"It wasn't surprising to see half-naked athletes milling around the sports complex. Lucky coaches, I thought, swinging open the big glass door while looking at two swole shirtless football players, one with long curly black hair and another with a blond high and tight military cut, leaning against a front column watching something on their phones. I swear one of them looked up and smiled at me. They had their jerseys tucked into the waistbands of their shorts; I could barely make out their names on them -- 'Torres' and 'Adams'. I'd have to remember that, I thought to myself." ("Baseballed: Part 6")
Months later...
"Hey, I'm Alejandro Torres...call me 'Alex'," the dark curly-haired guy said, flashing a wide friendly white grin and wiping sweat from his face with a light bronze hand.
"I'm Rodney Adams, but everyone calls me 'Ram'," said the blond, his hair glistening with sweat.
"That's an interesting name...'Ram'," I told him as I shifted my weight to allow my book bag to cover my crotch.
"It used to be 'Ramrod'...I push through the line...nothing stands or gets in my way on the field. I'm a beast," Ram told me, laughing.
"Oh, I heard it was because of something else," Alex joked, his hands linked in front of him while he thrust his hips at them.
"Shut the fuck up, puta--bitch!" Ram growled, hitting Alex in the stomach with a blow that would have knocked me to the ground.
Alex just laughed, rubbing his hands across his bruised hard hairy belly. "Mierda, hijo de puta --shit, you son-of-a-bitch!"
They were both well over six-foot. Alex had a hard strong v-shaped torso and a darkly tanned olive complexion. His really long curly black hair spilled over his shoulders; he was clean-shaven, but you could still see his dark Mediterranean beard. His beefy chest, capped with chocolate nips, was covered with dense dark hair which ran down in a wide strip into his practice shorts.
Ram was thick-bodied, his round muscles popping out all over his body. His bulky chest was covered in short golden hair, a thin thread of golden running down his eight-pack toward his crotch. His large ruddy pink nips capped his golden pecs like they were spun golden sugar desserts topped with strawberries. His military crew cut made his square muscular jaw more prominent, sweat dripping from his cleft chin.
This was my first time to actually talk to the two star football players at the college. Their coach had spotted them through the window and wanted me to remind them of their academic obligations.
"Well, I wanted to remind you two about your tutoring session after practice. Your coach has been reminding me everyday since they decided to include the football players in the new program. Don't forget, guys!"
"Naw, the coach ain't goin' to let us forget," Ram said with a laugh.
"We'll be there for sure," Alex said, punching Ram on the shoulder.
I turned to walk off as the two hunks began a bit of horseplay. I turned back to see Ram's hand pressing into and grabbing at Alex's crotch. Alex quickly pushed it away and mouthed a big "No!" to the big blond bull. I turned back, grinning and thinking about the two horned-up athletes.
The football coach opened up one of the classrooms for me to use for the tutoring session. He told me that when we left the front door would automatically lock. He left, and I waited for the guys to arrive.
Alex was the first one there and I was amazed at the transformation.
His hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a tight t-shirt edged in red around the neck and cuffs; there was a big number "9" on the left side and an emblem of sorts on the upper right - a heart-shaped shield with something in Spanish. The shirt didn't meet the top of the waistband of his shorts, which were also tight and riding high on his thick hairy thighs. He was wearing some retro knee-high tube socks with three red stripes at the top and a pair of old school Vans.
He smiled and nodded to me as he came into the room. He slid into a seat at the table and opened his textbook, leafing through the pages as if it were something brand-new to him.
"Nice shirt," I told him.
"Thanks, it was my dad's," he said, looking up. "It's one of his soccer shirts...he had tons of them."
"He plays soccer?" I asked, continuing the small talk.
"He did...he's dead now..."