A gay story: Snap Timing Ch. 03 Snap Timing Ch. 3 — Kendall Discovers His Courage
This is published with the assistance of editors Eyetheo and Kenjisato. Their work improved both this story and hopefully my future first drafts.
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From that first moment on the field, when Jenks felt me up was tackled, my life had revolved around Jenks: his talent, his needs, his success. But after his father destroyed our relationship, and Jenks cut me out of his life, I realized I’d been lost in my love for him. I needed to find myself again, to make decisions based upon my needs. To do that, and to survive my depression, I needed separation.
Jenks had obeyed his father, and ended our ‘snap timing’ sessions. Without a word, Jenks had walked away from me as a lover. Now I was about to take an action that would’ve been unthinkable to us both only a few months ago. The media had consistently referred to the Jenks/Cranston duo in both present and future tense.
Quarterback Jenks always got top billing in the papers. Once, after an interview, Jenks told me that I was critical to his success. But, I noted, he never said that to the reporters. He’d tell me about our timing being natural, and how much he depended on my delivery of the ball to him, but these words were only spoken in private — usually in the afterglow of an amazing orgasm.
Jenks knew of my strong desire to protect him. He had to know that the void he created by choosing to not touch me was devouring me. I’d sent too many suppliant texts, left too many phone messages/voicemails, and written too many pleading letters for him to not know. I loved him so much, I could accept Jenks inability to acknowledge my contribution to his success. I could not be with him on the field and be rejected off the field.
As I stepped forward, to answer the coach’s call for a center to fill the opening with Jordan, I heard Jenks’ chatter halt. Jordan was the only person that threatened his starting position. Jenks had never experienced real competition. If Jenks and I were on the team, the only real competition was for the backup quarterback and center positions.
My heart hurt. I had to shut it down to walk away from Jenks. It took all my strength. And I was faltering; I was about to look up at Jordan, this guy I’d once thought of as the enemy, and say, “Nevermind, sorry, I just can’t.” But before I spoke, I heard Jenks call my name.
“Kendall! Hey! Wait a minute,” he yelled across the field.
I took a deep breath, and turned to see him running to me.
I knew that if he asked me, I would melt, and give him back control of my life. As he ran up beside me he placed his hand around the back of my neck. My heart stopped. I felt a small shiver that I recognized as the start of arousal. It was what I felt every time he touched me.
As Jenks leaned down I held my breath. He whispered exactly what I needed to hear, “You little fucker. Dad was right. He knew you didn’t love me. But, anyone! Anyone but this bastard. With you he could take this from me.”
Those words brought me back to reality. Jenks was telling me that he had loved me, and that he had let those feelings go, however I was to still put his needs and future ahead of mine. I reached up, wrapped my hand around Jenks wrist and after a short hesitation pulled his hand away. This was my first time rejecting physical contact from Jenks.
At that moment my healing began. I accepted the fact that I needed a new man reaching between my legs. I needed someone with the capacity to value me. Someone that would stand up for me. A man proud to say how much I mean to him both on and off the field.
As Jordan and I walked away from Jenks, I felt no desire to look back. After a short walk, Jordan brought us to a stop, placed a hand on my shoulder, and turned me to face him.
“Let’s talk for a minute,” he kindly offered. “I want to make sure you actually want to do this. You’ve been a duo for a long time… and I know how hard it is to break up and start fresh.” I wondered what he knew, or thought he knew.
We sat on the grass, yoga style, facing each other. Jordan wanted to talk about what a successful alignment would look like for us. He started with, “What do you need from me for us to be successful?” Then followed that with, “What motivates you?” I started the answer to both questions with, “I want to be valued. I want you to care about my success as much as I care about yours.”
As our discussion concluded Jordan looked directly at me and said, “I know I can only hope to achieve the success you and Jenks had on the field. I also know the depth of your companionship was a part of that success.” I interrupted to say, “Jordan, I want you to know that I really appreciate that you have asked me about my needs and ideas. My relationship with Jenks on and off the field was complicated and was ended abruptly. I want to put it in the past.”
