O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Vulcanized Teammates (mm mc fet)

by Purplebootsgywr

The Football Jock

Name's Cody. I'm what you'd call an 18-year-old football jock. It's okay, I'm cool with it. I know I'm a pigskin-head, but I love it, so that's that. I've been heavy into football for as long as I can remember, ever since I first wrapped my tiny hands around a ball and played catch in the backyard as a toddler. I've come a little ways since then. I've played pee wee, freshman football, been on the J.V. and Senior teams, and had no small part in bringing our players more together as a team than we'd ever been before. I guess I'm into football more than anything else in the world.

Well, almost anything.

I don't talk about everything I love as much as I talk about football. I'm also into rubber. Seriously into rubber. I don't know when that all started, really. Probably not too long after I first put my toddler's hands on that football, I suppose.

When I was still in kindergarten, my folks got me these little red boots one Christmas. They were awesome. I was so tiny then, they were practically like knee boots on me. I wore them everywhere, all winter long, and then prayed for rain so I could wear them in the off-season. They were bright red, shiny, slick, sleek. I was constantly yanking out the removable fur lining so I could pull them on barefoot and feel the rubber against my skin. Sometimes, I'd even sneak down to the basement where we kept the snow shovels, toboggans, and stuff and take out the red boots and hide them in my bedroom so I could secretly wear them under the covers while I slept.

As I got older, my infatuation both with football and rubber grew hand-in-hand. I took up fishing just to wear the chest waders. I encouraged buddies to practice ball in the rain to "toughen us up" when in fact I just wanted to put on this old-fashioned rubber poncho I found in the attic. I'd wear that without a shirt, which felt phenomenal. I don't know what it was, exactly, but something told me that my love of rubber was to be kept as quiet as my love of football could be shouted about. I guess, even as much as I loved the game, football never made me...feel the way the simple touch of rubber on my skin did. Football was exciting, energizing, exhilarating.

But rubber was erotic.

You don't sit around the dinner table at Thanksgiving talking ad nauseam about things you find erotic. There's a reason they don't kick off each New Year with a stadium full of fans waiting to watch the Rubber Bowl.

So I kept that part quiet. It was cool. Until rubber becomes as accepted as football, I figure it'd be smart to keep a lid on it. I mean, rubber's a big part of my life, but it's not my whole life, you know?

So I'm a football jock. And I'm a closet rubberboy.

And I think I have a crush on our linebacker, Tad.

Okay, so maybe there's two things I should keep quiet. No biggie.

But right now I'm trying to keep my head in the game, so to speak. It's the beginning of our pre-season football camp, and there's all kinds of fuss about a big meeting beforehand. All the guys are here, new players, too, to hear what's going on that's so different this year, and why for the first time since forever that our coach has actually brought in an assistant.

We're all seated in a big circle in the gym at this camp site, waiting for things to get under way. Even though it hasn't been that long since the end of last season (and let's face it, not a lot of us are very good), you can tell that we're all itching to play. I look across the circle and see Tad. Tad Carr. God DAMN, he is cute. He's talking with Bradley and Hart, too caught up in whatever they're gabbing about to notice me staring, which is good. I tell ya, if there's a listing in the dictionary for "All-American", they should have Tad's picture next to it. He's totally clean-cut, always smooth-faced, no tattoos, doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. His whole body is smooth in fact, except for the few really light, wispy hairs on his legs I've noticed (hey, the team does shower together, remember?). He's got a fantastic build and he keeps in excellent shape. His eyes are intensely bright, and he keeps his red hair very short. I decide to look away before I have to cross my legs to hide my boner.

The coach comes in to address the group, and he's got some other guy with him. The other guy is clearly way younger than Coach, but still older than the rest of us. He's tall, baby face, spiky hair, nice eyes. Really nice eyes. I'm guessing he's just started college and is working at the camp as a summer job. Whoever he is, he hangs back while Coach talks to us.

I'd like to say that Coach Gareth is all muscles and chiseled looks, but the truth is he looks just like every other stereotypical high school football coach. Kinda short, got some serious paunch going on, balding. He's got a great love for the game, but he's not always the best at transferring his enthusiasm into winning instructions or strategies. Coach has been slowing down a bit over the last couple years. Even today, he's moving a little unsteadily, and looks like he could use a few more hours of sleep. I realize that I've been staring at the coach and paying more attention to how tired he looks than to what he's been saying. I refocus my attention and listen up.

"--great group of guys, and I mean that. But clearly, something's been missing. Our record shows that. So this year, we're going to try something a little different. Something new. I'm bringing in an assistant coach who I believe will help us realize our goals of success, both on and off the field. He's a senior in college, and his methods--while a bit unorthodox--have brought his own team champion status during his tenure." And right here the coach looked around the circle at all of us. His eyes grew sharp and it was obvious he wanted us to absorb what he was saying next.

"As of today, I am handing over the reigns of this team to your assistant coach. I'll remain more in the background this season, but rest assured, I will be there. In the meantime, you will respect the authority of the assistant coach in every way." The coach wasn't giving us a request or an order. This was worded as a statement of fact. "You will follow his direction as if he were me. You will work with him, and conform to his program, regardless how unconventional or unusual it may seem at first."

This got a few stares and shared looks of confusion from the team. What was this assistant coach guy gonna have us do? Stand on our heads and spit nickels?

"From now on, I turn you over to the very capable hands of three-time State champion and your new assistant coach, Christian Haydensen." Coach Gareth clapped as he gestured to the other side of the room. The kid I thought was working the camp for the summer strode over with an air of authority. He was older than I thought he was. But he still looked about our age. Coach fired some menacing glances around the circle when he saw us all just sitting and staring, and he slapped his hands together a little harder to indicate we should applaud as well.

The guys shared a smattering of polite, if reluctant, applause.

The new assistant coach took the center of the circle, after he and Coach Gareth exchanged a handshake and the coach retried to the far side of the room. Assistant Coach Haydensen surveyed the group, turning around slowly, making eye contact with each player. When his eyes locked with mine, I could feel a connection between us. It felt as if he were sizing me up. I glanced at the floor, as it also felt that while under his stare, I had been found wanting. The a.c. spoke to us then, with a young voice that still had an edge to it of someone who was accustomed to being obeyed.

"I know it's not the best or event he smartest thing for a new team leader to come in and make blanket statements like "There's gonna be a lot of changes made around here", but that's pretty much what's going to happen. For starters, I need the whole bunch of you guys in the locker room, pronto. Move it, double-time!"

We just kind of stared at each other for a split-second, thrown by his manner as much as his command, when coach grumbled form the far end of the gym, "You heard the man."

The team promptly stampeded into the locker room, unsure of what awaited us there, but trying to make the quick mental adjustment to our new leader. I held back a pace and looked over to coach, who was talking to Christian. Coach looked really tired, and possibly even a little sick. He rested a hand on Christian's shoulder, telling him something about us, I presumed, as he pointed now and again at the locker room where the team had just gone. Christian nodded solemnly, and shook the coach's hand. The a.c. had a look of reassurance on his face as he turned away to join us, and the coach patted him on the back as he went. Coach walked out of the gym, looking whipped. We were now left in the care of our new assistant coach. I hoped he knew what he was doing.

The Assistant Coach

The team lined the benches in front of the lockers, watching Christian pace back and forth as he spoke to us. Either he was a natural leader, or his speech was really well-rehearsed.

"The Vulcans. That's more than just the title of our school mascot. That's us. We're the Vulcans. Do any of you really know what that title means?"

Bradley, ever the smartass, held up his hand in the split-fingered Star Trek salute. Christian pointed at him and said, "And I think we all know I don't mean THAT kind of Vulcan." A few of us started to laugh, but Christian's stern look held us at bay. Bradley dropped his arm and held his hand behind his back, muttering a quick apology.

"Vulcan was the forge of the gods. A celestial blacksmith, who created not only tools and magical machines--but whose hammer and tongs could create the very thunderbolts themselves. If each of us is a Vulcan, then each of us has within him the power to forge his own thunderbolt inside himself. A force of pure power, bristling with energy we can send forth. We have the power to forge our own destiny. It'll take hard work, intense pounding and hammering to mold ourselves into the shape we want--and it'll take sweat." Christian stopped pacing and turned to look at us. Newcomer or not, he had our undivided attention.

"It's time to take a more aggressive approach to your training in order to get you up to the level of proficiency you need to be champions.", Assistant Coach Haydensen said. It was a little jarring for him to start his first official day in charge like this, but so far there were no objection either to his words or his enthusiasm. He wheeled out one of the smaller laundry carts and leaned over to reach inside. "We'll start with these."

Right then he began walking around the locker room, tossing out these black bundles, one to a player. They looked like boat tarps or something, all rolled up into a tight package. "We need to change they way we think about the game, gentlemen", he said. "We need to start changing the way we think about how we train." He kept right on tossing these little bundles to each guy as he walked and talked. "And most importantly, we need to change the way we think about each other."

We all sat there, not quite sure what to make of his speech, or our little bundles. He inclined his head forward, eyebrows raised. "Well? Go ahead, unroll 'em."

We did. What unrolled in each player's hands was a full-length, trim rubber bodysuit. My mouth hung open when I laid eyes on it. It was beautiful. All black and shiny, so smooth beneath my fingers. It was like a dream come true. Was the a.c. actually ordering me to combine the two greatest loves of my life? I was elated.

But not everyone was. "What the hell is this shit?", snarled Zerkowitz. "What are we supposed to do with these, go deep sea diving?" His remark got a few laughs, a few muttered agreements.

The a.c. didn't let it throw him. He walked into the equipment room as if he hadn't heard the snide comment, and came out with an armload of what looked at first like black hi-top running shoes. They weren't. As he started passing them around, checking to make sure everyone had the correct shoe size, I could see they were very snug, 16" tall rubber boots with soles not unlike track shoes. I let my suit fall into my lap to hide my erection. In the locker room, surrounded by fellow athletes, being handed rubber outfits by a hot young assistant coach. It was almost too much.

"When was the last time you really sweat during a workout, men?", Haydensen asked. A few of the guys shot him dirty looks and some looked as if they were about to challenge his remark, appearing offended by the implication that they didn't work hard enough. The a.c. saw it coming and cut them off. "Not the usual, strenuous outpouring of sweat you get from running and straining your muscles. Not like happens each time you hit the field. I mean really, really sweat?"

The guys suddenly went from pissed to puzzled. Now they had no idea what he was talking about, but they were no longer offended. Haydensen put one foot on the bench and leaned forward to speak. "We need to flush out the poor performances that have become associated with this team. We need to rid ourselves of the low scores, the fouls, the mistakes, the lapses in teamwork. And we're going to do it through sweat. We are literally going to sweat the deficiencies out of our system." What he was saying didn't make a whole lot of sense, but he was bristling with charisma. There was a firm tone of conviction in his voice. And as he gazed out across the locker room, his vibrant eyes locked briefly with each and every one of us. And boy, did he ever have beautiful eyes.

These are going to be your new workout clothes. Your sweatsuits. Every time you come here for practice, you will suit up in these sweatsuits. You will run drills in these sweatsuits. You will plan strategies in these sweatsuits. And I promise you, you will become a team of champions in these sweatsuits."

That was all I needed to hear. Quietly, and as unobtrusively as possible, I reached behind me into my locker and retrieved my talcum powder from my shower kit. I slipped the bottle into the neck of my rubber sweatsuit and squeezed in several puffs of talc. I wanted this thing on my body so bad I could practically taste it.

No one was paying any attention to what I was doing or what I wanted. "You expect us to train in these things?", said Zerkowitz, incredulous. "No fucking way! I ain't puttin' this thing on, forget it!"

Christian focused his eyes on Zerk, but his expression didn't change. He didn't seem to be getting mad--just more focused.

Cartes chimed in. "I mean, look at these things! These wetsuits--"

"Sweatsuits", corrected the a.c.

"--sweatsuits, whatever, are gonna be, like, skin tight. How are we supposed to get our pads on under 'em?"

"The pads go on over them. Your sweatsuits are always put on first."

"Well, what are we supposed to wear under 'em??"

"Nothing", I said. Everyone turned to look at me. I had stood up, and my shirt was already off. I kicked off my shoes and started to unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants.

Bradley, who was sitting closest to me, jumped up off the bench. "Cody, what the fuck?"

"Put your pants back on!", Zerk shouted, as I dropped my trousers.

"I think I know where the a.c. is going with this", I said. "And if this thing is really supposed to be made to make us sweat like crazy, we can't have anything on underneath 'em." After yanking off my socks and boxers, I stepped my legs into the suit as quickly as possible, making sure to flap the sleeves around in front of me as if I didn't know what I was doing, when in fact I was moving deliberately to hide my hard-on.

I stuffed my arms into the sleeves and forced my hands out the cuffs. I turned around and said to Bradley, "Dude, zip me up." Bradley just sat there, staring, right along with everybody else. "C'mon, man, just do it."

"This is too fucking weird", he mumbled, zipping up my suit from behind.

"Thanks", I said over my shoulder, as I was sitting back down to pull on my boots, or running shoes, or whatever the hell they were. I hadn't powdered the footwear, so it took some tugging to get the damn things on, but once I got my feet inside, they fit like a glove. Comfortable, cushioning. I stood up, the whole darn suit fit like a glove. Seeing me in it also got everyone in the room laughing. I looked to Assistant Coach Haydensen, who had stood up himself, and had a curious look on his face somewhere between pleasure and surprise. Guess my response to his idea pleasantly surprised him.

I held up my hand, trying to get the guys to cool it. I wasn't really successful, so I raised my voice instead. "Lissen up, guys. We have busted our asses season after season. You know that nobody works harder than we do at practice. But every season we go out on that field and get our heads handed to us. Every damn time." The room quieted down. Their team captain in the funny rubber suit had hit a nerve. This was not a laughing matter.

Now that I had their attention, I didn't want to lose it. "We are a good team. But we never seem to be good enough. We're doing something wrong, and damned if we can nail down what it is. If our new a.c. here has some kind of method that will help us reach our potential, I say we pull together, follow his lead, and try it. He didn't get to be three-time champion on his college varsity team because he has his head up his ass." I quickly turned to Christian. "Sorry." He waved the gaff away. "I say we wear the suits. If it doesn't help, at least we gave it a shot.", I said. "Hell, at this point, I'd wear a frickin' tutu if I thought it'd help."

Christian stepped over to the center of the room. "You heard your captain. You can go on with your undeserved losing streak if you like, or you can start down the road to realize your rightful place as champions. The choice is yours. We're going to try a lot of new things that may seem strange to you, but I assure you they have been tried, tested, and they work."

"Well, what are you waiting for?", I said. "Suit up!"

With a few grumbles here and there, the guys started to undress and unroll their rubber suits. "Swear to God I draw the line at wearin' a tutu", muttered Zerk.

A.C. Haydensen started handing out bottles of talcum powder. "Coat the inside with this. It'll slip on easier." Everyone got their own talc. He handed one to me when he was done. "In the future use this, Cody. It's formulated to be used with rubber workout gear."

"Yessir."

Christian gave me a pat on the arm and walked off. I felt a brief tingle where he made contact, and I couldn't suppress a smile. He was adorable. I searched the room for Tad and saw him in his rubber sweatsuit, hopping on one foot, pulling on his boot. If I thought he looked gorgeous before...

Powers tapped me on the shoulder. "Okay, man, zip me up." He turned his back to me and I zipped his suit closed. "You better know what the hell you're doing, goin' along with this, Cody." He rotated his arms and did a couple quick deep knee bends. "Hey. This thing is way more comfortable than I thought it would be. It's all soft and stuff. Spongy shoes. Feels pretty okay." He looked down, remarking, "I can see you really like it."

I looked down, too. My erection was showing very clearly from within the snug suit. I blushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, well, like you said, they're pretty comfortable." Powers just shook his head and grinned. We filed out with the rest of team for the first set of drills in our new training regimen.

Calisthenics had never been so invigorating. Every stretch, every movement was heightened by the feeling of the taut rubber suit stretched over my body, conforming to my every muscle and contour, moving with me, pressing against me. And every motion seemed to help pull the rubber crotch tighter over my rigid cock, pressing it firmly against my abs. The more I moved, the more it was like the suit was playing with me--fondling me in reward for every effort I made. As a result, I put a lot of effort into warm-ups that day.

The practice was a thorough pounding of the basics. Block, pass, tackle, kick, run. We usually worked up quite a sweat during practice, but today it was like we were all sweating buckets. The sun beat down on our gleaming black rubber sweatsuits and we perspired like cold water pipes on the 4th of July. Plenty of Gatorade was on hand, and we must have guzzled down a gallon apiece.

But there was something about the feel of these hot, sticky, slightly confining suits. Something almost--intoxicating. And I could tell that I wasn't the only one who felt it. The movement of the sweat-slicked rubber on our bodies as we ran, pushed, and played felt strangely erotic. We weren't doing anything other than practicing ball, but the fact that we were doing it clad in skintight rubber (and that we were all dressed identically) made it seem somehow sensual. Players stayed atop one another for a bit longer than necessary during tackles, since the feel of muscular bodies crushed against one another through the rubber felt wonderful. All moves calling for physical contact were engaged with relish, as the impact of one rubbered body against another sent ripples of moist pleasure through each player's frame.

Practice ran longer than had been scheduled, but I don't think anyone cared. I know I didn't. By the end, we found we had pushed harder here in practice than we had at our previous year's Homecoming game. We leaned against one another for support, or collapsed exhausted onto the grass. Those of us who could still stand sloshed a bit when we walked, due to the excess of sweat that had puddled into our boots.

I was doubly spent, as I had remained hard during the entire practice. My ball's buzzing, my entire body trembling from the sensation of being wrapped in rubber, I leaned back against the fence to steady myself. I watched Tad as he sat upon the field, feet stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows, panting. I watched as the slick rubber across his chest rose and fell with each gasp, the flecks of grass and dirt there often drown out by tiny sunbursts as his suit caught the light. And as I let my eyes drop down farther than his chest, I saw I wasn't the only player sporting an erection.

We all staggered back into the locker room feeling both exhilarated and exhausted. We peeled off our pads and helmets, and dropped them about the room haphazardly, too tired to put them away just yet. Christian was congratulating us on embracing our new routine and putting forth an honest effort. "There's just one more thing I want you gentlemen to sit through before I let you hit the showers.", he informed us.

"Ohh, man", Zerkowitz moaned, "I'm so bushed I can barely think. What we doin' now?"

"Just follow me", Christian instructed. We did, all of us still in our rubber sweatsuits, whether it was because we all enjoyed the feel--like me--or because we lacked the strength to peel them off, the end result was the same. Christian led us through the locker room and down the hallway to the auditorium. He gestured that we should take a seat. "I figured after that workout you could appreciate something better than gym bleachers to sit on."

No one argued with that. We filed into the rows and plopped down into the slightly overstuffed cushioned rocker seats. I could hear sighs of relief as rubbered butts landed into soft, welcoming chairs and the weight was taken off of booted feet.

Christian announced that he was going to play some video footage of our work from the previous season. He was very adamant about us keeping our eyes on the screen, and concentrating on what he was saying. All I could concentrate on was my fellow teammates. I had purposely taken a seat in a row behind most of the other guys, so I could get a good look at them all from behind. Just about all the guys were in fine shape. Big weightlifter's builds, some tight and trim, or somewhere in between, I was in heaven--despite my exhaustion--just watching these guys I'd known (and let's face it, occasionally fantasized about) for so long, lowering their rubbered selves into the seats all around me.

Christian dimmed the lights and used a laser pointer to indicate things he wanted us to observe on the video screen. He urged us again to listen close and keep a sharp eye, but I just kept peeking to my left and right, taking in the beautiful sight of the rubber-covered hardbodies who sat close enough to touch. I didn't even pick up on Christian's flat monotone as he spoke until I caught some of the guys nodding off.

Bradley was two seats over on my left, and his eyes were glazing over fast. I guess the combo of the rigorous practice followed by dim lights and comfortable chairs was wiping him out. Bradley's head began to nod and it sure looked like he was falling asleep.

"Psst! Dude!", I whispered to him. "Bradley, man, you're gonna get in trouble. Wake up!" But Bradley was too far gone. His head slumped forward and his chest rose and fell rhythmically to indicate he was already pretty deeply asleep.

I considered getting up to move over and shake him awake, but as I started to rise, I noticed that Bradley was by no means alone. Every head in the auditorium was slumped forward in exactly the same way. I looked up and saw that as Christian continued his flat, toneless speech--apparently unaware that everyone in the room had zonked out on him--he kept flashing his laser pointer at the screen. But he was flashing it too rapidly to be indicating anything in particular. He was flashing it in a repeated pattern, over and over.

Christian continued talking, but began to scan the room, nodding to himself at the team of sleeping rubberboys he saw before him. I had no clue what was up, but I plopped myself back down in my chair fast as I could and slumped my head. It was only then, with my head down and my eyes closed, that I really heard what he had been saying all along.

"That's right, men. Breathing deeply, feeling very relaxed, very spent. This practice was one of the best you've ever had. This team's lineup is one of the best you've ever had. And it's only going to get better. And you know what made it so good? What's going to make it better and better? The rubber, men. You, in rubber. Breathing deeply, in and out. In, and out."

This was more than a post-practice wind-down. He was programming us. My heart rate jumped up a notch and I kept listening in silence. This had quickly gone from sexually exciting to just plain scary. What was Christian doing to us?

"Let yourself sink down, deeper and deeper. Feel the soft, soft chair beneath you, sink down into it, into your rubber suit. The rubber that feels so good, the rubber that is becoming a part of you. It feels so good, so soft, so arousing. Your rubber excites you."

I couldn't help it. I was getting hard as a rock, listening to what he was saying, feeling the moist rubber all over my body. I opened one eye a bit and saw Bradley was sprouting a serious erection, too. Is this what Christian wanted? Did he want a whole team of guys seriously into rubber?

