Out of Position (7 page)

“Just let it go. Don’t think about it. How appropriate for a football player.” He turns away.

I run after him, grab his shoulder. He wrenches it free and takes another couple steps. I glare at him. “That’s not fair.”

I can see his breath as he pants. “Neither was what happened to Brian.”

“Brian’s not here,” I point out. “I am.”

His ears go back, but not in an angry way. I see retorts flash across his eyes, but he bites them back and just turns away again.

I don’t have to run to catch him, and this time, he doesn’t pull away when I grab his shoulder and turn him towards me. Light mist hangs in the air between us, the fog of our breath combined with the chill of the night. His scent is strong in my nose; I can smell his anger matching mine, and all the other emotions below it. I feel like slapping him or screaming at him.

“Don’t just walk away from me, dammit!” I say, louder than is necessary.

“Oh, now I’m not supposed to just let it go? Didn’t you just want me to leave all those football players alone?” His eyes are piercing, challenging me, and I want to shake him, he’s being so frustrating. I grab his other shoulder and he puts his paws on my stomach, bracing himself to push away from me. We freeze there.

I can feel his heat, the pounding of his heart matching the quick lashing of my tail. My paws are tight on his shoulders, my blood is hot, and I’m thinking I should’ve just walked away. Let us both cool off, that’d be the sensible thing to do. But I don’t want to be cool. Part of my anger is knowing that he’s right, and I’m sure I see in his eyes that he knows that I’m right too. But there’s more in his eyes; the anger isn’t uppermost anymore, though it lingers in his scent. What I see there mirrors what’s battling with anger inside me, reflecting the change I can feel in my expression.

In a heartbeat, in the silence with his question hanging in the air, the tension between us changes, and we both feel it. We’re both all worked up, and it doesn’t matter that it was an argument that did it. We’re breathing hot and heavy, warming the night, and anger and bitterness are subsumed into something else as I look back into his blue eyes and say, “No… don’t let go.” Then I’m crushing him to me and we’re together and kissing in the middle of the street, and the chill of the night is gone. All I can feel is his heat against mine. Our clothes might as well not even be there. I’ve got one paw down on his tail and he’s cupping my butt in his and I thank god he’s in his blouse and skirt, because I didn’t even stop to think about what passersby might see.

“How many blocks to your house?” I pant raggedly when we wrench ourselves apart.

“Six,” he says, tongue lolling slightly out.

“We’ll get there faster if I carry you,” I say, and for once, he doesn’t spurn my help.

 
September 2006

And there’s still my one big secret left to tell.

It’s the morning of our first real game. Randy’s ritual to kick off the season is to be hung over Saturday morning, so when the phone rings, he howls and clutches his head. “Shut it off!!”

I grin and grab the phone. “Probably coach making sure we’re up,” I say, clicking the phone on. “Hello?”

“Hi,” his voice says in my ear, low and husky. I freeze.

After a moment of silence, I get, “Hello?” His normal voice.

“Hi,” I say, finally.

He chuckles.

“Surprised?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll make this quick. I just wanted to remind you what you can do. I’m looking forward to being impressed today.”

“You’re coming?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll wear your favorite outfit.”

I smile. The last few preseason games, he’s shown up in his regular clothes, with friends. “Coming alone?”

“No, actually.”

“Okay.” I don’t ask him to explain why his friends won’t care if he dresses like a woman in public. If anyone can explain, Lee can. “I’ll see you there, then.”

“Make me proud.” For that, he goes back to the husky feminine voice, and I’m shivering just a bit as I hang up.

I’m all ready to explain to Randy that it was a friend of mine from out of town, but he’s still holding his head and moaning, and doesn’t seem to care.

Game time is crazy, the stadium’s packed and fans going nuts, but I spot Lee in the stands almost immediately. He’s halfway up the student section, in blouse and skirt, talking with friends. We don’t acknowledge each other, but I know he sees me see him. With that done, I turn my full attention to the game.

