, about to shout a suggestion to Powers and Cartes.
And my gaze shifted.
Oh, I was still looking at the players, of course, but suddenly their game moves were the farthest thing from my mind. Everybody on the field suddenly seemed to be moving in slow motion. Beautifully muscled legs pumped like powerful machines beneath gleaming rubber that shone in the midday sun. Black, shining arms caught the reflections of protective padding and the faces of oncoming players which conformed to the shape of defined biceps and forearms. Breathtakingly gorgeous boys slammed into one another and paused frozen in midair as if held in instant replay as their rubbered bodies pressed mercilessly against each other, their spray of sweat sprinkling the air in a shower of sparkles before their glistening latexed forms crashed to the earth to slide across the turf.
Something was happening to me. Maybe the sessions in the auditorium were finally catching up with me, powder or no powder. But I couldn't take my eyes from these beautiful boys wrapped in rubber who relentlessly ran, passed, and tackled each other with increasing ferocity. The looks of determination, of passion, of...joy...on their faces as they pressed against each other again and again and again. I suddenly realized that the smell of fresh-cut grass and the lingering aroma of perspiration were not all the flooded the field. The smell of rubber, well-used, moist, and clinging to teenage skin permeated the area and assaulted my senses. Moments were freezing in time. Cartes adjusted his cup, a drop of sweat falling upon his shining black thigh to run in a highlighted rivulet down his leg. Bradley reached up under his shoulder pad to massage his shoulder, his arm flexing as he twisted it, the spray of moisture upon glinting in the light.
Oh God, I thought, fighting the bulge which threatened to burst free of my rubber pants, "Don't look at Tad, Don't look at Tad." Too late.
Unconsciously, my eyes sought him out on the field. There he was, removing his helmet and shaking some of the excess sweat from his hair. His face was slick with perspiration, his chest accented to an iconic degree by his pads, his arms, his torso, all defined by an obsidian layer of skintight rubber. He ran his fingers through his hair, then wiped his dripping hand upon his rubber suit, leaving trails of perspiration behind. My penis was throbbing in a literal sense. I looked down and saw that it was bobbing up and down, ever-so-slightly, of its own accord. I looked back at Tad, who had been watching the movements on the field, then turned to look at me. He smiled. That beautiful, warm smile that made my heart ache. And then my dick pulsed with such intensity I thought I'd blow my wad right then and there. The muscles in my groin began to clench. And unclench. And clench and unclench and clench...my hips ready to thrust...my legs tensing as if to spring forward and--
"Cody! You with us?"
I looked over at Christian, who was waving to get my attention. "You okay, Cody?"
"Um, I--er, yeah! I'm good!" I rubbed my eyes with my palm, wiping away a sheen of sweat I didn't realize was there. Behind my closed eyes, in my mind, Tad had crossed the field to stand before me, his helmet tossed to the ground haphazardly, his lip moving closer to mine, his strong hands resting upon my shoulder pads, his tongue slowly extending--
"Cody!!"
My head snapped back toward Christian, who was pointing angrily at the field. "Didn't you hear me?! Get out there! We need you to run this play! C'mon, let's move!"
I tossed down the clipboard and jogged out to the other players, pulling on my helmet. Christian slapped my lightly on the arm as I passed him. "Stay awake, Cody. We can't have you taking notes and daydreaming all day." I nodded my apology as Christian clapped his hands, calling out to the team. "Okay, gentlemen! Let's go with the Wing On Wing! We do it until we've got it down! Cody--your play!"
I got into position, grateful for the distraction and that the world seemed to be moving at its proper speed again. I called out the play, and we went into action. The handoff, the pass, and then it happened again.
I was caught between Cartes and Powers as the world turned at a decreased speed. I was completely thrown by the altered perception of time. So instead of taking advantage of the slow motion world around me to leap clear of the oncoming boys, I stood frozen and dumbfounded. By the time I began to try to dodge clear, I realized that I, like everyone else, was moving in quicksand. I wasn't going anywhere.
I braced myself for the double-sided tackle coming from Cartes and Powers. The boys slammed into me, slowly, steadily, unstoppably. Their rubbered bodies pressed against me, their pads pushing against mine, pushing our rubber second skins that much tighter against us. I didn't so much fall as floated to the ground, the two muscular rubberboys compressed against me as if they were permanently attached. The three of us hit the ground with an ominous thud, the feel, the push, the smell of the rubber now so intoxicating that my head was spinning. I felt their bodies on top of mine, their rubber pressed to mine, their musk so heady and full...
And I came. Right there in my rubber bodysuit, I shot a load that rocketed up to coat my chest and torso and gather all around my waist and pelvis. I must have fired half a dozen times. All my perceptions still in slow motion. Each orgasm extended and elongated to an impossible degree. It was all I could do to keep breathing through it all.
And then, after the final orgasm subsided, I suddenly caught my breath in an immense gasp. The word had returned to its normal speed, but I still felt some lingering effects of disorientation.
Cartes was getting to his feet, saying, "Okay, Cody, alright! We're getting off you, already, quit bucking like a goddamn bronco. Jesus!"
I staggered to my feet, which felt like jello. The torso of my bodysuit clung to my skin with the thick weight of my spunk all over me underneath. I silently thanked God that I hadn't shot so far that any came up out of my collar. Powers looked at me, doubled over, hands braced upon my knees, fighting to catch my breath. He smiled, commenting, "Hey, we really creamed you that time, huh?" His hand stretched out to slap me on the ass, but missed its mark, and on the return pass brushed against my crotch instead.
I felt a shudder of pleasure ripple through me at the contact, and shot a look of surprise at Powers. He just waved his arm and gave me a lopsided grin as if to say, "Whoops. Sorry." I waved him away, showing it was no problem, despite the sensations to the contrary. I stood up, and in a split-second, the world was right again. My head was clear and all was normal--or as normal as it can be for a guy who's rubber UnderArmor is glued to him with his own semen. I couldn't determine just what had happened to me over the past several minutes,. but I also couldn't deny the feeling that it was over and wouldn't recur.