Jordan closed the conversation saying, “I understand! And, I want you to know I care!” Jordan then reached toward me, grabbed the side of my bare leg just above the knee, and squeezed. It was a no contact practice, so we were wearing only our shoulder pads, jerseys, and gym shorts.
After firmly holding my bare leg for a second longer than expected Jordan said, “Let’s start.”
Without thinking, I reached out and gently stroked the back of Jordan’s calf muscle.
“Thank you for asking me about my needs,” I said, as we made eye contact. To avoid communicating too much with my eyes, I looked down and realized my fingers were inches away from a very private area. If I extended just one finger, I’d make contact with that dick.
Then reality hit: I didn’t have permission to touch him.
As Jordan reacted to my touch by pulling his leg away, I noticed what a mountain of a bulge there was between his legs. We both quickly began to stand up. In the uncoordinated movement, our heads banged together, sending us both falling back to the ground in searing pain and a tangled mess.
As our heads rang with pain, we tossed around on the ground, and came to a halt with our legs entwined. I then realized Jordan’s thigh was pressed hard against my groin. Had he been able to feel the stiffness that was growing in the pouch of my jock strap?
Jordan laughed, and told me to be still. He encouraged me to get up first. As he waited for me to untangle our limbs and rise, Jordan said, “I hope our snap timing is better.”
“It’ll take practice,” I responded. My mind had moved to the gutter. I’d never thought of another guy’s dick — much less fantasized about doing anything with anyone but Jenks. I was so into Jenks it never crossed my mind. Truthfully, I was still naive in many ways. Suddenly, I not only noticed another man’s bulge, I felt my own body responding. Hopefully, my jockstrap, that I suspected was now a little moist, would hide my physical response to what was hiding behind Jordan’s own jockstrap.
After we were both up, I started stretching. I needed to refocus my slutty brain.
Jordan and I had talked about where he would position his hands, and how we’d first need to work on how our bodies would fit together. The conversation about our bodies working together had more sexual undertones than I’d consciously realized. Thinking about what we were about to do, I had a vision. In that vision we were crouched at the line, naked, and Jordan was moving my low hangers out of the way while he tugged on my dick.
It was Jordan asking me to get in my most comfortable squat that brought me out of that fantasy. He said he’d crouch behind me to see how we fit together. Ugh, more blood rushing in. My dick, now chubby, was not being helpful. This was not going to be easy.
I squatted, with my ass high in the air. I took a deep breath, and settled in with a little wobble. I sensed Jordan walking up behind me. I braced, hoping to not react to him reaching between my legs and pressing the back of his hand against my nut sack. This is football, not sex, I reminded myself. My anus seemed to think otherwise… I could feel it relaxing, as if it wanted to be penetrated.
Noticing a delay, I looked behind me, to see Jordan, lost in a daze, staring at my ass.
I said his name, and he snapped out of it. He started profusely apologizing, saying something about daydreaming, having a vision of us, in a game. He went on with the apology for a little too long and was struggling to find his words.
“I know my ass is hot, but you’ll get used to it,” I said, trying to be funny.
He smiled, and with laughter in his voice said, “I hope to.”
Damn my smart mouth. I’d not thought that one through before it spurted out of my mouth. I still couldn’t get my mind out of the gutter. But what did his response mean?
Jordan stepped closer, placed the back of his fingers gently on my ass cheek, and slowly slid them upward, to rest his fingertips at the top of my hip. Then his hands slid down, and the back of his right hand moved firmly along my taint, making contact with my nut sack and slightly jostling my left nut. I began to lose control. I was about to stand up, so I could compose myself, when my thigh muscles betrayed me. I could no longer hold my stance as an overwhelming sensation of pleasure rushed through my body in orgasmic waves. I dropped to my knee, and blood rushed to engorge my dick. I felt the coarse fabric of my jockstrap scratch against my tender glans.
“Sorry,” Jordan apologized. “I should’ve warned you of that habit. It’s instinctual. While I examine the defensive formation, I use the back of my hand and finger tips to locate exactly where you are crouched, and where my hands belong. It’s totally subconscious. It allows me to align my body with your body without thinking about it. As I reach under you, I simultaneously prepare the audibles I need to give our team.”