I’ve been getting better through the preseason, but this game is something else. I can’t even say for sure what’s different, not until later. All I know is I’m remembering everything and I’m hungry for the ball. I understand for the first time what they mean when they say that the game comes to you. It’s an amazing feeling.

I pick off three passes before they stop throwing to my side, and bust more plays than I can count. I even save a touchdown when I force a fumble from their running back. Mike gets torched twice for scores, but we win by a field goal anyway.

Coach gives me the game ball—my first one ever. I take it with me that night even though it’s stupid, I could be recognized, but I don’t care. I want him to see it.

Of course, when I get to the apartment, there are a couple other balls that demand my attention. Our clothes don’t last long, and pretty soon we’re on the bed and playing and talking a bit like we do. He makes some remarks about me getting lucky, and finally I say, “I’m not lucky, I’m good.”

His foxy, cocky grin stretches from ear to ear. “I told you you were,” he says.

“So, what,” I ask, still capable of speech because although we are naked and nibbing pretty heavily against each other, he hasn’t yet reached over for the lube to finish off our little play. I’m so jazzed inside I almost don’t need it. “You got some Bull Durham thing goin’ on here?”

He laughs. “I’m not that old. Do I look it?” His paw reaches to the side table.

There goes my speech center. I just shake my head. Something cool slides along my cock. Anticipation and arousal have me twitching and squirming, so I take it out on his erection, since he’s takin’ his sweet time. He squirms a bit, then leans in and says, “Do I feel that old?” as he sits back on me and oh dear god everything just melts away for those glorious few minutes.

When I finish my shower, he’s lying under the covers, and I grab my football before joining him. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not that loose,” he says.

I flip if to him and he bobbles it, catches it against his chest. “Game ball?”

“Yeah.” I scoot under the covers and grin. No, more than a grin; I can’t stop my teeth from showing.

He looks shrewdly up at me. ‘Your timing was off for most of the third quarter. When you thought they weren’t going to throw to your side, you got lazy.”

“They weren’t throwing to my side,” I point out.

“Doesn’t mean you can take plays off.”

My ears go back, just a little. “It was hot out there.”

He turns the ball over in his paws. “Hot on both sides of the field.”

I slump back against the pillows. “Jesus, nobody’s perfect.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t try to be.” He brings the ball to his nose and inhales.

“I thought I was pretty good,” I grouse.

“You were good,” he says. “But you can be better. You have to be better at the next level.”

I turn my head. His blue eyes are even with mine. “The pros?”

“Sure,” he says, and places the ball carefully on the floor. “This is a good start. You going to get eleven more?”

Eleven more? “Can’t I just be proud of this one?”

“You should be,” he says, and yawns hugely. “I am.”

He says it simply, without emphasis, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. When I don’t say anything in reply, he leans up for a soft kiss, and then turns away to back up against me. I put my arm around him and pull him tight against me, trapping his bushy and still-damp tail against my chest, wiggling my sheath between his cheeks, resting my muzzle between his ears. He goes to sleep almost immediately. I lie awake.

How can two simple words keep me staring at his wall, holding my breath for fear I’ll wake up and have dreamed them? How can this little fox make the best day of my life even better? I wish there were better words to say how I’m feeling. The best I can do is to say it feels like I’m stuck under his tail and living that moment of release over and over again, only the point of release is not inside my groin. It’s inside my chest, and I’ve never felt anything like it before.

I brush the fur on his chest, not wanting to go to sleep, not wanting this moment to end, ever. I bury my nose in his fur and close my eyes and inhale. I can feel myself drifting off, and I think, I want to feel like this again. I will feel like this again. I’ll make him proud of me.

And I know that I’m not just doing it for him, but also for me. I don’t mind doing it for him, though; he’s the one who gives me that little push that I needed, gives me something to play for. He’s my Gipper, my Rudy, my dying-kid-in-the-hospital-wing.

Eleven more game balls? No sweat.

Now, I got a secret.