I let out a breath of relief and took a look at the field. For a moment, I thought I noticed that the guys were starting to pair off. Here and there, the players seemed to be teaming up in twos. Cartes repeatedly wandered over to Lance, hart and Swanson seemed to be comparing notes frequently, and Bradley and Randolph had been practically inseparable this practice.
Was it my imagination? Or was something else going on here? I felt someone's gaze from behind, and turned to see Christian staring at me. His face showed an expression somewhere between curiosity and concern. Had he picked up on what had happened to me just now? I lingered with our eyes locked for another moment, waiting for him to say something, which he never did. So I tightened my chin strap and headed back into the thick of things. "Okay, guys! Let's go with the Oop-De-Oop now! Okay, let's go!"
The rest of the plays went smoothly, but through all of them I would swear I could feel Christian staring at me, watching my every move.
I found myself watching everyone else as we got cleaned up following practice. I wanted to see if any of the other guys were experiencing life in stop-motion as I had out on the field. Everyone seemed their usual selves, happy, back-slapping, and cheerful as they reluctantly peeled off their rubber suits and headed for the showers. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least as far as our team goes.
Then I saw Timmy. He sat naked on the bench, his rubber suit thrown casually over his lap, His expression could only be described as 'zoned out'. He wore a slightly dopey grin and a faraway look. Except that he didn't seem to be looking faraway. He seemed to be looking at Zerkowitz. I watched as Timmy seemed to sit separate not only from the rest of the bustle and activity of the locker room, but of the rest of the world. As Zerk stepped out of the showers, toweling himself off as he returned to his locker, Timmy let out a deep sigh as the larger player passed, and I could see Timmy's rubber suit rise below his waist.
One of the other guys noticed Timmy's dazed appearance too, and snapped his fingers in front of him. "Yo! Timmy! You with us?"
Timmy snapped out of his reverie, but from the look of his tented suit, was still pretty well aroused. "Oh. Oh, yeah! Sure, I was just...just thinking."
Zerk snorted a laugh and said, "Prob'ly thinking of some way not to get pummeled on the field next time, I'll bet!" And he actually tousled Timmy's hair with his massive hand. I would've batted Zerk's hand away, but Timmy seemed to enjoy it, and as Zerk walked on to his locker, his towel wrapped around his waist, he and Timmy seemed to share a lingering glance for just a moment.
I shook my head to clear it, wondering how many other guys were drifting in and out of slow-motion daydreams. I went into the shower area and while no one seemed to be as dazed as Timmy was, everyone sure seemed to be taking his time. Normally, shower time was a quick in-and-out de-stinkifying exercise that was rapidly completed. This time, the guys were soaping themselves up much slower than usual. And instead of facing the tiled walls which held the shower heads, every guy was facing out into the group.
Not much was said, but eyes met and locked repeatedly from guy to guy as soapy hands ran firmly over muscled pecs, arms, and legs. Cartes was soaping up his crotch with agonizing attention at the far end of the showers, when the bar of soap slipped out of his hand and skidded across the wet floor to the shower across from him.
The soap bumped against the feet of Lance Rydekker, a lean and spiky-haired blond. Lance looked down at the soap almost dreamily, as if he were trying to decide whether or not it was real.
"Hey, Lance, be a pal and toss that back over here, willya?", Cartes said.
Lance met Cartes's eyes and then slowly stooped over to pick up the soap. Once he had it in hand, he walked very deliberately over to Cartes and handed it over to him. Cartes reached over gingerly to take the soap from Lance. Their fingers met and stayed there, the fingertips just touching, as the warm water cascaded around them. Cartes looked intently at Lance and said quietly, "Thanks, man."
Lance reached over with his other hand and wrapped Cartes's fingers around the bar of soap. Then he slowly stepped away, letting his fingers gently trace the length of Cartes's hand. As he backed up to his own shower, Lance fairly whispered in reply, "No problem."
I was getting hard just watching them. The sexual tension in the room was becoming more stifling than the increasing steam. I forced myself to turn around toward the wall and quickly clean myself up.
As I left the showers, I noticed that throughout the locker room, a casual mood had pervaded the team. Guys clad only in towels (or nothing at all) sat on the benches before their lockers, discussing the day's plays. Guys stayed in the showers well after the limited supply of hot water had run out. A couple of the guys actually hugged in congratulations on a great practice.
My dick was throbbing again and I looked over to see Tad, who had stayed back to talk strategies with Christian, peeling off his rubber suit in preparation for his own shower. He was having some trouble getting his broad arms free of the sleeves, which hugged him with a suction that was aggravated by layers of perspiration. His chest and arms flexed as the rubber resisted leaving his body, droplets of sweat falling from his smooth, firm torso to spatter upon the bench and the floor.
I grabbed up my stuff and quickly made for the door, my shoes and backpack still in my hand. A couple other guys were already stepping into the hallway as I rounded the corner. And although I didn't get a good look at who it was, I would swear they were holding hands.
That weekend saw no recurrence of the slow-motion daydream state I experienced before, thank God. But I now recalled things I had overlooked previously due to both my dazed state of mind and the sexual tension that lingered afterward.
I was also aware that the new tendency we had to dress sharp when going to school was still in effect. I didn't realize until I was approaching the school's gym entrance that I had dressed in crisp slacks, loafers, and a very nice shirt. Even just popping in quickly on a Saturday, I was compelled to look my best. I looked more like I was going to church than to pick up something I'd forgotten in my locker. At least I skipped the necktie.
