Page 1 of No More Jocks

1

CALEB

Healing was hard work. I often wondered if the human body exerted the same amount of effort when it healed us from the daily wear and tear, we inflicted upon it. If it did, I had a newfound respect for its resilience, because healing from a broken heart was a grueling process.

That thought echoed in my mind like a broken record player. I placed my hands on my legs, closed my eyes, and sat cross-legged on the floor, taking deep, slow breaths in and out. I consciously released any unhealthy thoughts that tried to infiltrate my mind.

This was the daily prescription given to me by my yoga instructor, Paul. He was a Caucasian, hippie-esque guy with rainbow-colored hair who wore Hawaiian flower shirts. His fashion sense was questionable, but he knew how to bring me into the present moment, and that's why I paid $75 a class.

Release.

Relax.

Rest.

Those were the words I was supposed to meditate on while I sat in his small studio with ten other meditators, listening to an audio of various water sounds.

Why couldn't our emotional pain heal as easily as our physical pain? Our cuts and scratches healed on their own, and although sometimes they left memorable scars, they didn't cause deep emotional damage that lingered until resolved.

It took copious amounts of daily journaling, long meditation sessions, and lots of darts thrown at Bradley's pictures for me to get to a point where I wasn't crying my eyes out every night on my good silk pillows. It had been a rough few months, but I think I did a great job of healing my heartbreak and humiliation.

After I caught him with Sarah, the cheer captain he had an on-and-off relationship with, at a party making out in a secluded corner, he ghosted me without showing any remorse. A month later, he suddenly returned, apologized, and begged me to take him back, but I declined his request. I did not tolerate cheating, nor did I want to remain his booty call while he pretended to be a straight, single man by day. If you cheated once, you'd cheat again. It was a character flaw, and no matter what you did to make up for it, it didn't change who you were.

But just because I wouldn't take him back, that didn't mean that my body didn't crave him. He knew how to activate my body like batteries knew how to activate dildos.

I'll never forget the first time I saw him naked. It was lust at first sight. It was at the local college in the men's locker room. I'd recently turned eighteen and enrolled in a few college classes to increase my chances of getting into one of the Ivies.

One day, after my late-night cardio session at the gym, I was about to remove my underwear and jump in the shower when I heard loud moaning noises coming from an adjacent shower. Intrigued, I stopped from removing my underwear and tiptoed into the area to investigate.

On a previous occasion, I'd seen two sets of feet underneath the shower doors and the silhouette of two men together. They had been careful not to make much noise, but that live session had still given me the best masturbation experience of my life. I hoped for a similar encounter.

It was the sole reason I frequented this gym. I heard it was a cruising spot and thought I might see some action. As I peeked into the shower area where the moaning was coming from, I saw Bradley pleasuring himself. I recognized him instantly; I had seen him play at one of their home games.

The gym had individual showers with doors, but his door was wide open. It seemed he enjoyed being watched, and this wasn't the first time he'd done this.

As I walked by, I stopped and stared. He caught me ogling his physique, but didn't stop masturbating. Instead, Bradley put on a show for me by stroking harder, flexing his biceps and contracting his abs. The water beat against his brown skin as he jacked his nine inches in the shower.

It was just the view I needed imprinted on my mind for my late-night jack session. This man was built like a bodybuilder His muscled legs were like giant tree trunks, a testament to never missing leg day. Pronounced veins ran through them to his bulging calves.

Not one ounce of fat was on his body.

His chest was massive and defined, with firm pectorals worthy of worship. He had a chiseled 8-pack, a muscled ass, and strong, attractive feet to match his powerful physique. He was the man of my dreams, the kind who could pick me up and take complete control of my slender, ripped frame. My dick got hard as I watched him pleasure himself. No man that beautiful should have to please themselves alone.

He motioned for me to come over. Startled, I froze. I was a virgin, but my ass was familiar with a dildo. When I didn’t move, he stepped out of the shower, grabbed my hand, and attempted to lead me to his stall. But, I stood there frozen. He grabbed my ass and squeezed it so tight a moan escaped from my lips. Then, he ripped the underwear off my body, threw me over his shoulder, and took me into the shower, closing the door.

I couldn’t believe I was letting this unknown, horny man take control of my body, but I couldn’t resist his touch. He grabbed a fistful of my curly hair and forced me to my knees. Let’s be honest—he didn’t have to force me to do anything. I would have willingly gotten on my knees for him without any prompting. But his forcefulness made it even hotter. He buried my face in his hairy bush and then pushed his beautiful, veiny, hard dick into my mouth.

That night changed everything for me. Bradley taught me how to suck dick, training my throat to take him deep. I slurped and swallowed, letting him use my hole until he filled my mouth with his creamy nectar. The way his body spasmed and trembled with delight as I swallowed him down is something I’ll never forget.

Later that night, we returned to his place, and we fucked three times, each session more intense than the last. He pounded and stretched me until my body curved to his shape. After that, I didn’t need late-night jack sessions anymore. Bradley was always there to satisfy my cravings, making my body twitch in ways I didn’t know were possible. I was completely hooked on him.

However, Bradley never acknowledged me in public, not even as a friend. In front of others, he was the straight jock, the football star who dated cheerleaders. He only made out with me when he wanted to, and it always happened at either of our houses, behind closed doors.

This hurt more than I could express. I was falling for him, yet to everyone else, I was invisible. Bradley’s public facade stung deeply. While he paraded his straight persona around campus, I was left feeling like a dirty secret. The worst part was pretending everything was normal, hiding my true feelings as I watched him flirt with girls and laugh with his teammates.

Bradley swore to me that he was only with me and promised that it was only a matter of time before he would accept our relationship in public. Each time he whispered those words, my heart soared with hope, only to crash when nothing changed. I clung to his promises, hoping that one day, he’d find the courage to be honest about us.

I remember the emptiness I felt when he walked past me in the hallways without so much as a glance. Every time he smiled at someone else, it felt like a punch to the gut. The private passion we shared was overshadowed by the public rejection. I craved his touch, his attention, but I was only worthy of it in the shadows.

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