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“Colt,” I said, giving him the nickname I wanted to have at my new school, my cheeks burning as I hadn’t even gotten used to hearing it yet. I turned red as my cock spurted squirt after squirt onto the tiled wall in front of me, and his thumb repeatedly pressed inside my body, gently getting slower as my pulses faded. 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 gave a nod, turned off his water, and grabbed his towel. His body moved with this casual, effortless bounce that I couldn’t stop watching—even though I knew I shouldn’t be.