I wandered into the locker room the following morning in search of a pair of tennis shoes I was petty sure I'd left in my locker. At least I hoped that's where they were, as I couldn't find them anywhere else. Lots of the guys were still dressing real sharp, but I seemed to have reverted to my Boy Next Door attire of blue jeans and sweatshirts. If I never said, the locker room is pretty good sized, so I have to walk around a couple rows of lockers to get to mine. I was rounding a corner when I happened upon Bradley and Randolph.
The two guys weren't supposed to be in the locker room. They also weren't supposed to have their arms wrapped around each other sharing a passionate kiss.
"Whoa!", I said, startled by what I saw.
The two boys whirled around, obviously just as surprised to see me as I was to see them--or at least, to have been discovered. Randolph fumbled to get his arms off of Bradley and shove them into his back pockets. Bradley whipped around so fast he smacked his back into the lockers. "Cody! Jesus, man! What the hell are you doing here??"
That would be the time for me to utter the famous rejoinder, "I could ask you the same thing", but it seemed pretty damned obvious what they were doing. Well secluded within the maze of lockers on a weekend, two of my teammates had been making out. Two of my male teammates. Two of my straight male teammates. And they weren't even in their rubber suits. I just looked at the guys, trying to process it, stammering, "Uh, I'm, um, think I left my shoes, ah, locker, I came for so to check and see...holy fuck, you guys. Were you making out?"
Randolph looked terribly frightened, and Bradley, the perpetual smartass, spoke with great concern. "Cody, don't say anything, please! It's just, we realized it during all those practices. The rubber, the sweat, the constant contact..."
Randolph draped an arm tenderly around Bradley's shoulders. "The showers", he added.
I stared for another moment. "A-are you guys, like in lov--"
"Gentlemen?"
We all three of us spun around. Randolph almost screamed. There stood Assistant Coach Haydensen. He looked us over sternly. "There's no practice today, boys." Bradley and Randolph turned tail and ran out of the locker room. I had to jump out of the way to keep from getting knocked down. I kept staring at the direction they went even after they were long gone.
"Cody."
I turned to face the a.c. His face was inscrutable. I couldn't tell if he was shocked or angry, but his intense eyes were incredibly focused. "Is there a reason you're in the locker room on a Saturday morning, son?"
This was the first time he had ever addressed me in terms you might apply to a subordinate. "I-I--", I stumbled. "I was gonna check my locker. I th-think I left a pair of shoes behind, I--"
He turned away from me and moved toward his office. "Then I suggest you get them and go." Then, after he'd taken a few steps, he paused, and said to me, "Cody, you weren't--with the other two, were you?"
"N-no, I just walked in on them. I-I mean, they were probably just here for--!"
"I know what they were doing here", Christian said, his voice very even. And as he entered his office, his remarked over his shoulder, "And this situation will be dealt with. Get your shoes and go, Cody."
I stood there, swallowing hard, when the office door slammed shut. Christian sat at his desk, shuffling through papers, not lifting his head for the remainder of the time I was there, which wasn't that long. I suspected the next day with the team, however, would be a long one indeed.
To say that we were all nervous as hell would be putting it mildly. We all sat, the whole team, in a circle in the gym. Folding chairs had been placed out for us, exactly enough for each team member to be seated. All of us sitting there, fidgeting, waiting for the hammer to drop, made us look like we were about to be subjected to some kind of intervention. A rubber intervention.
That was the weird thing. A.C. Haydensen came into the locker room this afternoon and told us all he had some serious concerns about the team that "must be dealt with". But then he told us all to suit up in our rubber workout gear before going out into the gym and having a seat. If he was going to ream us a new one, was there any reason for him to have us suit up first?
Most of us sat hunched over, with our arms resting on our thighs, heads lowered, looking guilty. Most of us knew what had been going on. A few others just looked around nervously, sensing something big was about to be revealed, but clearly clueless as to what it would be. I looked over to see Bradley and Randolph trying very hard not to make eye contact with each other. Once, they caught a peripheral glance and jerked their heads away, quickly. Bradley bit the inside of his cheek, Randolph rubbed his eyes. He looked like he was fighting to keep back tears. A few clusters of other guys here and there bore similar looks. There's a saying about nervous situations that goes "you could cut the tension in the room with a knife". For us, at that moment, you'd be lucky to make a dent with a chainsaw.
Christian entered the gym. He walked tall, a look of concern on his face. A couple of the guys scooted their chairs over to allow him admittance to the circle, which Christian entered and walked to the center. He surveyed the group, then made his announcement. "We've been having some problems, men. I called this meeting to address them, and repair the situation."
Various boys squirmed in their seats. A few tried to look away from Christian's gaze, one of them buried his mouth into his palm, trying to make it look like he was resting his chin in his hand. Bradley and Randolph looked like they were attending a wake.
I felt myself growing angry. Well, what the hell did Christian expect? With his rubber suits and all his talk of loving the team, loving our fellow players, you can't tell me he didn't see any of this coming. Here I was, probably the only gay guy on the team, one of the only ones who hadn't acted on his feelings of affection, getting pissed at Christian for his coarse attitude toward a situation he had more or less created.
"Some of us have been distracted of late", Christian said. "Distracted by our hormones and new romantic discoveries", and right here he looked at Bradley and Randolph, "and our perceived need to keep these things secret."
Christian took what could only be called a dramatic pause. He strolled along the interior of our circle of chairs, momentarily addressing each one of us as he made his rounds. "This has been a season of change for us", he stated. "We've been changing into better players and a better team. But I think it's become obvious that some of us have been undergoing even greater changes." And he stopped before Bradley and Randolph. "Isn't that right, boys?" Bradley looked up at Christian with pleading eyes. Randolph just stared at his shoes. The group was silent.
"Don't you have something you'd like to tell us?", Christian asked the two boys. Bradley continued staring and Randolph looked as if he were trying to bore a hole in his foot with his eyes. "Well?", Christian prodded.
