Once a Nerd Ch. 11 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 11

... the restaurant he's picked.

Sighing, I drop my head against the rest. Less than an octave above a whisper:

"...thank you."

—

Sam's bubble makes steady progress down the highway, en route for the Valley Children's Stadium.

He's fifteen minutes away, give or take. Last Sunday, when roaming his apartment unsupervised, it took less than two minutes to get into his phone and send myself location access. He might notice it at some point, but he's not the most tech savvy guy. If you're surprised, disappointed, or repulsed by the lowest of low roads I continue to take, feel free to drop an anonymous complaint in the bitch-box. It's a bare minimum piece of mind, but it'ssomething.

He's coming, at least.

On game day, and sometimes the day or two preceding it, damn near every second since opening my eyes is accounted for. In a way, the campus' athletic facility is its own community with every amenity we'd need, so there's no excuse to step foot outside of it. Breakfast and lunch, no calorie out of place, are served at seven and eleven sharp. In between, there's light bouts of last minute practice, recovery workouts, gear checks, and a pre-game review in the amphitheater. The atmosphere is lighthearted, and at first glance, you'd assume none of the guys are taking it as seriously as they should be. It's a coping mechanism, I think.

If they let themselves contemplate the possibility of failure, it becomes an inevitability. Instead, there's raucous banter and ...

... high-energy music blowing out the speakers of an old bluetooth pill. I know what it means to be nervous, but not over something like this. It'd be like...worrying about missing a breath, skipping a heartbeat, or my liver's ability to filter. Those things come naturally, and as I'm young and in good health, I trust my body to make it happen. If we lose, it won't be a lack of effort or skill on my part. Once the ball's out of my hands, so is most of the responsibility. I can't control a fumble forty yards away.

Football is a team sport, so thewhole team has to be up to par.

Fortunately, I'd say it is. Our current line-up makes a well-rounded group, no big holes in offense or defense.

By noon, we're dressed in our ill-fitted Sunday-best and meandering towards the buses with travel totes slung across shoulder and back. It's a short ride to the stadium, and upon deboarding, the cultural phenomenon surrounding college football makes itself known. From the traffic light to the stadium's entrance, red-and-white clad fans are lined up behind the ropes: kids with jerseys to their ankles, old folks that might've been wheeled out of hospice to be here, classmates I barely recognize. They cheer, bark, and hold out their palms for walk-by high-fives.

It's...tedious, but I can appreciate the need for positive energy.

Once inside, the Bulldogs' cheer squad is lined against either wall on the way to the clubhouse. They shake their pompoms and cry out their wishes for our victory. ...