Christian's talk went on for several more minutes, I don't know how long. And even though I wasn't as deeply under as the rest of the guys, I was getting pretty relaxed and increasingly turned on despite my fears. I had almost fallen asleep for real when Christian started prompting responses from us. "And repeat, men. I love the game, I love my rubber suit, I love my teammates."

Like a group of immobilized zombies, every boy in the room responded as ordered. "I love the game, I love my rubber suit, I love my teammates."

Christian had them saying it several times, reinforcing it. "And again, men. Say it and know that it's true. Feel deep within you that you speak the truth. I love the game, I love my rubber suit, I love my teammates."

Everyone repeated the phrase, dutifully. The last couple times I even caught myself doing it, though I think I was the only one aware of what I was saying. And the thing is, I really did believe what I was saying was true. I mean, I would've regardless. Christian's little hypnotic exercise may have been subversive...but was it bad?

Within another few moments, the lights were back up and the guys were blinking their eyes and stretching. Christian commented that further review of the old game footage had better wait until a time when the guys were more alert and attentive.

We were dismissed to the showers and then home. The guys seemed really happy with the day's practice. There was a lot of back slapping and high fives, and compliments flew left and right about the new sweatsuits.

"Man! Feel like I could take on the world in this thing!" "We gotta work out in these things another day." "Hell, every day, I'm saying!"

Some players entered the locker room arm-in-arm, acting as if that were the most natural thing in the world.. A few of the guys actually shared hugs. There was more laughing and joking in the showers than I would have expected after such a draining day's work. Meanwhile, Christian went about his own tasks, as if everything was perfectly normal.

The Fratboys

"Dudes, it was absolutely awesome! You should have been there. Every single member of the team, head to toe in rubber, working out, playing, slamming into each other, including my boy Tad. Oh, God in heaven, when I saw him all decked out in our new team rubber suits--oooohhh, total boygasm!"

I was talking with my college pals, Xander and Skeevo. They were a couple years ahead of me in school, and were already fratboys. They're kind of both my friends and mentors when it comes to being a rubberboy. I met them last year when a buddy was invited to rush week at their frat, and was told to bring a friend, namely me. It was like a costume fetish night. I just suited up in my rubber gear for it. Xander and Skeevo were the only other guys there besides me who were decked out all in rubber (except for this undergrad kid they had duded up that way to serve as their boy). I got invited up to their room for a serious first-time experience as a rubberboy. The three of us have been friends ever since. Kind of funny, though--my friend never got invited to join the frat, but I did, even though I wasn't interested.

I sat on the floor of the fratboys' shared room in their fraternity house, both of them seated on their beds. They hung on my every word. Which was a definite role reversal for us.

"Damn, Cody, no shit?", Xander said. "This new coach guy got all you little high school boys into rubber?"

"It took some prompting", I clarified. "But I helped a lot by jumping into my suit first, right there in front of everyone, acting all team spirit and stuff. It pressured the rest of the team to follow suit."

Skeevo, who was the quieter of the two, nodded and remarked, "Go you."

"Thanks, man. By the end of the day, I think everybody was pretty sold on the whole rubber thing. I'm almost positive there'll be no resistance from anybody in wearing them pretty much all the time from now on."

Skeevo raised an eyebrow. "All the time?"

"Um, I mean during practice and like that."

Xander patted me on the shoulder, "Oh, I think he means all the time, period." I smiled, then took on a more serious expression as I thought of something. Xander noticed the change. "What?"

"Well", I mused, "there was this one thing. After practice, we were all whipped, but the a.c. insisted we head into the auditorium and watch this vid of our former plays. Now that I think of it, that seems kinda odd, since the whole point of our new regimen is to do everything totally differently than before. Why would we need to review our old plays?"

Xander shrugged. "Could be he just wanted to point out common recurring errors in execution, not the plays themselves. Troubleshooting."

"That could be", I conceded, "but after a little while, everybody all over the room was nodding off and it was like the a.c. didn't give a shit. He just kept on talking, like we were all still paying attention."

Xander jumped in again. "Eh. Dark room, hard to see. He probably didn't even know you'd all nodded off. Many of you guys snore loud or anything?"

"No, you don't understand", I said, sitting up a little straighter. "The room was well-lit enough from the vid screen alone that you could make out all our faces just fine. There's no way he couldn't have noticed. But then he starts asking us to repeat what he's saying, like it's a foreign language class or something. He's all, 'repeat after me, say this, say that'. And the really fucked up thing is, everyone DOES it. Every single guy, head slumped forward, breathing like they're napping, all start repeating everything just like he told them to. They love their rubber suits, they love football, they love each other. Like that."

Xander rubbed his chin. "But you remember all this. How could you take all this in if you were slumped forward and your eyes were closed?"

"I wasn't. And they weren't.", I corrected. "I faked it just to go along, but I was wide awake, guys. And even I got caught up in the little chant repetition thing. It was bizarre."

Xander stuck his tongue in his cheek and looked thoughtful for a second. He then turned to Skeev and raised a questioning eyebrow. Skeevo nodded, the silent communication understood.

"How'd you get the suits on?", Skeevo asked.

"How did we--?" The question caught me off-guard, as I wondered what that had to do with anything. Then, collecting myself, I answered, "Um, talcum powder."

Skeev nodded to Xander, who kicked his feet up and spun himself around to the other side of the bed. He slid open the drawer of his nightstand and began to rifle through its contents. A few items were haphazardly tossed out to litter the floor or land on the bed. Xander muttered an inventory as he searched for something in particular. "Butt plug... denuding kit... dildo gag... piss gag... ball gag... locking leather collar... locking rubber collar... fist mitts... pocket thesaurus..."

"Pocket thesaurus??", I asked.

Xander looked up at me, surprised. "What? I am in college, big guy." I rolled my eyes, snickering, as he resumed his search. "Aha! It was under the bag of Trojans." He tossed me a small plastic bottle. "Look familiar?"

It was the same talcum that Christian had handed out to the guys on the team. "Yeah! This is the stuff! It's a smaller bottle, maybe, but this is the same stuff we got."

Skeevo identified it. "Hypno powder. There's another name for it, but it's hard to pronounce. Controlled substance. Expensive. Basically, it's designed to mix with sweat and soak into the pores of the skin. That's how it's administered. If you're smart, anyway."

"And if you're not?", I asked.

Xander made a "yucky" face. "Knew a guy once who was into mind games with his sex, wanted a big dose of domination for himself. Poured a heapin' helpin' into his beer. Drank it. Fucked him up for weeks. Had to be tied down almost, since every time somebody on a TV infomercial said to go buy the new Popeil Electro Garden Weasel or whatever, he'd be off sprinting for the nearest Home Depot."

"So, this is used to control people?", I asked.

Xander made an "iffy" gesture with his hand. "More to persuade people to do what they subconsciously already wanted to. It just intensifies it."

"When used properly", Skeevo added.

"When used properly", Xander agreed. Then, to Skeevo, "Looks like we're almost out of that wild strawberry pube shaving lotion, by the way."

Skeevo didn't meet his gaze, just nodded. "I'm on it." Then, to me, "What was it again you were being asked to repeat in the auditorium?"

"Uh, it was like, to really get into using the suits for practicing better, to love and appreciate the game, and to really be there for each other on and off the field. A camaraderie thing, I guess."

Skeevo looked at Xander. "Don't see a problem."

"Me neither." Xander leaned back on his bed, propping himself up on his elbows. "So, tell us more about this honey of yours all done up in his brand new team spirit catsuit."

For nearly the next hour I regaled my rubber buddies with extensive descriptions of my ideal boyfriend taking the field in form-fitting latex.

The Continued Post-Practice Sessions

The next day in the locker room, there were far fewer grumbles about suiting up in our rubber outfits. I was still a bit dazed by all the muscular boys steeping into rubber, so it wasn't until we actually went out onto the field that I realized I had absently poured my own talcum powder into the suit to help slide it on. I'd have to use the other stuff next time, I supposed.

Like the day before, practice went great. There was an energy, a positive aggression in the air between each player that charged us up and egged us on. We sweat like crazy, relished our moments of physical contact (or at least I did), and put away our share of Gatorade again. For some reason, no one seemed to get as tired as quickly.

Afterward, we were herded, sweaty rubber suits and all, back into the auditorium. Once again Assistant Coach Haydensen requested we sit through a video of our old plays, but this time with the added footage of some instructional plays and strategies. No one seemed to object to sitting through a mini-seminar after such a strenuous workout. As the lights dimmed, I settled into my chair and watched the room as much as the screen.

Again, Christian added his own monotone narration. Again, he flashed his laser pointer. Again, every head in the place began to nod forward in response to the stimuli. The rubberclad players, now suddenly sluggish and mesmerized, repeated their mantras as dictated. I mimicked their responses, more than a little uneasy that I was the only one--apart from Christian--who appeared to know consciously what was going on.

"We love our rubber suits. We love the game. We love each other." Dull, emotionless voices filled the auditorium, and despite my growing fear, I felt myself getting an erection. All these rubberboys, under the command of one man (a really hot man at that), being made to profess their love for each other, even in a teammate's capacity, was incredibly erotic to me.

This session lasted considerably longer than before. In it, the boys and I were called to study images on the screen of handsome young football players giving it their all on the field. But there was also footage of some beautiful boys helping one another into their spandex UnderArmor, and into their pads. Christian spoke of caring, or teamwork, of support for one another, as on the screen, adorable young men tenderly suited one another up for their favorite sport.

We recited over and over how much we cared for each other, how much we loved playing together, how much we loved, wanted, even needed our rubber suits. With each repetition, I could hear the conviction, if not pride, grow in each player's voice. As the spoken repetitions built, I could feel something brushing against my fingers. I glanced to see that the player next to me was reaching out his hand to me, over the armrest, fingers extending to touch mine. It was Powers, and his head was still slumped forward, looking sound asleep. His fingers intertwined with mine, and I could feel Cartes's hand, to my right, interlacing the fingers of my other hand as well.

Soon, I was holding the hands of the guys on either side of me, and a quick glance confirmed that every row had all the boys connected hand-to-hand as we recited our mantra, our oath. "I love the game, I love my rubber suit, I love my teammates."

Over and over, we said the words. After a few minutes, Christian prompted us with new additions.

"Very good, men. As you speak the words and hold the hands of your teammates, you can feel how true this is, how right, how natural. Now repeat after me--I truly, deeply love my fellow teammates. I can feel it, I cannot deny it. It burns within me, held inside the rubber. Gentlemen?"

And like robots--very happy, contented robots maybe, but robots nonetheless--everyone recited back, " I truly, deeply love my fellow teammates. I can feel it, I cannot deny it. It burns within me, held inside the rubber." Where the hell was he going with this? Wherever it was, it required us repeating that last one nearly a dozen times.

Then, Christian added, "I love the game, I love the rubber, it's true, it's good, it's right." Another dozen repetitions of that. Then, the real kicker that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

"Let all that you've said sink in, now. You can feel deep down how true every word is. It makes you feel good to know you're part of this team, to be surrounded by such good and reliable friends in rubber like yourself." I sat there, holding the hands of two other guys, waiting for the final bombshell. It wasn't long in coming. "Rest now as you repeat your final lesson. "I love my teammate, I love my teammate, I love my teammate."

All around me, sleepy voices responded as ordered. All sounding contented, happy, even fulfilled. "I love my teammate, I love my teammate, I love my teammate."

Teammate?? When had it become singular? Which teammate were we supposed to love? My brains overrode my concern, and I played along so I wouldn't be discovered as the only one not following the recitation. I too said the words in time with everyone else, "I love my teammate, I love my teammate, I love my teammate."

Unbidden, one thought came to my mind. I saw Tad. He stood before me, dressed in his rubber bodysuit, his sweatsuit, hair matted down with the sweat of a hard practice, a stiff bulge or arousal in his rubber pants. Without realizing it, I was still repeating the words. "I love my teammate, I love my teammate, I love my teammate." In my mind, Tad stepped toward me, one hand casually swiping back his moist hair. He walked right up to me until our chests were touching. I could feel my rock-hard erection pressed tight to his. His eyes were so beautiful as they looked not at me but into me. Gently, he cradled my face in his hands, and leaned in to kiss me. I closed my eyes, more than willing to surrender to his kiss. I opened my mouth and felt his soft lips make contact with mine--

"Annnnd feeling fine!" Christian's voice snapped me out of my reverie. I looked over to my right side and there sat Tad, his hand holding mine, a sly grin on his face. It split into a bright smile and he winked at me. I yanked my hand back and shook my head to clear it. When I opened my eyes again, it was Cartes who was beside me, as it had been all along. Cartes's gaze was fixed straight ahead. I turned to see what he was looking at and saw Christian addressing the group.

"So you can see how just that little bit more discipline--not necessarily a lot more--but just a littttle bit more can make all the difference. And mental conditioning is just as important as physical training. Take time every night before you hit the sack and relax yourself and run the things we talked about here through your head. And don't get all flustered if you can't remember it all, we covered a lot. Just relax your mind and let go--it'll come back to you. Okay then!" And he clapped his hands together and then pointed both index fingers toward the door. "Showers!"

Everyone filed out with a spring in his step. Smiles and laughter abounded, arms went around fellow player's shoulders, and a few even traded slaps on the ass. A single thought kept running through the back of my mind. The one that Christian had put there. "I love my teammate, I love my teammate, I love my teammate." Each time I thought it, I felt a connection to Tad. What the fuck was Christian doing to us?

Back at my locker, I was repacking my shower kit and I saw the bottle of hypno powder. The one I hadn't used yet. Was that the only reason I didn't go under with the rest of the group? And why I could still remember what had happened afterward? I held the bottle in my hands and decided then and there never to use the stuff. I surreptitiously slipped the powder into my backpack along with my own talc. That night at home, I would switch the contents of the bottles after giving the emptied hypno powder bottle a thorough scrubbing out to clear away any remnants of the medicated stuff. Anyone watching me would see me pour on gobs of powder from the hypno bottle at every practice not knowing that I would be the only player unaffected.

The rubber practices, followed by the video "instruction" sessions went on every day for the next couple weeks. We hit the field hard every day, ran, kicked, passed, blocked, tackled, sweat like pigs. Then we'd go into the auditorium, heads slumped forward, and professed our love for the game, our rubber suits, and each other. I played along, more conscious of what was going on than anyone else on the team, yet I still walked away every time with a strong feeling of connection to the game, to the uniforms, and especially to the guys. To say nothing of my growing attraction to Tad.

I wanted to say something, but who would I say it to? And besides, we really were playing better than we had before. Way better. And after all, what had Christian done? Made us love and cherish the integrity of the game--not winning, but the game itself. We loved the suits, which were clearly helping us, or we thought they were, which amounts to the same thing. And we loved each other. As teammates. Friends. Brothers. More than brothers... And I felt somehow grateful to Christian for all this. Hornier than hell all the time, but grateful too. I opted to wait a little longer.

And after those couple weeks, the video sessions in the auditorium stopped. I felt a sense of relief about that at first. But then things started to get really weird.

The Change In Attire

Zerk and Jameson showed up at practice the next day in a way that surprised the hell out of me. Both of them were dressed impeccably. Gone was Zerk's usual oversized jersey and rumpled blue jeans. He instead was attired in a very sharp sweater with crisp dress shirt beneath it and neat slacks. Jameson had on an equally crisp dress shirt and even sported a tie. You could see the pleats in his slacks. Quite a change from Jameson's standard ultra-baggy skater pants and T-shirt.

"Guys, what the fuck--?", I said to them.

"What?", Zerk asked, perplexed by my surprise. "What's wrong?"

"What's the occasion? You just come from a funeral?"

Zerk brushed down the front of his sweater and Jameson straightened his tie, not that he needed to. "I just thought that if we're gonna be a class act team, maybe we ought'a dress the part off the field, man." Zerk seemed a little indignant at my remark, and I had to admit that I could see where he was coming from. I simply nodded and moved on to my locker.

I watched as the others filed in for our daily workout. Bradley, Randolph, Powers, the rest. The majority of them were dressed similarly to Zerk and Timmy Jameson. Very nice shirts, a few ties, slacks, loafers, dress shoes. They all seemed to walk a bit taller, too. Nothing cocky or conceited, but a definite feeling of pride and appreciation for the company they were keeping. Christian came in right behind them, making comments like, "Looking good, gentlemen" and "Looks like we have a room full of professionals here."

When we were given the direction to suit up, the guys were even more ecstatic than usual. Zerk slapped his hands together and said, "Aha! Been away from this dude too long, man! Rubberize me, baby!" Similar sentiments, though none so corny, were shared throughout the room. It had been less than 24 hours since our last practice, and the guys acted like their rubber suits were lost lovers they hadn't seen in months.

I turned to my locker and started to unbutton my shirt when I really saw myself for the first time. Or as much of me as could be seen minus a mirror, anyway. The shirt I had on was a very nice Western shirt, with pressed yoke and highly polished snaps. I had worn some dress slacks in lieu of my usual jeans. And on my feet were my black cowboy boots, shined up real bright. This was the kind of outfit I would normally wear to church, or a wedding. I wasn't quite as dapper as the rest of the guys, but I was still done up much sharper than I normally would be. I had no memory of selecting this outfit this morning, but clearly I had. Dressed up so nice just for practice. What was that all about?

I was still looking at my wardrobe when I reached into my locker and touched my rubber sweatsuit. A sudden charge ran down my arm upon contact with the rubber and all thoughts about my dress outfit fled my mind. I had to get suited up, and fast. I was "rubberized" (as Zerk put it) and on the field in less than two minutes.

The Daydream Effect

Practice was going great, no surprises there, but I had to fight extra hard to hide my erection. More than ever, I was totally aroused by seeing these young athletes covered in rubber.

I watched as the players followed the strategies I'd help lay out, scrutinizing their movements and play executions. Most of the guys were clad only in their rubber suits with their pads strapped over the top of them. I watched them with increasing attention, and fought a losing battle against the stirring in my crotch. I looked down at the clipboard I'd been scribbling game notes on, then glanced back at the field, about to shout a suggestion to Powers and Cartes.

And my gaze shifted.

Oh, I was still looking at the players, of course, but suddenly their game moves were the farthest thing from my mind. Everybody on the field suddenly seemed to be moving in slow motion. Beautifully muscled legs pumped like powerful machines beneath gleaming rubber that shone in the midday sun. Black, shining arms caught the reflections of protective padding and the faces of oncoming players which conformed to the shape of defined biceps and forearms. Breathtakingly gorgeous boys slammed into one another and paused frozen in midair as if held in instant replay as their rubbered bodies pressed mercilessly against each other, their spray of sweat sprinkling the air in a shower of sparkles before their glistening latexed forms crashed to the earth to slide across the turf.

Something was happening to me. Maybe the sessions in the auditorium were finally catching up with me, powder or no powder. But I couldn't take my eyes from these beautiful boys wrapped in rubber who relentlessly ran, passed, and tackled each other with increasing ferocity. The looks of determination, of passion, of...joy...on their faces as they pressed against each other again and again and again. I suddenly realized that the smell of fresh-cut grass and the lingering aroma of perspiration were not all the flooded the field. The smell of rubber, well-used, moist, and clinging to teenage skin permeated the area and assaulted my senses. Moments were freezing in time. Cartes adjusted his cup, a drop of sweat falling upon his shining black thigh to run in a highlighted rivulet down his leg. Bradley reached up under his shoulder pad to massage his shoulder, his arm flexing as he twisted it, the spray of moisture upon glinting in the light.

Oh God, I thought, fighting the bulge which threatened to burst free of my rubber pants, "Don't look at Tad, Don't look at Tad." Too late.

Unconsciously, my eyes sought him out on the field. There he was, removing his helmet and shaking some of the excess sweat from his hair. His face was slick with perspiration, his chest accented to an iconic degree by his pads, his arms, his torso, all defined by an obsidian layer of skintight rubber. He ran his fingers through his hair, then wiped his dripping hand upon his rubber suit, leaving trails of perspiration behind. My penis was throbbing in a literal sense. I looked down and saw that it was bobbing up and down, ever-so-slightly, of its own accord. I looked back at Tad, who had been watching the movements on the field, then turned to look at me. He smiled. That beautiful, warm smile that made my heart ache. And then my dick pulsed with such intensity I thought I'd blow my wad right then and there. The muscles in my groin began to clench. And unclench. And clench and unclench and clench...my hips ready to thrust...my legs tensing as if to spring forward and--

"Cody! You with us?"

I looked over at Christian, who was waving to get my attention. "You okay, Cody?"

"Um, I--er, yeah! I'm good!" I rubbed my eyes with my palm, wiping away a sheen of sweat I didn't realize was there. Behind my closed eyes, in my mind, Tad had crossed the field to stand before me, his helmet tossed to the ground haphazardly, his lip moving closer to mine, his strong hands resting upon my shoulder pads, his tongue slowly extending--

"Cody!!"

My head snapped back toward Christian, who was pointing angrily at the field. "Didn't you hear me?! Get out there! We need you to run this play! C'mon, let's move!"

I tossed down the clipboard and jogged out to the other players, pulling on my helmet. Christian slapped my lightly on the arm as I passed him. "Stay awake, Cody. We can't have you taking notes and daydreaming all day." I nodded my apology as Christian clapped his hands, calling out to the team. "Okay, gentlemen! Let's go with the Wing On Wing! We do it until we've got it down! Cody--your play!"

I got into position, grateful for the distraction and that the world seemed to be moving at its proper speed again. I called out the play, and we went into action. The handoff, the pass, and then it happened again.

I was caught between Cartes and Powers as the world turned at a decreased speed. I was completely thrown by the altered perception of time. So instead of taking advantage of the slow motion world around me to leap clear of the oncoming boys, I stood frozen and dumbfounded. By the time I began to try to dodge clear, I realized that I, like everyone else, was moving in quicksand. I wasn't going anywhere.