"I, well, uh, Randy and I--", Bradley started.
"Stand up, Bradley", Christian ordered quietly.
Bradley sprang to his feet, his legs shaking a bit. "Um, it's me and Randolph. Er, Randy. He and I, uh, that is, we--"
"You should stand up too, if this concerns you, Randolph", Christian added. Unsteadily, Randolph got to his feet, his eyes still on the floor.
Christian nodded for Bradley to continue. He did, saying, "Uh, Randy and I, we've gotten so's we--I mean to say that, he and I--God this is so hard..."
"What were the two of you doing in the locker room on Saturday, Bradley?", Christian asked pointedly.
Bradley's eyes widened and I felt my back stiffen. He wasn't seriously going to expose him in front of the whole team, was he? Bradley's mouth opened and moved slightly, but no sound came out. He couldn't bring himself to speak.
"I saw you both, Bradley. If you don't tell us, then you simply leave it to me--"
"We were kissing!!", Bradley shouted. Randolph, his head still lowered, squinted his eyes shut. The whole group took a collective breath in. Our eyes were glued to Brad and Randy. My heart went out to them. I had to rush to their defense, to say something--anything. I couldn't just let this continue. As I leaned forward to speak, Christian took a few steps back from the boys and asked another question, softly.
"Why were you kissing, Bradley?"
Bradley had now lowered his head as well, shaking it slightly side to side, his eyes beginning to squint. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Be-because...we did it bec-cause..."
"Say it."
"Because we love each other!", Bradley shouted back. Randolph burst into tears, head still down, weeping, choking back the sobs. "You happy now? We fell in love with each other! We weren't just experimenting or anything, we're really, really in love!" Bradley was in rough shape, and you could see he was also on the verge of tears, but he had said too much to fall silent now. "And okay, I guess that makes us fags!", he yelled at the group. "But I really don't give a shit what that makes us, since Randy and I care more about each other than anyone or anything else in the world! So if we're off the team, fine, just boot us already--I don't give a shit, 'cause we'll still have each other!"
Bradley stopped at that, and all that could be heard in the gym was Randolph's soft sobs. Bradley tenderly put his arm around his boyfriend to comfort him. Christian stared at the boys, and the team stared at Christian, wondering what would come next.
"Well then", Christian said at last. "I think that confession can be met with only one response." Christian raised his hands and very deliberately began to clap. We all just stared. His clapping grew louder and more aggressive, and he nodded to us in indication that we should join in. Somewhat stunned, that's what we did. Tentatively at first, then we all found ourselves showering the two newly-exposed boyfriends with sincere applause.
Bradley and Randolph looked up at us, astonished, not sure what to make of the response. Randy sniffed back some more tears and Bradley held him tight. Within a minute or so, the applause died down.
Christian spoke first. "That took a lot of guts, gentlemen." He walked over to the boys and, placing a hand on the back of Bradley's neck, Christian leaned forward to press his own forehead to Bradley's. "I'm very proud of you, son", he said. Christian also patted Randolph on the shoulder and pointed to their seats, indicating they could sit down. They did, looking like all their energy had been drained out of them.
"Vulcans", Christian said, indicating by the use of our team name that he was not only speaking to us collectively, but that he wanted us receptive more as a group than as individuals. "We're involved in a sport that inspires very high emotional states. During those states, many things can happen. Sometimes the energy and enthusiasm we pour into the game can awaken things inside us we were not even previously aware of. The important thing is to recognize when those awakenings are good, and accept them as such."
Christian indicated Bradley and Randolph with an open hand. "I give you two very courageous young men, who recognized the change within themselves and had the strength to share it with their fellow teammates." Christian gestured for the two boys to stand again. When they did, he asked, "Bradley, what was it you said you felt for our Mr. Randolph here?"
"I-I love him."
"Hadn't you better tell him that, then?" Christian waved his hands to show the two boys should turn and face each other. Bradley did, taking Randolph's hands in his. Rand looked pretty uncomfortable.
"I love you, Randy", Bradley said.
"I love you, too, man", Randolph whispered back.
Christian nodded. "Good job, men."
There was weeping to my right. I looked to see Cartes, his head buried in his hands, sobbing. "Geez, dude", I said, "you alright?"
Christian turned in our direction, almost nonchalantly. "Cartes?"
"I have a boyfriend, too!", he cried. Cartes looked up, tears streaming down his face, and looked across the circle at Lance Rydekker, who was shaking his head vigorously to silence him. "I'm sorry man, I'm sorry, but I can't hold it in anymore." Cartes stood up and announced, "I love you, Lance. I'm in love with you, man." The group was quiet again.
Christian looked to Lance and said, "Well, Lance? What about you?"
Cautiously, Lance stood up, nodding his head. He was rubbing the legs of his rubber suit with his palms, as if searching for pockets he could stuff his nervous hands into. Softly, he said, "I love you too, dude."
Some of the kids started to applaud again, but Christian held up his hands. When he had out attention, he asked, "Anyone else?"
Heads moved back and forth around the circle, eyes wide to see who might be the next to stand up. After another moment of silent anticipation, Zerkowitz raised a shaky hand. My jaw fell open. Holy crap. Not Zerk, too... Zerk stood up, placing a hand on the shoulder of slender Jameson, next to him. "Timmy and me have been seeing each other for like a couple weeks now." Jameson rested his head against Zerk's leg, nodding.
We heard someone else clear his throat. We turned to see Hart and Swanson both holding up their hands, fingers intertwined.
Christian simply nodded. "Anyone else?"
After that, it was like a domino effect. Player after player stood up and came out, coupling up with a teammate boyfriend. It went on for several more minutes and by the time it was all over, there were only a handful of us left who hadn't announced that he was gay and chosen someone to be gay with. I was one of them. I was grateful to see that Tad was another. For one brief instant, I looked over to see that Tad had his eyes fixed on me. He titled his head toward me and raised his eyebrows, as if he was urging me to do something. I felt a twinge of panic when our eyes met, and looked away.
