Perceptions - Chapter 1
It was just the two of us alone in the locker room. I hate being here without a crowd around to provide witnesses and safety. Especially with this smug young prick. He acts like he knows me even though he's not in my class (he's a year younger) and we don't spend time together outside of practice or have any of the same friends.
I always made sure that I moved fast in here and was gone before most of the other guys departed, but tonight coach wanted to go over some details of my recent wrestling matches, and there was nothing I could do. Why is he still here I think when I barrel around the corner from the showers in my towel. It's like he's moving in slow motion as I start pulling stuff from my locker, rushing to get out of there.
"What's the rush?" He questions, noticing my frenetic pace. "Uhh, nothing..... I'm just late for something." I lie.
I notice his masculine, cocky stance, and his lean, angular, sinewy body. It's all animal efficiency, primed for results. He carries himself this way just looking for someone to question him so that he can destroy them. It's not his size that intimidates, it's his nature. Never a smile, but more of a smirk or a sly grin typically on his face when he is pleased. I just so want to be out of here, and NOW!
"So, what happened to you in our practice match today?", he questions as if he really doesn't know. "You beat me" I answer flatly and with a hint of attitude. "How can that be?" He asks playfully as if we are buddies, though we definitely aren't. Holding with my sarcastic approach, I suggest in the most annoyed way, "because you are better." As if laying out evidence, he informs me, "Well, you're older, so you've had more time to practice and develop, plus you are bigger than I am too. You have more muscle built up, and I think you lift more than I do at weight practice. Hmmmmm" He leaves it there for a moment.
I continue rushing to get out of this pressure chamber. "Do you like winning Greg?" He asks me very directly. "Of course" I say, unable to resist rolling my eyes at him. "Ok, let me rephrase", he injects. "Do you like beating me?" I find myself unable to answer and I just look in his eyes and then down at the floor. I'm stuck, frozen, trapped. `Fuck, fuck, fuck' I say to myself quietly. He presses, "Are you even capable of competing against me?". I still can't answer. "Do you find yourself unable to put up any kind of defense with me?", he pokes, just letting it lie there in the air. All of my delicate deeply hidden truths; and he is just mercilessly tearing them out and laying them everywhere to be witnessed. "Is it just me, or is it all men like me that you have no power against?" I am still unable to act, frozen in place knowing that silence will not save me, but knowing anything else is too painful at this moment.
He closes in, getting his mouth close to my ear as he heaves his gym bag over his shoulder and whispers "Things are gonna change around here for you and for me faggot. Have a good night."
I watch him strut out as I sink to the bench and worry what this means for me.