I braced myself for the double-sided tackle coming from Cartes and Powers. The boys slammed into me, slowly, steadily, unstoppably. Their rubbered bodies pressed against me, their pads pushing against mine, pushing our rubber second skins that much tighter against us. I didn't so much fall as floated to the ground, the two muscular rubberboys compressed against me as if they were permanently attached. The three of us hit the ground with an ominous thud, the feel, the push, the smell of the rubber now so intoxicating that my head was spinning. I felt their bodies on top of mine, their rubber pressed to mine, their musk so heady and full...

And I came. Right there in my rubber bodysuit, I shot a load that rocketed up to coat my chest and torso and gather all around my waist and pelvis. I must have fired half a dozen times. All my perceptions still in slow motion. Each orgasm extended and elongated to an impossible degree. It was all I could do to keep breathing through it all.

And then, after the final orgasm subsided, I suddenly caught my breath in an immense gasp. The word had returned to its normal speed, but I still felt some lingering effects of disorientation.

Cartes was getting to his feet, saying, "Okay, Cody, alright! We're getting off you, already, quit bucking like a goddamn bronco. Jesus!"

I staggered to my feet, which felt like jello. The torso of my bodysuit clung to my skin with the thick weight of my spunk all over me underneath. I silently thanked God that I hadn't shot so far that any came up out of my collar. Powers looked at me, doubled over, hands braced upon my knees, fighting to catch my breath. He smiled, commenting, "Hey, we really creamed you that time, huh?" His hand stretched out to slap me on the ass, but missed its mark, and on the return pass brushed against my crotch instead.

I felt a shudder of pleasure ripple through me at the contact, and shot a look of surprise at Powers. He just waved his arm and gave me a lopsided grin as if to say, "Whoops. Sorry." I waved him away, showing it was no problem, despite the sensations to the contrary. I stood up, and in a split-second, the world was right again. My head was clear and all was normal--or as normal as it can be for a guy who's rubber UnderArmor is glued to him with his own semen. I couldn't determine just what had happened to me over the past several minutes,. but I also couldn't deny the feeling that it was over and wouldn't recur.

I let out a breath of relief and took a look at the field. For a moment, I thought I noticed that the guys were starting to pair off. Here and there, the players seemed to be teaming up in twos. Cartes repeatedly wandered over to Lance, hart and Swanson seemed to be comparing notes frequently, and Bradley and Randolph had been practically inseparable this practice.

Was it my imagination? Or was something else going on here? I felt someone's gaze from behind, and turned to see Christian staring at me. His face showed an expression somewhere between curiosity and concern. Had he picked up on what had happened to me just now? I lingered with our eyes locked for another moment, waiting for him to say something, which he never did. So I tightened my chin strap and headed back into the thick of things. "Okay, guys! Let's go with the Oop-De-Oop now! Okay, let's go!"

The rest of the plays went smoothly, but through all of them I would swear I could feel Christian staring at me, watching my every move.

I found myself watching everyone else as we got cleaned up following practice. I wanted to see if any of the other guys were experiencing life in stop-motion as I had out on the field. Everyone seemed their usual selves, happy, back-slapping, and cheerful as they reluctantly peeled off their rubber suits and headed for the showers. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least as far as our team goes.

Then I saw Timmy. He sat naked on the bench, his rubber suit thrown casually over his lap, His expression could only be described as 'zoned out'. He wore a slightly dopey grin and a faraway look. Except that he didn't seem to be looking faraway. He seemed to be looking at Zerkowitz. I watched as Timmy seemed to sit separate not only from the rest of the bustle and activity of the locker room, but of the rest of the world. As Zerk stepped out of the showers, toweling himself off as he returned to his locker, Timmy let out a deep sigh as the larger player passed, and I could see Timmy's rubber suit rise below his waist.

One of the other guys noticed Timmy's dazed appearance too, and snapped his fingers in front of him. "Yo! Timmy! You with us?"

Timmy snapped out of his reverie, but from the look of his tented suit, was still pretty well aroused. "Oh. Oh, yeah! Sure, I was just...just thinking."

Zerk snorted a laugh and said, "Prob'ly thinking of some way not to get pummeled on the field next time, I'll bet!" And he actually tousled Timmy's hair with his massive hand. I would've batted Zerk's hand away, but Timmy seemed to enjoy it, and as Zerk walked on to his locker, his towel wrapped around his waist, he and Timmy seemed to share a lingering glance for just a moment.

I shook my head to clear it, wondering how many other guys were drifting in and out of slow-motion daydreams. I went into the shower area and while no one seemed to be as dazed as Timmy was, everyone sure seemed to be taking his time. Normally, shower time was a quick in-and-out de-stinkifying exercise that was rapidly completed. This time, the guys were soaping themselves up much slower than usual. And instead of facing the tiled walls which held the shower heads, every guy was facing out into the group.

Not much was said, but eyes met and locked repeatedly from guy to guy as soapy hands ran firmly over muscled pecs, arms, and legs. Cartes was soaping up his crotch with agonizing attention at the far end of the showers, when the bar of soap slipped out of his hand and skidded across the wet floor to the shower across from him.

The soap bumped against the feet of Lance Rydekker, a lean and spiky-haired blond. Lance looked down at the soap almost dreamily, as if he were trying to decide whether or not it was real.

"Hey, Lance, be a pal and toss that back over here, willya?", Cartes said.

Lance met Cartes's eyes and then slowly stooped over to pick up the soap. Once he had it in hand, he walked very deliberately over to Cartes and handed it over to him. Cartes reached over gingerly to take the soap from Lance. Their fingers met and stayed there, the fingertips just touching, as the warm water cascaded around them. Cartes looked intently at Lance and said quietly, "Thanks, man."

Lance reached over with his other hand and wrapped Cartes's fingers around the bar of soap. Then he slowly stepped away, letting his fingers gently trace the length of Cartes's hand. As he backed up to his own shower, Lance fairly whispered in reply, "No problem."

I was getting hard just watching them. The sexual tension in the room was becoming more stifling than the increasing steam. I forced myself to turn around toward the wall and quickly clean myself up.

As I left the showers, I noticed that throughout the locker room, a casual mood had pervaded the team. Guys clad only in towels (or nothing at all) sat on the benches before their lockers, discussing the day's plays. Guys stayed in the showers well after the limited supply of hot water had run out. A couple of the guys actually hugged in congratulations on a great practice.

My dick was throbbing again and I looked over to see Tad, who had stayed back to talk strategies with Christian, peeling off his rubber suit in preparation for his own shower. He was having some trouble getting his broad arms free of the sleeves, which hugged him with a suction that was aggravated by layers of perspiration. His chest and arms flexed as the rubber resisted leaving his body, droplets of sweat falling from his smooth, firm torso to spatter upon the bench and the floor.

I grabbed up my stuff and quickly made for the door, my shoes and backpack still in my hand. A couple other guys were already stepping into the hallway as I rounded the corner. And although I didn't get a good look at who it was, I would swear they were holding hands.

The Interrupted Interlude

That weekend saw no recurrence of the slow-motion daydream state I experienced before, thank God. But I now recalled things I had overlooked previously due to both my dazed state of mind and the sexual tension that lingered afterward.

I was also aware that the new tendency we had to dress sharp when going to school was still in effect. I didn't realize until I was approaching the school's gym entrance that I had dressed in crisp slacks, loafers, and a very nice shirt. Even just popping in quickly on a Saturday, I was compelled to look my best. I looked more like I was going to church than to pick up something I'd forgotten in my locker. At least I skipped the necktie.

I wandered into the locker room the following morning in search of a pair of tennis shoes I was petty sure I'd left in my locker. At least I hoped that's where they were, as I couldn't find them anywhere else. Lots of the guys were still dressing real sharp, but I seemed to have reverted to my Boy Next Door attire of blue jeans and sweatshirts. If I never said, the locker room is pretty good sized, so I have to walk around a couple rows of lockers to get to mine. I was rounding a corner when I happened upon Bradley and Randolph.

The two guys weren't supposed to be in the locker room. They also weren't supposed to have their arms wrapped around each other sharing a passionate kiss.

"Whoa!", I said, startled by what I saw.

The two boys whirled around, obviously just as surprised to see me as I was to see them--or at least, to have been discovered. Randolph fumbled to get his arms off of Bradley and shove them into his back pockets. Bradley whipped around so fast he smacked his back into the lockers. "Cody! Jesus, man! What the hell are you doing here??"

That would be the time for me to utter the famous rejoinder, "I could ask you the same thing", but it seemed pretty damned obvious what they were doing. Well secluded within the maze of lockers on a weekend, two of my teammates had been making out. Two of my male teammates. Two of my straight male teammates. And they weren't even in their rubber suits. I just looked at the guys, trying to process it, stammering, "Uh, I'm, um, think I left my shoes, ah, locker, I came for so to check and see...holy fuck, you guys. Were you making out?"

Randolph looked terribly frightened, and Bradley, the perpetual smartass, spoke with great concern. "Cody, don't say anything, please! It's just, we realized it during all those practices. The rubber, the sweat, the constant contact..."

Randolph draped an arm tenderly around Bradley's shoulders. "The showers", he added.

I stared for another moment. "A-are you guys, like in lov--"

"Gentlemen?"

We all three of us spun around. Randolph almost screamed. There stood Assistant Coach Haydensen. He looked us over sternly. "There's no practice today, boys." Bradley and Randolph turned tail and ran out of the locker room. I had to jump out of the way to keep from getting knocked down. I kept staring at the direction they went even after they were long gone.

"Cody."

I turned to face the a.c. His face was inscrutable. I couldn't tell if he was shocked or angry, but his intense eyes were incredibly focused. "Is there a reason you're in the locker room on a Saturday morning, son?"

This was the first time he had ever addressed me in terms you might apply to a subordinate. "I-I--", I stumbled. "I was gonna check my locker. I th-think I left a pair of shoes behind, I--"

He turned away from me and moved toward his office. "Then I suggest you get them and go." Then, after he'd taken a few steps, he paused, and said to me, "Cody, you weren't--with the other two, were you?"

"N-no, I just walked in on them. I-I mean, they were probably just here for--!"

"I know what they were doing here", Christian said, his voice very even. And as he entered his office, his remarked over his shoulder, "And this situation will be dealt with. Get your shoes and go, Cody."

I stood there, swallowing hard, when the office door slammed shut. Christian sat at his desk, shuffling through papers, not lifting his head for the remainder of the time I was there, which wasn't that long. I suspected the next day with the team, however, would be a long one indeed.

The Circle

To say that we were all nervous as hell would be putting it mildly. We all sat, the whole team, in a circle in the gym. Folding chairs had been placed out for us, exactly enough for each team member to be seated. All of us sitting there, fidgeting, waiting for the hammer to drop, made us look like we were about to be subjected to some kind of intervention. A rubber intervention.

That was the weird thing. A.C. Haydensen came into the locker room this afternoon and told us all he had some serious concerns about the team that "must be dealt with". But then he told us all to suit up in our rubber workout gear before going out into the gym and having a seat. If he was going to ream us a new one, was there any reason for him to have us suit up first?

Most of us sat hunched over, with our arms resting on our thighs, heads lowered, looking guilty. Most of us knew what had been going on. A few others just looked around nervously, sensing something big was about to be revealed, but clearly clueless as to what it would be. I looked over to see Bradley and Randolph trying very hard not to make eye contact with each other. Once, they caught a peripheral glance and jerked their heads away, quickly. Bradley bit the inside of his cheek, Randolph rubbed his eyes. He looked like he was fighting to keep back tears. A few clusters of other guys here and there bore similar looks. There's a saying about nervous situations that goes "you could cut the tension in the room with a knife". For us, at that moment, you'd be lucky to make a dent with a chainsaw.

Christian entered the gym. He walked tall, a look of concern on his face. A couple of the guys scooted their chairs over to allow him admittance to the circle, which Christian entered and walked to the center. He surveyed the group, then made his announcement. "We've been having some problems, men. I called this meeting to address them, and repair the situation."

Various boys squirmed in their seats. A few tried to look away from Christian's gaze, one of them buried his mouth into his palm, trying to make it look like he was resting his chin in his hand. Bradley and Randolph looked like they were attending a wake.

I felt myself growing angry. Well, what the hell did Christian expect? With his rubber suits and all his talk of loving the team, loving our fellow players, you can't tell me he didn't see any of this coming. Here I was, probably the only gay guy on the team, one of the only ones who hadn't acted on his feelings of affection, getting pissed at Christian for his coarse attitude toward a situation he had more or less created.

"Some of us have been distracted of late", Christian said. "Distracted by our hormones and new romantic discoveries", and right here he looked at Bradley and Randolph, "and our perceived need to keep these things secret."

Christian took what could only be called a dramatic pause. He strolled along the interior of our circle of chairs, momentarily addressing each one of us as he made his rounds. "This has been a season of change for us", he stated. "We've been changing into better players and a better team. But I think it's become obvious that some of us have been undergoing even greater changes." And he stopped before Bradley and Randolph. "Isn't that right, boys?" Bradley looked up at Christian with pleading eyes. Randolph just stared at his shoes. The group was silent.

"Don't you have something you'd like to tell us?", Christian asked the two boys. Bradley continued staring and Randolph looked as if he were trying to bore a hole in his foot with his eyes. "Well?", Christian prodded.

"I, well, uh, Randy and I--", Bradley started.

"Stand up, Bradley", Christian ordered quietly.

Bradley sprang to his feet, his legs shaking a bit. "Um, it's me and Randolph. Er, Randy. He and I, uh, that is, we--"

"You should stand up too, if this concerns you, Randolph", Christian added. Unsteadily, Randolph got to his feet, his eyes still on the floor.

Christian nodded for Bradley to continue. He did, saying, "Uh, Randy and I, we've gotten so's we--I mean to say that, he and I--God this is so hard..."

"What were the two of you doing in the locker room on Saturday, Bradley?", Christian asked pointedly.

Bradley's eyes widened and I felt my back stiffen. He wasn't seriously going to expose him in front of the whole team, was he? Bradley's mouth opened and moved slightly, but no sound came out. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

"I saw you both, Bradley. If you don't tell us, then you simply leave it to me--"

"We were kissing!!", Bradley shouted. Randolph, his head still lowered, squinted his eyes shut. The whole group took a collective breath in. Our eyes were glued to Brad and Randy. My heart went out to them. I had to rush to their defense, to say something--anything. I couldn't just let this continue. As I leaned forward to speak, Christian took a few steps back from the boys and asked another question, softly.

"Why were you kissing, Bradley?"

Bradley had now lowered his head as well, shaking it slightly side to side, his eyes beginning to squint. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Be-because...we did it bec-cause..."

"Say it."

"Because we love each other!", Bradley shouted back. Randolph burst into tears, head still down, weeping, choking back the sobs. "You happy now? We fell in love with each other! We weren't just experimenting or anything, we're really, really in love!" Bradley was in rough shape, and you could see he was also on the verge of tears, but he had said too much to fall silent now. "And okay, I guess that makes us fags!", he yelled at the group. "But I really don't give a shit what that makes us, since Randy and I care more about each other than anyone or anything else in the world! So if we're off the team, fine, just boot us already--I don't give a shit, 'cause we'll still have each other!"

Bradley stopped at that, and all that could be heard in the gym was Randolph's soft sobs. Bradley tenderly put his arm around his boyfriend to comfort him. Christian stared at the boys, and the team stared at Christian, wondering what would come next.

"Well then", Christian said at last. "I think that confession can be met with only one response." Christian raised his hands and very deliberately began to clap. We all just stared. His clapping grew louder and more aggressive, and he nodded to us in indication that we should join in. Somewhat stunned, that's what we did. Tentatively at first, then we all found ourselves showering the two newly-exposed boyfriends with sincere applause.

Bradley and Randolph looked up at us, astonished, not sure what to make of the response. Randy sniffed back some more tears and Bradley held him tight. Within a minute or so, the applause died down.

Christian spoke first. "That took a lot of guts, gentlemen." He walked over to the boys and, placing a hand on the back of Bradley's neck, Christian leaned forward to press his own forehead to Bradley's. "I'm very proud of you, son", he said. Christian also patted Randolph on the shoulder and pointed to their seats, indicating they could sit down. They did, looking like all their energy had been drained out of them.

"Vulcans", Christian said, indicating by the use of our team name that he was not only speaking to us collectively, but that he wanted us receptive more as a group than as individuals. "We're involved in a sport that inspires very high emotional states. During those states, many things can happen. Sometimes the energy and enthusiasm we pour into the game can awaken things inside us we were not even previously aware of. The important thing is to recognize when those awakenings are good, and accept them as such."

Christian indicated Bradley and Randolph with an open hand. "I give you two very courageous young men, who recognized the change within themselves and had the strength to share it with their fellow teammates." Christian gestured for the two boys to stand again. When they did, he asked, "Bradley, what was it you said you felt for our Mr. Randolph here?"

"I-I love him."

"Hadn't you better tell him that, then?" Christian waved his hands to show the two boys should turn and face each other. Bradley did, taking Randolph's hands in his. Rand looked pretty uncomfortable.

"I love you, Randy", Bradley said.

"I love you, too, man", Randolph whispered back.

Christian nodded. "Good job, men."

There was weeping to my right. I looked to see Cartes, his head buried in his hands, sobbing. "Geez, dude", I said, "you alright?"

Christian turned in our direction, almost nonchalantly. "Cartes?"

"I have a boyfriend, too!", he cried. Cartes looked up, tears streaming down his face, and looked across the circle at Lance Rydekker, who was shaking his head vigorously to silence him. "I'm sorry man, I'm sorry, but I can't hold it in anymore." Cartes stood up and announced, "I love you, Lance. I'm in love with you, man." The group was quiet again.

Christian looked to Lance and said, "Well, Lance? What about you?"

Cautiously, Lance stood up, nodding his head. He was rubbing the legs of his rubber suit with his palms, as if searching for pockets he could stuff his nervous hands into. Softly, he said, "I love you too, dude."

Some of the kids started to applaud again, but Christian held up his hands. When he had out attention, he asked, "Anyone else?"

Heads moved back and forth around the circle, eyes wide to see who might be the next to stand up. After another moment of silent anticipation, Zerkowitz raised a shaky hand. My jaw fell open. Holy crap. Not Zerk, too... Zerk stood up, placing a hand on the shoulder of slender Jameson, next to him. "Timmy and me have been seeing each other for like a couple weeks now." Jameson rested his head against Zerk's leg, nodding.

We heard someone else clear his throat. We turned to see Hart and Swanson both holding up their hands, fingers intertwined.

Christian simply nodded. "Anyone else?"

After that, it was like a domino effect. Player after player stood up and came out, coupling up with a teammate boyfriend. It went on for several more minutes and by the time it was all over, there were only a handful of us left who hadn't announced that he was gay and chosen someone to be gay with. I was one of them. I was grateful to see that Tad was another. For one brief instant, I looked over to see that Tad had his eyes fixed on me. He titled his head toward me and raised his eyebrows, as if he was urging me to do something. I felt a twinge of panic when our eyes met, and looked away.

"Is that everyone?", Christian asked at last. "Are we sure? Obviously, no one will think the less of you if you choose this time to come out to the team. Anyone left?" I didn't look at him. I didn't look at Tad. I just closed my eyes and waited for it to be over.

And miracle of miracles, in the next moment, it was. Christian had everyone who was still standing take his seat, and began one of his earnest pep talks. "Okay, we've all of us had quite an experience tonight. A lot of us--most of us, in fact--have revealed some incredible changes they've undergone, and been accepted despite them. The secrecy is over, we all know where we stand. That's fine. But we need to remain alert and disciplined. Just because you're gay doesn't mean your a sexaholic." That got a few grins. "In fact, it'd be a smart move to keep it in your pants until you're a bit more settled with who you are. Use your boyfriend, if you have one, to help you train better. To improve yourself at practice. And likewise, you should be there for him."

He went on for a little while about how it might be a good idea to wait until coming out to the student body and faculty in general , citing that we'd always have the team as our confidants. That made sense, as I'm not sure how well a mostly-gay football team would go over with the principal and school board, to say nothing of the parents. Christian encouraged our new relationships, but also suggested we pursue a healthy dose of abstinence for the most part and at the very least, monogamy. A lot of the guys seemed so relieved to be out of the closet to their closest friends that they nodded their heads pleasantly and accepted the suggestions without blinking.

As the meeting broke and the muscular, masculine guys I thought I knew exchanged hugs and kisses before leaving, I just sat there with a dazed expression on my face. Tad was hugging buddies here and there, and once looked over at me, but said nothing. Christian patted me on the shoulder and gave me an "it's going to be okay" look, which seemed odd to me, as I hadn't just come out or anything.

Rubber suited football players filed out of the gym, arm in arm, holding hands, or arms around each other's waists. I stayed seated in my chair until they were gone. I was still sitting there for some time before I realized the lights had been turned off.

I wandered into the locker room to find that most everyone else had gone. One or two stragglers were still putting on their street clothes, a few other stealing quick kisses as they closed their lockers.

I stumbled my way across the room in a daze. I passed the showers on my way, where a solitary figure was still cleaning up.

I stepped back to look into the communal stalls and saw Tad standing with his back to me, beneath a gushing spray of warm water. He was still dressed in his rubber suit, and the water beaded across his chest and shoulders, creating small glints as the droplets caught the light. Tad rolled a bar of soap over and over in his bare hands, building a thick lather. He tugged a bit at his collar and let the shower stream carry handfuls of suds down into his suit to gather between the rubber and his skin. I swallowed hard, watching him, mesmerized by his actions.