"Is that everyone?", Christian asked at last. "Are we sure? Obviously, no one will think the less of you if you choose this time to come out to the team. Anyone left?" I didn't look at him. I didn't look at Tad. I just closed my eyes and waited for it to be over.
And miracle of miracles, in the next moment, it was. Christian had everyone who was still standing take his seat, and began one of his earnest pep talks. "Okay, we've all of us had quite an experience tonight. A lot of us--most of us, in fact--have revealed some incredible changes they've undergone, and been accepted despite them. The secrecy is over, we all know where we stand. That's fine. But we need to remain alert and disciplined. Just because you're gay doesn't mean your a sexaholic." That got a few grins. "In fact, it'd be a smart move to keep it in your pants until you're a bit more settled with who you are. Use your boyfriend, if you have one, to help you train better. To improve yourself at practice. And likewise, you should be there for him."
He went on for a little while about how it might be a good idea to wait until coming out to the student body and faculty in general , citing that we'd always have the team as our confidants. That made sense, as I'm not sure how well a mostly-gay football team would go over with the principal and school board, to say nothing of the parents. Christian encouraged our new relationships, but also suggested we pursue a healthy dose of abstinence for the most part and at the very least, monogamy. A lot of the guys seemed so relieved to be out of the closet to their closest friends that they nodded their heads pleasantly and accepted the suggestions without blinking.
As the meeting broke and the muscular, masculine guys I thought I knew exchanged hugs and kisses before leaving, I just sat there with a dazed expression on my face. Tad was hugging buddies here and there, and once looked over at me, but said nothing. Christian patted me on the shoulder and gave me an "it's going to be okay" look, which seemed odd to me, as I hadn't just come out or anything.
Rubber suited football players filed out of the gym, arm in arm, holding hands, or arms around each other's waists. I stayed seated in my chair until they were gone. I was still sitting there for some time before I realized the lights had been turned off.
I wandered into the locker room to find that most everyone else had gone. One or two stragglers were still putting on their street clothes, a few other stealing quick kisses as they closed their lockers.
I stumbled my way across the room in a daze. I passed the showers on my way, where a solitary figure was still cleaning up.
I stepped back to look into the communal stalls and saw Tad standing with his back to me, beneath a gushing spray of warm water. He was still dressed in his rubber suit, and the water beaded across his chest and shoulders, creating small glints as the droplets caught the light. Tad rolled a bar of soap over and over in his bare hands, building a thick lather. He tugged a bit at his collar and let the shower stream carry handfuls of suds down into his suit to gather between the rubber and his skin. I swallowed hard, watching him, mesmerized by his actions.
Tad set the bar down in the wall-mounted soap dish and reached for a bottle of body wash. Popping the cap with his thumb, his squirted a hefty glob down the neck of his suit directly onto his chest. He then pulled the neck of his suit open wider, using two fingers, allowing the rush of warm water to cascade down inside. He dropped the body wash onto the tile floor and pressed his hands to his chest, sighing contentedly. He began to rub himself all over, and I could see the foam and suds spill out from under his sleeve cuffs, seeping out of his suit's zipper, and dribbling over the tops of his boots. He massaged himself that way, water-slicked rubber on top of soothing scented lather, for several minutes. I grew hard looking at him.
Then Tad reached carefully behind his neck and unfastened his zipper. A few fluffs of suds spat out as he began to unzip himself, the bubbles floating down to the tiles, there to swirl about in the collecting puddles and be whisked away down the drain. Slowly, oh so slowly, Tad pulled down his suit's zipper. His magnificent body, like the interior of his suit, was thick with soap, his toned muscles fairly gleaming for all the bubbles and foam.
He grasped the neck of his suit with both hands and pulled it forward, peeling the slickened rubber sleeves off of his arms, spilling out fountains of warm suds as he yanked himself free. The top half of his suit flapped down in front of him as Tad ran his fingers through his sopping hair, shining soapy rivulets flowing evenly down the empty sleeves. Tad then bent forward, pushing the pantlegs down past his knees, revealing his extraordinary behind and powerful thighs. I took deep breaths as I watched, as I was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.
Two quick tugs of heel on heel and Tad had loosened his boots, which he slipped out of while bracing his arms against the tiled wall. Water sloshed onto the floor as he freed his feet. He then pulled off the rubber pantlegs, giving each foot a slight kick to rid himself of the moist, clinging latex. Tad then retrieved the bar of soap, to give himself a quick once-over scrub down before rinsing, drying off, and getting dressed.
As Tad unknowingly revealed his body to me, the exhibition of affection I'd just sat through played repeatedly in my mind. All those guys, looking at their friends, their teammates, and saying those three beautiful, devastating words. I. Love. You. Could I say it to Tad right now? I wanted to so badly, but knew that he was one of the few who hadn't professed any gay traits in the gym. If I said I loved him and he rejected me...
I continued to watch as Tad lathered himself up and rinsed himself off. His hair wet and plastered back, his arms thick with lather, his strong and solid hands running a bar of soap over firm shoulders. I felt my erection throbbing. He was so beautiful.
His suit lay in a heap at his feet, the folds puddling up with suds and water. He shuffled it aside with his foot, and in so doing, caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye. He turned around to face me, revealing himself to me in all his glory, appearing not the least bit uncomfortable. "Cody? You want to tell me something, man?", Tad called.
Yeah, I wanted to tell you I'm in love with you, I thought. I want to rip off my rubber suit and rush over to you and--and--
"Nah. It's nothing. Forget it."