Jordan explained that this method of starting, aligning our crouch positions, needs a lot of physical, and intimate, contact. He said, “Some centers have complained and I can adjust if it is too invasive.” I quickly interrupted, cleared my throat to hide the pleasure I had just experienced, and emphatically asserted, “No complaint here, I’ll accept it.” I would, with pleasure, accept his invasions.
That’s when I decided to have a little fun. A new me was emerging. Jordan had said that my needs were important.
“Yes, it’s okay to bring this technique into our relationship, but to help me, we should practice that maneuver a few times,” I said, trying my best to hide my excitement.
After about ten run-throughs of what I called the “Entry Approach,” and being fondled by Jordan each time?, I told him I was now comfortable with the process. In my head, I thought about how I’d remember this during my jerk session later that night.
I’d delivered about 50 practice snaps to Jordan when the coach blew his whistle, and ordered the team to assemble at midfield. The three competing quarterbacks were to each complete 30 passes before the team could head to the locker rooms.
It was a speed and accuracy drill; the coaches were focused on choosing the starting quarterback position. Fine with me, the speed part was going to be interesting. Thinking about what this meant for me, I was again appreciative of my snug jockstrap.
Working at that speed, still using his high-touch technique, Jordan had to be a little more aggressive, move faster, and apply more pressure with his fingers. I remained crouched the entire time. There was no recovery time before Jordan was back under me, rearranging my balls with his stiff fingers gliding along my taint to push against my balls and growing cock.
Eventually, I was at full staff, my thick, hard cock had a significant presence at the location where Jordan’s hand awaited my delivery. More than once, I thought Jordan noticed the extra something in my shorts. I felt him move his fingers under me, being inquisitive, as if trying to understand what it was.
It was during one of those explorations that my cock forced its way out of the elastic band. The only indication that Jordan might’ve noticed the sudden movement was a simple, “OH.” Luckily, the precum I felt oozing from my overstimulated dick was masked by the sweat soaking my shorts.
I could tell Jenks was off. He dropped the first snap, stumbled on the second one as he backed up, and his throws just weren’t as accurate as usual.
Jordan and I finished first, with 30 snaps and 30 spot on completions. The only comment from the coaching staff to Jordan was that once under me, Jordan needed to get on with the count a little faster. I wanted to disagree. Jenks was told to keep his face looking downfield, that he should care less about what the other pairings were doing. I almost laughed.
Practice ended, and we started our jog toward the locker room. I suddenly felt a hard strike on my left shoulder that knocked me to the hard dry clay path. I looked up to see Jenks over me, staring down at me with fury in his eyes. He sat on top of me, and straddled my waist, holding me in place with his knees. I felt my hardness poking between his cheeks. He looked dangerously angry. I expected him to hit me.
He looked surprised by what he felt pressing into his ass, and then, for a moment, I thought he was going to laugh at the discovery. But he realized my boner wasn’t about him, and the rage returned. He leaned down, grabbed my hair, and pulled my face close, so that only I could hear him.
“Fuck you, you faggot asshole,” he said with venom.
With a smile on my face, and in my most smartass tone, I said, “Um, nope, never again.” Jenks understood my joke. He dropped my head back to the dry clay and got off me, just as Jordan ran up to us..
Jordan lifted me to my feet, and took a fighting stance in front of me, to defend me. Jenks stepped forward, and my new, protective quarterback was chest to chest with him.
That’s when Jenks decided to drop an unexpected bomb. A tear ran down his cheek as Jenks growled, “That little faggot ass is yours to fuck, but starting quarterback is mine.”
I was officially outed as a bottom. I don’t think Jenks understood what he was saying about himself.
Jenks backed off, but stared at me as he walked away. Jenks’ actions showed his anger but his eyes and tears also revealed the complicated emotions he was experiencing.
