Chapter #41A Little Self-Immersion by: Seuzz   So this is what it's like having a girlfriend, and she's at a party, but I'm staying home, you think as you sprawl on your bed. Your zipper is down and you are cradling your long, slim, rock-hard cock in your right hand while watching porn on the phone you are holding in your left. Fuck. This.
Your bedroom door is locked and the overhead light is off, but the desk lamp casts a dim glow in the far corner of the room, and your laptop is open and angled so that the sound of a superhero movie is directed at the door. That way, anyone who passes—and the only "anyones" would be your mom and dad—will think you're watching "cape and cowl" action and not naked women with giant, floppy breasts making out with each other.
This isn't your idea of Friday night fun. Or, rather, it's not Steve Patterson's idea of it, for every once in a while the stray thought I'm not really this guy, I'm just wearing his body will occur to you, disturbing your immersion in his persona. There'll be a distraction from the laptop, and you'll be yanked from the moment. And as you settle back into the tongue-and-tittie action, you will feel outside of yourself, somehow, looking at the world through the lanky basketball player who is gently masturbating in his bedroom instead of being him. But then you will slide back into the mind and mood, caressing your cock while drinking down the sex on the screen. That's it, baby, make her wet. Make her moan.
In one moment of distraction to glance down to coolly regard your member. You feel no embarrassment as you study it: Patterson has often studied it and judged it, and is pleased with it. He thinks it handsome, even: a slim, hard bone, sheathed in a silky and sensitive skin, with a bulbous, circumcised head. Patterson has never had any complaints about it; and he has never had complaints against it either. It has always performed as he's asked it to. And as you touch the "throttle" with the side of a thumbnail—sending electrical ripples through it, and down the base of the shaft and into the "roots" of the connecting muscles in your loins, and hips, and sphincter, and abs—a thrilling thought comes that it is not part of you, but that it is you and the rest of you is only a part of it. You shut your eyes, and are able briefly to surrender to the illusion that your cock is yourself and the rest of your body is an appendage serving it.
But then reality reasserts itself—thanks to a yell from the laptop—and you are back in your bedroom, with your straining cock in your hand, and you return your attention to the porn, and the girls, and their tits and their clits and their tongues.
You eventually spend yourself and clean yourself up, then turn off the computer and get into bed; and you text Kendra a long and detailed description of how you are going to scrape Javits's skank out of her the next time you get together in the loft. She doesn't reply, and you don't care if she's grossed out by it. You were promising yourself, not her, what you were going to do.
* * * * *
Saturday morning.
You are up early (for a Saturday) because you went to bed early. So after a nice long jog, a shower, and breakfast, you volunteer to help your dad with some weekend chores. (That's part of Patterson's own pattern of acting like a "professional" as much as possible. Plus, it helps keep his dad from nagging at him.) There's not much to do, just some yard maintenance and cleaning out part of the garage, which has gotten cluttered with old paint cans. That gives you the late morning and afternoon free. You text Chelsea to set up that brunch date she wanted, and head up to the school when she says she'll see you there around eleven.
You make a face when you see the cars parked next to the gym. One of them you recognize as Javits's, and that means the other two probably belong to the teammates you put him in charge of drilling.
Sure enough, there are four of them racing up and down the court doing passing drills when you walk into the gym: Javits, Richards, Lloyd, and Nichols. They are all looking hot and blown. You get a couple of double-takes as you saunter in, which you coldly return while taking station halfway down the court, so you can watch.
Seth, naturally, is the best of the four, showing good form as he runs up and down the court, dribbling and passing expertly to where the other player will be. When receiving, he is also pretty good at anticipating where the other player is going to put the ball, and he makes some good, flying baskets when he has the ball in his hands.
Matt Nichols is almost as good as Javits. He is heavier and not as quick on his feet, and misses more than he catches when his partner fails to put the ball where it needs to be. But he is good at passing, even when a third player is running with him, trying to intercept. This doesn't surprise you. You handed him to Javits for drilling not because he isn't good, but to put a scare into Lloyd and Richards: If Nichols could be on the chopping block (you want them to think), that means they are in serious trouble.
Richards is far and away the worst. He is the third-tallest player on the team—only after you and Gordon—but he is the clumsiest. Though he is usually good at making baskets, he can't track a passed ball worth shit, and when passing it looks like he's just throwing the ball and praying that a teammate will be there to catch it. Deep down you know that he just lacks the confidence to try as hard as he should be trying, and that lots of practice will give him the confidence. But a contempt for his limp-as-a-wet-dishrag personality overrides all the patience you ought to have with him.
Lloyd is somewhere in the middle. He's a cheeky jackass who relies on sassy talk and a leering "bro" attitude to keep on his teammates' good side. As a player, he is too cocky to really concentrate on his performance—even in an empty gym, he seems to showboat for a non-existent crowd—so that his performance is only passable. Though he can pass and receive the ball competently when it's just him and his partner, almost every one of his passes is intercepted when Javits tries blocking, because he won't put in the extra percentage of work.
After about ten minutes of this, Javits calls a halt and tells everyone to walk it off and hit the showers. As he and Nichols and Lloyd pace the gym, sweating and panting and pausing to rest their hands on their knees (Richards instantly takes off, banging the gym door open and banging it shut as he leaves), you go upstairs to the loft to deposit the backpack you brought with you. (It has some schoolwork, so you can get ahead on your assignments while canoodling with Chelsea after lunch.) Back downstairs, you find that Nichols and Lloyd have gone in to change, while Seth—his hair sopping with perspiration—continues to pace. He chucks his chin at you as you join him on the court.
"Little one on one?" he challenges you.
"You in a mood to get your ass kicked?"
"Just thought you might wanna loosen up. That sphincter of yours, man." He holds up a tightly clenched fist. "How do you manage to push any shit out through that thing?"
"I manage because it does what I tell it." You swagger up close to him. "Boss lady give you permission to lip off at me?"
He sniggers.
"I am the boss lady, Will."
* * * * *
Well, that staggers you, you almost fall off your feet when Javits tries pulling you into a hug while pushing his face into yours for a kiss. You shove him away while casting panicked glances back at the entrance to the locker room. Seth laughs and calls you a pussy.
"Look, just tell me what the fucking deal is," you growl. "You didn't tell me you were planning on—"
"I didn't know I was planning on it myself," Seth says. "Seth just showed up at the party last night—"
"'Just showed up'?" you skeptically echo.
"Okay, I texted and told him to come. I wanted to see how he acted, see if he flirted with anyone. And then, while I was watching him, I just thought ... Well—" He shrugs and grins.
You grunt. "So is it fun?" you sneer.
His lip curls in answer.
"D'ju have fun being Yumi?" he retorts. "I've been in and out of Chen's mask, Will, same as you've been in and out of hers. Don't get weird about this like Patterson would."
He raises his arms and flexes his biceps, swiveling his head from left to right to admire them briefly before dropping them again. "Also," he says, "I want to get this guy tied up with another girl, make sure Cindy's not coming back. Easier if I do it myself than if I tell some dumb rock what to do. It's hard enough getting Gordon to do what I want."
You suppose that makes sense. But it still rocks you when Seth asks, "So, you wanna be the girl I end up pairing us with? You got another mask coming to you."
And when you look a little askance, he adds with a grin, "You said you'd fuck me no matter what I looked like. And I said the same thing back."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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