I moved rapidly to my locker, grabbing up my street clothes and heading toward the exit, bundling them under my arm. Once in the hallway, I quickly yanked on my sweatshirt and fairly jumped into my jeans, pulling everything on right on top of my rubber suit. With my tennis shoes in hand, I made my way quickly outside, trying my best to feel happy for those friends who had come out tonight and trying not to curse myself as a coward.
The following week or so was torture.
All the guys were acting so free and relaxed around each other. Ass-kicking athletes were walking casually into the locker room or out onto the field holding hands. After calisthenics warm-ups, a few guys shared a quick kiss before tackling the field and then each other. And don't even get me started about the showers.
No one ever got physically intimate while we cleaned ourselves up, but the whole atmosphere in the showers had changed dramatically. The guys would happily soap each other up, usually with boyfriends washing each other's backs. Bigger guys would playfully get the smaller players in a headlock and treat them to a vigorous shampoo. It was now relatively common for my smiling teammates to toss water or soap suds across the tiled room to hit another laughing boy.
Every now and then, a few couples who had grown particularly close would aid one another in slowly and gently washing each other's privates, often exchanging a brief kiss in the process. I never saw it go any farther than that. Not in the showers or elsewhere in the locker room, as a matter of fact. It was as if there was an unspoken understanding that while everyone was cool with so many football players being gay, it was still a sign of low class to engage in any carnal relations in front of the group.
Or it could be that the guys had grown to love their partners so much that they felt their intimacy was something truly personal, to be savored in private.
I don't know. All I know is that I watched Tad from a distance during all this. He'd horse around with the other guys, but clearly still had no partner. Once while standing beneath a warm spray at the far end of the showers, I watched slack-jawed as Tad, laughing, grabbed the slender Timmy and pinned his arms from behind while the massive Zerk lovingly scrubbed his tiny boyfriend with an excess of lather.
Later, I stood at my locker, staring at its back wall, furious with myself. Why the hell couldn't I just go over to Tad and tell him the truth?? I really did love him, after all. At least, I think I did. And it's not like anyone else on the team would object if we did hook up. Even the handful of guys who hadn't gone gay seemed totally cool with the majority of us who had. I stuffed my books and such into my backpack and wiped my still-wet hair out of my eyes. I hadn't bothered to dry it. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I knocked over some things in my shower kit. One item caught my eye as it tumbled to the floor of the locker to hit with a soft clang. It was the bottle of powder. Christian's powder. The hypno-powder. I picked it up and held it in my hand, staring at the label. My eyes drifted to my rubber bodysuit, hung neatly inside my locker, waiting for our next practice. God, should I? Would it be so bad, to douse myself liberally with the powder, to don my beloved suit and let the granular drug do it's work? My fear of approaching Tad would no doubt disappear. I could just let go and surrender to the effects of the powder and become a born-again gayboy like just about everyone else on the team. A hard-playing, fun-loving homosexual rubberist zombie like all my friends.
And I'd have Tad. At least until the end of the season or until the powder wore off, anyway. I slipped the backpack from my shoulder and slowly reached for my rubber suit, feeling the smooth material between my finger and thumb. The bottle of powder in one hand, the rubber suit in the other, I stood there for a full minute, considering, feeling the slow drip of water from my soggy hair dribble down the back of my neck and under my shirt.
To just let go, to be part of the team. A gay rubberboy. Isn't that what I always wanted?
I looked over as the guys filed out of the shower, dipping, joking, snapping towels. I saw Tad there with them, his magnificent naked body, his gleaming eyes and bright smile. God, I wanted him so very much.
But not like this. I wanted it to be real. I angrily bounced the bottle of hypno powder off the back of my locker and slammed the door. What I really needed now was somebody I could talk to. Somebody neither involved with, nor active as, a mind-controlled rubberboy.
Xander and Skeevo looked up from the TV to see me as I entered the frat house. "Well, well", Xander said, smiling, "look who's deigned to come and walk amongst the peasants. And here we thought the big football hero was too good for us now." Skeevo just nodded his head toward me, acknowledging my presence.
"Sorry I haven't been around, guys", I offered. "The whole football thing has really taken on a life of its own. I mean, really."
"Been following the Sports page", Skeev said. "You guys are said to be looking pretty promising these days. Even the skeptics say you're gonna be the team to beat."
"Yeah, it could be our best season ever", I said. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." I moved closer to the couch my two friends were lounging on, and saw a small circle of younger college guys seated on the floor around the TV, on beanbags and oversized cushions. "Uh, I'd rather talk with just you guys, so maybe if we could go to your room or something if that's okay--"
Xander snapped his fingers. "Begone." The circle of college boys leapt to their feet and fled the room, some gathering up their cushions as they went.
"We'll send word when it's cool to come back", Skeevo said to the backs of the vanishing boys.
Xander extended a hand to one of the beanbags, offering it to me. "Sit at the foot of your rubber gurus, young grasshopper.", he said. "Bask in the glow of our shiny latex wisdom."
I sat down and tried to figure out how to put words to what had been bothering me. The guys could tell I was pretty nervous. Football camp, the practices, our teamwork; everything had been going so phenomenally well, and yet...
"So, what is it, Cody?", Xander asked, more seriously.
"It's all the stuff the assistant coach has us doing. It seems to be working, but it's so bizarre. These...excersizes, I guess you could call 'em, they--they..."
"Describe it", Skeev said. "Reader's Digest version."
The rubber suits were one thing. I loved that, you know, I told you." They both nodded. "But now he's got us all, like--God, falling in love with each other. It's like he wants us all to turn gay in order to play better football. And I'm already gay, so it's no problem for me, but some of these other guys--!" I shook my head. "He's got us gathering in big circles and professing our love a couple at a time, and I just don't know if--"
"This assistant coach", Skeevo broke in, "does he have short red hair?"
"Yeah..."
"Tall, slender, looks younger than he is?", Skeev went on.
"Yeah, that's right--!"