Sadness was my first emotion. I knew there would be no recovery of our past. I was now consumed with fear, because Jenks had outed me. I was spiraling,
imagining my secret spreading through the team and to the coaches. But through the noise in my mind, I heard Jordan repeatedly asking if I was okay. His voice pulled me out of my head. He was encouraging me to ignore Jenks, and saying how he was sorry he couldn’t block Jenks before he knocked me down. His concern distracted me and dulled my fears.
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. I just appreciate you getting there when you did,” I said, as Jordan dusted the dirt off my clothes, and we started walking toward the locker rooms.
“Well with that amazing performance on the field, I owed it to you,” he replied. “So, I did good, huh? It was okay, for our first time?” I was thirsty for more of his praise.
“Better than okay,” he answered. “It was fun.” He said nothing for a few more steps, then, “And I could tell you were enjoying it too.”
Jenks’ behavior had confirmed what I already knew: I had to let him go. I had a new problem. Not controlling my anger toward Jenks, or being sad about my first broken heart. My problem now was how to avoid falling in love with the kind, thoughtful, gorgeous hunk beside me. I had to suppress my desire to immediately hug Jordan, and put a sloppy, wet kiss on those amazing, plump lips.
My love of Jenks had always motivated me to protect him — Jordan had stepped in to protect me from Jenks. Who doesn’t love a knight in shining armor?
I was keenly aware that the excited dick in my gym shorts was not going away anytime soon. I also knew that if Jordan were to show up while I was naked in the shower, my sex-hungry dick would immediately announce my lust for him.
Fortunately, I had an excuse to drop my shoulder pads and head home to shower.
Mom and Dad had asked me to come home for family dinner. They had insisted a little too much, so I knew there had to be a reason. It was only a 30-minute drive, but not one I did often.
I left practice, and got in my car. I’d been on the edge of blasting my wad for the last two hours. When Jordan had innocently tickled my ass and taint with those big fingers, my mind started racing, and I’d been on that path since. I was glad to be going home, for a more private shower, where I could explore the naughty images in my head, and find release. It was only the promise of a hot shower and privacy that allowed me to resist jerking off as I drove home. Though, to ease some of the discomfort of my erection being bound in the small pocket of my jockstrap, I released my dick down the leg of my shorts. Thinking he was going to get attention, my excited dick pushed upward, tenting my shorts. This let the AC wash over my exposed dickhead. The cold air withered my boner, allowing me to relax on the ride home.
—
As I entered my parents’ house, dad inquired as to how my reunion with Jenks had gone. So, there it was. That was tonight’s agenda. To be fair, he and I had been talking about how to balance my feelings while performing to the best of my ability as Jenks’ center again.
I perked up, with a big smile, and simply said, “All is good, thanks for asking, but I’ve moved on. Just need to work on my snap timing with the new starting quarterback.”
As I entered the family room, Mom smiled at dad with that ‘told you’ look. Anxious to strip, and get to work on my much-needed release, I ran toward my room.
“Great; clean up, dinner is almost ready!” Mom shouted after me.
I entered my room where Jenks and I had held Snap Practice session on many occasions. For the first time since our split, entering this room did not seen me reeling into depression. I undressed, and turned on the shower. While waiting for the water to get hot, I looked at the mirror.
Where I used to see a skinny boy, I now saw a young man, who wasn’t half bad. My muscles had developed since high school. I was no longer an unusually small center, wanted only by Jenks. I’d worked hard the past summer, and the bulking up had begun. But more importantly, boys were fighting over me. I wasn’t sure it was for more than my football skills, nonetheless, in my mind, two guys had fought for me.
Even with my confidence and self-image improving, I couldn’t forget that every coach had doubted my ability to protect the quarterback. Only half my job was the delivery of a timely, quick, and firm snap to the awaiting quarterback’s hands.
Equally importantly, or more so, was my responsibility to stop the progress of the massive and quick defensive linemen. And yes, they would be exponentially bigger in college. I knew that what I’d lacked in size and raw strength, I made up for with instinct, and a desire to protect my Jenks. The question was, would I have the same motivation to protect Jordan?
