Page 64 of Built To Perform

He stretched his legs out, slumping on the bench. Arms folded across his chest, long limbs sprawling. Donny was wiry, and I’d seen more than one opponent caught out after mistaking his low body-fat percentage for a shortfall in strength. Only his mop of coppery hair seemed inclined to excesses.

“Whatever you say, Eoin.” He tilted his head, watching where Carlos had upended his opponent and was - one arm thrust between the man’s thighs - currently driving him down, grinding his shoulders into the mat. “Not like anyone would blame you,” Donny added.

I glanced down at the clear outline of my teammate’s junk through his black and red singlet. Not hard, no, but not entirely soft either. Unabashed regardless.

The shrill howl of a whistle snapped my attention back to the mats, in time for Carlos’ fist-pump of triumph. A moment’s celebration, before he reached down to help his defeated opponent to his feet. One final nod, and then he was strutting back over to our side of the hall.

“You know what I’m going to say,” Coach said, not even looking up from his clipboard.

Carlos flashed a wink at me. “Leg sweep too slow; that first lock wasn’t secure enough; and the throw was unnecessarily ostentatious.” All those syllables sounded particularly pleasing in his accent.

Coach finally looked up, his expression cool. “I notice you didn’t mention the lazy feint, ten seconds in.”

Carlos held up his hands, acknowledging defeat. “Top of my list for practice tomorrow, Coach.”

The promise earned him a scowl, and then Coach gestured him away.

“Go sit your lazy-feinting ass down, then.”

Carlos nodded, wisely holding back his grin until he was between Donny and I. Arms quickly wrapping our shoulders, pulling us each into the heat of his body.

One day, I told myself, I’d be able to smell fresh wrestler sweat without running the risk of cumming hands-free. One day.

“And what do we think has put our esteemed Coach into such a foul and irascible mood?” Carlos looked between us.

“Not my fault this time,” I said, hurriedly.

Donny just shrugged. “Eoin was too busy getting boned up watching you,” he said, casually. As idly as if he was commenting on the weather.

“Dude!”

Carlos’ fingers tapped out a rhythm on my chest.

“Lil bro has excellent taste,” he drawled, smugly.

#

Even with Carlos’ flirting, and Donny’s teasing, and Coach’s simmering temper, I still couldn’t think about anything but the man in the stands.

Coach had been sparing with details. I knew they’d met in college; knew the relationship had felt serious enough for him to drop out of his wrestling team rather than break up. And that was it.

Well, the little voice in the back of my head reminded me, not quite. I knew what Coach’s boyfriend looked like when he grinned up at the naked jock who’d just jerked off in front of him. I knew what it was like to crouch at the edge of a stage, waiting for him to tuck folded bills into my singlet.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the voice, and the memories, and the sense of fascination and guilt that commingled whenever I thought about Coach’s personal life. Even after all he’d told me, what he’d explained - more, I figured it safe to say, than the man had revealed to anyone else on his team before - there was a wall there. A rule, unspoken but no less serious for it, that if me and my teammates were allowed secrets, then so was the man who trained us.

I wanted to run back to the locker room, to throw myself into something familiar and grounding. Laugh at my bros as they played grab-ass in the shower and taunted each other. Maybe remind Donny that it was rude to comment on a guy’s erection if you weren’t going to take care of it for him later.

Instead I sat, as the team filed past me - still rehashing the day’s bouts - and the stands cleared. Waiting for the big hall to be empty, so that I could fulfill my second role of the day. Freshman Wrestler Eoin becoming Unpaid Janitor Eoin, my punishment continuing.

I’d given up counting the days, knowing my obligation to drag mats around - and wash towels, and hose down water bottles sticky with Kool-Aid, and refill first aid kits - would end when Coach decided it was time, and not before.

It was easier to knuckle down, focus, and try to appreciate it all as extra cardio. My arms burned as I tugged a stack of floor mats to the edge of the room.

“Eoin, right?”

I stood too quickly, vision briefly tunneling, only for shock to threaten to knock me on my ass instead.

Handsome, I’d thought, in the flickering lights of the club. Only a brief glance, but enough to see a broad smile. I’d tried not to wonder, in the days after, whether Coach Bennett’s legendary ice could hold up against that smile.