Jock Auction (27 page)

He dug through the stack of DVD boxes by the TV, pulling open unlabeled boxes

to check the discs themselves. Eventually slotted in the right one.

It jumped straight into a gym-hall scene, semicircular groups of guys sitting

around watching their counterparts take each other on in the middle.

“That’s me,” Jackson observed, pointing himself out in the crowd. He was

wearing a royal-blue singlet with white panels up the sides, and it clung to him like a second skin.

The footage fast-forwarded; I glanced over and saw Jackson thumbing the remote.

Eventually it stabilized.

Maybe it made me shallow, but I could definitely see what Jackson’s ex had liked

about his uniform. The singlet clung eagerly to his hips, his thighs, gaped at the chest where his pecs pushed at the fabric. You could see his nipples through it, not to

mention the bulge of his dick.

I fought the urge to lick my lips.

“Heh, this one time he got me to wear that one in the shower.” Jackson chuckled.

”The white parts became practically see-through.”

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Another thing not to imagine.

“Don’t get me wrong; he was a nice enough guy,” Jackson conceded. “He was just

more interested in having a guy who could wear a jock and look decent than he was

interested in a proper relationship.”

I nodded. “I don’t think that’s what Craig wants. Though, I mean, he does like

me…well…wearing the jock stuff.”

Jackson laughed at that, and I could feel myself blushing.

“Hey, I’m not going to say I don’t work out hoping to get noticed,” he admitted,

flexing one arm. I made a concerted effort not to stare. “I just don’t want that to be all there is, y’know?”

“I’m a bit new to all this,” I told him. “Kinda caught me by surprise.”

Jackson grinned, nodded his understanding. “Well, don’t feel obliged to rush into

doing anything. That’s my only advice. Lots of guys would say you need to start

fucking straight away, but that’s bullshit if you ask me.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Um, well, that horse has already bolted, dude.”

He buried his face in his hands, pretending despair. “Jeez, you horndog gay

guys.”

I decided it was probably best not to mention sucking Craig off in the car just

before I’d gotten here. My underwear—well, Craig’s actually—was still sticky with

precum, and I was acutely aware that I had yet to come myself.

“Is there any chance I can take a shower, dude?” I asked Jackson. He turned off

the TV, stood up.

“Sure, no problem. Let me grab you a towel, okay?”

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Chapter Eleven

I followed him up the stairs, into the bathroom. There was a decent-sized bath and a separate shower cubicle. Jackson dug through a closet full of towels and toiletries, eventually pulling out a fresh towel.

“Dial gets a little weird sometimes, so don’t burn yourself,” he warned, backing

out the door and pulling it closed behind him. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

He wasn’t joking about it being temperamental, and it took me a couple of

minutes to find a setting somewhere between ice-cold and boiling hot. As I waited I peeled off my clothes, glanced at the line of shampoo and shower-gel bottles across the shelf. The smell of my precum was sharp and noticeable when I pulled down my briefs, the head of my dick glistening. It was tempting to grab hold and jerk off, but that seemed a bit disrespectful in someone else’s house.

Instead, I stepped under the water and tried to relax, hoping the noisy flow would not only wash away some of the mess but some of the frustrations too. Sure, I hadn’t expected my parents to be overjoyed at finding out I was dating a guy, but neither had I expected their actual reaction.

It was forcing me to reevaluate everything I’d thought about their beliefs, their

open-mindedness. Until now, I’d been working on the principle that they’d not really care either way, maybe a little cog-churning as they tried to come to grips with what I was telling them.

This, though, this was something different. This felt like disappointment.

I tried to focus on the feeling of the water on my shoulders—my soapy hands

across my chest, my hips, my thighs. Ever since Craig and I had messed around in the JOCK AUCTION | 193

shower, I hadn’t been able to stand under running water without getting at least a little chubbed up.

When I stood, dripping, on the bath mat, I realized I’d left my bag downstairs with all my clean clothes in it. Squeezing back into Craig’s sticky underwear wasn’t entirely appealing either.