At our senior sports awards banquet, Jenks got MVP of Football, and Best All Around Athlete. Coach Crissman, praising Jenks before he presented the award, announced that Jenks held the record for fewest quarterback sacks in school history. He’d then paused, to insert an adlib into his prepared speech, “It’s noteworthy that not one of those sacks resulted from a missed block by Kendall, Jenks’ longtime companion and center. Jenks and Kendall have been together, with perfect snap timing, since the first day they both played football. I look forward to seeing them together at our flagship university, where Jenks has received a full scholarship.”
I noticed the bathroom was full of steam, and stepped into the shower to wash up, and finally have a little fun. I’d known, as soon as I started the drive home, that I would be locking the bathroom door. My dad has no boundaries. While lathering my body, I thought about the day’s practice session, and appreciated the changes to my body. I gave myself a good rub-down.
Once covered in soap, I wrapped my hand around my package; it had risen to the occasion. My smooth-shaven balls and chubby dick felt heavy in my hand. The memory of Jordan’s sensual touches and suspect comments was causing more blood to rush into my stiff cock. With just a little encouragement, it became fully engorged.
I squeezed my shaft as I thought about tomorrow’s practice. I imagined how it would feel with my skin tight football pants as Jordan groped my bubble butt. My floppy foreskin slid back to reveal my mushroom head, and the warm shower splashed on my sensitive glans. I closed my eyes and touched my right cheek, remembering that first contact by Jordan. A surge of pleasure rolled throughout my body, causing my knees to bend, and my head to fall back.
I gave my ass the squeeze I had so desired from Jordan. I started stroking my lathered dick. I pulled my foreskin on and off the head of my cock. I reached around and slid my fingers in my ass crack, to find my tender spot. I wrapped my thumb around my dick, and stretched out my fingers to wrap around my nut sack. I stretched my scrotum up on my next long stroke. I felt movement in my balls, and a tickle in my dick, so I pulled harder. I stretched my ball sack and sperm cord to the max, in an attempt to slow down the oncoming ejaculation.
With the soft, silky skin of my scrotum firmly in my left hand, I gave my nuts a firm squeeze, as I slid two soapy fingers deep into my sphincter. I gave it a strong, sideways tug, to open up my hole. My anus burned, in the best way possible, then relaxed into pleasure. I used the muscles of my right arm to bend my torso, and released my tongue to lick my smooth, tender sack. I pushed my body a little tighter, finally wrapping my hungry lips around the head of my cock. The sweet, salty taste of pre-cum coated my tongue.
Bobbing, as best as I could, on my now throbbing dick, I knew it would not take long. I’d been on the edge of exploding during the quarterback speed test. Every time Jordan crawled under me, I was stimulated by his aggressive touch. I went down farther, pushing my dick deeper into my mouth. With my free arms, I pulled my ass cheeks apart with one hand, and pushed three fingers on my other hand into my ass. I made contact with my prostate, and began to massage it. That was my trigger. Silky, tasty, warm cum began to spew.
Five convulsive explosions later, I stood up, popping my dick from the powerful suction of my mouth, and withdrawing my fingers from my hungry ass. A mouthful of warm cum swirled around my tongue. I made sure every taste bud experienced the creamy brine that had just streamed out of my slit. Once satisfied, I swallowed my swimmers and their river of lube. I chuckled, thinking, “Sorry, boys, but this is a closed loop.”
I stood under the water, enjoying the coating of cum that remained in my mouth, until I heard a sharp bang on the door, and dad yelling, “Are you coming yet? Dinner is ready, unless you’re not finished.”
Again, no boundaries. I knew what he suspected, and the fact he was right made it more embarrassing. Being the jokester that he is, as soon as we were sat at the dinner table, and I had a mouth full of food, he asked, “Have a pleasurable shower?” That caused my second eruption of the night, this time, spewing food out of my mouth.
A few hours later, I was in bed, back at my dorm. I checked my phone, and saw that I had a message. I didn’t recognize the number. I looked at it for a few seconds, until I drifted off to sleep.
—
I woke to my phone exploding with messages. But since I was about to be late for class, I jumped up without checking them, got dressed, and headed to class.
