AN: So obviously I don't own anything here, Shonda is the evil genius that has addicted us all to her show and made us love her fictional characters, so I am just bending them to my will. All rights belong to Shonda Rhimes and ABC. Because lesbihonest, there would be so much more Calzona sex in the show if I had control over anything... Also I don't know how often I can update this, but I will be. I am set on it. School is staring soon though soooo yeah. Just tell me what you think!
I slowly and painfully sat down in my seat at the dinner table. My legs throbbed enough to the point I had to use my hands just to adjust my legs on the seat. Needless to say, my arms were also on fire. As I finally got comfortable - well the best that I could with the insurmountable pain I was in- I heard my mother beckon me to get drinks for everyone for dinner.
Oh dear lord, I thought.
I glanced around the table, first at my brother Tim. He was two years older than me, but if you aged us by personality, I would win by a good three years. He was tall, six foot three, with blonde disheveled hair. He donned the famous Robbins charm which included dimples and a smile that he ever so confidently claimed as "super magic," a super power in itself, especially when he got a date. He was wearing a simple white v-neck that showed off his lean, toned biceps. He was looking at his phone, probably texting a girl. He looked up when he noticed I had yet to move after my mom asked me to get drinks.
"You okay champ? You kind of look like you got hit by a bus," he asked as a smile crept over his lips, meeting my spaced-out gaze.
"Uh … yeah. Just a rough day at practice, I'm really tired. The new coach makes us put every ounce of effort we've got into EVERYTHING. Every push up. Every squat. Every pass. My legs just sort of feel like Jello right this second, not to mention my arms aren't feeling too hot either. But it'll be worth it," I said with with a sheepish smile, "I'm hoping to be captain this year."
"Want me to get the drinks?" He proposed. I smiled back as a yes, and he got up and went towards the kitchen. As he got up, The Colonel - I mean my father - sat down at the head of the table in uniform after arriving home after work.
"Good evening beautiful daughter," he said as he leaned over and kissed my cheek.
I returned the greeting and leaned back in my chair. My father was a strict and respect commanding man, I never asked him twice about things. I don't think I even could if I tried. When I was a little kid and wanted ice cream from the ice cream truck, Tim and I would flip a coin to see who had to go ask him for the money to buy the frozen treat. Tails I would have to, heads he would. I always chose tails because I thought the eagle on the back of the quarter would weigh it down to flip heads up. Thats how bad asking my dad for anything is.
"Here you go Miss Paraple- Miss Pretty Darling Honey Bee," my brother corrected himself as soon as he saw my father glaring him down. My father would be up in arms if he heard my brother call me a paraplegic even if it was a joke. My dad has seen men lose limbs and become paralyzed. But Tim's choice of words might've actually been true. The throb had dulled in my legs and now they just felt like dead weight on my lower half of my body.
I fixed my gaze at the glass of iced tea that he had just placed down in front of me. The ice cubes clanked against the glass as a bead of condensation dripped down the side. Oh what I would do to reach out and have a sip. Yet, my arms felt like some sort of accessory, just for looks, they didn't actually do anything. I stared longingly at the liquid as I could see Tim laugh to himself in my peripherals.
After an hour of dreadful joint movement that included cutting steak, moving my spinach around so it looked like I ate it, and two swigs of iced tea, my muscles screamed as if I had been shot. I put my dishes in the washer and lethargically began the climb to my room.
By the time I reached my destination It was already seven, and I could barely pick up a pencil to do my homework. After getting that done, I plopped on my bed, face up.
My mind started to dance with thoughts of lacrosse practice, well more specifically my coach. My new coach, Callie Torres was full of flair. She motivated me more than our old coach, Larry, used to. It definitely helps that Callie is smokin' hot. She stands a few inches taller than me, but is one of those women who could still wear high heels and pull it off, if she wanted to. She has these flowing locks of raven hair, up or down, her face looks like it was ready for anything … to play in the game, to laugh, to orgasm … She has a figure that, when we are doing stretches, I can't help but watch a little more closely, of course just to make sure that I am doing the stretches right … especially leg lifts … Her personality only accompanies her flawless physique. When she isn't in earshot of the other coaches, she will act just like us. She's only 23 and I'm 17 so the age difference isn't too bad, but there is one thing for certain, something horrible.
