“It’s Labor Day, dahling,” William drawled. “No wearing white until Easter.”
William’s words caught Matt by surprise. His mind scrambled for an appropriate rejoinder but came up blank. He remembered having seen a catfish once, flopping on a riverbank, its gills gasping for water but finding only air, its mouth curled in a silent scream. He was that fish, as would be any gay man unable to make witty repartee.
“At least lose that garish white towel,” said William, filling the awkward silence. “The jock is technically innerwear, although I’m not sure it’s classified as such when it is the only garment one is wearing.”
Matt dropped the towel to the floor, there to join his dignity and self-respect, the latter two having been discarded the moment he embraced this plan to lie to, and manipulate, his friend. At least he could retrieve the towel later, hopefully post-seduction. He bolted the door and led William down the hall.
“You clean this place in your jock strap?” William asked as they walked.
Matt shook his head, cast around for a quick lie to patch the leaking boat of his earlier falsehood that he needed William to meet him here because he had to clean the locker room. “I finished sooner than planned. I was preparing to shower.”
Shit. He realized his story made no sense. Why would he change into a jock strap to shower? He trudged down the hall, dreading William’s next words.
“So, DAHLING,” William’s voice dripped sarcasm, “your poor Godmother’s confused. Since the day you arrived on campus, all of us girls have tittered at the many stories of how you strut to your dorm shower in the buff. Heady gossip, all things considered.”
When Matt did not laugh at the quip, William elaborated. “Head. As in military slang for a bathroom. Plus, penises have heads. Head-y, get it?”
“Good one,” Matt said. He was the floundering catfish again.
William finished his point. “So, I’m baffled, then, that Here, Alone, At night, you would put on a jock strap before showering.”
“That makes two of us,” Matt conceded. Luckily, they had arrived at the locker room. He ushered William inside.
“Have a seat,” Matt said. He gestured to the benches.
William remained standing. He wrinkled his nose, sampled the air. “This place reeks of …” Sniff. “Mildew…” Sniff. “Urine…” Sniff. “And feet!”
Matt leaned back against the lockers, trying to regain control of the narrative. “Just a few hours ago all the guys on the team were in here stripping down.” Matt patted the locker on his left. “Caleb Sanders. You know him?”
William nodded.
“This is Caleb’s locker,” Matt said. “Every day after practice, Caleb stands here, hooks his fingers in the waistband of his jock, and announces it’s time to release theKraken. His name for it, not mine. We all grab seats on the benches, like kids at the circus.”
William’s interest was piqued. He sat on the edge of a bench, crossed his legs primly, held his back straight. “Do go on,” he urged.
“It’s like a magic trick or something,” Matt said. “We’re all gathered around, looking at this little, unimpressive bulge in a jockstrap. A nib, like what girls have in their training bras. And then, Abracadabra! Caleb peels off his jock and theKrakenjust sucks in air and rehydrates in milliseconds. Like how the Big Bang happened and the universe grew from a speck into, well, the UNIVERSE!”
William’s eyes went wide. “Girth?” he asked. “From a strictly scientific standpoint. Hot dog or kielbasa?”
“He calls it theKraken, not the inchworm. No one can accuse him of false advertising.”
Matt continued. “And the reverse is just as mysterious. I’ve sat on the bench you’re on and watched Caleb undress and manhandle theKrakeninto his jock. It takes both hands, sometimes a crowbar. Eventually, the thing just goes in the pouch and decompresses.”
It was William’s turn to smile. “That’s a juicy morsel, dahling—pun intended obviously. You know, I’m friends with Caleb’s girlfriend. She’s determined toremain a virgin until her wedding night, even longer if she can help it. For a protestant, she draws a lot of inspiration from Mary.”
Matt snickered. Now seemed the right moment to nudge the conversation in the direction he had planned.
“Did I ever tell you about the wet dream I had about you?” he asked.
William shook his head.
Matt described the dream, how it was set in this locker room, how he and his teammates had clamored to see William’s hole. How all of them had wanted to fuck that hole.
“Even Caleb?” William asked.
“Even Caleb. TheKrakenwas hungry.”
Just recounting the dream gave Matt a boner. His cockhead peeked over the top of his jockstrap.
