Beauty & The Jock - Part 3

Sore Sack

Everyone in this story is 18+

Kyle came back the next week like nothing had happened.

Same bag slung over his shoulder. Same post-practice slump in his walk. His hoodie hung loose, a little sweat-darkened along the back, and his hair looked damp like he’d only half-dried it after showering.

Mom was busy in the back room when he arrived, so it was just me at the desk.

He didn’t even say hi, just nodded once, eyes flicking around like someone might be watching him. Then he glanced toward the hallway leading to the treatment rooms.

“Room’s ready,” I said, standing.

He followed me in, quiet. It wasn’t tense, exactly. But there was something a little more restless about him this time.

As I lit the candle and started prepping the oil, I noticed him pulling off his hoodie with one hand, distracted. Then his sweats. As he stepped out of them, I caught the way he scratched low on his hip, not the casual guy scratch. More focused. Quick. Like something was bothering him.

I pretended not to notice.

He dropped onto the table without a word, and I started the massage the same way I always did. Shoulders first, slow pressure along the spine. He was warm, a little sweaty, but relaxed under my hands within minutes. Same groans. Same half-muttered compliments about my magic fingers.

If there was a moment I’d been waiting for, it was this one. The pattern. That he kept coming back. That he wanted it again.

That maybe it wasn’t just about his back.

When the timer beeped, I stepped back. He didn’t sit up right away, but when he did, he moved slower than usual, looking more thoughtful than dazed.

I handed him the water bottle like usual.

He took it, didn’t drink right away.

Instead, he glanced at me, then down at the floor, then scratched at the same spot again, this time a little more clearly, right at his waistband.

“Yo,” he said. “Dude. You know about skin and stuff, right?”

I paused, still holding the oil bottle. “I mean, I’m not a dermatologist or anything, but yeah, I want to be one. I know quite lot.”

He shifted. “There’s this thing. This itch.”

My brows lifted. “Okay. Where?”

He hesitated. Then scratched again, lower.

“Umm. You know…”

I looked at him. “Oh,” I said. “Down there.”

He gave a tight, awkward nod.

“Right. I mean... maybe you should take it to the school nurse?”

He looked horrified. “The school nurse is my mom’s best friend. I’d literally rather die.”

“Okay. Fair. Just asking.”

I leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.

“Not to be rude, but... could it be an STI?”

He answered way too fast.

“No. That’s... completely impossible.”

His face shifted the second he said it. Like he realized what he’d just admitted.

I blinked. “Oh. So you’re a v…”

“Not so loud,” he hissed, glancing toward the hallway. “But yeah.”

I stared at him for a second, trying to imagine a version of Kyle Reynolds who hadn’t slept with half the cheer squad.

“So the rumors about you being a total hoebag?”

He looked miserable. “A bit exaggerated, okay? God, I regret this already.”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “That’s actually good. Helpful.”

I turned to face him again. “So. How does it look?”

He hesitated again.

Then reached for the boxers and pulled them right down.

“Please just look at it,” he said.

I blinked. “Jesus, man... you just whip it out like that?”

“Can you just… come on. It’s weird enough already.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll look.”

He lay back slightly. My eyes flicked down and caught a glimpse, definitely a rash. Red, irritated, a little flaky. And beneath it all, well... everything else.

He wasn’t hard, not even a little, but that didn’t make it any less obvious. He was big. And dense. A thick line of pubic hair led down the center of his pelvis, dark and full. I tried not to stare.

I cleared my throat and kept my voice clinical.

“You said it’s itchy. There’s a red rash. It looks a bit scaly, flaky, slightly cracked. Probably dry from friction and heat.”

Kyle’s face paled. “Oh god. Will it fall off?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just jock itch. A fungal infection. Super common. Easily treatable.”

He exhaled like I’d told him he wasn’t dying. “Shit.”

I stepped back as he pulled the boxers back up.

“I can write down what you need,” I said. “Over-the-counter antifungal. Cream or powder.”

Kyle sat back on the table, hoodie still in his lap. “I can’t go buy that. You know who I am?”

“You could order it online.”

“I want it treated now. Like, today.”

He looked at me, then hesitated.

“Could you buy it for me?”

I raised a brow. “Really?”

He gave me a look that was half frustration, half pleading. “Come on. You’re kinda already a loser, right?”

“Wow,” I said flatly. “You really know how to inspire generosity.”

He winced as he pulled up his sweats back up. “No, I just meant… ugh, forget it.”

I shook my head, laughing despite myself. “No. It’s fine. I’ll do it. But you owe me.”

He brightened a little as he put his hoodie back on. “Thanks!! How about I invite you to my next party as a thanks?”

“Are you inviting me as a bribe or as damage control?”

“Does it matter?”

I watched him, still half amused, half exasperated.

“Ok, sure.”

He looked almost sheepish as he headed for the door.

I picked up the towel as he left, still warm, still creased.

This boy was going to be a problem.

And I wasn’t entirely sure I minded.