She's straight.
She will joke with me on the sidelines about "getting plenty of booty," and whatnot when we talk about impressing the boy's soccer team who occasionally share the turf with us. She will talk about hot guys around my friend, Teddy, and me, while my friend and I just agree and bring up other 'hot' guys. Teddy knows I'm as gay as they come and doesn't care, and helps me out when putting up my high school facade, Perky Straight Arizona.
The real me, though, just savors the moments when I get to change afterschool into my workout clothes and see Callie changing from hers. Of course I get an occasional nudge from Teddy, signaling that my awestruck gaze is starting to become noticeable. I can't help it though, I live in a place with limited resources. My parents don't know I'm gay so it isn't like I can possibly date a girl, not that I would, high school girls are too immature for me. And it isn't like I could even imagine straying to the darker corners of the internet to satisfy my needs, The Colonel constantly checks our online history. Being the MacGyver I am, though, I bought a poster of one of my favorite classic 80s gals, Cindy Crawford to help give me some inspiration, telling my somewhat confused parents that she was a "good role model for me." I'm still trying out to find out how she could possibly be good, seeing that all she does is bad things to me. Her presence at the end of the day has become less and less, as Callie has began to cloud my mind. All I have as creative inspiration is my 30 seconds after school watching those tan, lean arms bend and remove articles effortlessly … But that is all I need.
As I laid there, I still had enough energy left to lift my arms to remove my pants and get under the covers. I closed my eyes and there she was, in the middle of changing. Just her and I stood in the locker room. She just stared at me, her face at ease. She cocked her head to the side with a raised eyebrow, as if a signal for me to approach. I walked a very slow pace towards her, draping my chest length blonde hair over my right shoulder, I am still clothed. When I reach her, all I can think of is what to do first: Ass? Breasts? Neck and face? So many options. She takes lead though, wrapping her arms around me, pressing her body against mine. A body adorned only with a pink bra and matching panties. I could feel her heart beating against mine, the pace quickened as I slid my hand around her back, unhooking her bra. I pull it off and all I can imagine are beautiful breast bouncing out of the undergarment. I go to palm one before she presses her lips to mine and we synch, her teeth peaking out, biting my lips, it's the hurt that's good. I decide to poke my tongue at her lips and am granted access to hers. I hear her moan which shoots an electric current below the belt. I still am palming her breasts when she starts to kiss me down the neck, and I take this as the time to start teasing her nipples, which are already hard. She slowly puts her hands over the zipper of my jeans, rubbing in circles and I allow a moan to escape my throat. I feel her index finger and thumb grasp the zipper and start to pull it down. When it is opened, she slips her hand in feeling around.
I groan in reassurance, that she's getting warmer.
But I'm shaken out of my dream when I hear my door click open. My eyes opened sensing movement in my room. The light from the hallway flooded my dark room.
"Arizona?" I heard my mother call out.
"Uh yeah …?" I say a little shaken from the rude awakening. That's when I realized my hand was in my pants, and I pulled it out so quickly you'd think it was a penis trying to get near me.
"I just came to say goodnight, but is everything alright? You didn't come back down after homework?" My mom asked.
"Um … yeah I'm fine, just had a lot homework and wanted to go to sleep, I had a hard practice today, I'm real wiped out," I say, knowing she will buy that, especially when the truthful answer would be instead of watching TV to wind down, I chose to fantasize about getting it on with my female lacrosse coach. Yeah that wouldn't fly with her.
"Okay just wanted to check. Well goodnight honey," she says sympathetically.
I reciprocated it and watched her close my door again.
That's when I am reminded of a dull tingle down under. Too late now, though. I lost all my built up energy in creating that fantasy. Oh well.
I close my eyes and beg to the God I don't believe in that she appears in my dream. Naked preferably.