Tad set the bar down in the wall-mounted soap dish and reached for a bottle of body wash. Popping the cap with his thumb, his squirted a hefty glob down the neck of his suit directly onto his chest. He then pulled the neck of his suit open wider, using two fingers, allowing the rush of warm water to cascade down inside. He dropped the body wash onto the tile floor and pressed his hands to his chest, sighing contentedly. He began to rub himself all over, and I could see the foam and suds spill out from under his sleeve cuffs, seeping out of his suit's zipper, and dribbling over the tops of his boots. He massaged himself that way, water-slicked rubber on top of soothing scented lather, for several minutes. I grew hard looking at him.

Then Tad reached carefully behind his neck and unfastened his zipper. A few fluffs of suds spat out as he began to unzip himself, the bubbles floating down to the tiles, there to swirl about in the collecting puddles and be whisked away down the drain. Slowly, oh so slowly, Tad pulled down his suit's zipper. His magnificent body, like the interior of his suit, was thick with soap, his toned muscles fairly gleaming for all the bubbles and foam.

He grasped the neck of his suit with both hands and pulled it forward, peeling the slickened rubber sleeves off of his arms, spilling out fountains of warm suds as he yanked himself free. The top half of his suit flapped down in front of him as Tad ran his fingers through his sopping hair, shining soapy rivulets flowing evenly down the empty sleeves. Tad then bent forward, pushing the pantlegs down past his knees, revealing his extraordinary behind and powerful thighs. I took deep breaths as I watched, as I was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

Two quick tugs of heel on heel and Tad had loosened his boots, which he slipped out of while bracing his arms against the tiled wall. Water sloshed onto the floor as he freed his feet. He then pulled off the rubber pantlegs, giving each foot a slight kick to rid himself of the moist, clinging latex. Tad then retrieved the bar of soap, to give himself a quick once-over scrub down before rinsing, drying off, and getting dressed.

As Tad unknowingly revealed his body to me, the exhibition of affection I'd just sat through played repeatedly in my mind. All those guys, looking at their friends, their teammates, and saying those three beautiful, devastating words. I. Love. You. Could I say it to Tad right now? I wanted to so badly, but knew that he was one of the few who hadn't professed any gay traits in the gym. If I said I loved him and he rejected me...

I continued to watch as Tad lathered himself up and rinsed himself off. His hair wet and plastered back, his arms thick with lather, his strong and solid hands running a bar of soap over firm shoulders. I felt my erection throbbing. He was so beautiful.

His suit lay in a heap at his feet, the folds puddling up with suds and water. He shuffled it aside with his foot, and in so doing, caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye. He turned around to face me, revealing himself to me in all his glory, appearing not the least bit uncomfortable. "Cody? You want to tell me something, man?", Tad called.

Yeah, I wanted to tell you I'm in love with you, I thought. I want to rip off my rubber suit and rush over to you and--and--

"Nah. It's nothing. Forget it."

I moved rapidly to my locker, grabbing up my street clothes and heading toward the exit, bundling them under my arm. Once in the hallway, I quickly yanked on my sweatshirt and fairly jumped into my jeans, pulling everything on right on top of my rubber suit. With my tennis shoes in hand, I made my way quickly outside, trying my best to feel happy for those friends who had come out tonight and trying not to curse myself as a coward.

The Pressure

The following week or so was torture.

All the guys were acting so free and relaxed around each other. Ass-kicking athletes were walking casually into the locker room or out onto the field holding hands. After calisthenics warm-ups, a few guys shared a quick kiss before tackling the field and then each other. And don't even get me started about the showers.

No one ever got physically intimate while we cleaned ourselves up, but the whole atmosphere in the showers had changed dramatically. The guys would happily soap each other up, usually with boyfriends washing each other's backs. Bigger guys would playfully get the smaller players in a headlock and treat them to a vigorous shampoo. It was now relatively common for my smiling teammates to toss water or soap suds across the tiled room to hit another laughing boy.

Every now and then, a few couples who had grown particularly close would aid one another in slowly and gently washing each other's privates, often exchanging a brief kiss in the process. I never saw it go any farther than that. Not in the showers or elsewhere in the locker room, as a matter of fact. It was as if there was an unspoken understanding that while everyone was cool with so many football players being gay, it was still a sign of low class to engage in any carnal relations in front of the group.

Or it could be that the guys had grown to love their partners so much that they felt their intimacy was something truly personal, to be savored in private.

I don't know. All I know is that I watched Tad from a distance during all this. He'd horse around with the other guys, but clearly still had no partner. Once while standing beneath a warm spray at the far end of the showers, I watched slack-jawed as Tad, laughing, grabbed the slender Timmy and pinned his arms from behind while the massive Zerk lovingly scrubbed his tiny boyfriend with an excess of lather.

Later, I stood at my locker, staring at its back wall, furious with myself. Why the hell couldn't I just go over to Tad and tell him the truth?? I really did love him, after all. At least, I think I did. And it's not like anyone else on the team would object if we did hook up. Even the handful of guys who hadn't gone gay seemed totally cool with the majority of us who had. I stuffed my books and such into my backpack and wiped my still-wet hair out of my eyes. I hadn't bothered to dry it. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I knocked over some things in my shower kit. One item caught my eye as it tumbled to the floor of the locker to hit with a soft clang. It was the bottle of powder. Christian's powder. The hypno-powder. I picked it up and held it in my hand, staring at the label. My eyes drifted to my rubber bodysuit, hung neatly inside my locker, waiting for our next practice. God, should I? Would it be so bad, to douse myself liberally with the powder, to don my beloved suit and let the granular drug do it's work? My fear of approaching Tad would no doubt disappear. I could just let go and surrender to the effects of the powder and become a born-again gayboy like just about everyone else on the team. A hard-playing, fun-loving homosexual rubberist zombie like all my friends.

And I'd have Tad. At least until the end of the season or until the powder wore off, anyway. I slipped the backpack from my shoulder and slowly reached for my rubber suit, feeling the smooth material between my finger and thumb. The bottle of powder in one hand, the rubber suit in the other, I stood there for a full minute, considering, feeling the slow drip of water from my soggy hair dribble down the back of my neck and under my shirt.

To just let go, to be part of the team. A gay rubberboy. Isn't that what I always wanted?

I looked over as the guys filed out of the shower, dipping, joking, snapping towels. I saw Tad there with them, his magnificent naked body, his gleaming eyes and bright smile. God, I wanted him so very much.

But not like this. I wanted it to be real. I angrily bounced the bottle of hypno powder off the back of my locker and slammed the door. What I really needed now was somebody I could talk to. Somebody neither involved with, nor active as, a mind-controlled rubberboy.

The Collar

Xander and Skeevo looked up from the TV to see me as I entered the frat house. "Well, well", Xander said, smiling, "look who's deigned to come and walk amongst the peasants. And here we thought the big football hero was too good for us now." Skeevo just nodded his head toward me, acknowledging my presence.

"Sorry I haven't been around, guys", I offered. "The whole football thing has really taken on a life of its own. I mean, really."

"Been following the Sports page", Skeev said. "You guys are said to be looking pretty promising these days. Even the skeptics say you're gonna be the team to beat."

"Yeah, it could be our best season ever", I said. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." I moved closer to the couch my two friends were lounging on, and saw a small circle of younger college guys seated on the floor around the TV, on beanbags and oversized cushions. "Uh, I'd rather talk with just you guys, so maybe if we could go to your room or something if that's okay--"

Xander snapped his fingers. "Begone." The circle of college boys leapt to their feet and fled the room, some gathering up their cushions as they went.

"We'll send word when it's cool to come back", Skeevo said to the backs of the vanishing boys.

Xander extended a hand to one of the beanbags, offering it to me. "Sit at the foot of your rubber gurus, young grasshopper.", he said. "Bask in the glow of our shiny latex wisdom."

I sat down and tried to figure out how to put words to what had been bothering me. The guys could tell I was pretty nervous. Football camp, the practices, our teamwork; everything had been going so phenomenally well, and yet...

"So, what is it, Cody?", Xander asked, more seriously.

"It's all the stuff the assistant coach has us doing. It seems to be working, but it's so bizarre. These...excersizes, I guess you could call 'em, they--they..."

"Describe it", Skeev said. "Reader's Digest version."

The rubber suits were one thing. I loved that, you know, I told you." They both nodded. "But now he's got us all, like--God, falling in love with each other. It's like he wants us all to turn gay in order to play better football. And I'm already gay, so it's no problem for me, but some of these other guys--!" I shook my head. "He's got us gathering in big circles and professing our love a couple at a time, and I just don't know if--"

"This assistant coach", Skeevo broke in, "does he have short red hair?"

"Yeah..."

"Tall, slender, looks younger than he is?", Skeev went on.

"Yeah, that's right--!"

Xander leaned in. "And he's got these drop-dead beautiful eyes?"

"Yes! That's him! You guys know him?"

The two guys looked at each other with knowing glances and broad grins. In unison, they said, "Mmm-HMMM!" Then, Xander said, "Christian Haydensen, right? I can't believe we never asked his name before!" He slapped his knee in a self-admonishing gesture.

"Cody, he's the one that introduced US to rubber", Skeevo said. "He's one of the highest ranking members of this frat."

"You serious?", I spluttered. "He did? He does? You mean it?"

Xander leaned back and laid his arms along the back of the couch. "You, my friend", he said, nodding to me, "are in the hands of the one we call The Master. Be not afraid, my little one. Go forth into the light that is Haydensen."

"I know his methods are a bit bizarre", Skeev said, "but whatever he's doing, he's doing it to help you guys. He's not power tripping. He isn't like that."

"You sure about that?", I asked, still skeptical.

Xander waggled a thumb toward himself. "Made my own varsity team champs four years in a row back when I used to play. And he was just a kid then."

I sat there a minute, thinking. Then, "Guys, when you first met him, were you already gay, or were you straight?"

The guys high-fived each other as they said it. "Gay!"

I bit my lip, collecting my thoughts for the next question. "But how many guys on your team who you could've sworn were straight started acting gay once Christian showed up and started working with them?"

The two exchanged looks. Xander said to Skeev, "What, you think maybe sixteen or something like that?" Skeevo looked up and to the side, thinking. "Might have been eighteen, now that I think of it. Remember, there was Hodges and Pletcher kept it a secret for like two years." Xander nodded, opening his mouth in an "Ohhh, yeahhh..." expression.

They turned back to face me. "We're gonna be on the safe side and say around eighteen straight boys wound up certified fags on that team", Xander said flatly. Skeevo nodded his agreement.

I sat there with my mouth hanging open. "How can you be so blase` about it?! Even if we become the best team in high school football history, does that give him, or me, the right to totally alter more than a dozen boys' psyches for the rest of their lives?! Christ, what are we doing?"

"The rest of their lives?", Skeevo said, puzzled. "Cody, the change isn't permanent."

I stopped in mid-tirade. "It's not?"

Xander pointed a finger at me, saying, "You're on the team, you're in the suits, you're using the powder, you're in the men4men club. But after that--pfft! You go back to the way you were."

Skeevo looked at Xander, adding, "If you really want to."

Xander shrugged. "Which some don't."

I sat there, letting it all sink in. "How many on your team, of the eighteen, are still gay now? How many chose to stay with guys?"

"Last count", Skeevo recalled, "fourteen."

I felt as if I would fall backwards onto the floor. More than a dozen unsuspecting straight boys turned gay and then stuck that way. Jesus.

Skeevo leaned toward me and spoke softly. "Think about this, Cody. Most high school relationships, and let's be honest here, are stirred up by hormones and based totally on looks. Sure, there are the rare cases of the high school sweethearts who marry right after graduation and live happily ever after. But the vast majority are built on animal attraction and sex. You follow me?"

I nodded mutely.

"Okay. So imagine someone you're friends with already. A teammate. You get closer and closer to him during practice and on the playing field. You come to rely on him, care about him, watch his back, and know he's doing the same for you. Eventually, after many hours working together, you realize you're falling for each other." I blinked. This was starting to make sense. Skeevo saw I was getting it and continued, "So what you end up with is a relationship that was built on friendship, camaraderie, and mutual support. Any physical aspect you may achieve after that is just gravy. So most of these guys end up with their first high school relationship being intensely real and meaningful. It's not just a quick score after prom. It actually has a foundation in compassion. Who wouldn't want to stick with that after graduating?"

Xander jumped up from the couch, touching my shoulder. "There's something else we gotta show you. C'mere."

We went up to their room and Xander pushed me down onto the bed. "Sit." Skeevo went to the closet and pulled out a small black box that looked like a jewel case. I think this was the first time I'd ever seen either guys go to retrieve something and know exactly where it was. Whatever was in the box must have been special.

"What's in that?", I asked.

"Motivation", Skeevo said. He popped open the case and inside was a black rubber slave collar. There was a sheen to the rubber surface that was unlike any I'd ever seen before on a latex material. It seemed to subtly change color in the light. Skeev handed it to me. "Go on, take it out."

I removed it from the box gingerly, feeling the slick rubber surface between my fingertips. It sent a small shiver up my arms and across my shoulders on contact. Something about this material... I inspected the collar to find that on a dangling metal tag was Skeev's name, 'Scott Skevowicsz', the name of his football team, and his graduating year. There was also the inscription 'MVP'.

"I would've gotten it, but I deliberately held myself back so Skeevo could win it. Also, 'cause I knew he'd let me wear it." Xander winked at Skeevo.

I titled the collar to see the interior had an almost purple sheen to it. I ran my finger across that surface and got a small, but highly pleasant jolt, down to my elbow.

"Put it on, RubberCody", Xander said. Slowly, I undid the buckle at the back and wrapped the collar around my neck. Before I could tighten it closed, I felt a sudden surge of sheer pleasure as the collar made contact with my skin. I inhaled sharply.

I almost tore the collar off, the pleasure was that intense, that jarring. But Skeevo had already pulled something else out of the box and tossed it to Xander. Xander was behind me immediately, closing the collar snugly around my throat. I heard a distinctive "chlink!" and realized that Skeevo had given Xander a small padlock with which to secure the collar. I was locked in.

I began to breathe heavily as wave upon wave of purest delight flooded my system, all emanating from the collar. Shivers rippled up and down my spine as I sprang an erection that fairly pulsed with energy. Xander held my shoulders and eased me down onto the bed. "Take 'er easy there, Cody. Just relax and let it take over. Give in to the collar, buddy."

Skeevo was right beside me as I lay down on the bed. "Don't fight it, Cody. Just experience it."

They didn't have to tell me again. I was overwhelmed with feelings of joy, of comfort, of contentment. But I wasn't high, or stoned, or otherwise experiencing a brain-fog usually associated with drugs. I was just so...happy. I was so happy I was only dimly aware of Xander and Skeevo removing my shirt and pants.

"Just let it carry you", Skeev encouraged me. No problem. God, the bed was so soft, my friends hands upon me so gentle and caring. My erection bobbed slightly in the cool air of the room. Skeev turned to Xander. "Rubber jeans, I think", he said.

I could hear Xander moving things around in the closet as Skeev tenderly slipped my shirt off, over the top of my head. "Hey, what about this?", Xander said. "Rubber bib overalls."

"Even better", Skeev agreed, working with Xander to slide them onto me. I don't know how long it took them to suit me up. Don't care. Didn't matter. All I know is that in short order, my two dear friends had clothed me in smooth, cool rubber bibs. I didn't so much feel them on me as experience them; the soft rubber winding around my legs, stretching behind my back, strapped over my shoulders, pressed snugly against my chest, covering my crotch. Xander yanked off my shoes as Skeev slipped my feet into unlined rubber knee boots as they continued to talk to me. From somewhere far away, their words came to me and sunk in.

"Feels great, doesn't it, Cody?" Skeev asked. I could only nod, mutely.

"The collar is awarded to the one Christian feels is the team's MVP of the year.", Xander explained. "But the sensations it creates pretty much stay in line with his whole coaching mindset. It's all about love and support, Code." My mind and body were awhirl with contradictory sensations. I wasn't lying on the bed, I was floating. I wasn't wearing the rubber, it was wearing me; hugging me, comforting me. I wasn't hearing Xander's voice, I was absorbing the concepts of his words directly into my mind.

I looked up at the two boys, lifting my head off the bed with some effort. They were such good friends. And as if for the first time, I felt I was truly seeing them. Xander, with his wide eyes, easy smile and slightly oversized ears. The way he would lean forward slightly when speaking in earnest. And Skeevo, with his wild spiky hair and sly grin. His eyes expressed more affection than he ever voiced aloud. They were both so beautiful. I felt so connected to them. My dear, dear friends.

"You still hear us, Cody?", Skeevo asked me. I nodded slowly, letting my head fall back onto the bed, a dopey grin on my face.

"When was the last time you heard Christian yell at a player, Cody?", Xander asked. "Or bawl someone out in front of the group after they screwed up?" Dimly, I realized the answer. Never. "He's a good guy, Cody. And he believes in helping the team to really care about each other, to watch each other's backs. Have you got a star player he tends to favor over the rest of the team? Can you name him? Who does Christian spend the most time working with?" I could think of no one. He worked with all of us as equally as possible. We were a team, not a bunch of backups for one or two hotdogs.

"He really loves the sport, man", Skeev added. "And he loves you guys. He just wants you to love each other just as much." And Skeev gently rested his palm on the leg of my overalls. A burst of ecstasy rippled up my leg to spread across my chest and arc down my back. My bare arms shivered, suddenly colder than the room temperature should have left them. I loved these rubber overalls.

Xander leaned forward and rested his palm on my other leg. "And you really do love your team, don't you, Cody?" It was spoken as an honest question, not a command. "I mean, it's not just a question of winning games anymore, is it?" I shook my head, succumbing to the duplicate surge of pleasure now washing over me.

"You want to be there for your teammates", Skeevo said.

"Help them. Protect them. Watch out for them.", Xander added. It was true. I was more concerned about doing the very best I could on behalf of my team than I was about winning trophies. And that's what was making us winners.

"What do you love?", Skeevo asked me, placing his palm firmly over my crotch. The pleasure surges increased in intensity. My mouth moved, but I was unable to respond.

Xander followed Skeevo's actions. Placing his palm atop Skeevo's, he asked me, too. "Who do you love?" The rubber compressed against my penis, my member pushing against my skin. The pleasure was churning through my body in waves. I was fully erect, hips thrusting, aroused beyond my ability to contain myself. I fought to focus, to answer my friends.

"I-I-I-", I started. "I l-love the game--I d-do--"

"And?", Xander prompted.

"I l-l-love my t-team. A-and I-I love our r-r-rubber suits--" My body was spasming from the overflow of sheer joy. I felt so good. The rubber felt so good. I loved my friends so much. I just plain loved everything. I knew I couldn't hold in my juices for much longer, and was grateful for the rubber overalls, if only for the sake of saving my jeans from getting creamed. I began to speak again. "And I love--and I love--I love--!" It was all over. My body arched and I shot my load all over the inside of the overalls. I could feel it squirting up over my chest, a few stray streams hitting the underside of my chin. Shot after shot fired from my loins, covering my waist and crotch, puddling around under my rear, to stream down the pantlegs and collect in my boots.

I felt so happy, so joyous. Just to be me. To have such wonderful friends, such fabulous teammates. To have a sport into which I could pour my heart with such enthusiasm. I continued cumming long after I was aware that I was doing so. My head flopped over to one side against the bed and I felt myself drifting off into blissful, contented sleep.

"Huh", Skeevo said. "I wonder who else it was he loved?" He reached over, unlatched the padlock, and carefully removed the MVP collar from my neck. There was a rush of relief as the pleasure-intensive sensations subsided.

"I thought it was kind of obvious", Xander said as he looked at Skeev, shrugging. "Christian." He patted my leg and turned to leave the room.

Skeevo pursed his lips. "Makes sense." He followed his friend out, closing the door, leaving me to snooze.

Sinking into sleep, a smile on my face, I slurred out a final whispered declaration, barely aware I was speaking it. "...I luvv...Taaadd..." I dozed off, feeling more contented than I had in weeks.

The Talk In Christian's Office

Practice the next day was fairly routine, or as routine as it gets for the Vulcans. After getting cleaned up, I yanked on my jacket and gave my locker one last lookover to see if I'd missed anything. I felt a hand on my arm. I turned to see Christian, looking kind of serious.

"Cody, a moment of your time please? My office." He turned and walked away, and I knew I was supposed to follow. I did, looking around the room a little nervously to verify that I was the only one being summoned to the office. It sure looked like I was.

Christian took a seat at his desk, and pointed behind me. "Close the door." Now I was getting nervous. Was I in trouble? What had I done? Christian held up a bottle of our sweatsuit talcum powder. "What's this?", he asked me.

"Umm...it's the powder we use to get into our sweatsuits.", I answered meekly. Where was he going with this?

"Actually", he said, tossing me the bottle, which I caught awkwardly. "--it's not. It's regular bath powder inside a bottle for our special sweatsuit powder. I got it from your locker, Cody. You haven't been using the correct powder, have you?"

Oh, shit. I was screwed. I thought for sure no one had noticed. And outside of the a.c., I bet no one had.

"I imagine you've already surmised that the powder is a specially treated agent whose sole purpose is not merely to help slip on tight-fitting rubber clothing.", Christian said, glancing casually at the ceiling. I kept staring at the bottle in my hand to keep from meeting his eyes. "It possesses properties that, combined with sweat, seeps into the skin and increases focus. It can be a phenomenally powerful performance enhancer. Totally natural, perfectly safe." And he swiveled in his chair, "Except for one thing." That got my attention. I looked up at him. "It tends to make the user highly--" and he stressed the word again--"highly susceptible to suggestion. Unless the user is given something upon which to focus that suggestibility, he can suffer severe psychological trauma. But give him a focus, preferably an emotional one, and he's right as rain for as long as he uses it."