The professor was late, so I took a moment to check my phone. The first five texts were flamers from a very angry Jenks. I was ruining his life, his college football experience, and thus ending his career. A bit dramatic, I thought. He demanded that I come back to him, on the football field.
Next text was from the team’s quarterback coach, asking if I’d be willing to work with Jenks. He was actually doing a little more than asking. He said Jenks was having a meltdown, and he was worried about the team.
Final text was from Jordan saying he’d awakened to an aggressive text from Jenks and a very solicitous text from the head coach. Both pleading with him to encourage me to work with Jenks.
Then I listened to a phone message from Jordan who again said the right thing, “Kendall, you know I’d love to work with you this year, but this is completely your choice. I’ll support you, and I hope to remain your friend, regardless of who you choose. You do what’s best for you and the team.”
Without another thought I texted back, “You’re stuck to me.”
Then, quickly followed by, “I mean with me. LOL!”
His response was a naughty-looking smile emoji, and “Either works!”
I did not respond to Jenks. I simply deleted his text, and blocked his number. Needless to say, I heard very little the professor said that day.
—
In the first week of practice, Jordan and Jenks were competing for the starting position. In the second week, I was told I’d be the starting center, and that I’d be expected to bulk up a bit… and to work with the to-be-determined starting quarterback.
Being told to bulk up was nothing new. I did encourage the line coach to judge me on my results, not just my size. His response was, “Why do you think you’re starting?”
—
By week three, as we prepared for our first game, the quarterback slot was still a toss-up. I was required to work with Jenks for half of each practice. We were an effective duo, but our timing just wasn’t as sharp as it had been.
I wanted what was best for the team, so I gave it my all. Jenks was tentative when he put his hands under me. He seemed to avoid actual physical contact. The result was less effective delivery. I talked to him about it, encouraging him to make firmer contact, so I knew where his hands were and when he was ready. I realized that, in high school, on every count, I’d felt Jenks flex his arms, resulting in a push against my nuts. This is why our timing was so good. Without the contact, we would always be a little off.
“You are not drawing me back into that world.” was his response “I can’t go there again. Dad says he knows I can straighten up, and warned that you would try to lure me back.”
My response was, “Your choice.”
—
On Wednesday of game week, I was late leaving the locker room. Walking out, I overheard a heated conversation between the new quarterback coach and Jenks. We’d been told at practice that a new quarterback coach would be joining us. The new voice sounded familiar. Jenks was so angry he was crying. I suspected Jenks hadn’t gotten the starter position. He was screaming about how angry his dad was going to be, and complained “That little faggot center sabotaged me to help Jordan get the position.” I knew I should’ve just kept walking out the door.
Then a phone message from Jordan.
But a rage I’d never known took over. I turned, walked up to the window of the coach’s office, and stood there, waiting for Jenks to see me. What was Coach Crissman doing in our locker room? I saw Coach Crissman grab Jenks by the shoulder and force him down, into a chair. Once Jenks got over the shock of Coach Crissman’s manhandling, Coach said, “Jenks, I know.” He paused before continuing, “I know this hurts, and that it’s about more than football. But you have got to let Kendall go, or your dad will do something stupid. I know how he feels about this issue.”
That’s when Jenks looked to his side, and saw me standing in the window. The tears in his eyes melted my anger. I did not hate him. I did not want to see him hurt this much. Maybe a little, but not like this. I knew, at that moment, he feared most that I’d walk in, and confirm what Coach Crissman was implying.
I walked away. I didn’t want to be drawn back into Jenks power over me. I had moved on, but I knew that I did not have the resolve to resist Jenks when he was in such great need. I knew that by entering that room I would return to a place where I had no acknowledged value, subservient to Jenks and his Dad’s ego, and back into the closet Jenks had pushed me out of. When I heard the office door open, I picked up my pace as I ran to my future.
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Thanks for reading this latest chapter. I look forward to reading your comments.
I am working on where this will go next. Will Jenks ever defy his father to live an authentic life? Will Kendall ever forgive Jenks? Is Jordan intentionally misleading Kendall so he can be the starting quarterback? What will happen to Jenks, can he play second fiddle? What does Coach Crissman know and how does he know it?
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