Wesley

 

 

Damn it.

I have to force myself not to wince as I feel my hamstring pull even more than it was already pulled. I’m midway through walk on tryouts, which is no time to look like I’m injured.

I’m jumping back into football too soon, too hard, after too much time being away from the field. But I’m not about to let anyone fucking find out.

A stupid, avoidable injury like this is the reason I should have been practicing all summer. Except I thought I wasn’t going to get to play.

Scratch that.

I didn’t just think I wasn’t going to get to play— I was pretty damn sure of it. Since that’s what the Powers That Be had informed me when they not so nicely dismissed me from Huningdale University and from its Warriors football team, which, during my very first season, I had led to victory as quarterback.

Some thanks I got.

“Run through it, run through it, run through it!” Coach Thompson bellows at me now.

If only his players were as strong as his lungs.

I can’t believe I’m trying out for such a shitty football team. The Calton Wildcats haven’t won a game in ages.

Or at least I’m pretending to try out. Even suffering from a slight injury and while being rusty, I’m clearly better than every player who was on the team last season and everyone else who is trying to make the team this season.

We all know I’m a shoe in. A deal’s been worked out and I’m already on the team; it’s just a question of whether I get to play a lot or whether I’ll be benched for most or all of the season while I show I can behave when I’m off the field.

Even without the deal, though, I’d still be a sure bet to make the team. No one else comes fucking close to my talent. To be blunt, I’m too good for this team. The Calton Wildcats are a joke compared to the Huningdale Warriors. But thanks to the hot water I landed myself in back at my old school, it’s this team or nothing, or so I’ve been told.

I couldn’t believe it when they told me I could play at Calton, since it had been months since they’d told me I was a goner for good. I couldn’t believe I was getting a second chance. So now I put up with Coach Thompson shouting at me while I run a bunch of lame, easy drills just for show during walk on tryouts for his subpar team.

He’s yards away, but it feels like he’s yelling right into my ear. I have to admit, he’s a menacing presence, with his large, overbearing figure and his red, puckered-up face.

I try to remind myself that his scary demeanor and raw anger probably come from losing too many games. And that I can fix that little problem for him. I’ve never been afraid of a coach, but this one has the power to make or break what little is left of my college football career— and whatever lies beyond that.

I pick up the twisted stack of rags on the ground, as required by this drill, and keep running as fast as I can. I tell myself to forget about the pain in my leg, as well as this crazy coach’s screaming.

“Great job, Reynolds!” he yells, as I touch both lines on the field and finish strong in the drill. “Good explosive steps despite your previous hobbling around with whatever pussy footed injury you’ve given yourself. Keep going, keep going!”

Of course he’s impressed. I shouldn’t have worried, even for a second.

Now it’s time for the forty yard dash. I’ve done so many drills in a row today after a long time of not doing much at all. I really should give my out-of-practice leg a rest but I just keep running. And I end up finishing with the fastest time of anyone trying out, while not even breaking a fucking sweat.

If it weren’t for my damn injury, it’d be a piece of cake. This tryout is nothing compared to the warm ups my last coach put us through.

“That’s it, keep going, keep it up,” shouts Coach Thompson. “Next drill. Next drill!”

Now I touch orange cones as I run back and forth on the field. Mobility is a big deal and I know that coaches like to see it seamless— partly bum leg or not.

Coach Thompson nods his head with an obvious mixture of pride and amazement as I continue the drill. I know he’s happy he made the right decision by agreeing to allow me to play for Calton University despite my bad reputation.

There’s never been a football coach I couldn’t impress. Before I was the star quarterback of my last school, Huningdale University, I was the star quarterback of Piedmont High School. And before that, Piedmont Middle School.

And I was even the star of flag football, dating way back to my elementary school beginnings. It’s in my fucking blood. In my genes. My father was almost as good of a quarterback as I am.

I know how to walk onto a team. Just like I know how to win football games. It’s what I do.

That, and fuck up, apparently.

Fuck up to the point of getting kicked off my good football team. And then needing my dad to pull strings so that my coach will strike a deal with another coach and allow me to play on a shitty team for a season, to prove I can stay on the straight and narrow long enough to come back to my good football team.

“Awesome,” Coach Thompson shouts. “Last one. Keep going.”

I know I need to concentrate. Kiss this coach’s ass for giving me the chance to keep playing. Especially because he’s big and scary. But I’m in the middle of completing the rope course when I see her.

The proverbial hot cheerleader.

Yeah, there’s always a hot cheerleader. And I’ve had my fill of them in the past— which is part of what got me in trouble at my last school.

All those cheerleaders loved me until I moved on, and then they’d complain that I’d treated them badly. By breaking their hearts, I guess. At Huningdale, I was told to find another dating pool to swim in, to avoid drama between the cheerleading team and the football team.

And I did, for the most part. There were plenty of other girls to fuck, many of whom came with less drama. I should have learned my lesson.

But this cheerleader I’m fucking staring at right now is too impressive to ignore, no matter what life lessons I’ve learned and no matter what else I’m supposed to be doing at the moment— like not blowing my second chance to play football.

I keep my eyes on her as I hop over the ropes in my drill. She’s leading a team of cheerleaders onto the field to start practicing as soon as our tryouts are over. She’s bouncing around as if she owns the field, and the entire squad.

And she looks so fucking good as she’s doing it. Blonde hair blowing around in the wind. Curvy thighs peeking out from under a short skirt. Perfectly plump tits peeking out from a low cut top, begging to be devoured.

Holy shit.

They weren’t kidding when they said the girls at Calton University were hot. The school’s football team and pretty much its entire athletic department leaves a lot to be desired— hence its willingness to take a chance on a damaged but talented player such as myself.

But the Calton ladies are well known for their looks. Especially the cheerleaders. And this one is the hottest I think I’ve ever seen.

I can feel my cock growing hard and I nearly trip.

Not a good time.

I steady myself and continue on my path, glad that Coach Thompson doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s too busy nodding his head and being impressed at my speed and agility.

But damn, all I can think about is fucking her. I want to take her, bend her over and show her what a real athlete can do to her. How Wesley Reynolds, star quarterback, can make her feel. And I want to feel myself inside her.

Whatever I want, I always make sure to fucking take. I get what I want, and I like what I get.

So I vow to myself, in the middle of walk on tryouts for the football team on which I’m supposed to be on my best behavior, to take that head cheerleader. No matter the risk or cost.

From the way her curvy ass is bouncing up and down while she leads a cheer, I think it will be plenty worth it.