“Jackson,” I called out, pulling the door ajar with my foot while trying to clutch the towel around my waist. “Any chance you could bring my bag up?”

I heard movement; then he was bringing it up the stairs, grinning as he came.

“That was quick,” he pointed out. I tried to shrug, but it was lopsided, what with one hand gripping the edges of the towel. I knew Jackson would be looking, at least glancing over once or twice, for the typical youthful comparison if nothing else.

Should it bother me? I was used to being naked in front of other guys—in front of

Jackson’s own brother, in fact—but it still felt a bit strange, only having just met Jackson and knowing he was gay. I couldn’t escape the feeling of being rude just considering that, though; like, just as you wouldn’t assume every guy is attracted to every girl, what’s to say each and every guy is going to be someone’s type?

And that was before you got to the part I didn’t really want to think about too

closely, the fact that part of me was hoping he’d look and like what he saw. I didn’t want to actually do anything; I wasn’t looking to cheat on Craig. But I’d spent such little time around gay guys, or bi guys, or at least I thought I had anyway, that the feeling of being desired was still mesmerizing.

So there was a part of me that, just like I had found myself strutting a little down that catwalk at the charity auction, was very aware of how the muscles in my chest were flexing and how my biceps were perhaps just a little more tensed than they

necessarily needed to be.

I don’t know if Jackson noticed or if he suspected my hyperawareness. But I could

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legs, across the short hang of the towel, and then over my torso. Always with that grin fixed firmly across his face.

“Seen enough?” I teased him, not able to pretend anymore that I wasn’t thinking

about it all. He shrugged, grin widening.

“Depends…what else do you have to show me?”

I rolled my eyes. This felt a whole lot like the cheeky, playful sparring I’d seen between my friends and girls—hell, between me and girls, even—only different, better somehow. Because when it was with girls, I felt like I was meant to be doing the

chasing, the pursuing, and it felt weirdly pleasing to be the one getting looked at instead.

I took the bag from him and put it on the cabinet by the sink, then tried to dig one-handed through it while still holding onto the towel. I’d hardly been careful when packing it, and all my clothes were jumbled and tangled together.

Eventually I came up with a pair of boxers, which I dumped on top of the bag. I

could feel Jackson watching me, waiting to see what I’d do next. Ask him to leave?

Drop the towel? I considered the same questions.

In the end I smiled, letting my hold on the fabric loosen until it dropped from

round my waist. Only my grip just above my crotch kept me covered, the towel

dangling damply in front of me. Jackson chuckled.

“You look like you’re posing for a calendar,” he told me. I smiled at him.

“And you’ve got a lot of calendars of half-naked guys to compare it to, yeah?”

He winked, the perpetual grin looking somehow more dirty all of a sudden. “Are

you asking to go looking through my porn collection?”

I feigned horror and surprise, covering my exaggerated gasp with my hand.

“Who, me, look at that filth?” I shook my head ruefully. “Never.”

Now it was Jackson’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, sure,” he scoffed. “Then again,

who needs it when you’ve got the real thing in your bathroom, right?”

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I looked down at myself. I guess I did look pretty good, the years of football

contributing to a lean, tight body barely covered with my towel. Jackson was clearly bigger than me—just as you’d expect from a wrestler—but he still seemed interested enough, even if just on a playful level.

“I’m not used to being watched when I get dressed,” I pointed out.

“What, Craig doesn’t like to look?”

I thought on that one. Actually, yes. Craig most certainly did like to look.

Particularly if I was about to put on his underwear, an example of which was lying on the floor by the tub.

“Oh, he watches,” I conceded. “But he’s normally naked too at the time.”

Jackson winked at me again. “Are you trying to get me naked now, Kyle?”

I laughed. “No comment!”

I turned, just enough to shield my front from his glances, and ditched the towel.

