Acout Fantasy, Written January 18, 2012

"Thanks" he says smiling as he takes his keys and wallet from my hand. He begins to jog back towards the school before he stops and turns around, "Hey, you're that video guy right?" he asks as I smile uncontrollably, trying to keep my cool.

"Yeah, that's me." I say, marveling at the fact that he knows I exist.

"Tamara told me you were good at editing photos and stuff."

"Yeah," I say, "That's what I do." I try to sound cool, but it ends up looking something short of a miserable failure. He nods and turns back around, and begins walking again. I fumble with two camera bags around each shoulder, looking for the rest of my film team.

"Do you need help?" he asks. I pause for a moment,

"If you don't mind," I say, "Thanks." As I pass over a camera bag and tripod, my hearts begins racing as his hand momentarily brushes against mine. Still in his football uniform, he escorts me to the supply room. The sound of his cleats echoes louder as we move away from the rowdy pandemonium of the change room. He holds the door for me as we walk up the staircase. I smile at him briefly, as he returns the gesture. I feel as if our intentions are different, but can't help but let fantasy drive the feeling. We finally reach the supply room door, only to be greeted by the absence of light. The room is completely empty.

"Oh, crap! We'll have to go around," I say, "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he says, "The whole school is going to see the video, right?" I was really going to make someone else edit it, but since he said that, my priorities have changed.

"Yeah," I say, "It might be a while before it's finished. I still need to interview one of the coaches."

"You can interview me, if you'd like," he says grinning.

"I think the camera's dead," I say heartbroken. I really wanted to interview him. Like fuck, I really wanted to have a conversation with Mathew Jaime Rehn about football, despite my lack of general knowledge.

"You know what, don't worry about it," he says in a passive tone. I immediately cut him off,

"But we could definitely do an interview any time of the week!" I try to sound convincing, without coming off viciously desperate. "I'm sure it'll be good to get more screen time during the Sports Recap!"

"You're right," he says smiling. We drop off the equipment in the media supply room and I walk with him towards the change room.

"I'm busy tomorrow, and I have really intense practice every day, next week." I just keep quiet and let him talk. "Coach Mach gets pissed when one of the video kids pulls us out of practice—no offense—so the only time we can do this, is this weekend."

"Oh," I say barely believing what he just said.

"You know what, just drop it," he says, "You don't want to interview me at my house."

"I think it'll be interesting," I say enthused, "We've never interviewed someone in their natural location." I can't believe I just said natural location.

"And how has football helped you grow as an individual?" I ask.

"Football…really…you know, helps me develop leadership and…and…uh" he starts laughing in embarrassment, "Can we take a break?" he asks exasperated.

"Sure. We've been filming for nearly an hour." I reach over to the camera, then sit on the edge of his bed, sipping on the ice cold water he brought upstairs earlier. I gaze around the room, taking in the various posters of cars and women.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asks.

"Sure," I say wondering if I should also say, "You just did."

"Okay," he says, "But don't hate me." I nod with the glass to my chin, and then he continues, "There's a rumour going around, especially with the guys, that you're…" I look at him waiting for him to say it.

"Well… that you're gay." He somewhat stammers as he says gay. "Actually, you know what, don't answer that. That wasn't cool." He says abruptly.

"No..." I say.

"No?"

"No— I mean, yes. YES. Shit. Yes. I am as queer as a three dollar bill."

"Oh," he says biting his bottom lip nodding, "Well…"

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," he says. He stands up and begins fidgeting with a collection of medals hanging by his dresser. I pause for a moment before asking,

"Curious about me…" he turns around, "Or you?" I have no idea what I'm doing. I highly doubt my seduction tactics are effective, a little if even at all.

"I don't care that you are… that. I just wanted to make sure," he says. I nod awkwardly, looking to my left, trying to avoid any direct eye contact. "So do you think I'm hot?" he asks? I quickly look at him fumbling for an answer. I pause as inaudible words leave my mouth. "Do you think Silas is hot?"

"…"

"What about that guy… Leonardo DiCaprio?"

