Ry and I

Okay…this is my second story but only my first Fiction so let me know what you think. This story was written for my hockey-playing friend, Ryan, who I like a lot 🙂 So, while it is fiction, the characters are real and hopefully I can change it from fiction to “true story” some day. Love ya Ry!

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What you need to know is that none of it was planned. I hadn’t thought for one second that anything I’d dreamed or fantasized or contemplated for the last few months would ever actually happen. There was no preparation for it. I didn’t anticipate it nor did I expect it. Truth is I wasn’t even sure that I would go through with it, but I did. After all, I was sort of … thrust into the whole thick of it, so to speak.

I basically grew up in the place but I really had no say in the matter. Dad opened his pride and joy in the late 1980’s just a few years after I was born and he practically lived at the Springfield Family Sportsplex, a most original name for sure, and because he lived there, so did I. As his only son I suppose he thought it best for me, read best for him, that I should spend every waking moment at the place as he did. So that is exactly what happened. I was always at the place. When I was a kid I usually kept to his office or the pool. Eventually I had the run of the complex and knew it inside and out. Hell if I were feeling generous I’d even lend a hand at the snack bar but that was rare. Sports isn’t my thing and I really had no interest in even pretending that it was. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no athlete. That part is true, but I liked watching.

SFS, as we called the place, is the only sports complex of its kind in this part of the state. It has an Olympic pool, basketball and racquetball courts, softball and soccer fields, a running track and a full size hockey rink. It is a huge building and when its hopping the place is packed. That is usually when I don’t mind being there. I love the crowds and the people. Well, not all the people exactly, just the hot ones. And there are tons of them.

Most of the time they come and go. Their teams come from as far as 500 miles away to compete in tournaments that SFS sponsors. I never talk to them, though. Well I do talk to them but not in any meaningful way. A quick, “hi” or “what’s up” is about all I can come up with. I still don’t understand why I’m completely at a loss for words with them but it’s true. When I want to start a conversation with some girl or guy I completely freeze. It’s like … I know exactly what I want to say but my voice is just … gone. I can’t even come up with a smile. They usually just see me gawking at them and either look at me like a freak or give me a grin like they know what I’m thinking. Of course I always assume they know what I’m thinking and that makes me blush like no other. This time was no different.

After a long Friday night of what seemed like 5000 people crammed shoulder to shoulder, the place had finally emptied itself to just the local teams and the few straggling fans and family members. I was beyond beat and ready to get home. Dad asked me to grab a mop and hit the locker rooms for a quick swab of the floors. I’d learned early on to not put up much of a protest for risk of getting the lecture about responsibility and character building and who the fuck can remember what else he rants about but I still refused to make it easy for him. I took the mop and bucket but not without some muttered curses as I went. He couldn’t hear me but I felt better.

The lady’s locker room had barely been used so I was done with it fairly fast. I propped the ‘wet floor’ sign between the door and the wall and worked the mop across the hall toward the men’s locker room. One by one the lights dimmed throughout the complex as the day drew to a close. As each was turned off the dull hum of the fluorescent lamps quieted so that all that was heard was the occasional echo of distant laughter or feet stomping as kids gathered their gear and left the building. I also heard the familiar swish of skates cutting ice as someone slowly made their way across the rink. I glanced over and saw a kid just stepping into the bleachers. He almost fell into the seat and sort of melted into it. I could tell he was exhausted as he rubbed his hands into his face then stretched his arms above his head. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. I’m not sure why I kept looking but I couldn’t stop. Finally he reached down and took off his skates. I kept looking at him. He stood and came toward me. I was still watching. He looked up and saw me. He caught me staring.

I know I blushed but I’m sure he couldn’t see it. The shadows were deep as I turned toward the door and pushed my way into the men’s locker room. I made my way to the back corner and started mopping. Within seconds I heard the door open and the faint sounds of socked feet walking across the floor. I glanced toward the lockers and saw him sitting on the bench as he took off the rest of his gear. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” Again, it was all I could come up with and I was pissed because of it. “Fuck the mop,” I thought as I put it away and walked over to where he was sitting. With some new found confidence I said, “Hey, I’m Troy.”

“Ryan,” was all that he said.

I started to reach out my hand to shake his but he crossed his arms, grabbed his shirt and lifted it. I watched as he fought the sweaty tee as it clung to his body, refusing to let go. My eyes went straight to his stomach. It was the flattest I’d ever seen, the muscles stretching with the effort. He had the most perfect innie and I almost sank to my knees so that I could bury my tongue in it. The shirt hit me half in the face and half in the chest. “Fold that for me would ya?” Ryan said. He gave me a quick wink and turned, walking toward the showers. I held his shirt as I watched him. He turned the corner and I heard the water flow from the faucet. Almost immediately the steam began to roll from the shower stall. “Troy, come here,” he said.

I walked to the stall to see his back turned toward me. I stared in awe at the most perfect body I’d ever seen. From his shoulders to his feet he was amazing. “Wash my back.” There was no “please”. It was basically a command but I couldn’t even think that I had a choice. He was busy rinsing the shampoo from his hair as I took the soap in my hands. They were shaking as I touched the bar to his skin just above his ass. The water rolled down his back, mixed with the soap and sent a trickle of foam between his cheeks. I watched as it ran down his legs and onto the floor. Suddenly he turned to face me and my fingers brushed across his abs. I quickly looked at his face to see him smiling at me. His hands found their way to my shoulders and he leaned his head toward mine, our foreheads touching gently. I felt the slight force as he pushed me down. My eyes traveled the length of his body from his nickel sized nipples, down to his flat stomach, past his dripping wet bush and right to his pulsing dick as it touched my chin and slid up my left cheek. Ryan brought his hands to my face and slowly pushed my head back so that the tip of his cock was just touching my lips. With one thumb on each corner of my mouth he pushed them into me and I opened, ready for him.

“Troy?”

“Yeah?”

“Should we … umm leave now?” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Should we go? I think we’re the only ones left.”

Ryan was dressed and sitting on the bench. He had his bag beside him as he stuffed the last of his gear into it. I noticed he was still wearing his shirt. Ryan slammed the locker shut and I followed him out of the locker room, staring at his ass the whole time. We were the last two in the complex so I locked the main door on our way out.

“So, how long have you played hockey?” I asked

“Since I was a little kid…my dad made me sign up” he replied.

Our cars were only a few spaces apart.