Reached out to scoop up my clean boxers and leaned down to step into them. As I

turned back, one hand still adjusting myself, I knew he’d watched the whole thing.

“Well, that’s you decent, then,” he told me. “Do you want something to eat?”

I shook my head at his flirting. “Maybe I’ll put on a T-shirt at least, if it’s okay with you.”

Jackson shrugged. “You’re a traditionalist, I see.”

I managed to extract a shirt from my bag, looking somewhat wrinkled and worse

for wear, and pulled it on. I had a pair of shorts in there as well, soft cotton ones that I sometimes wore when I was just hanging around the house, and put those on too.

Finally, I scooped up Craig’s briefs from the floor and tucked them into one of the side pockets.

“Lead on!” I told Jackson, smiling at him.

I probably should’ve guessed, given his build, but Jackson could eat. I mean,

really eat: when I was feeling stuffed on untidily cut sandwiches and chips, he was still 196
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going strong, happily pulling a leftover half pizza from the fridge and declaring it to be the perfect post-snack snack. I watched in slight astonishment as he vacuumed it down, hardly seeming to chew as he went.

“Jeez, dude, slow down. Nobody’s going to steal your food,” I teased him. He

clutched the last slice of pizza to his chest, a look of wide-eyed horror comically plastered over his face.

“The benefits of a missing gag reflex,” he told me, winking before the final piece disappeared. “Why else do you think I’m so popular?”

I shook my head. Actually, I could think of quite a few reasons, but I didn’t think Jackson’s ego needed the encouragement.

“So what’s Craig like?” he asked me eventually. “Apart from being a fan of

jockstraps.”

I considered my boyfriend.

“Well, he’s kinda the opposite of me, maybe. Isn’t into sports, tall and skinny, dark hair, pretty pale skin. He’s got these amazing eyes, they’re just…”

I trailed off. It was weird talking about another guy that way, even though I knew Jackson was gay.

“And have you known him a long time?”

I snorted. “Hardly.”

Telling him the bare bones of how Craig had confessed his feelings for me and

then how we’d gone from playful flirtation to messing around to something more

serious took about five minutes; I left out most of the sex stuff, or at most just brushed over it in passing. When I finished, Jackson looked a little shell-shocked.

“Man, Jake said you’d had a weird time lately, but I didn’t realize quite how

weird,” he said eventually.

I grimaced. “I could’ve done without today.”

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He smiled at me sadly. “They’ll come round, dude. Just takes some people some

time.”

I thought about my mom’s horrified expression, my dad’s blank coldness. Tried to

imagine ever being able to look at them again without seeing those same faces. We’d been close when I’d been growing up—another side effect of being an only child—but right now it was like I didn’t know them.

The lump in my throat felt like it was cutting off my breath, and I could feel the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I didn’t want to cry in front of Jackson, but it felt like I was losing my family somehow. I felt adrift.

I rested my elbows on the work surface, leaned my face into my hands. I didn’t

realize Jackson had moved until I felt his arm around my shoulders, gently pulling me until I was leaning against his chest.

“It’s okay, dude,” he said quietly, and I felt the tears trickle down my cheeks.

Turned to him and let his other arm encircle me, broad and reassuring. I’d only just met him, but at that moment it felt like I knew him and he knew me, or at least we each knew enough—shared enough—to have this flicker of a connection.

I felt the heat of his chest radiate out through his shirt, muscles firm and full

against the side of my face. There was nothing sexual in it, but Jackson’s sheer size made me feel more secure somehow.

Eventually he led me to the couch, and we sat side by side in silence for a while, me with my legs drawn up and arms circling my knees, him stretched out and pensive.

“So do you think you always sort of knew you might like guys?” he asked me

finally. I lowered one leg, feeling my calf start to tingle with a potential cramp.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” I replied, trying to trek back through my memory for any glaring signs. “To be honest, I didn’t really think about sexual stuff much at all.

Girls or boys. When I had girlfriends, it was always kinda like the default thing to do.

Like it was expected, so I did it.”

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