It was overwhelming, impossible to process how good it felt. Because I liked it. The coach had taken one look at me during tryouts and muttered something about “potential,” which I’m pretty now was just code for “we need warm bodies.”
The first practice was a wake-up call. He put both hands on my ass and massaged in circles with his thumbs. My body was literally buzzing, my ears ringing, every nerve on fire, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. This doesn’t mean anything, I told myself. And then it happened. My towel barely clung to my hips, and I felt every inch of my awkwardness as I stood there, trying to blend into the background. I didn’t dare to turn around and look, and my erection problem had not gotten better. It all started at the beginning of the school year. I continued soaping up my arm pits and chest and willing my boner to disappear.
