Snap Timing Ch. 3 -- Kendall Discovers His Courage
This is published with the assistance of editors Eyetheo and Kenjisato. Their work improved both this story and hopefully my future first drafts.
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From that first moment on the field, when Jenks felt me up was tackled, my life had revolved around Jenks: his talent, his needs, his success. But after his father destroyed our relationship, and Jenks cut me out of his life, I realized I'd been lost in my love for him. I needed to find myself again, to make decisions based upon my needs. To do that, and to survive my depression, I needed separation.
Jenks had obeyed his father, and ended our 'snap timing' sessions. Without a word, Jenks had walked away from me as a lover. Now I was about to take an action that would've been unthinkable to us both only a few months ago. The media had consistently referred to the Jenks/Cranston duo in both present and future tense.
Quarterback Jenks always got top billing in the papers. Once, after an interview, Jenks told me that I was critical to his success. But, I noted, he never said that to the reporters. He'd tell me about our timing being natural, and how much he depended on my delivery of the ball to him, but these words were only spoken in private -- usually in the afterglow of an amazing orgasm.
Jenks knew of my strong desire to protect him. He had to know that the void he created by choosing to not touch me was devouring me. I'd sent too many suppliant texts, left too many phone messages/voicemails, and written too many pleading letters for him to not know. I loved him so much, I could accept Jenks inability to acknowledge my contribution to his success. I could not be with him on the field and be rejected off the field.
As I stepped forward, to answer the coach's call for a center to fill the opening with Jordan, I heard Jenks' chatter halt. Jordan was the only person that threatened his starting position. Jenks had never experienced real competition. If Jenks and I were on the team, the only real competition was for the backup quarterback and center positions.
My heart hurt. I had to shut it down to walk away from Jenks. It took all my strength. And I was faltering; I was about to look up at Jordan, this guy I'd once thought of as the enemy, and say, "Nevermind, sorry, I just can't." But before I spoke, I heard Jenks call my name.
"Kendall! Hey! Wait a minute," he yelled across the field.
I took a deep breath, and turned to see him running to me.
I knew that if he asked me, I would melt, and give him back control of my life. As he ran up beside me he placed his hand around the back of my neck. My heart stopped. I felt a small shiver that I recognized as the start of arousal. It was what I felt every time he touched me.
As Jenks leaned down I held my breath. He whispered exactly what I needed to hear, "You little fucker. Dad was right. He knew you didn't love me. But, anyone! Anyone but this bastard. With
you
he could take this from me."
Those words brought me back to reality. Jenks was telling me that he had loved me, and that he had let those feelings go, however I was to still put his needs and future ahead of mine. I reached up, wrapped my hand around Jenks wrist and after a short hesitation pulled his hand away. This was my first time rejecting physical contact from Jenks.
At that moment my healing began. I accepted the fact that I needed a new man reaching between my legs. I needed someone with the capacity to value me. Someone that would stand up for me. A man proud to say how much I mean to him both on and off the field.
As Jordan and I walked away from Jenks, I felt no desire to look back. After a short walk, Jordan brought us to a stop, placed a hand on my shoulder, and turned me to face him.
"Let's talk for a minute," he kindly offered. "I want to make sure you actually want to do this. You've been a duo for a long time... and I know how hard it is to break up and start fresh." I wondered what he knew, or thought he knew.
We sat on the grass, yoga style, facing each other. Jordan wanted to talk about what a successful alignment would look like for us. He started with, "What do you need from me for us to be successful?" Then followed that with, "What motivates you?" I started the answer to both questions with, "I want to be valued. I want you to care about my success as much as I care about yours."
As our discussion concluded Jordan looked directly at me and said, "I know I can only hope to achieve the success you and Jenks had on the field. I also know the depth of your companionship was a part of that success." I interrupted to say, "Jordan, I want you to know that I really appreciate that you have asked me about my needs and ideas. My relationship with Jenks on and off the field was complicated and was ended abruptly. I want to put it in the past."
