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My eyes focus in on the object in his hand—a measuring tape.
“Dude.” Alex protests. “You’re not touching me.”
“I don’t want to touch your cock,” Jeff assures. “Measure it yourself.”
Each guy takes his turn, calling out his number before passing the tape onto the next teammate. Most of them yell out a five or six, with some halfs and quarters thrown in to pad the numbers. Christian yells out seven—clearly over his small dick anxiety—but Jeff shakes his head and tsks.
“You’re a six, dumbass. I can see the tape.”
No one tries to lie after that.
“Seven,” Alex reads with a smug tone to his voice. “Wouldn’t want me to stick that up your ass, now, would ya?”
Jeff’s mouth stretches in a creepy grin in response. “Yeah. No wonder all the girls cry when you stab them with that sausage. I’ll get back to that in a minute.”
Alex hands the tape over to me.
Here’s the thing. I might not take a peek at the guys showering next to me, but every guy has measured himself. I’m no exception. I’ve known for a long time that I’m bigger than average. And frankly, this is just another way to get these assholes off my back. My numbers don’t lie. On the field or off of it.
“Eight.”
Jeff’s eyes bug out of his skull as he checks my measurement. “You, uh...you round down?”
“Not usually.” I shrug. “Just didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“What’s the tape say?” someone calls.
“Eight and three quarters,” Jeff chokes out.
The room goes silent.
How do ya like me now, motherfuckers?
Without a word, I hand the tape over to Trevor. The rest of the line measures, calls out more fives or sixes, and then it’s over.
Jeff faces us, his arms crossed over his chest as he strikes a wide-stanced pose. “Here’s the thing, douche nozzles. You have to know what position you are before the play is in motion. On the field, in bed, doesn’t matter. If a girl cries when you fuck her, you’re not doing your job. For the rest of the season, we’re going to teach you what you need to know.”
Oh, great. Just what I need. Dicking advice from assholes.
“I don’t need you to teach me anything,” Alex spits. “I probably get laid more than you do.”
Jeff gets in Alex’s face. “I never pegged you for an asshole, Fossoway, but if you think it’s supposed to hurt when you fuck them, then you have a lot to learn.”
My respect for Jeff climbs a rung on the ladder in my mind. Neither Mike nor I have any idea what to do with Alex these days, but maybe someone else can bring him in line.
“Whatever.” Alex bends down and hikes his pants back up.
The rest of the guys follow suit.
Any further sex ed lessons come to a screeching halt when Coach pops his head in the door. “Stop wasting my time and get your asses out on the field!”
Ahhh, saved by the bulging vein in his neck. Never thought I’d live to see the day I was grateful for that sight.
Everyone moves into high gear, donning their pads and practice jerseys, then hightailing it out of the locker room with the customary slap to the Warrior above the exit.
I’m just about to bail myself when a firm hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks.
I turn to meet Jeff’s nervous gaze.