Xander leaned in. "And he's got these drop-dead beautiful eyes?"
"Yes! That's him! You guys know him?"
The two guys looked at each other with knowing glances and broad grins. In unison, they said, "Mmm-HMMM!" Then, Xander said, "Christian Haydensen, right? I can't believe we never asked his name before!" He slapped his knee in a self-admonishing gesture.
"Cody, he's the one that introduced US to rubber", Skeevo said. "He's one of the highest ranking members of this frat."
"You serious?", I spluttered. "He did? He does? You mean it?"
Xander leaned back and laid his arms along the back of the couch. "You, my friend", he said, nodding to me, "are in the hands of the one we call The Master. Be not afraid, my little one. Go forth into the light that is Haydensen."
"I know his methods are a bit bizarre", Skeev said, "but whatever he's doing, he's doing it to help you guys. He's not power tripping. He isn't like that."
"You sure about that?", I asked, still skeptical.
Xander waggled a thumb toward himself. "Made my own varsity team champs four years in a row back when I used to play. And he was just a kid then."
I sat there a minute, thinking. Then, "Guys, when you first met him, were you already gay, or were you straight?"
The guys high-fived each other as they said it. "Gay!"
I bit my lip, collecting my thoughts for the next question. "But how many guys on your team who you could've sworn were straight started acting gay once Christian showed up and started working with them?"
The two exchanged looks. Xander said to Skeev, "What, you think maybe sixteen or something like that?" Skeevo looked up and to the side, thinking. "Might have been eighteen, now that I think of it. Remember, there was Hodges and Pletcher kept it a secret for like two years." Xander nodded, opening his mouth in an "Ohhh, yeahhh..." expression.
They turned back to face me. "We're gonna be on the safe side and say around eighteen straight boys wound up certified fags on that team", Xander said flatly. Skeevo nodded his agreement.
I sat there with my mouth hanging open. "How can you be so blase` about it?! Even if we become the best team in high school football history, does that give him, or me, the right to totally alter more than a dozen boys' psyches for the rest of their lives?! Christ, what are we doing?"
"The rest of their lives?", Skeevo said, puzzled. "Cody, the change isn't permanent."
I stopped in mid-tirade. "It's not?"
Xander pointed a finger at me, saying, "You're on the team, you're in the suits, you're using the powder, you're in the men4men club. But after that--pfft! You go back to the way you were."
Skeevo looked at Xander, adding, "If you really want to."
Xander shrugged. "Which some don't."
I sat there, letting it all sink in. "How many on your team, of the eighteen, are still gay now? How many chose to stay with guys?"
"Last count", Skeevo recalled, "fourteen."
I felt as if I would fall backwards onto the floor. More than a dozen unsuspecting straight boys turned gay and then stuck that way. Jesus.
Skeevo leaned toward me and spoke softly. "Think about this, Cody. Most high school relationships, and let's be honest here, are stirred up by hormones and based totally on looks. Sure, there are the rare cases of the high school sweethearts who marry right after graduation and live happily ever after. But the vast majority are built on animal attraction and sex. You follow me?"
I nodded mutely.
"Okay. So imagine someone you're friends with already. A teammate. You get closer and closer to him during practice and on the playing field. You come to rely on him, care about him, watch his back, and know he's doing the same for you. Eventually, after many hours working together, you realize you're falling for each other." I blinked. This was starting to make sense. Skeevo saw I was getting it and continued, "So what you end up with is a relationship that was built on friendship, camaraderie, and mutual support. Any physical aspect you may achieve after that is just gravy. So most of these guys end up with their first high school relationship being intensely real and meaningful. It's not just a quick score after prom. It actually has a foundation in compassion. Who wouldn't want to stick with that after graduating?"
Xander jumped up from the couch, touching my shoulder. "There's something else we gotta show you. C'mere."
We went up to their room and Xander pushed me down onto the bed. "Sit." Skeevo went to the closet and pulled out a small black box that looked like a jewel case. I think this was the first time I'd ever seen either guys go to retrieve something and know exactly where it was. Whatever was in the box must have been special.
"What's in that?", I asked.
"Motivation", Skeevo said. He popped open the case and inside was a black rubber slave collar. There was a sheen to the rubber surface that was unlike any I'd ever seen before on a latex material. It seemed to subtly change color in the light. Skeev handed it to me. "Go on, take it out."
I removed it from the box gingerly, feeling the slick rubber surface between my fingertips. It sent a small shiver up my arms and across my shoulders on contact. Something about this material... I inspected the collar to find that on a dangling metal tag was Skeev's name, 'Scott Skevowicsz', the name of his football team, and his graduating year. There was also the inscription 'MVP'.
"I would've gotten it, but I deliberately held myself back so Skeevo could win it. Also, 'cause I knew he'd let me wear it." Xander winked at Skeevo.
I titled the collar to see the interior had an almost purple sheen to it. I ran my finger across that surface and got a small, but highly pleasant jolt, down to my elbow.
"Put it on, RubberCody", Xander said. Slowly, I undid the buckle at the back and wrapped the collar around my neck. Before I could tighten it closed, I felt a sudden surge of sheer pleasure as the collar made contact with my skin. I inhaled sharply.
I almost tore the collar off, the pleasure was that intense, that jarring. But Skeevo had already pulled something else out of the box and tossed it to Xander. Xander was behind me immediately, closing the collar snugly around my throat. I heard a distinctive "chlink!" and realized that Skeevo had given Xander a small padlock with which to secure the collar. I was locked in.
I began to breathe heavily as wave upon wave of purest delight flooded my system, all emanating from the collar. Shivers rippled up and down my spine as I sprang an erection that fairly pulsed with energy. Xander held my shoulders and eased me down onto the bed. "Take 'er easy there, Cody. Just relax and let it take over. Give in to the collar, buddy."
