Our first game took place before we knew it. Practices had been long and grueling, but intoxicating all the same. We'd never been more prepared for anything in our lives. The Vulcans marched out onto the field clad in our royal blue and gold, but far more aware of the shining black that lay beneath.

Attendance was pretty sparse, but with the reputation the team had built over the years--or lack thereof--it was hardly surprising. Optimistic parents, a handful of friends, and some supportive teachers peppered the stands, trying to be helpful by shouting uplifting phrases like, "You can do it, guys!" and "We're with you all the way!" The way practices had been going, I figured it wouldn't take long before we were filling the place top to bottom, with folks clustered standing-room-only style around the stairwells.

The lack of attendance made it easy to spot and identify who was there, and one who jumped out at me was Coach Gareth, sitting down by the sidelines. I was struck by how old and tired he looked. He sat slumped a bit forward, his shoulders sagged and his eyelids drooped a bit. He managed a meager smile and added his own weak applause to that of the rest of the stands. He looked to Christian who gave him a look of confidence in return, gesturing with the thumbs-up that the team as ready to go. Coach Gareth seemed to perk up a bit at that.

There was no pep talk. No pats on the back or words of encouragement from Christian, nor any requested from me. We'd been busting our humps for weeks now, and we all knew we were more than ready. We took our positions on the field and as I looked over to Christian on the sidelines, he pointed at me and then flung his open palms outward, as if he were releasing a bird into the sky. "It's all yours, Cody", the gesture told me.

I hunched down, feeling the magnificent rubber coating stretch against my back, hug my shoulders, and caress the my ass under the seat of my pants. I clenched and then unclenched my toes, relishing the snug feel of the rubber insoles, the tight cling of the rubber pantlegs all around my thighs. I quickly eyes my friends to the right and left of me, and could see in their eyes that they were feeling the same thing that I was. We exchanged quick nods, and tensed for the game's beginning. I hollered the play call.

And they never knew what hit 'em.

We burst into the locker room screaming ourselves hoarse with cries of sheer joy and celebration. We had won our first game by a phenomenal margin. Bradley practically ripped off his helmet and grabbed Randolph, doing the same for him.

"66 to 7!", he cried, shaking his boyfriend by the shoulder pads. "66 to goddamn FUCKING 7!! Wah-HOOOOO!!!" At the mention of our winning score, more whoops and hollers sounded from around the room. Bradley then kissed Randolph with a passion and abandon such as I had never seen from him. Randolph let the helmet he'd been holding fall to the floor and threw himself into the embrace.

The other players followed suit. Helmets crashed to the floor, or were tossed haphazardly into lockers as boyfriends all around me shared celebratory kisses. I gazed around at the scene in awe. It was like a dream come true. So many beautiful football players, still in uniform and gear, kissing each other with genuine passion. In some ways, it exceeded the thrill of seeing them all in rubber bodysuits.

I felt strong fingers clutch the sides of my helmet. Sensing what was coming, I made sure my chin strap was undone so the helmet could be easily slipped from my head. I turned around to see Tad holding my helmet, which he then tucked under one arm. "May I congratulate you on our first win, captain?", he asked wryly.

I smiled. "You may." I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in to press my lip upon his. As all those around us jumped up and down, banged lockers, and kissed ravenously, I kissed my boyfriend very slowly. At first we kissed only on the lips. Easily, naturally, our mouths glided over each other, as if they were made to fit together. I heard the dull clunk as my helmet hit the floor and then felt Tad's arms around me. I opened my mouth just as he did, our tongues probing inward, making their way over and under themselves, moving as if of their own accord.

I could smell the thick musk of Tad's sweat from the game, mixing with my own. Beads of perspiration ran down our faces to mingle together and then glide away. My fingers ran through his moist hair, dampened down from the time spent under his helmet. I felt Tad's hand brace the back of my head, the movements of his fingers mimicking my own. His scent was intoxicating. I wanted him so much. The heavy, salty aroma of him filled my head and made my mind swim. I had to have him. Right here, right now. Against the lockers maybe, or down on the floor if necessary.

I reached over and pulled Tad's jersey up over his head. As soon as he was free of it, he did the same for me. The rubber underside of the jersey hugged me a bit, but slick with sweat, it soon came free, releasing a tiny sprinkle as it did. There in his pads, tanned and muscled torso glistening with perspiration, he looked so incredibly stunning. So hot. Our mouths found each other again as the world fell away around us. We were the only ones there, despite the crowd celebrating all around us. I reached for the laces on the front of his pants as I felt Tad reach for mine. The feel of his fingers working the laces, just above my crotch...the feel of his tongue in my mouth...his bare arms, so moist, so warm...and oh good God, his scent...that powerful, inebriating smell...

