Wrestling Team Showers – Chapter 5

Everyone is 18.

Chapter 5: What the Fuck

Jake texted me "Hey" Friday night. I didn’t respond. I spent the weekend trying to take my mind off of things. I literally went shopping with my mom, my least favorite activity of all time. I called a friend I had been neglecting lately, and saw a movie on Saturday night. The romance sub plot gave me knots in my stomach, and I just felt more depressed.

At school on Monday, Jake caught me at my locker. His hair was still wet from his morning shower, and his forearms flexed subtly as he leaned against the neighboring locker. He had a loose white t-shirt on that clung slightly where it was still damp. It was distracting, just enough to make me forget, for half a second, that I was mad at him. Before I could leave, he just blurted it out. "Can we talk?"

I looked past him. "I’ve got class."

He didn’t try to stop me.

That week was cold. At least from me. Seeing him in the halls was brutal. My stomach flipped every time I spotted him in the crowd. I thought about him at night in bed, but even though I got hard, I couldn't even enjoy myself like I normally would. I went a whole week without release, which I never thought would happen. I never even had wet dreams before, but I had the one of my life that week.

Jake tried to reach out a couple more times, lingering near my table at lunch, hanging behind after practice. But I gave him nothing. Not anger, not tears. Just space. The kind of space that stings. I knew I was being cold to him, maybe even spiteful, but it was the only thing I could think to do. I was hurt.

At wrestling practice, we stopped being paired. I was usually with Shane again. Jake trained with the heavier guys, keeping his distance. But he looked at me a lot. And I looked back, when he wasn’t watching.

Back in the showers, where we first met, I was quick and stayed to myself. When Jake came in, I would leave, trying not to look at his Adonis body, his chiseled V-line, his heavy package.

Thursday, something changed. I opened my locker and found a protein bar taped to the inside door. Written in Sharpie across the wrapper: "To: Freshie." I can't explain why, but something popped inside me. I saw the Jake who was hurting, and that's why he hurt me. It wasn't even that bad really. So he was moody for a few days? That could happen to anybody. My anger still burned somewhere inside me, but it was more distant. And he still thought of me.

I stared at the protein bar for a long time. I didn’t eat it. But I didn’t throw it away either.

By Friday, I wasn’t sure what I wanted, maybe revenge? Or closure. Or, something closer to forgiveness.

After practice that day, I was the last one in the showers, letting the hot water pound over me. My mind was somewhere else until I basically forgot where I was. Until I felt someone step behind me.

Jake.

He stood there, and for the first time in a week, I implicitly consented to remain in his presence. I watched the water pouring over his nude form. How it formed rivers down his defined musculature, and a waterfall pouring over his manhood. He was a marvel of anatomy. My feelings were a thousand miles away, and all I knew in that moment was that I wanted to be right there, with him, showering after practice. The place where it all began. I turned around when I started to swell up down there. Not from shame, it just... felt right to do.

He didn’t say anything. Just reached for the soap and started lathering my back. The same way he had that first week. Slow. Gentle. He knew exactly how much pressure I liked.

When his hand trailed lower, as if asking permission, I didn’t stop him. He grabbed my ass with a firm grip.

He circled my lower back, then dipped, thumb teasing just like before, pressing gently, but not pushing in yet. Testing the line.

I leaned into it.

My breath caught, and he leaned forward, chest warm against my back. Even hotter than the shower water. He pushed his thumb inside me, and suddenly everything was ok. 

He slowly pressed further inside. I gasped, but didn’t pull away. He moved it in small circles, while his other hand gripped my hip for balance. I felt him hard against my lower back, and I pressed gently into him. It was a wordless apology, a surrender.

Jake’s thumb worked me with that precision that drove me crazy. He pressed deep, dragging against my inner walls. My knees buckled while the water cascaded over us, muffling the soft, involuntary sounds I made as he edged me closer and closer to the brink. He knew exactly what he was doing, circling that spot inside me that made my brain turn off, but he never let me tip over. It was a tease, a punishment, and a promise all at once.

His breath was hot against the back of my neck, his chest pressed firmly against my back. His other hand gripped my hip, steadying me, but also keeping me exactly where he wanted me. He applied more pressure, his thumb pushing deeper, and I felt my body instinctively arch into him. He rubbed his steel-hard shaft against my ass and back, grinding his hips on me. It was too much and not enough at the same time. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, but a whimper escaped anyway.

Jake chuckled. He twisted his thumb slightly, and I gasped, my hands braced against the shower wall. He was relentless, refusing to let me cum, but every movement of his thumb brought me closer to something. It was the kind of control that could have made me angry if it didn’t feel like heaven inside me.

When he finally pulled his thumb out, I shuddered, my body rippling with aftershocks. But he wasn’t done. He turned me around, his hands firm on my shoulders, and pressed me back against the wall. His eyes locked onto mine, and I could see his hunger. My stomach did a flip. He leaned in, and his lips brushed against my ear.

We hadn't spoken during the whole thing. Not until I heard a footstep.

A guy I recognized from class had come in, frozen in the entryway. His name was Corey, a quiet guy. He stood there naked, apparently having run late after practice. I literally forgot he had even joined the team. He always seemed to disappear into the crowd during training.

Jake pulled back for a split second, his face twisting into something I hadn’t seen since our worst day. But then, instead of backing away, he gave me a devilish grin and slapped my ass. Loud and casual.

"I think he likes it," I said, glancing over my shoulder.

Corey blushed hard, grinned sheepishly, and grabbed a towel without saying a word. I saw some blood flow on him, and he was at least half hard, I think.

Jake’s eyes met mine. We both smiled and raised an eyebrow.

Corey didn’t leave. He lingered in the corner, his eyes wide and transfixed on us. Jake smirked, his confidence unshaken, and resumed his work on me. He pressed me forward against the shower wall, his hands firm on my hips, and positioned himself behind me, grabbing a bottle of conditioner for lube. I felt his hardness against my cheeks, and my breath hitched as he pushed inside, slow and deliberate. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat of his body, and I arched into him.

The rhythmic slapping of skin echoed under the shower of water, a steady, primal beat that seemed to synchronize with my heartbeat. I glanced over my shoulder, catching Corey’s gaze. He was frozen, but I could see the erection rising below his waist, and the way his breath quickened. It was insane, having someone watch us like this. It heightened the intensity. There was something raw and unfiltered about it, a mix of hate sex and romance, taboo public buggery and kinky male exploration.

Jake’s movements grew more urgent. I could feel every inch of him, every stroke of his fat meat until I released a weeklong load, spraying the shower wall. He picked up the pace even faster and dropped off his seed inside me. Suddenly that sense of pride had returned.

When he pulled out of me, I was trembling, my legs barely able to hold me up. Jake eased me down, his arms wrapping around me in a way that felt almost protective. I glanced over at Corey again, and this time, I saw the evidence of his own arousal, a full erection that he refused to touch, but also refused to hide, his body betraying his thoughts. He looked away quickly, his face flushed, but I knew he’d been just as affected as we were.

Jake and I soaped up in a pleasant silence, nothing needed to be said. We separated after the gym, reunited in a way, but I still wasn't ready to talk yet. I went home and didn't have that pit of despair anymore.

Saturday afternoon, Jake texted: "Lift? Just us. My garage."

I smiled, but rolled my eyes. I knew by now that Pax was going to be there as well.