Christian wiggled his fingers, indicating I should give him back the powder. I tossed it to him, which he caught easily. "The trick is, to make sure that your suggestions aren't harmful or destructive." He looked at the bottle, twisting his mouth as if considering something. "Now, you tell a teenage boy he's suddenly hot for every attractive girl he sees, and he's on the fast track to hell, right there." Christian started juggling the powder bottle from one hand to the other. "But, say, tell that same teenage boy that he loves his best friend, or his teammate--tell him that he can best show that love by working with him, helping him, watching his back, being tender with his affections, wellll---" and he smacked the bottle down on his desk playfully. "Then you can turn even a team of losers into champions."

"They're not los--!", I started. Christian held up a hand, cutting me off. I shut my mouth instantly. I wasn't under any mind control, but he was the a.c.

Christian began to turn the bottle back and forth between his fingers. "Everybody on the team has been using the powder, Cody. Everyone, that is, except you." I sighed. Was he going to force me to use the stuff right here and now, so he could watch, make sure? I closed my eyes. If that was the case, so be it. I'd do anything for the team. For Tad.

"And you know, here's the funny thing.", Christian went on. "Out of all the players, the one who has been following the program the best, the one who has been throwing himself into it with all his heart and encouraging the rest of the men to do the same--", and he looked at me with a level stare, "--is you."

I swallowed. So, was I in trouble or what? Christian pushed the powder bottle away with two fingers, sliding it to the edge of the desk. "Cody", he said in a softer voice, "you were into rubber long before I came along, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir", I answered quietly. Christian rubbed his chin, thinking. He remained silent for some time, and I stood there watching him. Finally, I said, "Mr. Haydensen--"

"Christian is still fine."

"Christian, do you want me to start using the other powder?"

Christian leaned back in his chair. Then he tossed the bottle over to me. "No, I don't think so. I don't see any need to. Of course, you realize that without the powder's other focusing attributes, you're going to have to keep working extra hard to keep pace with the rest of the team. To lead them."

"Yes, I know! I will!", I said happily.

"I know you will", he smiled. "You didn't get to be team captain by slacking off." Then he leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. "But there is one other problem that keeps cropping up with you. And it's starting to affect your game, Cody. We really need to get on top of it before it gets the better of you."

Was there a problem? If there was, I was totally ignorant of it. "Sure, I'll do anything. What's the problem?"

Christian stood up, taking me by the shoulder. "Why don't you suit up in your sweats and meet me out in the gym. I'm gonna go lay down some mats. We'll get you straightened around tonight."

"Yes, sir!", I beamed, and trotted off to my locker to grab my precious rubber sweatsuit.

Within a minute or two, I was suited up and in the gym with Christian. He waved me over to the center of the large mats to join him. He had me stand in front of him, and he rested both his hands on my shoulders. "Cody, I've been watching you. Your performance, your effort, your teamwork, your love of the game are all amazingly above par. You are doing a tremendous job leading this team, and I appreciate that."

"Buuut...", I offered, anticipating his next statement.

"But, there is one thing you have been stumbling over since I arrived, and in all likelihood, since before I arrived. You need to get past it, Cody."

"What? What do I need to do?"

"Just tell him you love him."

My eyes went wide and my heart froze. I knew exactly what he meant. But I said, "T-tell wh-who?"

"You're too smart to play dumb convincingly, Cody. Talk to Tad. Tell him what's in your heart. It's been distracting you since summer, and sooner or later it's going to affect the game."

I began to splutter. "What am I supposed to do?? Just go up to him and say, 'Hey, I know we're friends and all, but I'd really like you to be my boyfriend.'? What the fuck??"

"That'd be a start", Christian commented.

I shook my head. "I can't. With the other guys, it's conditioning, it's part of their training--"

"According to my research and psych profiling, half of them still could have gone either way, a few were questioning, and you'd be surprised how many were in the closet.", Christian revealed.

"But still!", I protested. "With Tad it's so--so real. I really do feel for him. I just can't say it, it's not that easy. If he were here right now, I couldn't even--"

"You wanted to see me, Christian?"

The voice came from behind us. I whirled to see Tad standing in the gym doorway. He was dressed in his letter jacket, jeans and a white t-shirt. He looked beautiful as ever. "If you guys are doing a workout, I could come back later."

"No, your timing is perfect, Tad", Christian said. "This is exactly when I needed you here. Cody is having some trouble I need your help with."

Tad shrugged. "Oh, okay. What do you want me to do?" Christian gestured for him to come over. Tad dropped his backpack and approached.

I looked at Christian, silently pleading with him not to force me to go through with this. He just winked at me. As Christian passed Tad, he said, "Cody needs to go through something on the mats. He'll fill you in."

"How long'll you need me for?", Tad asked.

"Depends on Cody."

Tad walked right up to me, and I suddenly realized how awkward it felt to be standing in my rubber suit in front of someone my age dressed in his street clothes. I just stared at Tad, wondering where to begin.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "So, what are we doing here, anyway?"

"I'm supposed to--I need to--", I paused and swallowed hard. "Haydensen wants me to--"

I was breathing funny, and started looking around the room for some kind of escape, then stared at my shoes. I just started talking. "We really need to work on our passes, and the defensive line could use some toughening up, and second string needs to do more running drills, and Tad, I'm in love with you." I gulped. Then stared at my shoes again.

"Took you long enough."

I looked up at Tad. "Huh?"

He rocked back and forth on his heels. "Dude, you've been eyeing me for like, forever. I was wondering when the hell you were gonna get the nerve to say something. I damn near just gave up on it and asked you to Homecoming myself, but Bradley said not to since you'd probably have a heart attack."

"You--you knew?? You know I'm in love with you?" Fuck, I said it again. Another gulp.

"Yeah, pretty much. Kind of obvious, really, man. You need to work on subtlety."

I was trying to process it all. "A-and you? Do you--?", I let my voice trail off, steeling myself for rejection.

"I dunno for sure.", Tad admitted. "But it's a distinct possibility. We need to spend more time together first."

There was a flopping noise beside us and I looked down to see another rubber sweatsuit. From the doorway, Christian signalled us. "Tad needs to suit up." Tad shrugged, and leaned over to pick up his suit. Christian called again, "No, Tad, wait. It's a new approach I'm trying. You just strip. Cody--" and I looked over at him. "--YOU dress Tad in his suit."

"Me?!"

Tad was already undressing. His clothes were piling up at the edge of the mat where he threw them. I walked briskly over to Christian. "Are you sure? This is kind of fast, isn't it? I mean, dressing him in his--?"

Christian ignored me. "Use this." He handed me a bottle of store-bought baby powder. The plastic safety seal was still on it. None of the special powder.

"This? Regular stuff? What if he snaps back to normal halfway into his suit? What if he hates me for it? What if--?"

"You'll both be fine. Besides, he is "normal" right now. Go be with your boyfriend."

Christian walked back into the locker room, and I ran after him, trying to catch up. "How can you be sure??"

Christian said calmly over his shoulder, "Because that's the same brand of powder I've made sure he's been using for the last three weeks, Cody. Go be with him, already."

I turned back around to see Tad standing naked on the mats. He grinned, and bent his index finger inward, indicating that I should come over. He even jerked his head to the side, as if to say "C'mere". As in a dream, I shuffled over to him. He was glorious. Every inch of him, smooth, tan, muscular. I stood before him for a moment, looking him up and down. He smiled. Absently, I peeled open the baby powder and started shaking clouds of it into his suit.

Tad reached out and rested his fingers on my arm. "No", he said. Then he shook the bottle over my hand, covering it with talc. He then guided my hand to his chest, pressing my palm against his pecs. "On me. Put the powder on me."

I was so hard I could barely stand it. He held his arms out at his sides and stood in a wide stance. Slowly, I started rubbing him down with the powder.

I took my time, running my fingers across his smooth chest, up over his shoulders, down his arms. I made my way around his back and began to add more between his shoulder blades and at the base of his neck. "Use lots", Tad encouraged me, and I took his advice. I squatted down as I applied generous amounts to his lower back and very, very slowly massaged his butt. I squeezed his cheeks gently and traced my fingers down underneath to the inside of his thighs. I felt the back of my hands brush against his penis and I pulled back suddenly. Without turning, Tad said quietly, "Get everywhere."

I reached back between his legs and ran my powder-covered fingertips over his balls. Tad laughed slightly as I continued to add more and more, until it was piling up on top of the mat between his feet. "Whoa, whoa, you got 'em", he insisted. "Move on to my dick already." I stepped around front of him and knelt down. I shook the powder out onto Tad's penis and lightly fingered his cock with one hand. Gently, ever so gently, I rubbed handfuls of talc on his member. He was already semi-hard as he commented, "You're good at this, buddy." I moved down to his legs and covered his lower extremities in the talc, almost using up the container.

I dropped the bottle and picked up Tad's sweatsuit. I unzipped the back, and carried it over to him. As I approached, I started to say, "Step into the pantle--" when Tad bent forward and kissed me. I was so taken by surprise that I didn't kiss back. I just lowered the suit and gestured for Tad to step into it. He did, and I slowly lifted the suit up his legs, and guided it over his rear, Tad sliding his penis inside on his own. I continued to pull the suit up, which slid on fairly easily for all the talc. Tad slid his arms into the sleeves, and small clouds of powder puffed out of the cuffs as his hands pushed through. I zipped him up from behind, then leaned forward, resting my face against his back, taking in the heady aroma of the rubber mixed with his scent.

I picked up his boots and slid them on his feet. Then I stood up, standing face to face with him. He kissed me, and this time I kissed back. He held my head, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. The sound or our rubbered bodies pressing against each other was all I could hear. The light squeaking of our sleeves, chests, and pantlegs pushing, rubbing, and intertwining was the only noise we made apart from the gasps that came in between kisses. There was no need--no use--for conversation at this point. Expressing myself in this way was far more eloquent than anything I could have hoped to achieve while speaking.

His tongue invaded my mouth as his hands traced my face. I let my hands slide down his shining back to grasp tightly at his buttocks, squeezing affectionately as I returned his kiss. I could feel his erection pressed against mine as our rubbered crotches pushed together. I reflexively pumped my hips and he responded in kind. His kisses traveled all around my face as he held my shoulders, hands then moving around to massage my back.

We began to sway, two rubber bodies acting as one, and I stumbled on one foot to steady myself. "Let go", Tad gasped. "That's what the mats are for." I surrendered completely to his embrace and we toppled over onto the soft mats, never breaking contact.

We landed on our sides, arms still wrapped around each other, kissing passionately. Tad groped me with one hand, and began to stroke my cock through the rubber of my suit. It startled me just enough to allow him to push me over onto my back. He then straddled me, and pinned my wrists to the mat. Tad's weight on top of me, I lay there looking up as he panted, smiling at me. "You're so fucking hot, dude."

"You, too", I wheezed.

Tad bent forward and kissed me, still holding my arms tightly in place. I arched my back and bucked him off me. He tumbled over onto his other side, and I latched onto him, grabbing his seat, stroking his crotch with my palm, always keeping our lips locked together.

We wrestled, kissed, and grappled on the mats, unmindful of how much time we spent there. When we at last exhausted ourselves and exited the locker room in our street clothes, we were both surprised to find that more than three hours had passed.

The Modified Uniforms

I walked into the locker room the next day to the sound of raised. excited voices. Tad's was one of them. I rounded the corner to see Bradley, Randolph, Zerk, and Tad all standing there in their rubber sweatsuits, with their equipment pads and jerseys on hand. Timmy Jameson sat on one of the benches nearby. "Hey guys", I said. "What's goin' on?"

Tad draped his arm around me and drew me close to him. "Hey, babe." He kissed me gently on the lips and I let him do so. No, actually, I kissed him back.

Bradley perked right up. "Well, heeyyy, it's about time, Cody! Finally got off your dead ass and made your move, huh?" I squirmed a bit under Tad's arm, still uneasy with being so open about my homosexuality, even among good friends who were also recently out.

The small voice of Timmy came from the bench. "Congratulations, you two." Zerk made a goofy smile and punched me lightly on the shoulder. Randolph just raised his eyebrows up and down, knowingly.

I rocked on my heels for a second, trying to think of something funny to say, came up blank. Then, placing my arm around Tad's waist (which seemed to fit perfectly there), I asked, "So what was all the fuss when I came in?"

Zerk chimed in, his tone of voice marking him as the man in charge of the meeting. "Okay, lookit. Christian's been going on lately about how we're gonna ditch the sweatsuits and start hitting the field in our regular uniforms, right? Well, dude, what the hell's that gonna do to us now that we've trained to work our best when we're wrapped in rubber, man?"

"It's like we're all conditioned and shit", Randolph added.

"Right!", Zerk agreed forcefully. "So, I'm thinkin' why don't we just go out on the field still suited up in our rubber suits? We'll just throw everything on over the top of 'em. I mean, who's gonna know??"

"A field of rubberboys", I mused.

Zerk paused. "Hey I like that. Rubberboys. Not bad." Then, snapping back into his control mode, he grabbed up his padding and began putting it on. "But really, who the hell's gonna be able to tell what we've got on underneath all this??" Deftly, Zerk strapped on his protective gear with an ease that indicated his years of playing. Then, "Timmy, toss me my jersey and pants, buddy." The young lover complied. In another few seconds, Zerk was geared up for the field, all except his helmet. "Now I'm askin' ya, how is anybody ever gonna tell that we--"

"Um, Zerk", I said. "You might wanna look at your arms, man."

"What are you--? Aww, shit." Zerkowitz held up his arms to discover that the short-sleeved jersey left his gleaming black arms completely exposed.

"Not only that, Zerk, but--", I let my voice trail off and simply pointed at his legs. Zerk looked down to see that below his uniform pants, his rubbered legs were just as obvious as his arms. I nudged his boots lightly with my toe. "And you want to tell us how we're going to get our cleats on over the top of our rubber boots?"

Zerk swore, shaking his head and tearing off his jersey in frustration. "Dammit, guys, I don't WANT to go out there without my suit on! I--I just play so damn much better in it!"

Bradley looked at the floor. "It feels better."

Timmy softly added what we were all thinking. "I need it."

"Well, you're all here rather early." We turned to see Assistant Coach Haydensen standing behind us. We hadn't heard him enter.

I swallowed, not sure how to broach the subject we'd been discussing, but began, "We were all just talking about getting into uniform for final practices. You know, without our rubber suits, and--"

"Ah, good", Christian interrupted me. "I have brand new equipment for the lot of you. I'd like to see if it's up to snuff. It's just as well you few are here. That saves me the trouble of having to wait until practice to see how it works out. Zerk, strip off that old equipment and let's give it a try, okay?"

Zerk looked a bit sheepish, but said, "Um, sure. Okay." Christian walked to the equipment room with what could only be called a spring in his step. Zerkowitz stripped off his pants and his padding and stood waiting for him. Christian returned with full padding for one man, and stopped when he saw Zerk standing there.

"Lose the sweatsuit, Zerk. You know full well you can't wear that on the field at game time."

Zerk averted his eyes, and looked almost tearful. "Yessir." Within a minute or two (Zerk was taking his time removing his sweatsuit), Zerk tossed his rubber uniform over to Timmy and stood naked before Christian.

Christian began to place the shoulder pads on Zerk, saying, "Let's start by trying on these, okay?" Zerk looked like he was about to mutter another docile compliance, but as the pads came to rest on his bare shoulders, his head popped up and his eyes grew wide.

"Wh-wh-whooooaaaa." His hands shot up to grasp the pads and he looked with awe at Christian.

"Feel okay?", Christian asked.

"Hell yeah!", Zerk said, then revised himself, making it, "I mean, yessir! I mean--these feel great!" Then, quieter, "Are they all like this?"

"Try them on and see."

Zerk didn't need further prompting. Gleefully, he pulled on all of the new padding, inhaling sharply as he did so, gasping here and there, and even moaning a bit. The rest of us exchanged puzzled looks as we watched the spectacle. "Don't forget this", Christian said, tossing Zerk his cup.

"No, SIR!", Zerk said. He placed the cup where it belonged and fairly fell over backwards in ecstasy. Then, his eyes almost rolling up into his head, he whispered to us, "Guys, you gotta feel this. Maaannnn..." Christian nodded that we could go ahead. Gingerly, we approached our mildly convulsive teammate and slipped our fingers and hands under the equipment Zerk wore. We all of us felt our mouths drop as we came to the same conclusion.

"The inside of the pads are all coated with rubber!", Tad exclaimed. It was true. Somehow, Christian had seen to it that the interior of all the protective equipment had been coated with a thick rubber sheeting, easily as evocative to the touch as our regular rubber bodysuits.

"And let's not forget these", Christian said, holding up a pair of crisp new uniform pants and a jersey bearing Zerkowitz's number. He tossed them lightly to us and we quickly saw that, like the pads, they too were coated inside with a slick layer of fresh black rubber.

"Dude, brace yourself", Bradley said, and with the aid of Randolph, placed Zerkowitz's legs into the pants and pulled them up, lacing them tight. As Zerk gasped again, Tad and I pulled his jersey on over his head. We then had to lean him against the lockers to keep him from falling over.

"Now, I don't suppose any of you guys would care to try on your own new equipment and uniforms, would you?", Christian asked. He practically had to hold us back.

A few minutes later, we were all suited up in our new gear, seated on the benches, leaning against the lockers, or lying on the floor. We all felt great. Or I'm assuming we all did, if the delighted moans were any indication. I know I felt fantastic. I was seated on the bench, head titled back sleepily. I was in full gear, ready to take the field, and at that moment the only thing stronger than my love of the game was the throbbing in my cock.

"Hey, you."

I opened my eyes to see Tad, also suited up of course, looking back at me with eager eyes. "Doesn't get any better than this, does it, man?" Before I could answer, Tad placed his hand firmly over my crotch, pressing my rubbered cup into my hard erection. I gripped the edges of the bench, mouth moving rapidly with no sound coming out. Tad rubbed back and forth, then up and down, his massaging motion slowly increasing with each pump. I kept inhaling, again and again, wondering why I couldn't breathe out, feeling the smooth, sleek, soft rubber press easily against my member. Each movement I made to the right or left as my hips began to pump beneath Tad's hand only accentuated my arousal, as I could feel the loose rubber jersey brush against my arms, the snug rubber pants hugging my legs, the firm rubber padding conforming to my body.

"Tad, I--" And I began to inhale even more sharply. "Hahh--hahh--hauhh--HUUHH--!!" My fingers dug into the soft wood of the bench as I felt myself approaching climax. As my body tensed, Tad leaned forward and kissed me passionately upon the mouth. His tongue probed my own ravenously as my hips thrust and I shot my steaming load into my own cup. I lost all sense of time as Tad pressed his lips to mine, one hand still bracing my cup, the other now cradling my head. I came. And came. And came.

Finally, Tad pulled back, a smile on his face. Then without saying a word, he leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the forehead.

I collapsed backward, my head clunking against the locker behind me, my breath finally returning to normal as my heart pounded in my chest.

"Christening your new gear, Cody?" Christian stood over me, a sly grin on his face.

I struggled to get up, to cover for my actions, but couldn't regain my balance fast enough. "Sir! Christian! That is, I-- Tad and I were--!"

Christian waved a hand absently. "Don't worry, Cody. You're fine. I just hope the other players appreciate their new gear as much as you do." As he passed by Tad, he patted him on the shoulder (or shoulder pad, really).

I looked up at Tad from my awkward position flopped backwards over the bench and mouthed the words, "I love you." There was a sudden rumble as the rest of team filed into the locker room for practice. Tad tapped his chest, pointed back at me, and flashed two fingers my way. "I love you, too."

Christian needn't have wondered about the rest of the team. They loved the new gear at least as much as I did. And after the initial pleasure-shock of donning the new rubberized uniforms, we hit the field with an energy I had rarely seen at practice, even lately. If anything, I'd say we played better than we ever had before.

The Start of Game Season

Our first game took place before we knew it. Practices had been long and grueling, but intoxicating all the same. We'd never been more prepared for anything in our lives. The Vulcans marched out onto the field clad in our royal blue and gold, but far more aware of the shining black that lay beneath.

Attendance was pretty sparse, but with the reputation the team had built over the years--or lack thereof--it was hardly surprising. Optimistic parents, a handful of friends, and some supportive teachers peppered the stands, trying to be helpful by shouting uplifting phrases like, "You can do it, guys!" and "We're with you all the way!" The way practices had been going, I figured it wouldn't take long before we were filling the place top to bottom, with folks clustered standing-room-only style around the stairwells.

The lack of attendance made it easy to spot and identify who was there, and one who jumped out at me was Coach Gareth, sitting down by the sidelines. I was struck by how old and tired he looked. He sat slumped a bit forward, his shoulders sagged and his eyelids drooped a bit. He managed a meager smile and added his own weak applause to that of the rest of the stands. He looked to Christian who gave him a look of confidence in return, gesturing with the thumbs-up that the team as ready to go. Coach Gareth seemed to perk up a bit at that.

There was no pep talk. No pats on the back or words of encouragement from Christian, nor any requested from me. We'd been busting our humps for weeks now, and we all knew we were more than ready. We took our positions on the field and as I looked over to Christian on the sidelines, he pointed at me and then flung his open palms outward, as if he were releasing a bird into the sky. "It's all yours, Cody", the gesture told me.

I hunched down, feeling the magnificent rubber coating stretch against my back, hug my shoulders, and caress the my ass under the seat of my pants. I clenched and then unclenched my toes, relishing the snug feel of the rubber insoles, the tight cling of the rubber pantlegs all around my thighs. I quickly eyes my friends to the right and left of me, and could see in their eyes that they were feeling the same thing that I was. We exchanged quick nods, and tensed for the game's beginning. I hollered the play call.

And they never knew what hit 'em.

We burst into the locker room screaming ourselves hoarse with cries of sheer joy and celebration. We had won our first game by a phenomenal margin. Bradley practically ripped off his helmet and grabbed Randolph, doing the same for him.