I heard the sound of a single pair of hands clapping. The room had gone silent but for that sound, and Tad and I broke contact to see where it was coming from.

There, leaning in the doorway stood Christian, his feet crossed at the ankles, steadily clapping his hands in congratulatory applause. All eyes were on him as he made quite a show of his one-man ovation. "GEN-tlemen", he said dramatically. "I congratulate most heartily on your first win. I want you to pause now and savor this moment. Look at each other, and those of you who are fortunate enough to be couples, look at your boyfriends." We did as he instructed. We looked at each other, sweating, hot, panting, in various states of undress; from full uniforms, to half-dressed, to pads only. I looked into Tad's eyes and he returned my stare. A trickle of sweat ran down from his temple to collect at the corner of his mouth. Reflexively, his tongue stuck out to lick it away. His tongue lingered a moment longer than necessary, and swept slowly across his upper lip. I gulped as I received his unspoken message of where he really wanted his tongue to be.

Christian continued. "This will be the last time you ever experience anything like this, men." That got our attention in a hurry. Was our victory going to be so short lived that it was restricted to a single game? But he went on, "Because this is your first major victory following a long string of defeats. No more. For defeats for this team are now a thing of the past. Get ready to experience victory after victory after victory, team. The Vulcans will lose no more."

"YYEEEEEEAAAAAHHHH!!!", the scream ripped from Zerkowitz and was soon taken up by the rest of the team, myself and Tad included. Christian beamed with pride as we whooped and hollered. Then, Christian clapped his hands a single time, and we fell silent in an instant.

"And now, my good players", Christian added, "I leave you with these postgame words which for you, I am quite sure, have an entirely new meaning. To the showers!"

The boys yelled their enthusiasm again, this time with couples all around the room grabbing each other forcefully and sharing passionate kisses. By contrast, Tad held my face and kissed me very slowly, very gently.

As Christian turned to leave, he said softly and with great feeling, "And once again, men. Congratulations. I'm proud of you."

Boys rushed to the showers with an energy that fairly equalled the way we'd taken the field. Tad and I stripped off the last of our uniforms so we could join them. And for a moment--just a moment--a thought occurred to me. Amid all the din and excitement, how had Christian been able to quiet us so completely by simply clapping his hands so lightly? And he'd done it twice. That struck me as odd. But only for a moment.

In a heartbeat, the moment was gone and Tad and I raced into the communal showers. Boys paired off everywhere, kissing and soaping one another as warm water and foam washed over them and collected in the crooks of their arms as they caressed each other's backs.

Bradley and Randolph shared a lengthy kiss as Bradley upended a shampoo bottle over their heads. Randy absently stroked his hand through their hair, creating a lather that built up immense suds which then poured over their wet shoulders and ran down their sides.

Zerk dropped to his knees and tended to the lithe Timmy with fraternal affection, seeing to it that every inch of his tiny lover was washed and rinsed clean.

A few of the guys actually grabbed their rubber sweatsuits and played at soaping both themselves and the suits up, sliding into them and enjoying the rush of water and suds between their skin and the layer of rubber.

Cartes called from the far side of the showers. "Tad! Catch!" He tossed Tad his rubber bodysuit, which Tad caught easily in one hand while still keeping his other arm wrapped around my waist, massaging my rear.

I was kissing Tad's moistened chest when I eyed his suit. "I should get you into that", I commented. "I have experience in that area, after all."

Tad draped the still-zipped suit around my shoulders like a shawl, saying, "No, you wear it."

I looked up at him, a little surprised. I was no slouch in the physique department, but Tad was still considerably more developed than I was. "It'll be too big for me", I said.

"This isn't too big for you", he said back, pressing his firm penis against mine, sending a shiver up my back as our skin touched, warm water from the shower spray striking both our heads.

I gasped slightly, pressing my head to his chest, continuing to kiss his pecs, feeling the rubber across my shoulders and back, allowing his arm to cradle my head, my cheek snugly against the curve of his bicep. Quietly, I said, "Put it on me."

Tad proceeded to lather me up extensively, spending extra time and attention on my crotch. He then held the suit up to the shower head, allowing water to gush through the neck and down the arms. He unzipped the back, letting the water trapped in the seat fall down and spatter against the tiles. Tad knelt down before me, and reached over to hold my left calf. "First leg", he said. I allowed him to move my leg into the rubber suit, which slid on easily with all the water and lather. "Next leg", he said, guiding my right into place. The feel of the warm foam against my body, held in place by the smooth, strong rubber was so unspeakably arousing. I inhaled deeply as Tad tugged the suit up my waist and over my crotch. I inhaled again, sharper.