(Dev)

 
Okay, with Lee telling you what all the players are supposed to do, I can walk you through how an actual game goes. The teams flip a coin at the beginning of the game. Winner gets to pick whether they want to kick off or receive. To receive means you start on offense and have the first chance to score. But sometimes teams want to kick off, because if you start the first half on defense, you start the second half on offense. Also if you stop the other team right away on the first drive, it gives you a lot of energy going into your offense. The coaches all figure this out. I just know I liked being first on the field.

When a team gets the ball, they line up like Lee described. They get four chances to move the ball ten yards; those are “downs.” So there’s first down, second down, third down, fourth down. I don’t know why they’re called that
,
they just are. Anyway, on first down usually you try to run the ball. That means the QB hands it to the RB and he tries to get ten yards up the field. Actually, if he gets four or five, that’s pretty good, and then on second down you might try to run it again. If you can get three or four yards every time you run the ball, you can just run it all day long.

The thing is, though, if you don’t get your ten yards in four tries, the other team gets the ball. So most of the time you only take three tries, and if you don’t get ten yards, you punt. Punting is where the punter kicks the ball down the field and the other team gets to catch it and try to run back with it. Basically you do that so that they don’t get the ball at the spot where you didn’t get your ten yards. This is called “field position,” as in having good field position (near the other team’s goal) or bad field position (near your own).

The other thing you can do on fourth down, if you have good field position, is kick a field goal. If you’ve gotten close to the other team’s goal, but not actually into it, you have your kicker try to kick the ball through the goalposts (the uprights, we call the arms on either side), and you get three points if he makes it.

Once you get your ten yards, you get a whole new set of downs. This keeps up until you punt, or get a field goal, or score a touchdown by getting into the other team’s goal. Or—this is where I come in—until one of your players loses the ball and the other team gets it. It has to be a “live” ball, which is complicated and there are lots of rules around it but essentially it means that the play isn’t over yet. So if your running back drops the ball and I pick it up, or your quarterback is a crappy passer and I get the pass before his receiver does, then that’s a “change of possession” and the ball belongs to us. We can run it back as far as we can on that play, then our offense takes over on the next one.

That’s why I love playing defense. We get to be in on the big plays, the game-changing ones that “turn the tide,” “shift the momentum,” whatever you want to call it. There’s nothing like the feeling you get when you get your paws on the ball as a defender. Nothing.

Not to say there’s nothing better. Just nothing like it.

(Lee)

 
December 2006

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.

“Hey, Wiley, it’s Brian. Again.”

The pause before the “again” is perfectly timed. If he’d let it be part of the sentence, it might’ve slipped by me. The hesitation is not because he’s wondering whether to bring it up. It’s so that he can make me aware that he knows I’ve been avoiding his calls.

“
I got your message about next weekend. Sorry you’ll be out of town.”

Delivered with just the right amount of sarcasm. I don’t doubt that he’s sorry. I know he doubts that I’m really out of town. Fortunately for me, I will be; I wouldn’t put it past him to turn up unexpectedly at my door, to catch me out. One reason we would never have made it as a couple: we think too much alike.

“
Why don’t you give me a call sometime Sunday evening, between seven and nine? I’ll arrange my next visit around your schedule.”

I knew I’d only be able to get away with calling when I knew he was out a few times. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever.

“
Hope to talk to you soon.”

Oh, he’s good. Such a simple phrase, layered expertly with expectations, sadness, and a touch of annoyance. Just enough to make me feel guilty.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Brian is a great actor for just that reason. He rarely lets anything slip out without a direction and a target, and he hits the mark more often than not. He got me into acting, but I’ll never be as good as he is.

Of course, that’s also indirectly why he’s no longer attending Forester.

 
We hit it off the first day we met, October of my freshman year: two gay boys from Midwestern towns, sitting in the Forester Lesbians And Gays orientation, both sitting there with tails wagging, thinking that this is why we came to Forester University. There were other freshmen there too, but when the spotted skunk stood up and said, “I’ve been waiting my whole life to be here,” which was almost word for word what I’d planned to say, I grinned so wide that he gave me a quick wink as he sat down.