"66 to 7!", he cried, shaking his boyfriend by the shoulder pads. "66 to goddamn FUCKING 7!! Wah-HOOOOO!!!" At the mention of our winning score, more whoops and hollers sounded from around the room. Bradley then kissed Randolph with a passion and abandon such as I had never seen from him. Randolph let the helmet he'd been holding fall to the floor and threw himself into the embrace.

The other players followed suit. Helmets crashed to the floor, or were tossed haphazardly into lockers as boyfriends all around me shared celebratory kisses. I gazed around at the scene in awe. It was like a dream come true. So many beautiful football players, still in uniform and gear, kissing each other with genuine passion. In some ways, it exceeded the thrill of seeing them all in rubber bodysuits.

I felt strong fingers clutch the sides of my helmet. Sensing what was coming, I made sure my chin strap was undone so the helmet could be easily slipped from my head. I turned around to see Tad holding my helmet, which he then tucked under one arm. "May I congratulate you on our first win, captain?", he asked wryly.

I smiled. "You may." I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in to press my lip upon his. As all those around us jumped up and down, banged lockers, and kissed ravenously, I kissed my boyfriend very slowly. At first we kissed only on the lips. Easily, naturally, our mouths glided over each other, as if they were made to fit together. I heard the dull clunk as my helmet hit the floor and then felt Tad's arms around me. I opened my mouth just as he did, our tongues probing inward, making their way over and under themselves, moving as if of their own accord.

I could smell the thick musk of Tad's sweat from the game, mixing with my own. Beads of perspiration ran down our faces to mingle together and then glide away. My fingers ran through his moist hair, dampened down from the time spent under his helmet. I felt Tad's hand brace the back of my head, the movements of his fingers mimicking my own. His scent was intoxicating. I wanted him so much. The heavy, salty aroma of him filled my head and made my mind swim. I had to have him. Right here, right now. Against the lockers maybe, or down on the floor if necessary.

I reached over and pulled Tad's jersey up over his head. As soon as he was free of it, he did the same for me. The rubber underside of the jersey hugged me a bit, but slick with sweat, it soon came free, releasing a tiny sprinkle as it did. There in his pads, tanned and muscled torso glistening with perspiration, he looked so incredibly stunning. So hot. Our mouths found each other again as the world fell away around us. We were the only ones there, despite the crowd celebrating all around us. I reached for the laces on the front of his pants as I felt Tad reach for mine. The feel of his fingers working the laces, just above my crotch...the feel of his tongue in my mouth...his bare arms, so moist, so warm...and oh good God, his scent...that powerful, inebriating smell...

I heard the sound of a single pair of hands clapping. The room had gone silent but for that sound, and Tad and I broke contact to see where it was coming from.

There, leaning in the doorway stood Christian, his feet crossed at the ankles, steadily clapping his hands in congratulatory applause. All eyes were on him as he made quite a show of his one-man ovation. "GEN-tlemen", he said dramatically. "I congratulate most heartily on your first win. I want you to pause now and savor this moment. Look at each other, and those of you who are fortunate enough to be couples, look at your boyfriends." We did as he instructed. We looked at each other, sweating, hot, panting, in various states of undress; from full uniforms, to half-dressed, to pads only. I looked into Tad's eyes and he returned my stare. A trickle of sweat ran down from his temple to collect at the corner of his mouth. Reflexively, his tongue stuck out to lick it away. His tongue lingered a moment longer than necessary, and swept slowly across his upper lip. I gulped as I received his unspoken message of where he really wanted his tongue to be.

Christian continued. "This will be the last time you ever experience anything like this, men." That got our attention in a hurry. Was our victory going to be so short lived that it was restricted to a single game? But he went on, "Because this is your first major victory following a long string of defeats. No more. For defeats for this team are now a thing of the past. Get ready to experience victory after victory after victory, team. The Vulcans will lose no more."

"YYEEEEEEAAAAAHHHH!!!", the scream ripped from Zerkowitz and was soon taken up by the rest of the team, myself and Tad included. Christian beamed with pride as we whooped and hollered. Then, Christian clapped his hands a single time, and we fell silent in an instant.

"And now, my good players", Christian added, "I leave you with these postgame words which for you, I am quite sure, have an entirely new meaning. To the showers!"

The boys yelled their enthusiasm again, this time with couples all around the room grabbing each other forcefully and sharing passionate kisses. By contrast, Tad held my face and kissed me very slowly, very gently.

As Christian turned to leave, he said softly and with great feeling, "And once again, men. Congratulations. I'm proud of you."

Boys rushed to the showers with an energy that fairly equalled the way we'd taken the field. Tad and I stripped off the last of our uniforms so we could join them. And for a moment--just a moment--a thought occurred to me. Amid all the din and excitement, how had Christian been able to quiet us so completely by simply clapping his hands so lightly? And he'd done it twice. That struck me as odd. But only for a moment.

In a heartbeat, the moment was gone and Tad and I raced into the communal showers. Boys paired off everywhere, kissing and soaping one another as warm water and foam washed over them and collected in the crooks of their arms as they caressed each other's backs.

Bradley and Randolph shared a lengthy kiss as Bradley upended a shampoo bottle over their heads. Randy absently stroked his hand through their hair, creating a lather that built up immense suds which then poured over their wet shoulders and ran down their sides.

Zerk dropped to his knees and tended to the lithe Timmy with fraternal affection, seeing to it that every inch of his tiny lover was washed and rinsed clean.

A few of the guys actually grabbed their rubber sweatsuits and played at soaping both themselves and the suits up, sliding into them and enjoying the rush of water and suds between their skin and the layer of rubber.

Cartes called from the far side of the showers. "Tad! Catch!" He tossed Tad his rubber bodysuit, which Tad caught easily in one hand while still keeping his other arm wrapped around my waist, massaging my rear.

I was kissing Tad's moistened chest when I eyed his suit. "I should get you into that", I commented. "I have experience in that area, after all."

Tad draped the still-zipped suit around my shoulders like a shawl, saying, "No, you wear it."

I looked up at him, a little surprised. I was no slouch in the physique department, but Tad was still considerably more developed than I was. "It'll be too big for me", I said.

"This isn't too big for you", he said back, pressing his firm penis against mine, sending a shiver up my back as our skin touched, warm water from the shower spray striking both our heads.

I gasped slightly, pressing my head to his chest, continuing to kiss his pecs, feeling the rubber across my shoulders and back, allowing his arm to cradle my head, my cheek snugly against the curve of his bicep. Quietly, I said, "Put it on me."

Tad proceeded to lather me up extensively, spending extra time and attention on my crotch. He then held the suit up to the shower head, allowing water to gush through the neck and down the arms. He unzipped the back, letting the water trapped in the seat fall down and spatter against the tiles. Tad knelt down before me, and reached over to hold my left calf. "First leg", he said. I allowed him to move my leg into the rubber suit, which slid on easily with all the water and lather. "Next leg", he said, guiding my right into place. The feel of the warm foam against my body, held in place by the smooth, strong rubber was so unspeakably arousing. I inhaled deeply as Tad tugged the suit up my waist and over my crotch. I inhaled again, sharper.

Before I knew it, there was a zipping noise and a soft snap of the clasp and I was covered in his rubber sweatsuit. Tad gently led me to rest my back against the wall below the showerhead, leaving the water to cascade down upon my rubbered chest and run down the front of my legs. Smoothly, easily, Tad slipped my feet into his rubber boots. (Where had those come from?) Once I was securely enveloped in his suit, Tad drew me close to him once more.

Placing his hands upon my shoulders, he began to massage me all over. He ran his firm, tensed fingers over my shoulders and down my back, up and down my arms, and around my waist. The suit was indeed too big for me. But the extra folds in the rubber only made his attentions more sensual. The increasing foam and lather collected inside the suit, the water flowing here and there over my soapy skin. Tad's fingers massaged my ass and grasped the inside of my thighs. One hand lingered around my leg, moving gently but firmly up and down as the other slid over to my crotch, the palm pressing snug against my member, making slow circular motions. I gasped with the sensations, my mouth moving a bit, open wide, emitting no sound. My feet slid a bit inside the oversized boots, now sloshing with rising water, but the rubber soles held fast on the slick tile floor.

Tad continued his massage, the circular stroking increasing slightly. As my gasps increased in time with his stroking, he pulled my chest to his, his mouth covering mine, our tongues probing together in a ravenous kiss. My own fingers clutched his naked back as I came inside his suit never breaking off our kiss. I collapsed into his arms, and he held me up. The water spray had long since lost all its heat, but there was plenty shared between our two bodies. I breathed in heaving gasps, my chin resting atop his shoulder.

Tad whispered something near my ear, which was obscured by the sound of the water, but I was willing to swear that he'd said "I love you."

Not long after, myself and the rest of the team got dressed and locked up our equipment and gear. The smell of wet latex hung heavy in the air, despite the new splashes of cologne and sprays of deodorant from many of the guy. I was thoroughly exhausted and yet so thoroughly pumped.

I shut my locker as I stepped out with Tad in our civvies. We had pizza parlors to hit, as well as a couple karaoke bars. Kids, teachers, and neighbors were waiting to celebrate with us and shower us with praise. It could hardly match the shower we'd just given each other, but we were still eager to get to it. As most of us strode out into the night air arm in arm, I couldn't help marveling at the feeling of camaraderie, of fellowship, of near invulnerability.

So this is how it feels to be a winner. It's a feeling I could get used to.

The next couple games went about the same as the first. We hit the field, we kicked major ass, we basked in the glow of cheers from the stands, all the while anticipating basking the team showers afterward.

Coach Gareth attended each game. He sat down on the sidelines and looked like a living paradox. On his face was the brightest smile of pride and satisfaction that I think I've ever seen, but there were bags under his eyes, his shoulders slumped, and his skin was nearly ashen. Emotionally he looked fantastic, physically he looked terrible.

At our third game, Coach actually got up and left at halftime. He waved a brusque farewell to Christian, who answered with a thumbs-up. We were so far ahead in the score that he'd doubtlessly not miss any sudden turnaround in the second half, but it was still really odd to see him depart before the final touchdown. Then I noticed the way he hobbled out of the stadium. He was using a cane. His broad smile was of little help in straightening his stride. At the following games, he wouldn't even be in attendance.

After Coach Gareth's final departure, we all lingered in the locker room. We all remained in full uniform, pads and all, only our helmets removed. Christian entered to silence our celebrating with his usual deliberate applause, only to find there was no celebrating to silence. He still clapped his hands once to gain our attention as we stared at our shoes, or at the ceiling.

"Gentlemen...", he began cautiously, "you just experienced another trademark Vulcan victory. You eviscerated the Crusaders. This isn't the atmosphere I expected to find in the postgame locker room." We remained silent, looking distressed. "Um, perhaps a refreshing shower would--"

I stood up, cutting him off. "Assistant Coach Haydensen", I said, stating my business as officially as possible. "I'm real worried about--" and I got a small mutter from the team. I corrected myself, saying again, "The team and I are real worried about something. Christian, is Coach Gareth okay?"

Every eye was fixed upon Christian, who let out a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at the tile floor. He waved a hand at me. "You better sit down, Cody." I did. Christian walked to the center of the room, and we all kept our eyes on him, waiting for whatever news he had. "First of all, gentlemen, Coach Gareth could not be prouder of you all. He has called me repeatedly with words of support and congratulations, saying time and again how thrilled he is with your performance."

Uh-oh. That was good news. A preparer. It usually meant something pretty bad would follow it. I didn't have along wait to find out what it would be. "Coach Gareth has not been in the best of health lately", Christian told us, which came as a surprise to no one. "He was coach of the Vulcans for, what, ten years?" Christian looked at me for confirmation.

"Twelve", I corrected him. Few people had the passion for their job that Coach Gareth did. It didn't help all that much with the team's propensity for collecting losses, however. Most people thought the only reason he hadn't been replaced long ago was that there simply wasn't anybody willing to take the job.

"After so many arduous years of hard work and dedication without much to show for it", Christian went on, causing a few of us seniors to squirm uncomfortably in response, "has affected him physically. Coach Gareth suffers from extremely high blood pressure and a peptic ulcer, all due to the stress of the job. His condition is starting to stabilize a bit, but the going is slow. In all honesty, the doctors say our current winning streak has done more to aid in his recovery than any of the medications and treatments he's had thus far."

We all stayed quiet for a while. Then, I spoke up, saying, "Then I guess we'd better just kick major ass for the rest o the season and bring him to full recovery, hadn't we?" I sat up straighter and looked around the room as the light came on behind the players' eyes. "Whattaya say men? We have a winning season for the man who literally gave his life to the Vulcans! For Coach Gareth!"

It sounded hokey, to be sure, but nobody seemed to mind, as a new cheer rose up from the team, not of victory but of determination. A chant of "Coach! Coach! Coach!" sounded off the walls and I looked over to Christian, who gave me a quick thumbs-up and wry smile.

It wouldn't be until Homecoming before we received word that Coach Gareth's health was back to 100%.

The Escalating Success

The opposing team was baffled by our apparent lack of fear during the game. Our defensive line smashed into their players with aggressive power, sending the opposition flying into the air to land unceremoniously about the field in discarded heaps. Unbeknownst to any of them, each contact we made pressed our rubber-lined uniforms tight against us, sending sheets of pleasure arcing through our bodies, encouraging us to press on, to play harder, to feel more.

As they stood gasping on the sidelines between plays, wondering where we were getting the energy, we bounced on the balls of our feet and slapped each other's backs, anxious to get back into the game. We literally couldn't get enough.

Our away games were every bit as stunning as our home games. We cut through our opponents like ripe wheat. We took greater care in being discreet with our pre-game affections, usually restricting our good luck kisses to our own turf before boarding the bus. But on the field, clad in our rubber-coated uniforms and gear, we all operated as one man, each of us somehow connected on a deeper level than ever before. And our final scores showed it.

Fans from our school started showing up at the away games, even the ones that were a couple hours drive away. People were filling the stands first just to see, and then to cheer on, their former losing team that had made a miraculous turnaround and brought a new pride to the school name. Sweatshirts and T-shirts dotted the crowd emblazoned with the football team's logo and mascot, an ancient god hammering out a thunderbolt, his horned helmet complete with faceguard. The shirts were no longer strictly the province of the team parents or amorous girls. Teachers, students big and small, and a collection of stray neighbors clamored to wear the blue and gold attire in support of their team.

The cheerleaders were likewise infused with new life, leaping, twirling, and somersaulting with glee, each freshly-scrubbed face alive with a bubbly joy whose effervescence increased with every touchdown. At regular intervals, the cheerleaders flirted with us, squealing and blowing kisses. My fellow teammates and I eyed each other, knowing so much more than the young ladies did, and trying to restrain our laughter.

We elected to flirt back with the girls, occasionally pausing to remove a helmet and kiss the back of a hand in a show of chivalry. The crowd ate it up, the girls swooned, and the team knew we were all actually imagining kissing each other. It served only to intensify our team spirit. We had a shared secret that made us stronger, that made us tighter than a team, and closer than brothers. And we used it to win time and again.

Once there was concern raised by a few opposing schools that our sudden and dramatic turnaround was due to steroid use. A couple school board members and some grim-faced, official-looking tagalongs called a meeting of the entire team in the locker room one Saturday afternoon to test these suspicions. Everyone showed. When the grim-faces announced that there was concern about us using drugs to enhance our playing skills, you could feel the temperature in the room rise with our indignation.

One of the school board officials sought to challenge our outrage--which he implied was mere bluff--by requesting a volunteer for a drug test. The entire team stood simultaneously. His demeanor was shaken by our show of solidarity, but he went ahead with the tests. Christian beamed.

They found nothing, of course. There was nothing to find. The talcum powder left no trace, and the effects it inspired could not be measured on any scientific scale.

After the officials had left, their results indisputable but still appearing dissatisfied, Tad hollered out loud to know one, "Hey, drug testers! You wanna see what we're usin' to win every goddamn game? Get an eyeful of this!" With that, he reached over and kissed me passionately, much to the hoots, cat-calls, and applause of the entire room.

And yeah, I definitely kissed him back.

We were on a winning streak a mile wide that nobody could deny or stop. I felt there was nothing that could top what we had experienced thus far. Of course, that assessment was due to change at Homecoming.

The Homecoming Night

The energy in the air was incredible. We were undefeated, we were lovers, we were dressed in rubber-coated uniforms. It was Homecoming, and the air in the locker room bristled with building electricity. The team gathered around to hear a few words from Christian, as was our new tradition. But instead, Christian waved me over and had me take my place standing at his side.

"I thought it would be appropriate if tonight we heard a few words of inspiration from our team captain", Christian said, patting me on the shoulder and then stepping aside.

The room was deathly quiet, or so it seemed to me, who was suddenly on the spot. I was totally unprepared for this, as Christian had not bothered to tell me about it. I looked to him with worried eyes.

"Just speak from the heart, captain", he said.

I gulped. I didn't know how else to speak. I looked over to Tad, who returned an expression of such confidence that I felt my stomach settle and my nerves steady. And I began to talk.

"Gentlemen", I said, adopting Christian's favorite mode of address, "tonight is a big night. Homecoming is one of the biggest nights of the year for football players." The start seemed lame, but then a thought occurred to me. I went with it. "But football isn't the only thing we do here at school. And I don't know about you, but I for one have been getting a whole new appreciation for some of the things we study at school thanks to what we've been learning in football. Like history for instance. I have a whole new respect for famous dead guys like Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and Richard the Lion-Hearted." I paused for effect. "All of whom were gay, and all of whom knew how to kick major ass."

That got a ripple of approving laughter from the team, who now knew where I was going with this. Christian smiled. I glanced at Tad, who was grinning like an idiot. He inclined his head slightly towards me and raised his eyebrows. Go on.

"The Greeks", I continued, hoping I got this next part right, "encouraged homosexuality amongst their warriors, as it was widely thought that a soldier would fight more valiantly on the field of battle to protect and defend his lover. It was a strategy that worked." All around the room, boyfriends reached over to take each other's hands and exchange meaningful looks. "And I don't think there was ever any ancient squad that fought with the same devotion for one another that we do." I locked eyes with Tad for the briefest moment, and his expression encouraged me to go on.

I walked up and down the room, doing my best to make eye contact with every player. "Tonight we go up against the Dynamos. Like us, they're undefeated this year. The folks in the stands are expecting one helluva game tonight. Two teams reenacting a clash of the titans, each fighting with all they've got, exhausting themselves as they hold nothing back, battling against a foe so much their equal that one side will barely make it to a narrow victory, the other left to limp away in defeat."

I stopped walking and placed my hands on my hips. "Well, I hate to disappoint all those fans, but that is so not gonna happen. We are gonna defeat the Dynamos by such a huge margin it isn't even funny. The Dynamos are about to be pounded flat by the Vulcans!"

I raised my fists in anticipation of our victory and the whole team roared. We were all still roaring when we burst from the locker room and took the field.

The Dynamos really were the team to beat. And they put up an incredibly good fight. But it wasn't good enough. We stood victorious after the final buzzer, sweating, panting, aching, as the scoreboard glowed with the pronouncement, HOME: 103 VISITORS: 24

Coach Gareth was back on the sidelines, the picture of perfect health. The entire team lined up before him, remove dour helmets and bowed slightly in his direction. This one was for you, coach. He didn't linger afterward to say anything. He didn't want anyone to see the tears.

Our time in the showers was more rapid than usual. We had to get cleaned up fast to join the rest of the school in the cafeteria for our big Homecoming dance. We left the locker room refreshed and looking sharp in our suits and ties, a look that was by no means new to us at this point.

We walked through the standard post-Homecoming fare, with the exception that there was a lot more enthusiasm and congratulatory chatter at the podium by grateful teachers and admiring students. We did our best to look bashful and uncomfortable with all the attention and praise, as we stood together with beautiful cheerleaders and other gorgeous girls on our arms. Looking uncomfortable about that last part came easily enough.

We had fun enough at the dance, which didn't last as long as the game had. And there were plenty of moments during fast dances in which a number of guys from the team formed a circle and danced together. The girls thought it was cute. We thought it was hot.

Even after the dance, we were all so pumped we could hardly think. The game, the win, the celebrating, it was all so overwhelming, so intoxicating. We had no idea the evening had only begun.

Assistant Coach Haydensen instructed us all to meet in the locker room at the end of the evening's festivities. We were all good with that. Lots of us wanted to be able to thank our boyfriends properly away from prying eyes, to openly be together as the team of rubberboys we had become. I was barely able to contain myself as I watched Tad dance with "his girl" as I danced with mine. We always found a way to slow-dance our partners close by, so we could eye each other over our dates' shoulders. And of course, all us guys were perfect gentlemen with the ladies, seeing to it they all got home early, and safely, making no rude advances upon them. Their dads all loved it, even if the girls were a bit confused by it all.

So here we were in the locker room, dressed up in suits and ties, looking sharp as hell, wondering what the a.c. had in mind for us.

Christian walked in, slapping us on the back, giving congratulations all around, shaking hands, hugging, saying how proud he was of all of us. We all cheered, fists in the air, roars of triumph echoing off the walls.

Christian waved us quiet, and with his arms still raised, said, "And if I recall correctly, gentlemen--"

"Rubberboys!", called Randolph, which brought a laugh from the group. Zerk gave Randy the thumbs-up.

Christian smiled. "--if I recall correctly, gentlemen rubberboys, I promised you a surprise treat if we won this Homecoming game. And if you didn't pick up on it, we sure as hell won it!!" The group went wild with cries of "Yeah!!" and high-fives everywhere.

Christian held up a hand, and we all fell silent. He stared at us for a moment, then said, "Strip. I'll go get your reward."