Before I knew it, there was a zipping noise and a soft snap of the clasp and I was covered in his rubber sweatsuit. Tad gently led me to rest my back against the wall below the showerhead, leaving the water to cascade down upon my rubbered chest and run down the front of my legs. Smoothly, easily, Tad slipped my feet into his rubber boots. (Where had those come from?) Once I was securely enveloped in his suit, Tad drew me close to him once more.

Placing his hands upon my shoulders, he began to massage me all over. He ran his firm, tensed fingers over my shoulders and down my back, up and down my arms, and around my waist. The suit was indeed too big for me. But the extra folds in the rubber only made his attentions more sensual. The increasing foam and lather collected inside the suit, the water flowing here and there over my soapy skin. Tad's fingers massaged my ass and grasped the inside of my thighs. One hand lingered around my leg, moving gently but firmly up and down as the other slid over to my crotch, the palm pressing snug against my member, making slow circular motions. I gasped with the sensations, my mouth moving a bit, open wide, emitting no sound. My feet slid a bit inside the oversized boots, now sloshing with rising water, but the rubber soles held fast on the slick tile floor.

Tad continued his massage, the circular stroking increasing slightly. As my gasps increased in time with his stroking, he pulled my chest to his, his mouth covering mine, our tongues probing together in a ravenous kiss. My own fingers clutched his naked back as I came inside his suit never breaking off our kiss. I collapsed into his arms, and he held me up. The water spray had long since lost all its heat, but there was plenty shared between our two bodies. I breathed in heaving gasps, my chin resting atop his shoulder.

Tad whispered something near my ear, which was obscured by the sound of the water, but I was willing to swear that he'd said "I love you."

Not long after, myself and the rest of the team got dressed and locked up our equipment and gear. The smell of wet latex hung heavy in the air, despite the new splashes of cologne and sprays of deodorant from many of the guy. I was thoroughly exhausted and yet so thoroughly pumped.

I shut my locker as I stepped out with Tad in our civvies. We had pizza parlors to hit, as well as a couple karaoke bars. Kids, teachers, and neighbors were waiting to celebrate with us and shower us with praise. It could hardly match the shower we'd just given each other, but we were still eager to get to it. As most of us strode out into the night air arm in arm, I couldn't help marveling at the feeling of camaraderie, of fellowship, of near invulnerability.

So this is how it feels to be a winner. It's a feeling I could get used to.

The next couple games went about the same as the first. We hit the field, we kicked major ass, we basked in the glow of cheers from the stands, all the while anticipating basking the team showers afterward.

Coach Gareth attended each game. He sat down on the sidelines and looked like a living paradox. On his face was the brightest smile of pride and satisfaction that I think I've ever seen, but there were bags under his eyes, his shoulders slumped, and his skin was nearly ashen. Emotionally he looked fantastic, physically he looked terrible.

At our third game, Coach actually got up and left at halftime. He waved a brusque farewell to Christian, who answered with a thumbs-up. We were so far ahead in the score that he'd doubtlessly not miss any sudden turnaround in the second half, but it was still really odd to see him depart before the final touchdown. Then I noticed the way he hobbled out of the stadium. He was using a cane. His broad smile was of little help in straightening his stride. At the following games, he wouldn't even be in attendance.

After Coach Gareth's final departure, we all lingered in the locker room. We all remained in full uniform, pads and all, only our helmets removed. Christian entered to silence our celebrating with his usual deliberate applause, only to find there was no celebrating to silence. He still clapped his hands once to gain our attention as we stared at our shoes, or at the ceiling.

"Gentlemen...", he began cautiously, "you just experienced another trademark Vulcan victory. You eviscerated the Crusaders. This isn't the atmosphere I expected to find in the postgame locker room." We remained silent, looking distressed. "Um, perhaps a refreshing shower would--"

I stood up, cutting him off. "Assistant Coach Haydensen", I said, stating my business as officially as possible. "I'm real worried about--" and I got a small mutter from the team. I corrected myself, saying again, "The team and I are real worried about something. Christian, is Coach Gareth okay?"

Every eye was fixed upon Christian, who let out a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at the tile floor. He waved a hand at me. "You better sit down, Cody." I did. Christian walked to the center of the room, and we all kept our eyes on him, waiting for whatever news he had. "First of all, gentlemen, Coach Gareth could not be prouder of you all. He has called me repeatedly with words of support and congratulations, saying time and again how thrilled he is with your performance."

Uh-oh. That was good news. A preparer. It usually meant something pretty bad would follow it. I didn't have along wait to find out what it would be. "Coach Gareth has not been in the best of health lately", Christian told us, which came as a surprise to no one. "He was coach of the Vulcans for, what, ten years?" Christian looked at me for confirmation.

