Page 4 of Dickathlon

After Brisbane, I took a little break from gymnastics. Not the working on my muscles part of it, but the apparatus parts. Earlier this week, however, I was back at it. Quinn and I both went to San Jose State and our last semester was about to start, which meant we were also coaches again.

Last year, my dad’s connections had given us the heads up about an opportunity at a small private school close to campus, Sierra Hills Academy. They didn’t have a large program, but they had a shit ton of money, and we could use the equipment as often as we wanted as long as it didn’t interfere with our coaching sessions or any of the other sports. San Jose State had all I needed, but the Academy’s equipment was nicer and not having to schedule my training around the rest of the team’s was a blessing.

I asked Coach Woodward if he’d continue to help me after Brisbane, so every week I made sure to send him a video with a few of my routines in it for feedback. His response would always include a plan for the week. I was grateful he was willing to help me. My family wasn’t poor, but I still couldn’t afford a personal coach, and I wouldn’t ask them to pay for one either.

Luckily, gymnastics had earned me a full ride to college, and the job at Sierra Hills paid enough that I could afford a life: groceries, Netflix, a little fun at the bars every now and then, and the nice apartment close-ish to campus that I shared with Quinn.

Quinn and I met in middle school and became fast friends. Gymnasts weren’t growing on trees or anything, so we found each other quickly and had been close ever since. She was pretty much the girl version of Luke. I’d flirt and have fun with her, but never once had we thought about crossing the friendship line. There wasn't a glaring reason; we just made more sense as friends.

Looking back, I guess I should’ve read into the whole flirting with Luke thing, but oh well. Here I was, struggling to fit into the gay scene. Is that what I should call it?

I didn’t even know what to call it.

Quinn and I had decided that even without a response from Declan, I should try to figure out where I was on Luke’s scale of sexuality. Initially, I was disappointed about Declan, and my eyes meandered longingly through his Instagram profile every few weeks - fuck, I even jacked it to his shirtless posts a few times - but eventually, I decided it could be fun to explore this new part of me.

Could was the operative word there. Lately, it had become frustrating. The opposite of fun.

None of my interactions felt at all like the few times I spoke to Declan. And maybe I was putting him on a pedestal, but even flirting with Luke came more naturally than talking to random bar bros.

After I showered my sweat and the smoke of the club off, I pulled on a pair of sweats, crashed on the couch, and fired up the Roku. Time for my guilty pleasure show, Keeping Up Appearances. As the son of a librarian and a high school math teacher-turned-principal, PBS had been a childhood staple. Hyacinth Bucket, pronounced 'bouquet', was a perfect distraction.

“Jesus, Ty. Warn a girl before you poke her eyes out with those things.”

“You’ve seen me shirtless a thousand times, Q.”

“Yeah,” she said, sliding in beside me, “but man, they got some pump in them today.” Her hand barely covered my pec as she squeezed it like the orange in the produce section she thought it was.

“Checking for freshness?”

“Still can’t believe you’re real sometimes, you know that? Oh for fuck’s sake, not this show again.”

“What? It’s my comfort show. I need it. I didn’t ask to be licked. My ear needs it.”

“My ears can’t stand her voice. I don’t know how it soothes you.”

“Well, you can sympathize with her neighbors, Elizabeth and Emmett, and I’ll be over here enjoying myself.”

She muttered, “Can’t do that with another guy, apparently.”

“I’m trying, dude. I can’t help it if everyone sucks.”

“You’re not even giving them a chance to suck.” She elbowed me in the stomach, trying to make me smile at her joke, which of course, I did.

But really it made me think of Declan on his knees, pulling the waistband of my sweats down. My cock would pop up, slapping him on the chin and he would laugh, give me a big smile, and open wide-

“You missed it. It’s your favorite part of the episode and you didn’t laugh.”

“What? Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

She scooted to the other end of the couch. “Judging from your sweats, I know what you were thinking about. Or should I say who?”

“Fuck.” I hadn’t noticed, but should’ve. “Sorry.”

She sighed. “It’s not like I haven’t seen ‘The Tent’ before.”

I hadn’t realized she named it, but it’s not like I could control that. All this guy talk lately had me horned up. I was jacking it almost twice a day, and still, shit like this happened.

My ringtone filled the room, so I paused the show.