Back at football camp, such a ridiculous request would've been met with stares of disbelief and snide remarks. But the Master had spoken, and that was all we needed. The guys yanked open their team lockers and starting peeling off ties, shirts, dress shoes, pants. There was a cascading noise of shoes banging off the back of locker interiors, and fancy clothes flapping into heaps on top of them. In less than two minutes, the whole team of teenage football players, all in extraordinary physical shape, stood stark naked before their lockers, practically standing at attention.

Tad slipped his hand into mine, our fingers intertwining. I smiled brightly at my boy, and he raised our clenched hands and kissed the back of my hand. His eyes danced, and I just took in how beautiful he was.

"Here we go, boys! Just for you!" Christian was pushing a laundry cart past us, full to bursting with oversized white shirt boxes. He was tossing them out, one at a time, to each team member. "Hart. Randolph. Bradley. Jameson, pass this over to Snyder. Here's yours, Jameson."

Soon, we all stood there holding identical white boxes. "What are they?", asked Cartes.

"Why don't you open them and find out?", said Christian with a smile. He then turned and pushed the empty cart out of the room. "See you all in the gym. You have five minutes, men,"

We ripped open the boxes like kids at Christmastime. I tore aside the layer of tissue paper to behold a thing of beauty. "Oohhhh...", I moaned softly. My response was echoed throughout the room to one degree or another by every player.

I gingerly pulled out a stunning, shining new rubber bodysuit, gleaming from the overhead lights, created with our school colors. The shoulders were bright royal blue, with matching broad stripes running down the pantlegs. The chest, back, and inside of the legs were a pristine gold. Each player's new rubber sweats came complete with his own number splashed proudly across the chest, and his name across the back. The pantlegs ended in attached tall boots, as pristine a gold as the tunic, with piping, soles, and toecaps of brilliant blue. I felt the smooth material between my fingers, to find that it moved easily back and forth at the slightest touch. It was cool and dry on the outside, but almost slippery moist on the inside.

Tad looked over at me, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Dude, the insides of these things are treated with lube or something!"

From out in the gym, we heard, "Four minutes and counting!"

There was a flutter of commotion as we all hurried to yank on our new suits. A moment of confusion ensued, as the suits had no zippers. Then Zerkowitz, easily the biggest of us, tugged at his tunic collar, which stretched wide under his meaty hands, and he stepped one leg in, then the next. The rest of us caught on fast. We proceeded to pull on our individual suits the same way. They slipped on in seconds, and once there, clung to our bodies like an extension of our own skin. The stretched-out collars quickly shrank back to fit snugly around our necks. Likewise, the sleeve cuffs hugged tight to our wrists after our hands pushed through. The fit was incredible, like nothing I've ever experienced. The looks of ecstasy from around the room showed I was not alone.

Every player gasped, moaned, or shivered at the indescribably sensual feel of our new suits. A few players leaned on their boyfriends, who hugged for support, the additional contact sparking more spasms of pleasure as they touched. For a moment or two, all that could be heard in the locker room were the soft sounds made by very contented teenage boys.

"Twenty seconds, men!" This from the a.c., out in the gym.

Zerkowitz looked up in awe, "Holy shit, man, there's more!"

I don't think I've ever seen us run out to the gym any faster than we did then.

Assistant Coach Haydensen was smiling like a proud papa when we poured into the gym, all clad in our new brightly-colored suits. The boys bombarded him with thank-yous, hugs, and handshakes as we crowded around him. He accepted them all graciously, then ushered us back, with another command.

"Form a circle."

We did. In a heartbeat, the entire team formed a large circle around the a.c., with him in the center. He gestured for us to draw closer to him until the circle was pretty tight, and we were all shoulder-to-shoulder. "Take hold of each other's hands.", he said. Again, we did. Guys who weeks ago would have shuddered at the thought of holding another guy's hand, all reached over easily and took the hand of the boy on either side of him without hesitation. Each man stood beside his boyfriend, with another close buddy on his other side. So, instead of just holding hands limply, each boy held to his partners affectionately, many giving the hand they held a gentle squeeze.

Christian's voice grew softer. "You are a very special group, men. You're special to me, you're special to each other. You've been able to connect with one another in a way I doubt that any high school athletic team has ever connected before, and it shows on the field. Don't think for a second that I don't know what kind of work you've put in, what kind of sacrifices you've made. And I want you to know how much I appreciate it, how grateful I am to you."

Several of us shuffled our feet, a bit embarrassed at Christian's honest praise. A few others looked at the floor, blushing.

"You stand now in the first part of your reward for all your hard work. I take it you like your new suits." There was eager agreement all around. "Well, these suits are specially designed for use as recognition after your hard-won victories. After we're done using them tonight, they get put away under my care. Until your next win, that is."

"Damn", muttered Cartes, "strong motivation to keep winning." A few guys snickered in agreement.

Christian went on. "You may have already noticed that these suits are of special design. They have no zippers that can come loose or undone." I hadn't noticed that that had ever been a problem with our regular sweats, but I didn't say anything. "The boots are attached to the pantlegs, making the suits that much sleeker and form-fitting. The interiors have been specially treated to make putting them on fairly easy. And, there is an additional feature you probably haven't noticed."

We all looked at each other, wondering what we could have missed.

"Notice that in the front of your suits, centered just below the waist, there's a small tab." And he pointed to himself, just below his belt buckle. "Here."

We all looked down, and sure enough, there was a tiny gold tab, that blended right in with the rest of the suit so well it was no wonder we missed it. "Now, each of you, please take your left hand, and place it around the shoulder of the player next to you." Slowly, we did so. We moved a bit uncertainly, not because draping our arms around each other made us uncomfortable, but because we didn't know where this was going. In a moment, every boy had one hand hanging free and the other around another boy's shoulder.

"Now with your free hand", Christian explained", reach over to the team member on your right and grasp ahold of the tab on his new suit. Go ahead." There were a few snorts of laughter and lots of grins, but we did as we were told. Boyfriends looked over at each other, somewhat giddy at the way this game was starting out. Tad smiled at me as I held the tab of his suit, his arm wrapped around my shoulder. Powers, who was remarkably cute, had his hand on the tab of my suit. The pattern was repeated over and over again, all the way around our tight circle of rubberboys.

When everybody was ready, Christian turned slowly around, making sure that everyone was in position. The room was deathly quiet. No one wanted to miss the next instruction. "Now, men, listen carefully", we were told. "Holding the tab firmly, pull it forward and down in one fluid movement. Don't yank it hard outward, just give it a firm tug down."

Most of us looked at each other awkwardly, with a kind of "you go first" look in our eyes. Christian anticipated this, saying "On three, gentlemen. One...two...three!" At that we all gave the tab we held a firm tug. There was a sound like an air-fresh packaging seal breaking, multiplied a few dozen times over. I, and just about every other guy on the team gasped.

In my hand, I held an oblong section of tad's rubber suit. It was a perfectly clean cut, along a sleek perforation, with a zip-lock style seam all along the edge. Powers, to my left, held the removable section from my suit, and so on down the line, around the room.

I looked down.

The piece that had come free from my suit exposed an area that began just above my penis, and ran down between my legs, up around the back to just above the crack in my rear. "Whoooooaaaa..." I moaned, quietly.

The whole team now stood exposed. Head-to-toe in rubber, but with everything hangin' out, all the same. Most of us had already sprung erections, the rest were following fast. Christian started making rounds around the circle with a plastic basket. "Don't break the circle, please, gentlemen", he said, seeing some of the guys about to leg go of their neighbor's shoulder. "I have something for you in exchange for your codpiece/drop seat flap. When I come up to you with the basket, simply drop the flap into the basket, and hold out your hand to me, palm up."

We were all too supercharged with hormones and adrenaline at this point to question anything. We did as we were asked. Christian was accepting the rubber suit flaps, and then pouring some kind of...shampoo or something all over each guy's hand.

When he came to me, I paused only a second, looking over at Powers to try to discern what the gooey substance was. Christian nodded at the basket, and I tossed in my flap (Tad's, really), and held out my palm. Our beloved a.c. proceeded to pour a large amount of the liquidy stuff all over my open hand. Peering into the basket, it looked like he was going through bottles of the stuff on us. The substance was cool to the touch, and while I expected it to spill over the sides of my hand and onto the gym floor, it clung to my skin just enough to prevent that. Instead, it piled up into a small mound in my hand.

As Christian moved over one to Tad, I brought my hand to my nose and sniffed it. It smelled nice. Almost like a fruit shampoo. But this was clearly not shampoo. Christian saw what I was doing and announced to the group, "Please refrain from touching what I've given you until everyone has theirs, men." I immediately dropped my hand back down to my waist. Across the circle, Cartes was turning his hand upside down and jerking it up and down slightly, to see if the goop would dislodge from his palm. It didn't.

When everyone had their palms "greased" (for lack of a better term), Christian set down his basket full of suit flaps and empty plastic bottles. "Now, as far as I can tell, most of you men are getting pretty worked up, just standing here." His answer came in a ring of mute nods, as we silently agreed that we had all pretty much gotten as hard as rocks.

"So what I'd like you to do next", Christian said slowly, "is to gently reach over to the erection of the boy to your immediate right, and wrap your fingers around it. Easy now, gentlemen."

We moved very slowly, like robots. Most of us kept our heads stationary and only watched the progress of our hands with our eyes. I carefully reached over and grasped Tad's penis in my hand. At the same time, Powers' hand came over from my left and began to hold my own member. The experience was incredible.

As I delicately clutched my boyfriend's dick, my own was being touched by another hand in the same way by someone else. The wet, sweet-smelling gelatinous lubricant I'd had spread on my hand oozed between my fingers and slid all around Tad's erection. As I slowly, lovingly stroked his stiff rod, I could feel the gel work its way all around his shaft, lathering slightly, giving off a stronger perfume. There seemed to be no end to the stuff. The more I worked it in, the more it spread, covering Tad's nether regions in a thick, soothing glaze.

Simultaneously, Powers was working his own gel into my penis. The feeling was intoxicating. There was something else about the cool, comforting feel of the thick substance being applied under the gentle fingers of my teammate. Something...numbing, in a way. As I continued to stroke Tad, as Powers continued to stroke me (as everyone continued to stroke everyone else on the team), my arousal grew to an almost fever pitch. I was so hard, I was so turned on. My fingers dug a bit into Powers' shoulder as I tried to steady myself.

"Don't let go of the shoulder of your teammate", Christian reminded us, as he walked around the inside of our circle. We all returned slight, dazed nods in response.

I could feel beautiful Tad's manhood within my hand, yet I could feel Power's hand around my own. Stroking, soothing, caressing. My toes curled inside my rubber boots and I was struck with a sensation of the slick rubber interior of my suit. Tad gasped to my right, clutching my shoulder as he swayed a bit. The pressure of his hand on my shoulder, pressed across my back sent another thrill through me, feeling the rubber stretched tight all over my body--save for one spot, which was covered by another's fingers. I closed my eyes and moaned softly, one voice in a chorus of ecstatic, lower-register groans.

I wanted to cum. I needed desperately to reach orgasm. But there was something in the gel, something seeping into our skin that prevented it. It was not time yet. But if not now, when? My fingers began to slow their pumping motions as the lather built so that it covered most of my hand and obscured Tad's penis. I was awash with the erotic sensations pouring over and arcing through every inch of my body, and it was hard to maintain my grasp.

"Hang on now, men, don't stop pumping just yet", Christian cautioned us. I was apparently not the only one growing weary.

I have no idea how long we remained that way. Standing clad in freshly-made rubber suits. Feeling the slick interior coating hugging our bodies as our fellow teammates masturbated us with agonizing slowness, keeping us hovering indefinitely on the edge of orgasm.

Then I heard a quiet whisper in my ear. "Cody. Cody, it's your turn, Champ." It was Christian. He had his hands on my shoulders, and was trying to move me sideways. Powers' hand was gone from my penis, which was still painfully erect. "Like this, buddy", Christian said, guiding my lathered hand forward as he turned me a bit more to the right. He placed my hand on the exposed rear of Tad. "Up and down, Cody. Just coat the area, there."

"...yessir...", I mumbled as I used my hand like a paintbrush to coat Tad's behind with the sweet lubricant. As I did this, I soon felt a hand I presume to be Powers', doing the same to my own ass. Languidly, I turned my head slightly to look at the team. We were still in a circle, but now we were arranged front-to-back, each player lubricating the behind of the teammate in front of him.

After another minute or so, Christian said, "Okay, men. You may enter when I say the word." I sidled right up to Tad, the head of my cock brushing against his ass, both rich with gobs of lubricant. At the same time, I could feel Powers' dick against my own behind. I was only dimly aware of what we were doing. I felt so tired...so good...so peaceful and happy...so incredibly hot...to be here with these wonderful guys, everyone in rubber...it was a dream come true.

"Now."

The word was given, and my reverie broken. I slid myself into my beloved Tad just as Powers slid inside me. All around the circle, every single man on the team was entered from behind by another player. The lubricant had done its job, and we slid in with virtually no effort. The sensation of purest, physical joy was beyond imagining. Backs arched, heads popped up, fingers dug into rubber-covered shoulders. My entire body tensed, every muscle frozen with unearthly delight as I felt myself inside the young man I loved, and another inside me. I rubbed my cheek against the taut rubber encasing Tad's back, and heard him whimper with pleasure.

Slowly, steadily, the entire circle began to thrust. First one, then two, then a handful more. Soon, every man on the team was pumping his hips forward into a friend, a teammate, or someone he loved. The grinding was like a perpetual motion machine, once we'd started, we couldn't stop without being acted upon by some other force. We didn't have long to wait for it.

Whether it was in unison or more like a domino effect, I have no idea. But we came. Very close--frighteningly close--to the same time, we reached orgasm. At least, I know Powers and I did.

I fired my load into Tad, my body instantly stiff as though my bones had been replaced by steel rods. My arms, legs, and back locked in place and my penis shot stream after stream into my lover. Behind me, Powers let loose with a similar burst. I could feel him cumming inside me, his seed filling me. My body began to shudder, my eyes clenched tightly shut, my mouth locked open with rasping breaths.

The orgasm could have lasted an hour for all I know. But it was longer than any I had ever experienced in my life up to that point, I do know. Blast after blast shot forth from me and into Tad, a physical avatar of my affection, now forever a part of him. I slid in and out of him repeatedly, each powerful burst yanking me forward again, going deep inside him as I felt myself entered and reentered the same way. I became fearful that I would shut down from an inability to process so much pleasure, such immeasurable joy.

Finally, with a crippling shudder, it was over. I gasped loudly and fell forward onto Tad's back, as I cried out, "Oh God, Tad, I LOVE you!!" As soon as I rested upon Tad's back, still connected to him, I felt ashamed at my outburst. That is, until my head cleared enough to make out the sounds all around me.

"I love you so much, Mikey. God, I do." "Love you, Brent. Always, man." "Never leave you, Josh. You're my everything." "Love you with all my heart, Andy. With all my heart, dude." Everyone was expressing the same sentiment. In fact, it was unlikely that anyone had even heard my outburst. Or cared, if they had. I leaned forward as best I could and gently kissed Tad on the neck. He was crying softly. "I love you too, Cody. God, I love you too, man. I love you."

I felt gentle hands stroking my back and I realized it was Powers. "That was awesome, Cody. You're the best, man. Shit, you are the fuckin' best."

We all clung to one another, exhausted and spent, legs shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps. The most well-connected high school athletic team in the state.

"I congratulate you again on tonight's win", said Christian. "Carefully now, dislodge yourself from your teammates, and when you're ready, hand in your postgame victory suits and get on home. If you need a ride, we can certainly arrange one. And again, boys, congratulations."

It took several minutes. It was as if we were all glued together. But one at a time, bit by bit, we slowly separated ourselves. Some boys flopped right down on the floor and began kissing each other affectionately. Others just clung to each other, some smiling and hugging, others weeping softly while repeatedly professing their love. Once Powers pulled out of me, I slowly and carefully dislodged from Tad. It was all he could do to stand up, so I supported him and walked him slowly to the showers. As we made our way across the gym, he kissed me on the side of the head. Quietly, he spoke my name.

Never in my life had I ever felt anything to equal that night. And I knew without a doubt that I never would.

The Team's Presence

The football team had achieved celebrity status at the high school. It was difficult for any of us to make our way down the hallways without getting applause and whistles from the other students, and more than a handful of teachers. Kids would opt to offer us the better seats in the cafeteria, and many times just let us cut to the front of the line. Each of us had gotten used to pats on the back (literally) every time we walked into a classroom. And the reason for our newfound notoriety was obvious.

This year's Vulcan Varsity had shattered an ongoing losing streak that had made our school a laughing stock in the community. Now our stands were packed with every game, ticket sales were making serious money for the school, and we were selling team sweatshirts, T-shirts, pennants, and even team photographs by the ton. All the local deejays and game announcers were left to scramble for new material since their favorite object of ridicule was now leaving all prior champions in the dust.

We did our best not to get swelled heads, but it wasn't easy. One of the things we focused on was how the girls were acting around us now. Groups of young ladies would titter and nearly swoon as we passed by their lockers. One drop-dead gorgeous gal from the cheerleading squad practically leapt across the hall to throw her arms around Zerk and give him a huge kiss after a weekend win. Lance once opened his locker to have a small pile of love notes and makeshift valentines tumble out at his feet. Bashful Timmy found his own hall locker had been adorned with a large sticker bearing the legend, "Caution! Extremely HOT Babe Uses This Locker!" It was like that for all of us.

Through it all, we smiled and played the part of gentlemen, knowing that what we really wanted was to share kisses, pass love notes, and post playful stickers about our affections with each other rather than the girls. We pulled together to keep our genuine feelings hidden from the rest of the school. Sometimes it was tough, but it helped remind us that nothing worthwhile comes without a price.

One benefit was the way all of us on the team were dressing now. Even if you didn't know the team's roster, you could still pick out a Vulcan football player from a mile away. We all dressed slicker than shit.

The entire team coordinated their clothes so that whether we wore dress shirts and ties or as I preferred, really sharp western wear, our colors were those of our team. On game days, we all had taken to wearing dress shoes, ties, and blazers that came complete with the school emblem on the left breast. We were winners, and that was exactly what we looked like.

What most people didn't know when they saw us winners trod the halls, was that beneath our snazzy attire was a very enticing pair of rubber boxers. Or in some cases, boxer briefs. All shiny, black, and smooth. And by the end of each school day, as often as not, just a little sticky. Tad had even gone so far as to give me a pair of rubber sheath shorts as a present, which were well past sticky by the end of the day, let me tell you.

In any case, we had definitely entered into the realm of favorite sons. For a group of former athletic pariahs, that's a heady experience. We shunned favors from teachers in the form of waived tests and from shopkeepers in the form of complimentary merchandise. We always did so with a smile and a thank-you, but with the clear indication that to take such gifts would be unbefitting a champion. That's what Christian told us. And we just happened to agree with him.

With each new win, we added more numbers to our fan club. It seemed that everyone loved us. Well, almost everyone.

Like every school, we had our share of troublemakers. We had our goths, grungers, and burnouts. The pierced and leather-clad clusters who preferred to treat us to hisses and cat calls as we passed them in the hall. Their sneers of "football faggots" were meant to piss us off, no doubt, but usually resulted in provoking nothing more than stifled laughter, which simply aggravated them more.

As with the offered favors, we made a collective decision not to rise to the teasing remarks of the bad boys. And our resolve worked, too. Until they found a way to get us to respond.

Tad and I heard the scuffle around the corner as we made our way to open study hall. Tad sprinted ahead of me to find a sight that was becoming painfully familiar. A scruffy thug and his minions was tormenting one of the scrawny bookish geek kids. The tall kid who was apparently the leader leered at the underweight bespectacled boy who was pinned to the lockers under the wiry arms of two other scuzzbags. The floor was littered with books and folders that were no doubt dropped by the bookworm.

Tad was on them in an instant. He easily jerked the tall kid aside by the shoulder. "One side, jerk." And then grasped the wrists of the two others in an unyielding pincer grip. The two squealed their discomfort as they released the geeky kid. I stepped in quickly to pull the smaller kid out.

Tad let go of the other two and looked at them with disdain. "What the hell is the matter with you assholes?" Tad grabbed the tall kid by the collar and held him nose to nose. "you see someone who looks different than you and think it's open season, is that it?"

The tall kid, unlike his friends, didn't seem the least bit frightened. He looked hungry for the confrontation. "You should know all about what it's like to be different", he sneered. "Wouldn't ya, fag??"

Tad's eyes widened and the other two kids laughed at him. I cleared my throat to gain Tad's attention. Tad looked at me and I subtly shook my head. Don't say anything, man. It's just the best jibe he could think of. He doesn't know.

Tad released the kid and spat, "I'm watchin' you, man."

The kid straightened his vest, commenting, "Good. Someone should be. Better viewing than your brainless smash-face games, anyway." That clarified things for me, right there. He needed attention, yearned for it. He was used to getting it from being a rebel, from dressing wild. But now there was so much clamor for the winning team that he could've come to school in a pink sequined ball gown and no one would've cared less.

Tad backed away, pointing an admonishing finger at the kid to emphasize his disapproval. The bookish kid was gathering up his books and folders, and I gently nudged him to hurry along so we could escort him safely away. He swatted my hand away. Hey, you're welcome, kid.

As we turned to go, the trio of thugs laughed more devilishly. I knew why in a moment. Tad plummeted to land face-down on the floor. The tall kid had tripped him. I dropped down to one knee to see if my boyfriend was alright, and Tad waved me away, indicating he was okay.

"Tad Carr, right?", the tall kid said. It was a statement, not a question. "Guess everyone knows who you are, big-time faggot football player. You know who I am, jockstrap?" I did.

His name was Cree. Or at least, that was what he was known as. Whether this was a truncated version of his first or last name was unknown. What was known was that he was a complete jerk.

