Ethan
The school year's over. I'm supposed to be packing up to leave. Supposed to be, but yeah, guess what I'm doing instead? Something stupid.
A couple of guys from the team dragged me out to play shirts versus skins football on the field because the cheerleaders were doing some last hoorah celebration, complete with those fuckably short skirts they love to wear. Fuck. Those legs. That ass. Fuck. Just fuck.
I can't deal with this shit, man. You don't even know how fucking hard this is right now.
Shirts versus skins, but it devolved into skins versus skins soon enough. Who even gives a fuck what team we're on? No one, apparently. It's all some ruse to impress the cheerleaders, so it's not like it matters. And, yeah, it's working. They're doing their little cheer celebration, but they keep looking over at us. Can't say I blame them.
This is college football and we're in the prime of our lives. Look, I'm kind of an asshole, alright? I know it. Everyone knows it. No reason to hide it.
I look good, though. Especially with a shirt off. Especially when I'm sweating, muscles tight, running around a field, throwing a football.
What position? Quarterback. Shouldn't it be obvious? I was born to be in the spotlight.
Probably helps that my dad's rich. Can't hurt at least.
The cheerleaders are done, and now they're just sitting on the bleachers watching us. Some of the guys pretend to have a huddle or some stupid shit, but it's all of them together. No offense, but what the fuck kind of huddle is that? Two teams would never huddle together. Doesn't make any goddamn sense.
"Last play, guys," someone says. "Make it good. Flashy. Then let's go get our water bottles. Make that flashy, too."
I almost laugh. These guys. They really need to get laid. I guess they're about to, so it's all good.
I do some flashy shit, throw the ball higher in the air than necessary so it looks cooler when someone catches it. I don't even care who, just someone. It works. They do. Is that guy supposed to be on my team? I can't tell anymore.
Stupid. This isn't real football, it's just stupid.
We're done. It's over. Walking. Yup.
You might be asking how someone drinks water from a water bottle in a flashy way. And if you're asking that, you need to stop and calm down a little because it's about to happen, so just sit there and see for yourself.
We all go get our water. I drink mine, because I'm thirsty, and not the kind of thirsty that these guys are. Yeah, the cheerleaders are cute, but I don't need or want any of that pussy right now. They don't do much for me. I'm a bad boy, but I've still got standards, you know?
The rest of the guys get real into it, though. Drinking, but losing half the water, letting it splash down their faces, dripping past their throats, onto their bare chests. Dude, you're already sweaty from football, so I don't know what this is going to do.
Whatever. It works. Fucking A, it works. It's like cheerleader bait or some shit. They flock to the muscled meat in front of them. Solo, in pairs, or sometimes three at a time, each heading towards the man of their dreams.
Dreams. Ha! Yeah, right. You know how long dreams last? One night. Then you forget about them when you wake up in the morning. This is pretty much the same thing, but it'll be even shorter. We're all leaving this afternoon and going back home.
Home.
A bunch of cheerleaders flock towards me, even though I didn't put on a show for them. Five. More than the other guys. I briefly wonder if I could have them all at the same time. Greedy, much? What the fuck would I even do with five girls at once? I don't know, but I wouldn't mind finding out sometime. I've got two hands, a cock, and a mouth. I'm sure the last girl can think of something to do, too. It'll work.
"Hey, Ethan."
"Hey, Chelsea," I say.
"Hey, Ethan."
This goes on. And on. Five times. Fuck my life.
Chelsea, Jaime, Robin, Maxi, and Bella. I'm not that much of a dick, alright? I do know what their names are. I've talked to them before. I'm on the football team and they're cheerleaders. Get off my case.
Yes, fuck you, I slept with Bella. That's it. Just her. Alright, look, shut the fuck up, I made out with Chelsea and Robin at the same time, and maybe I fingered Jaime, and, yes, I let Maxi suck my cock, but that's it.
Don't fucking judge me.
"Look, this is real interesting," I say, even though they've been babbling on for five minutes and I don't remember a word of what they said. "I've got to go, though. Plane to catch."
"Awww."
"Awww."
Five of those. Fuck my life. Seriously, just fuck it.
"I'll see you next year, though. Good job uh... cheering?"
They actually do a good job, so it's not like this is a stretch, but it sounds goofy as fuck. They act like it's the nicest compliment anyone's ever given them, though.
"Thanks, Ethan!"
You know the drill. Five of those. Wow, seriously?
"Talk to you ladies later," I say.
I think that's it. Or I thought that was it, but when I start to walk away, I've got a following. Yeah, you guessed it, five.
"Do you need help packing?" Chelsea asks.
"Back in your room?" Maxi adds.
"We don't mind." That's Robin.
"If we help you pack fast..." Jaime.
Bella's not even subtle. She mimes sucking my cock by poking her tongue in her cheek and moving her hand in front of her mouth when she thinks no one else is looking. The other girls giggle when they see her.
I don't even fucking know what is going on anymore. Is this real life? Fuck.
"I'm done packing," I lie. "Have to leave now, actually. Seriously, my plane's leaving in an hour. I'm going to be late." Another lie, I've got four hours and the plane isn't going to leave without me.
Did I mention my dad's rich? Private company jet. You have no idea how good that shit is. Seriously, it's good.
They all make a sad little pouty face, but I just laugh and keep on walking. I notice some of the other guys nearby staring at me like I'm insane.
Hey, fuck you, I'm not insane. I'm Ethan Colton, cocky asshole, arrogant prick, and bad boy extraordinaire. I could fuck every girl here if I wanted to, but it's getting kind of old. I need a change of pace.