"Well, yeah," I say, hoping my answer neutralizes the situation.

"Is it true guys give better head?" he asks.

"What?" I say in a firm tone.

"Sorry," he says after a pause. He hangs his head and walks around his room, facing the wall, "It's already dark outside… Do you want something to eat?" he asks.

"Uh…. Sure?" I say. I'm really quite famished, so I was in no position to be polite, and settle with a glass of water for the day.

We walk around his kitchen, looking for snacks, but he tells me that his mother was supposed to come home late because she was grocery shopping, after work. After the search, I decide to take matters into my own hands and cook a quick pasta, with meat sauce and garlic bread on toast. With the few ingredients I could find in his massive kitchen, we eat at his dinner table. After that, we sit in his living room watching a hockey game of some team he admires. Once the first half ends, he turns to me and says, "That was the greatest fucking meal I've ever eaten in my life." I laugh under an exhale. "I don't think you understand," he continues, "like, that was better than my mom's!"

"Thank you," I accept modestly, burying my laugh in a blushing smile.

"They weren't kidding when they said 'Victor can do everything!'" he gazes at me and smiles.

"Well, not everything," I insist, "I mean, there's so much I still have to learn. And there are so many thing I don't understand, and things to discover and th—" he leans in quickly and shuts me up with a kiss. His lips against mine are surreal. He slightly exhales as I feel his breath warm my face for a moment, and then the cool are returns as he pulls away. I open my eye slowly.

"Sorry…" he says, "I should have—" I lean in again, with the hope that if real life is anything like the movies, he'd continue to kiss me. And he does. I feel his tongue enter my mouth. An unfamiliar feeling, but I know it feels right. I turn my head to the right, and he does the same. At this point, I throw my arms around him. He picks me up and slams my back against the wall. His breath is faster and warmer, and I can feel his heart beating faster in time with mine. With my legs wrapped around his waist, I pull myself even closer to him. I feel his body through his gym shorts as he carries me up the stairs. When we reach the landing, he holds me up with one hand, and uses the other to take off his shirt. I open my eyes, only to see his sculpted, Michelangelo-like abs. God, he looks like he belongs in an Abercrombie ad. Our lips still mould together as we approach his room. I take off my clothes and feel his warm, slightly sweaty, slightly hairy body against mine. The only clothes left on either of us is our underwear. I kiss his chin. I kiss his neck. I make my way toward his green and black striped boxers. I grab his firming cock through his underwear and squeeze it between my lips. Eventually I lower his boxers to his ankles and feel the hairs rising on his legs. I try to recall every dick-sucking technique I've ever learned. Ever. I count the steps in my head, trying to make this as perfect as possible. With my left hand, I grab the base, and with my right, I stroke in time with my mouth, knowing all eight inches could never fit in my mouth. I move from sucking to gliding up and down, across his shaft with my tongue, all while stroking. I remember the gag reflex disabling technique I read on the internet, and squeeze my left thumb as hard as I can. Hoping it actually proves useful, I make my way as far as I can, reaching my limit. I feel my eyes water and then I feel his big hand pressing the back of my head, deeper and harder. He tugs at my hair as I continue from tip to as-far-as-I-can-to-base. After the longest minute in my life, I manage to deepthroat his entire cock, as he lets out an exhale like I've never heard before. His toes clench, as his body squirms from shoulders to knees. I gently brush my feet to his as he clenches his fists, hopelessly, in his bed sheets. As I reach the tip, his warm, white, thick cum finds its way around my mouth. I feel it slowly drip down to my neck, and then drip on the back of my hand as he looks at me and says, "You better swallow that." In between breaths, he manages to laugh a little, then leans over to his end-table, and opens up a drawer. He moves a small stack of papers aside and asks, "Blue or green?" I look where his hands are, and see two packaged condoms.

"Blue," I say grinning, "My favourite colour."

He looks into my eyes and smirks, "You should have said green." He puts on the rubber and as soon as I know it, begins to fuck my brains out. And because this is a fantasy, I accidentally left the camera recording.

End