Skeevo was right beside me as I lay down on the bed. "Don't fight it, Cody. Just experience it."
They didn't have to tell me again. I was overwhelmed with feelings of joy, of comfort, of contentment. But I wasn't high, or stoned, or otherwise experiencing a brain-fog usually associated with drugs. I was just so...happy. I was so happy I was only dimly aware of Xander and Skeevo removing my shirt and pants.
"Just let it carry you", Skeev encouraged me. No problem. God, the bed was so soft, my friends hands upon me so gentle and caring. My erection bobbed slightly in the cool air of the room. Skeev turned to Xander. "Rubber jeans, I think", he said.
I could hear Xander moving things around in the closet as Skeev tenderly slipped my shirt off, over the top of my head. "Hey, what about this?", Xander said. "Rubber bib overalls."
"Even better", Skeev agreed, working with Xander to slide them onto me. I don't know how long it took them to suit me up. Don't care. Didn't matter. All I know is that in short order, my two dear friends had clothed me in smooth, cool rubber bibs. I didn't so much feel them on me as experience them; the soft rubber winding around my legs, stretching behind my back, strapped over my shoulders, pressed snugly against my chest, covering my crotch. Xander yanked off my shoes as Skeev slipped my feet into unlined rubber knee boots as they continued to talk to me. From somewhere far away, their words came to me and sunk in.
"Feels great, doesn't it, Cody?" Skeev asked. I could only nod, mutely.
"The collar is awarded to the one Christian feels is the team's MVP of the year.", Xander explained. "But the sensations it creates pretty much stay in line with his whole coaching mindset. It's all about love and support, Code." My mind and body were awhirl with contradictory sensations. I wasn't lying on the bed, I was floating. I wasn't wearing the rubber, it was wearing me; hugging me, comforting me. I wasn't hearing Xander's voice, I was absorbing the concepts of his words directly into my mind.
I looked up at the two boys, lifting my head off the bed with some effort. They were such good friends. And as if for the first time, I felt I was truly seeing them. Xander, with his wide eyes, easy smile and slightly oversized ears. The way he would lean forward slightly when speaking in earnest. And Skeevo, with his wild spiky hair and sly grin. His eyes expressed more affection than he ever voiced aloud. They were both so beautiful. I felt so connected to them. My dear, dear friends.
"You still hear us, Cody?", Skeevo asked me. I nodded slowly, letting my head fall back onto the bed, a dopey grin on my face.
"When was the last time you heard Christian yell at a player, Cody?", Xander asked. "Or bawl someone out in front of the group after they screwed up?" Dimly, I realized the answer. Never. "He's a good guy, Cody. And he believes in helping the team to really care about each other, to watch each other's backs. Have you got a star player he tends to favor over the rest of the team? Can you name him? Who does Christian spend the most time working with?" I could think of no one. He worked with all of us as equally as possible. We were a team, not a bunch of backups for one or two hotdogs.
"He really loves the sport, man", Skeev added. "And he loves you guys. He just wants you to love each other just as much." And Skeev gently rested his palm on the leg of my overalls. A burst of ecstasy rippled up my leg to spread across my chest and arc down my back. My bare arms shivered, suddenly colder than the room temperature should have left them. I loved these rubber overalls.
Xander leaned forward and rested his palm on my other leg. "And you really do love your team, don't you, Cody?" It was spoken as an honest question, not a command. "I mean, it's not just a question of winning games anymore, is it?" I shook my head, succumbing to the duplicate surge of pleasure now washing over me.
"You want to be there for your teammates", Skeevo said.
"Help them. Protect them. Watch out for them.", Xander added. It was true. I was more concerned about doing the very best I could on behalf of my team than I was about winning trophies. And that's what was making us winners.
"What do you love?", Skeevo asked me, placing his palm firmly over my crotch. The pleasure surges increased in intensity. My mouth moved, but I was unable to respond.
Xander followed Skeevo's actions. Placing his palm atop Skeevo's, he asked me, too. "Who do you love?" The rubber compressed against my penis, my member pushing against my skin. The pleasure was churning through my body in waves. I was fully erect, hips thrusting, aroused beyond my ability to contain myself. I fought to focus, to answer my friends.
"I-I-I-", I started. "I l-love the game--I d-do--"
"And?", Xander prompted.
"I l-l-love my t-team. A-and I-I love our r-r-rubber suits--" My body was spasming from the overflow of sheer joy. I felt so good. The rubber felt so good. I loved my friends so much. I just plain loved everything. I knew I couldn't hold in my juices for much longer, and was grateful for the rubber overalls, if only for the sake of saving my jeans from getting creamed. I began to speak again. "And I love--and I love--I love--!" It was all over. My body arched and I shot my load all over the inside of the overalls. I could feel it squirting up over my chest, a few stray streams hitting the underside of my chin. Shot after shot fired from my loins, covering my waist and crotch, puddling around under my rear, to stream down the pantlegs and collect in my boots.
I felt so happy, so joyous. Just to be me. To have such wonderful friends, such fabulous teammates. To have a sport into which I could pour my heart with such enthusiasm. I continued cumming long after I was aware that I was doing so. My head flopped over to one side against the bed and I felt myself drifting off into blissful, contented sleep.
"Huh", Skeevo said. "I wonder who else it was he loved?" He reached over, unlatched the padlock, and carefully removed the MVP collar from my neck. There was a rush of relief as the pleasure-intensive sensations subsided.
"I thought it was kind of obvious", Xander said as he looked at Skeev, shrugging. "Christian." He patted my leg and turned to leave the room.
Skeevo pursed his lips. "Makes sense." He followed his friend out, closing the door, leaving me to snooze.
Sinking into sleep, a smile on my face, I slurred out a final whispered declaration, barely aware I was speaking it. "...I luvv...Taaadd..." I dozed off, feeling more contented than I had in weeks.