“Not my panties, Coach,” said one of the seniors.
“Not mine either,” echoed several voices.
Coach held up a hand to silence them. “Do I look like Prince Charming to you? Do you think I’m gonna hold out these man panties like a glass slipper, and watch you all slither your junk in them so I can figure out which of you is Cinderella?”
“I’m not interested in denials,” Coach growled. “What I need is for the responsible party to come forward and own this.”
No one moved.
“Do I need to remind you where we are?” Coach asked. “The God-fearing people who donate their hard-earned dollars to keep the lights on at this school don’t cotton to free love! They don’t want to hear about slinky underthings littering the locker room! Hell, Caleb, they’d take offense to that sideshow you were performing earlier!”
Coach paused, stared hard at his players. “In case you’re having trouble connecting the dots, gentlemen, this particular combination of slinky underthings—man panties plus women’s stocking—adds up to hanky-panky. In our locker room. Which points to one of you idiots. Someone has to step up. Be a man. Take responsibility. I’ll talk to the dean. Maybe he’ll settle for a two-game suspension for that player. Otherwise—”
“Otherwise, what?” asked Roger.
“Otherwise, I turn the matter over to the dean. He investigates. This whole team falls under suspicion. We might have to forfeit the rest of the season. I could be fired. Those of you on scholarships could lose them. Is that enough ‘otherwise’ for you, Roger?”
It was certainly enough “otherwise” for Matt. He felt his stomach curdling.
A heavy silence settled over the room. Everyone looked around, trying to spot the guilty party.
Idabel stared at Matt.
Matt hesitated—and not out of cowardice. He was ready to claim ownership of the underwear, which weren’t even his, but that wasn’t the point. He had fucked the guy who’d worn them.
He was willing to face the consequences. The problem was the fishnet stocking. He would be expected to name his accomplice. That was where “no one” and “everyone” became a problem.
No onewould believe he had come here alone and pranced around in a thong and fishnet stockings.
No onewould believe him if he claimed the mystery woman was a non-student when it was common belief that he was dating Ava.
Everyonewould assume the stocking was Ava’s. And everyone knew that the only reason girls wore stockings like those was akin to lighting the Vacancy sign at a motel, i.e. “come and get it boys.”
Matt, the presumed straight male and popular athlete, would probably get away with a two-game suspension. Ava wouldn’t be so lucky. MCU’s double standard was the stuff of legends. Ava could be expelled, almost certainly would be. Presumption of innocence was not a Biblical concept. Just the opposite: people were born guilty and it went downhill from there to the grave, which was why those B.C. people were shit-out-of-luck.
Matt was trying to puzzle out a workable solution when Roger broke the silence.
“Coach,” he said. “Why not ask the only other person with a key?”
Matt sighed. He’d wondered how long it would take them to reach this point. He had a key to the building, loaned to him by Coach to expedite the whole clean-the-locker-room-for-a-month punishment. Sure, the maintenance department probably had a key somewhere, but they hadn’t been spotted in this building for ages. Hence the always leaking showers, the grimy linoleum floors.
The women’s coach had a key. Fat chance peddling that theory. Besides, it wasn’t Matt’s style to throw people under the bus. That was Roger’s thing.
“Well, Mustang,” Coach said to Matt, “you’re the guy with the key. Do you have anything to tell us?”
“I—” Matt stammered.
“It’s me.” Idabel stepped forward. “I did it. Mustang and I went out for pizza Saturday night. He left his keyring on the table when he went to take a leak. I took the key and then brought my girl here.”
Matt shook his head. Idabel didn’t have a “girl.” He’d nursed a crush for weeks, then watched the girl flirt with another dude at some bowling party. End of story.
“He’s lying, Coach!” Matt said. “I did it! I’m guilty!” He had no clue how he would deal with the accomplice issue. The only thing of which he was certain was that he would not let Idabel pay for his reckless romp with Todd. Correction: romps—plural. Matt had cum twice.
“I call ‘B.S,’” Roger said. He stooped down and scooped up the thong underwear. Held them up for all to see. “These are smalls. 28-30-inch waist. You’re what,Idabel? 36-inch waist?”
Idabel shrugged sheepishly. A sort of anything-for-love shrug.
Matt stared at Idabel. Why was he doing this? Did he really think he could just confess, ride out a two-game suspension, and go on with life? He’d have to name his “girl.”