Tad looked up from the hallway floor where he had fallen, his face going red. Placing his large palms flat against the polished floor, Tad pushed himself back to his feet easily. he then stood eye-to-eye with Cree.

Cree was just about Tad's height, although that was hard to tell for sure due to Cree's oversized steel-toed engineer's boots which made him appear taller. Either way, Tad's considerable height was not intimidating Cree here. Cree was the type who didn't intimidate easily. He wore tight jeans that looked as if they'd been dragged behind a dump truck for about a week. Chains that served no purpose other than to look threatening hung from his pockets in slack loops. He had on a leather vest, which he always wore, with no shirt underneath. His wrists were wrapped in tight leather bands secured with scratched buckles, and a silver cross hung from his neck. The cross might have indicated some hope for the guy, if not for the laughing skull embedded in the center. Cree's hair was jet black and spiked haphazardly into a jagged, tall mountain range of follicles, complete with snowy peaks of white dye. The hair would have been somewhat frightening on its own, but next to the multiple earrings (most too heavy for Cree's lobes), eyebrow ring, and tongue bolt, the hair seemed almost reserved.

"You so don't want a fight with me", Tad warned in a level voice.

"Oh, I think that's exactly what I want. Think you can take me, football fag?" Cree's eyes actually twinkled. And I realized that was precisely what Cree wanted. Tad could in all likelihood mop up the floor with him, although Cree would no doubt make use of his decorative chains and who knew what other surprises he had hidden on his person. Tad would no doubt get thrown off the team for the altercation. An indelible blotch on our team's otherwise spotless record for the year. And Cree would get the much-wanted notoriety for causing it.

I touched Tad's shoulder. "Let it go, man. Don't rise to it. He's not worth it."

Tad and I backed away, pushing the scrawny kid along behind us. Cree let out a wheezing hyena laugh, bearing a cold, triangular false smile that held no humor. The other two made chicken clucking noises. Tad's face was almost purple with anger, but he held it together. We backed around the corner and then picked up the pace to put some distance between the three of us and the three of them.

Once we were a ways away, Tad looked at the kid we'd escorted to safety. He was short, with unkempt curly that fell everywhere, which he wore too long in the back and over his ears, making him look effeminate when seen from any side but the front. Tad recognized him before I did.

"Kenny, isn't it?"

The kid spun around to face us. "Kenneth! What is it with you jocks and nicknames?? An extra syllable too much for you to remember?"

"Geez, kid, lighten up. I was only wondering if you were okay. They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Like you care!" His voice was deeper than I would have expected, especially given his thick glasses and pimply complexion. "You made your rescue, you did your good deed, now run off and tell everybody how wonderful you are so you can get more publicity, so 'cause I'm sure as hell not gonna do it!"

He stomped off, stuffing his stack of books and papers under one arm in what he no doubt thought was a dramatic fashion, even though it caused a couple of his papers to flutter to the floor behind him. He left without retrieving them. His slight backwards glance gave me the impression he wanted to drop them.

Tad called after him. "Hey, it was our pleasure, fella. Glad to help!"

I picked up the pages to see they were photocopies of a Sociology paper. I read the title. "How School Athletics Have Irreparably Undermined Academia". Tad rolled his eyes. I shrugged. "Guess you can't please everybody."

The Last Game

The remainder of the game season passed without incident. Unless, like me, you prefer to think of significantly kicking every team's ass as a major incident. Our final game was won with our usual wide margin, making it our first undefeated year ever. And though there was no big dance or other commemorative event after the game, we were all flying high just the same.

We agreed to meet with parents, family, and friends for dinners and get-togethers following, as long as they understood there was still something we had to do at the school first. We agreed to meet them within two hours. Of course, Christian had brought out our seamless blue and gold rubber uniforms. As on Homecoming night, we formed our circle and removed our front flaps. We lathered each other up with lube and soon entered each other in one final endless link of passion. We took our time and savored every thrust, every ache of pleasure. This was our last night together as the senior varsity Vulcans. We wanted to make it last.

Following the hour or so we spent interlocked in our lovemaking circle, we reattached our rubber flaps and made our way back into the locker room for a final word from Christian.

I called for a round of appreciation for our brilliant young assistant coach, which caused the room to erupt in thunderous applause, cheering and whistles. Guys from all around the room raced up to him to give Christian firm handshakes, slaps on the back, and even hugs. Christian looked a bit overwhelmed by it all, as if he wasn't sure how to take it.

I quieted everyone down by jumping atop one of the benches and waving my arms. "Hey! Hey! Let's simmer down, guys! Christian had something important he wanted to tell us on this last night, so I know we all wanna hear it!" The noise in the room settled down to a low rumble, and I gestured for Christian to take over and hopped off the bench.

Christian looked a bit unsteady, as he stood rubbing his palms together. "Uh, this is the part where I usually..." He paused. "Before, when I've helped coach other teams, I take this opportunity following the final game, to, ah..." He stopped again, looking at the floor. It was not like Christian to be at a loss for words. The guys started to look around at each other uneasily. Christian cleared his throat. "Well, gentlemen, it's as simple as this:" And he clapped his hands, twice quickly, then once more. CLAP-CLAP. CLAP.

Everyone in the room froze. Not just quieted down or looked on with greater attention. I mean they froze stiff. Anyone sitting rose to his feet. All leaning against walls of lockers stood up straight. Everyone, that is, but me and Tad. We looked around at the spectacle in stunned surprise. I realized now why Christian could always quiet the room simply by clapping, no matter how much noise we were making. The video viewings, the hypno powder, the reinforcements toward homosexuality--they were all elements of hypnotic conditioning. The clapping was a response signal. And hoo-boy, were the guys ever responding.

Christian stood atop a chair and clapped his hands once more and spread his arms wide. The entire team went down on one knee. Tad and I stayed standing, too amazed to do anything. Christian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a few more moments, he said very softly, "Rubberboys, who am I?"

One or two of the guys spoke up quietly. "...master..." Then another handful of responses came, louder, "Master...master..." Before long, the entire team was chanting in unison with growing emphasis, "Master! Master! Master! Master!" Tad and I stood with our jaws hanging open. What the fuck was going on??

Suddenly, Christian's face crumpled. He looked as if he was about to cry. He held out his hands again. "Stop." The chanting stop, every voice fell silent. "I--I can't do this", he said. "Not to you guys." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and said, "Stand." Everyone in the room stood up on command. Christian stepped down from the chair, choking back his tears. He clapped his hands again in a rapid rhythm. Two claps, then one, then three. Then he snapped both his fingers, and spoke one word. "Released."

Everyone in the room blinked his eyes and looked around in confusion. They had just been returned to their senses--and from that last statement, I'd guess permanently--but had no idea what had just happened, how, or why. Christian turned and moved quickly to his office. "Excuse me, men."

Zerk looked at me, his face a mask of confusion. "Code, what the hell just happened?"

"Christian got too choked up about how much we mean to him to say anything. He needed a second to pull himself together", Tad responded quickly.

Bradley stepped up to us, saying, "Geez, no shit?"

"Something like that", I said. "Give us a minute, would'ja?" I headed toward Christian's office, tapping Tad on the shoulder to urge him to come along.

I rapped lightly on Christian's office door and then stepped inside. "Christian? What's going on?"

Tad followed me in. "Coach, are you okay?"

Christian was weeping softly into his hands. "God, I'm so sorry boys. I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this. Not you." We had no idea what he was talking about.

"Deserve what, coach? What did you do?"

Christian snorted in sharply, trying to stifle a sob and only partly succeeding. "This", he said by way of explanation, waving a hand at the locker room beyond. "All of this. It's what I do. I take losing teams and I make them winners. In the process I make them all gay rubberboys for a while, too. And then at the end of the season--"

"You make them your gay rubberboys", I finished for him, the whole thing coming together for me now.

Tad scrunched his brow. "Your rubber slaves."

Christian nodded, tears streaming down his face. "It's my little personal reward. It's how I get off. To be serviced by a horde of cute rubber jocks. But you guys--you aren't like the others. I usually have to deal with teams that are disinterested, arrogant, or quarrelsome. You guys--" And he swallowed hard. "You guys tried so hard, you supported each other from the start. You loved the game so much, you would've gone right on losing just for the chance to play. I couldn't take advantage of you."

Tad stepped forward. "Why didn't Cody and I fall in line out there?"

"You've been off the powder too long. You're not as susceptible as the rest", he explained. He turned to me. "You were going to be awarded this, Cody." He produced a small metal box identical to the one which held Skeevo's collar. "As team MVP. You were such a strong leader, Cody. Through everything. The rubber suits, the other kids coming out, staying with the practices and endless running of strategies--and most of all, staying a gentleman when your newfound fame could've led you to conceit and worse. I'm proud of you, Cody."

Christian started to flip open the latch on the metal box. "Here, it's a special--"

I put my hand atop his, stopping him. "I know what it is." Christian looked at me askance. "I'm friends with Scott Skevowicsz", I explained. Christian nodded in understanding. I took the box and set it aside on the desk.

Christian lowered his head again. "I've totally taken advantage of you all. I overstepped myself out there. Maybe I overstepped myself this entire year."

"And maybe you transformed the school, too, Christian", Tad said. "Haven't you noticed how so many kids are proud to say they go to this school now? Haven't you seen how full the stands are at the games, how much revenue is coming in for the athletics department? People in town look at us differently now, too, because of the way we dress, the way we act."

I knelt down beside Christian's desk. "You have a tremendous ability that can actually help people, Christian. I mean, it helped us. And think about this: you could have left us all as zombie rubberboys aching to do your bidding, but you didn't. That has to be worth something, right there."

Christian rubbed one eye dry. "I guess."

Tad commented, "It's just too bad all this help will end with us. Damn near all of the team graduates this year. No more rubberboys."

Which reminded me... "Christian", I asked, "how many of the guys will end up staying gay?"

"Less than you need concern yourself about", he said. And he patted my arm as he rose, "And more than you might think."

Tad and I escorted Christian out of the office, where he apologized for his over-emotional response to our final game and offered to take us all out for pizza. We cleaned up quickly and headed for the door, many boys making phone calls to friends and parents either to cancel on them or invite them to meet us there.

"The rest of the year will seem kind of down hill from here", I observed.

"Especially with all the aggressive punk burnouts and whiny geeks who never did warm to the new winning team", Tad added.

Christian paused as he hit the lights and pulled on his jacket. "Is that right?"

"Ohhh, yeah", I concurred. "For all the good we did--and by we I mean you, too--some kids are just determined not to get in the flow of things, even when they can see it's a vast improvement. Christian simply nodded his head, looking thoughtful.

And while the remainder of the school year did lack the fire and excitement of football season, I did notice a steady decline in harassment from Cree and his flunkies and less need to rescue the nerds like Kenneth. Or maybe I just wasn't paying that close of attention anymore.

The New Lineup

It was our last day of school, and most of the team that was still around (some having already departed for college or summer trips) had been called to the gym by Christian for some unspecified reason. Tad and I arrived together to find Bradley and Randolph, Zerk and Timmy, and most of the others either already there or just coming behind us.

"So what's this all about?", Zerk asked no one in particular. "We already turned in all our uniforms and rubber gear, so what's left?" He was met by a silent chorus of shrugs and puzzled looks. I gestured to the gym entrance, since there was no way to find out other than to go inside and see.

As we walked in, I noticed a stand-alone marquee that had been propped up across the hall from the gym. It announced:

SENSITIVITY AND AWARENESS SEMINAR SESSIONS

Men's Group ONLY- Meetings daily in the Main Auditorium

Hosted by Mr. Haydensen

ALL male students welcome!

Attendance MANDITORY for those who received notices

"How the hell long has THAT been going on?", I wondered.

"Ya got me", Tad said. "I don't remember Christian ever mentioning it."

We walked into the empty gym to find Christian waiting for us, all smiles. "Gentlemen. Good to see that the post-season school year hasn't affected your keeping in shape."

"We usually get in at least one workout a day", Bradley said, putting an arm around Randy.

Randy grinned. "We like to exercise in pairs."

Zerk chimed right in. "What're we here for, anyway?"

"Straight to the point, I like that", Christian said. "Well, the simply fact of the matter is that I need some experienced ball players to help me organize the incoming team, get them prepared for this summer's football camp.

"What new players?", I asked. "I thought that was the big problem, what with most all of the team leaving this year. Who's left?"

"I'll show you", Christian said, and blew the whistle that hung around his neck. Into the gym from the locker room marched a line of trim students, of various shapes and sizes, all neatly groomed, all wearing skintight rubber bodysuits. They formed a line across the length of the gym and stood before Christian and us.

Their rubber uniforms were identical to ours, but that they were all a very deep, dark blue. From a distance, they could have been mistaken for black, but up close it was obvious as they caught the light that the rubber was almost a midnight blue.

I walked before the group of newcomers along with Tad, Zerk, and the rest. Where they had come from I had no idea. A sharp-looking team of fresh faces and bright eyes. I thought I knew every jock in the school, be they football players or otherwise, but this bunch I'd never seen before.

A tall boy on the far left caught my eye. He had a very smooth face, with a strong chin. His hair was cropped extremely short, just a fraction longer than a military crew cut, and its color was an appealing golden brown. He nodded his head slightly toward me in greeting, and I began to nod back. As I did, the corners of his mouth turned upward just a bit, in a slight grin that was not without warmth. I would swear his eye twinkled.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph...

"Cree?!" I stood directly before him in stunned surprise. His face broke with that infamous triangular smile that, for the first time, looked totally genuine.

"The one and only", he said.

"What the hell happened to you?", I asked, my shock overriding my tact.

He glanced down at his rubber uniform, and raised one eyebrow. "Oh, I'd think that's obvious", he said, still smiling.

I grasped a bunch of my own hair while pointing a finger at Cree's head. "What happened to your--?"

Cree looked upward, as if he could actually see his own short hair atop his head. "Oh, that. This's my natural color. The spikes didn't go with my new suit."

"Looks good on yo--", I started to say, then stopped. My eye followed Cree's left arm, the hand of which was interlaced with that of the boy next to him. I smiled, and looked at the shorter boy on his right who held his hand. The lad had as smooth a face and bright a smile as his boyfriend Cree. He was easily a year younger than Cree, with dark brown curly hair trimmed close on the sides, with the rest swept back in a very flattering wave.

"Hey", was all he said, but I recognized the deep voice immediately. I practically gasped.

"Holy shit!" Then, composing myself, said, "Kenneth??"

It was him. Cleaner, clearer, happier, and far better groomed, but it was definitely him. The obnoxiously thick glasses were long gone, and even without the other improvements, that alone would have been enough to vastly alter his appearance.

Kenneth pointed at his eyes. "Contacts." I looked again, and saw dazzling raspberry-brown eyes shining back at me.

"They, um, they look good", I stumbled. I was pretty taken aback by the idea that these two who had been mortal enemies in the halls were now boyfriends in the gym. But as Kenneth turned to look at Cree and two shared a gentle, smiling kiss, I began to believe.

The rest of the team walked up and down the line of new recruits shaking hands and introducing themselves. I was convinced at first that I knew none of these new players, but as I chatted more, I realized I had seen them around campus--just never so cheerful, cleaned, scrubbed, shining and polished. And certainly not rubbered. It suited them.

There was a single clap of hands at the end of the line as Christian brought his hands together. The entire line of newly-rubbered young recruits pulled their legs together to stand at attention simultaneously with a collective thump. "So, gentlemen", Christian said with authority, "are you ready to begin your new regimen as the team of champions you are?"

Their voices answered in unison with conviction. "YES, SIR!!"

All I could do was stand and stare. Remarkable.

Christian kept his voice raised as he made an announcement. "As some of you may already know, I have just been offered the position here as head varsity coach." All of us grads felt our eyes bug out at that little revelation. None of us knew that, as I'd bet that Christian was well aware. "And this good gentleman, your former team captain", and he extended an arm to acknowledge me, "is my first choice for the new assistant coach. That is, if he's interested in accepting the job."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was what I wanted to go away to college and study Phys Ed for, but here it was being offered to me right after graduation. My mouth hung open and I looked at Tad, who was doing the "golf clap". Christian strode over to me and extended his hand. "I'll understand if you need time to think about it."

I shook his hand with vigor. "No, sir! I mean, yes! I'll take the job, coach!"

"Thought you might", Christian said with a grin. "Before you leave today, though, I have something for you and Tad. Hang on." Christian walked over to the bleachers to retrieve two boxes from his duffle. He brought them to tad and I, handing one to each of us. They were large, rectangular shirt boxes whose heft I recognized almost immediately.

"Ohh, sir...", I said softly.

Tad looked at his box. "Are--are these our--?"

"Open them."

We did as instructed and revealed our shining blue and gold rubber bodysuits from Homecoming and our final game. "Those are yours, fellas", Christian said. "I hadn't intended for anyone to take theirs home at the end of the season, but I believe you've earned them."

We closed the lids rapidly, eager to get them home and put them on. "Thanks a lot, Christian. For the suits, for the job."

Tad finished my sentiment. "For everything."

"Don't thank me yet. Whipping an inexperienced team into shape is hard work--especially when so many of the players have never been active in athletics. We've got a lot of work ahead of us. You ready for that, Cody?"

"I was born ready, coach."

Christian walked back over to the new line of recruits, who had fallen into relaxed postures while Christian was speaking to us. Christian clapped his hands once and the whole group stood ramrod straight at attention again. Tad and I began to leave, but Christian held aloft an index finger, indicating we should wait just a moment longer. He snapped his fingers. At first, I didn't see that it had any effect on the line of rubberboys at all, until Tad nudged me in the ribs and pointed to where I should've been looking. At the sound of the finger snap, every boy there had sprung an erection. Christian winked at us, giving a quick thumbs-up.

Christian then waved us off, his face lit by a broad, if wicked, smile. My boyfriend and I left holding hands, our new suits tucked under our arms.

The New Assistant Coach

Tad and I stood together in our blue & gold "Reward Suits" as we had come to call them. Xander and Skeevo had been good enough to offer us one of the frat house rooms to celebrate our evening, and we decided to take advantage of it.

Tad put his arms around my shoulders and leaned in close to kiss me lightly on the lips. "Has this been an incredible last day of school, or what?"

"Most definitely in the 'Or What' category", I grinned back. Without breaking our embrace, I shuffled Tad over toward the bed and gently pushed him down into a sitting position. I kissed him once lightly, as he had me, then again with a bit more force. I then stepped away to get something for him, letting my fingertips brush against his cheek as I did.

"So what was in the metal box Christian gave you?", Tad asked me. "Is it like your official assistant coach's whistle or something like that?"

I pulled the little box in question from my backpack. "Funny you should ask that." I held it up for a moment, to make sure Tad saw what I had, then tossed it over to him.

He hefted the box in his hands, brow furrowed in confusion. "Sooo...what is it, exactly?"

"Motivation", I said slyly. "Open it."

He did. His eyes fell upon the rubber collar and his mouth fell open. Carefully, he lifted the collar from its case. "Cody, what the fuck is up with this? Is--is this some kind of bondage collar or somethi--" He stopped. Then, looking at me with concern, he asked softly, "Code, this doesn't mean you're Christian's slave or anything, does it?"

I smiled, holding back a little laugh. To think that only a year ago, such concepts as gay football players, rubber-suited teammates and collared slaveboys were totally beyond us. And now, well... I sat down beside my boyfriend. "No, no, nothing like that. Read the tag."

"MVP. Yeah, well, you'll get no argument from me there. So, it's like just a novelty award, or trophy, or what?"

"I'll show you", I said, undoing the latch and reaching into the small box to find the padlock under the velvet padding.

Tad lay back on the bed, collar snugly around his neck, moaning softly with sheer pleasure. "Ooooohhhh...Codyyyy...this-this is....oh my God, Cody...maaannnnn..." He began to giggle a bit.

"Feel good?", I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Cody, baby...this feeelss...oohhhh, uuhhhh...b-better than an-anything...I've, I've, I've ev-everrrrr..w-worn...h-holy sh-sh-shit..."

Tad had sprung the erection of his life, and so I deftly removed the front flap of his Reward Suit to free it from its confinement. Since I was similarly afflicted, I also tore off my own front flap and tossed them both into the corner. Tad was flexing his fingers and lightly clutching the bedspread, tensing and untensing his shoulder muscles, and curling and uncurling his toes as he felt the waves of delight sweep over him, intensifying the pleasurable sensations of his rubber bodysuit, as well as any affections he felt for me.

I crawled up onto the bed and straddled him, looking down at his beautiful face, alive with smiling eyes and broad grin. "Who do you love, buddy?"

"I love you, Cody", he said with no stutter and total conviction. "God, man, I love you so much."

"I love you too, man. With all my heart." I lowered myself down upon him, our throbbing exposed erections pressing one atop the other. Our rubbered chests pressed together and our latex-encased legs rubbed against each other. Tad inhaled sharply upon contact, then settled down again as I gently stroked his hair.

Tad closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "S-so...you're a big-time coach guy now, huh?"

My fingers ran through his hair, my thumb drifting down to stroke his temple. "Looks like. You going to college, hon? Maybe this one? I could probably get you into the frat. Xander and Skeev have got some pul--"

Tad put his teeth together and separated his lips. "Sshhhhh--" I stopped talking.

Gingerly, he cradled the back of my head in his hand and drew my face to his. "Later. Not tonight. I don't ever want this moment to end, man. Don't worry about tomorrow. Just be with me tonight, Cody." Our foreheads touched and I could feel both our warm erections growing stronger, if such a thing were possible.

"Deal", I agreed, and let myself melt into his arms, to feel the tightly layered sensation of skin to rubber, rubber to rubber, and rubber to skin we'd created. "I could stay this way all night."

And so we did.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please write the author and let him know so he'll write more, at [email protected]

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