"Twelve", I corrected him. Few people had the passion for their job that Coach Gareth did. It didn't help all that much with the team's propensity for collecting losses, however. Most people thought the only reason he hadn't been replaced long ago was that there simply wasn't anybody willing to take the job.

"After so many arduous years of hard work and dedication without much to show for it", Christian went on, causing a few of us seniors to squirm uncomfortably in response, "has affected him physically. Coach Gareth suffers from extremely high blood pressure and a peptic ulcer, all due to the stress of the job. His condition is starting to stabilize a bit, but the going is slow. In all honesty, the doctors say our current winning streak has done more to aid in his recovery than any of the medications and treatments he's had thus far."

We all stayed quiet for a while. Then, I spoke up, saying, "Then I guess we'd better just kick major ass for the rest o the season and bring him to full recovery, hadn't we?" I sat up straighter and looked around the room as the light came on behind the players' eyes. "Whattaya say men? We have a winning season for the man who literally gave his life to the Vulcans! For Coach Gareth!"

It sounded hokey, to be sure, but nobody seemed to mind, as a new cheer rose up from the team, not of victory but of determination. A chant of "Coach! Coach! Coach!" sounded off the walls and I looked over to Christian, who gave me a quick thumbs-up and wry smile.

It wouldn't be until Homecoming before we received word that Coach Gareth's health was back to 100%.

The opposing team was baffled by our apparent lack of fear during the game. Our defensive line smashed into their players with aggressive power, sending the opposition flying into the air to land unceremoniously about the field in discarded heaps. Unbeknownst to any of them, each contact we made pressed our rubber-lined uniforms tight against us, sending sheets of pleasure arcing through our bodies, encouraging us to press on, to play harder, to feel more.

As they stood gasping on the sidelines between plays, wondering where we were getting the energy, we bounced on the balls of our feet and slapped each other's backs, anxious to get back into the game. We literally couldn't get enough.

Our away games were every bit as stunning as our home games. We cut through our opponents like ripe wheat. We took greater care in being discreet with our pre-game affections, usually restricting our good luck kisses to our own turf before boarding the bus. But on the field, clad in our rubber-coated uniforms and gear, we all operated as one man, each of us somehow connected on a deeper level than ever before. And our final scores showed it.

Fans from our school started showing up at the away games, even the ones that were a couple hours drive away. People were filling the stands first just to see, and then to cheer on, their former losing team that had made a miraculous turnaround and brought a new pride to the school name. Sweatshirts and T-shirts dotted the crowd emblazoned with the football team's logo and mascot, an ancient god hammering out a thunderbolt, his horned helmet complete with faceguard. The shirts were no longer strictly the province of the team parents or amorous girls. Teachers, students big and small, and a collection of stray neighbors clamored to wear the blue and gold attire in support of their team.

The cheerleaders were likewise infused with new life, leaping, twirling, and somersaulting with glee, each freshly-scrubbed face alive with a bubbly joy whose effervescence increased with every touchdown. At regular intervals, the cheerleaders flirted with us, squealing and blowing kisses. My fellow teammates and I eyed each other, knowing so much more than the young ladies did, and trying to restrain our laughter.

We elected to flirt back with the girls, occasionally pausing to remove a helmet and kiss the back of a hand in a show of chivalry. The crowd ate it up, the girls swooned, and the team knew we were all actually imagining kissing each other. It served only to intensify our team spirit. We had a shared secret that made us stronger, that made us tighter than a team, and closer than brothers. And we used it to win time and again.

Once there was concern raised by a few opposing schools that our sudden and dramatic turnaround was due to steroid use. A couple school board members and some grim-faced, official-looking tagalongs called a meeting of the entire team in the locker room one Saturday afternoon to test these suspicions. Everyone showed. When the grim-faces announced that there was concern about us using drugs to enhance our playing skills, you could feel the temperature in the room rise with our indignation.

One of the school board officials sought to challenge our outrage--which he implied was mere bluff--by requesting a volunteer for a drug test. The entire team stood simultaneously. His demeanor was shaken by our show of solidarity, but he went ahead with the tests. Christian beamed.

They found nothing, of course. There was nothing to find. The talcum powder left no trace, and the effects it inspired could not be measured on any scientific scale.

After the officials had left, their results indisputable but still appearing dissatisfied, Tad hollered out loud to know one, "Hey, drug testers! You wanna see what we're usin' to win every goddamn game? Get an eyeful of this!" With that, he reached over and kissed me passionately, much to the hoots, cat-calls, and applause of the entire room.

And yeah, I definitely kissed him back.

We were on a winning streak a mile wide that nobody could deny or stop. I felt there was nothing that could top what we had experienced thus far. Of course, that assessment was due to change at Homecoming.