Page 46 of Built To Perform

And then from the mats, to the locker room, and the showers, and all the other things my teammates had taught me.

I’d been so naive, coming to college. Understanding the mechanics of sex, the biology of it, but nothing more significant. Had never had a girlfriend; had never really understood what my fascination with other mens’ muscles could mean. Not beyond competition and comparison, anyway.

A training on and off the mats, then. One that taught me that an athlete’s body could be good for more than winning medals and trophies.

There was a voraciousness to it, equal parts flattering and overwhelming. Jefferson, and Brayden, and the others: all as hungry for a sexual connection as they were for first place in the finals. I’d soaked up that attention like a sponge.

They made it seem normal, that was the strange part. Or, perversely, that was the part I kept forgetting: that to others - when I recounted the details to Adam or Clay - it was shocking to hear that Jefferson had bent me over a locker room bench and pounded me until I couldn’t think straight, never mind walk straight. That I’d sat on the cool tiled floor of the communal shower, my back against the slick wall as steam billowed, watching Carlos work himself up and down my dick. That Brayden loved nothing more than choking me on his inches - his legs spread across my face, as he lapped the head of my cock over, and over, and over - until he had to clamp down on me with his thighs to keep me from squirming away at the riotous overload of sensations.

“Surprisingly cool day, isn’t it.”

The comment jolted me from my thoughts, embarrassed to have been so blithely unaware as to miss someone sitting down on the bench next to me, not to mention the nature of the memories I’d been preoccupied by.

She smiled at me, genially. Late middle-aged and rosy cheeked; she set her purse down on the bench between us.

“I... yes, it is,” I managed, brain scrabbling to catch up with what she’d said.

“I’m sorry, young man, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I shook my head, self-conscious. “I was just... daydreaming.”

Hers was a nice smile, I decided. Warm and reassuring.

“Always nice to daydream, I think.” She leaned in a fraction, pose conspiratorial. “Sometimes, I think my imagination is so much better than any novel I could be reading.”

I nodded slowly. Right now, my imagination felt like the enemy.

“You must be at school, yes?” She looked me over, her expression assessing. “Sophomore, perhaps?”

Despite everything, I laughed. “Freshman.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Goodness, I just assumed...”

“Wrestling team,” I supplied. It wasn’t the first time my age had been over-estimated, simply because of my size. I’d always looked out of place in photos from high school, even though I was no older than my classmates.

She chuckled. “I suppose that will do it, yes. I know the school has a very good reputation for that. Though you’ll have to forgive me, I don’t know much about how it all works. A lot of hard effort, I’m sure.”

I shook my head, self-conscious again. “I was only really getting started.”

She made a dismissive noise. “I may not know much, but I’m certain you don’t end up looking like that after less than a year in school. So I’m sure you put in plenty of effort beforehand.”

The breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge just how much effort I’d put in, and how much was now wasted.

“And such good friends you make, on a sports team,” she continued. “My son, he played hockey for a spell. Not good enough to do it professionally, mind, but in the end it’s the people you meet that linger, I think.”

I wanted to stand up, grab my bag, and walk away. No, to run: to find the darkest, most out-of-the-way spot in the whole train station and hide there. Preferably somewhere that was also loud enough to drown out my thoughts, and stop the faces of Jefferson, and Brayden, and Carlos, and all my other teammates’ - no, former teammates, I corrected myself bitterly - from floating through my brain.

“I... I guess,” I said, instead. Choking the words out.

It was going to be like this with everyone, I realized. Everyone who knew what challenge I’d set myself, who’d watched me fixate on a goal, and one goal alone, and pursue it intently. Blinkered to the things going on around me, trusting that the end result would be worth it. Achievable, if only I was committed enough. Now I’d have to admit to them all that I’d fucked it up.

I looked up at the clock. Barely ten minutes to go.

“Your parents must be very proud of you.”

I glanced down at her, at her smiling expression. A look which said it was impossible to believe otherwise.

“I think so,” I said, carefully. It wasn’t a lie, just as long as I didn’t extrapolate from the discussion that was ahead of me.