Jordan closed the conversation saying, "I understand! And, I want you to know I care!" Jordan then reached toward me, grabbed the side of my bare leg just above the knee, and squeezed. It was a no contact practice, so we were wearing only our shoulder pads, jerseys, and gym shorts.
After firmly holding my bare leg for a second longer than expected Jordan said, "Let's start."
Without thinking, I reached out and gently stroked the back of Jordan's calf muscle.
"Thank you for asking me about my needs," I said, as we made eye contact. To avoid communicating too much with my eyes, I looked down and realized my fingers were inches away from a very private area. If I extended just one finger, I'd make contact with that dick.
Then reality hit: I didn't have permission to touch him.
As Jordan reacted to my touch by pulling his leg away, I noticed what a mountain of a bulge there was between his legs. We both quickly began to stand up. In the uncoordinated movement, our heads banged together, sending us both falling back to the ground in searing pain and a tangled mess.
As our heads rang with pain, we tossed around on the ground, and came to a halt with our legs entwined. I then realized Jordan's thigh was pressed hard against my groin. Had he been able to feel the stiffness that was growing in the pouch of my jock strap?
Jordan laughed, and told me to be still. He encouraged me to get up first. As he waited for me to untangle our limbs and rise, Jordan said, "I hope our snap timing is better."
"It'll take practice," I responded. My mind had moved to the gutter. I'd never thought of another guy's dick -- much less fantasized about doing anything with anyone but Jenks. I was so into Jenks it never crossed my mind. Truthfully, I was still naive in many ways. Suddenly, I not only noticed another man's bulge, I felt my own body responding. Hopefully, my jockstrap, that I suspected was now a little moist, would hide my physical response to what was hiding behind Jordan's own jockstrap.
After we were both up, I started stretching. I needed to refocus my slutty brain.
Jordan and I had talked about where he would position his hands, and how we'd first need to work on how our bodies would fit together. The conversation about our bodies working together had more sexual undertones than I'd consciously realized. Thinking about what we were about to do, I had a vision. In that vision we were crouched at the line, naked, and Jordan was moving my low hangers out of the way while he tugged on my dick.
It was Jordan asking me to get in my most comfortable squat that brought me out of that fantasy. He said he'd crouch behind me to see how we fit together. Ugh, more blood rushing in. My dick, now chubby, was not being helpful. This was not going to be easy.
I squatted, with my ass high in the air. I took a deep breath, and settled in with a little wobble. I sensed Jordan walking up behind me. I braced, hoping to not react to him reaching between my legs and pressing the back of his hand against my nut sack. This is football, not sex, I reminded myself. My anus seemed to think otherwise... I could feel it relaxing, as if it wanted to be penetrated.
Noticing a delay, I looked behind me, to see Jordan, lost in a daze, staring at my ass.
I said his name, and he snapped out of it. He started profusely apologizing, saying something about daydreaming, having a vision of us, in a game. He went on with the apology for a little too long and was struggling to find his words.
"I know my ass is hot, but you'll get used to it," I said, trying to be funny.
He smiled, and with laughter in his voice said, "I hope to."
Damn my smart mouth. I'd not thought that one through before it spurted out of my mouth. I still couldn't get my mind out of the gutter. But what did his response mean?
Jordan stepped closer, placed the back of his fingers gently on my ass cheek, and slowly slid them upward, to rest his fingertips at the top of my hip. Then his hands slid down, and the back of his right hand moved firmly along my taint, making contact with my nut sack and slightly jostling my left nut. I began to lose control. I was about to stand up, so I could compose myself, when my thigh muscles betrayed me. I could no longer hold my stance as an overwhelming sensation of pleasure rushed through my body in orgasmic waves. I dropped to my knee, and blood rushed to engorge my dick. I felt the coarse fabric of my jockstrap scratch against my tender glans.
"Sorry," Jordan apologized. "I should've warned you of that habit. It's instinctual. While I examine the defensive formation, I use the back of my hand and finger tips to locate exactly where you are crouched, and where my hands belong. It's totally subconscious. It allows me to align my body with your body without thinking about it. As I reach under you, I simultaneously prepare the audibles I need to give our team."
