Reunions (Part 3) 

[Pictured: Aaron after returning to campus in the fall.]

Brent spent the summer back on campus. He’d spent much of his Freshman year cultivating relationships with several professors in various sciences, and one of them had offered him a research assistantship, which included a small stipend on top of room and board for the summer months. After the near silent ride back from the reunion, Aaron dropped him near the dorm and drove off again, heading home to live with his parents for the summer. Brent wondered what exactly had happened to drive such an invisible wedge between them–he was encouraged when they managed to regain some of their ease of conversation over the next month, chatting on facebook about their plans for the next year, until in early July, shortly after Brent received a tearful call from his mother telling him that his father had left in a rage and promised divorce, Aaron disappeared from the internet, and couldn’t be reached. In some desperation for a ride to visit his mother, he bought a bus ticket out of town, but by the time he arrived home he found she had already seen several doctors for a variety of pain medications and she wandered the trailer in a stupor, tended by two of his sisters who hadn’t yet found some poor match in the trailer park to wed young. With work to do back at the college, he spent a short time consoling her meekly and then returned to campus, hopeful that he might not have to return again.

Aaron remained unresponsive, and Brent assumed his friend was giving him the silent treatment for some unknown reason, but his annoyance turned to concern when he received a message from Aaron’s mother, telling him that after a terrible argument between Aaron and his father, he had left and not returned for two weeks. Since Aaron was legally an adult the police had been no help, and she wanted to know if Brent had seen Aaron at all, but he had no news to give her.

In mid-August, just in time for training camp for the upcoming football season, Aaron rolled into town in his Corolla, mud splattered up to the windows. As soon as Brent heard he was back, he went to find him, and discovered that wherever he’d been for the summer, he’d made some changes while he was there. He was a good fifty to seventy pounds heavier, almost all of it fat, and his moderate southern accent had grown thick and rough. He refused to give Brent any information about where he’d been, and simply said he’d had enough of living at home, and when pressed, he cussed his friend out and stormed off to the dorms to get changed for his first practice.

Between Aaron’s rigorous schedule, and Brent finishing up his summer research work, the next time they spoke was when Brent moved out of the dorm he’d gotten for the summer and back into the one he’d be sharing with Aaron, and discovered that along with his new look, Aaron had let a few other things slip too. He’d only been there two weeks and the room was already trashed–dirty laundry was piled everywhere, beer cans and whisky bottles lined every shelf, and Aaron found a few cellophane wrapped cigars by the window, the same cheap, reeking brand his father smoked.

They fought almost constantly. By the end of the first month, Brent would take any chance he could to get out of the room, and had even taken to sleeping in the dining hall on occasion–one of the few places open all night on campus. Aaron was ornery, aggressive, and unapologetic. The football coaches were unhappy with his weight gain, but with some long hours in the weight room and personal coaching from the assistant coach, Aaron was converting much of the fat to muscle. He stank of smoke and alcohol, refused to shower and clean up after himself. It was a relief, almost, when the homecoming game fiasco struck and Aaron hightailed it off campus.

Not one for sports, Brent was alone in the room while the game was going on, relishing a moment without Aaron around, when his roommate burst into the room, still in his uniform, shaking with rage. After the fact, Brent managed to gather that in the second quarter, Aaron had sacked the opposing team’s quarterback, climbed on him, and started grinding his crotch into the opposing player’s ass, howling and shouting, and he’d been ejected from the game. Aaron was furious, but before Brent could calm him down, there was a knock on the dorm room door. Aaron flung it open to reveal the quarterback he’d nearly raped on the field, and as soon as he saw Aaron, he dropped to his knees and started sucking at the front of Aaron’s uniform pants.

Unable to believe what he was seeing, Brent slipped out of the room and didn’t return until the next morning, where he found the quarterback asleep on Aaron’s bed, ass up, cum leaking onto the mattress, but Aaron was gone. He’d packed a bag in the night and fled. Brent had no idea what to make of the strange two months Aaron had been there, and he tried his best to forget them entirely. However, both the quarterback Aaron had fucked and the assistant coach made it hard, because both of them would show up once or twice a month, usually drunk, asking Brent if he had any idea where Aaron had gone. They looked desperate, like they needed drugs. The assistant coach quit a month later, and the quarterback stopped coming around in December, but the look of need in their eyes was something Brent couldn’t shake.

By the time spring semester arrived, the campus had calmed down, and the story of the homecoming football rape had passed into history and rumor. Brent focused on his school work. His mother had recovered from the shock of the divorce, but Brent hadn’t heard anything from his dad. He decided early that he wouldn’t go to the reunion this year. Besides, he didn’t have a ride to get there anyway, so the point was moot. He’d managed to nab another summer research position, and after finals he moved into his summer dorm. All was fine for a couple of weeks, until someone started banging on his door early one morning.

“Hey Cuzz! Your ride’s here. Get up, ya faggot, or we’re gonna be late to the reunion!”

Brent had no idea who in his family might care enough to drag him all the way across the state to the family reunion, but he  knew he was going to tell them to fuck off. He got up and opened the door to the hallway, and found himself facing Aaron, wearing a flannel shirt and grimy overalls, smoking a cigar and grinning. He looked confident. Happy in his own skin. He’d never looked like that before–even towering over nearly everyone on campus, he’d seemed to shrink into the background. Now he managed to fully occupy the space he was in, and the six and a half foot monster, reeking of musk and grime and smoke caused Brent to take a step back, allowing Aaron to step inside and shut the door behind them.

“Where’s your bag? I’ll throw it in the truck.”

“I–I’m not packed…” Brent said, I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t think…”

“ What do you mean ya ain’t packed?” Aaron said.

He couldn’t go–he couldn’t go, he couldn’t ride with him all the way there, not in a truck, not with that smoke. What had happened to him? Small details were leaping out at him now. The full beard, the tattoos running all the way down his arms and onto the back of his hands. “I can’t, I won’t…”

“You have to, Brent.”

“No–what happened to you? What did they do to you?”

Aaron laughed, and then grabbed Brent’s forearm. “I ain’t leavin’ here without ya, Cuzz. Family comes first, you know that! Now, ya can either pack some shit in the next five minutes, or I can pick ya up in yer boxers and carry ya out to the truck. Yer choice.”

“You’re not even my fucking family! Get the fuck out of here.”

He tried to wrench his arm away but Aaron dragged him closer, looming over him.

“Alright.” Brent said, “alright, I’ll come. But let me pack some stuff and put some clothes on.”

He threw together some clothes in a bag, hands shaking, and they climbed into the pickup and sped off out of town, windows down and neither one speaking to the other. Brent clutched his bag to his chest, dreading this week more than any other in his life. Aaron turned up the country music on the radio, and sped off down the highway at close to ninety, and they reached the family homestead in record time.

The Doctor and the Loser

***WARNING*** Contains light scat.


“Good afternoon team.”

“Good afternoon Dr. Jacobs,” the football team replied in near unison. They were all seated on the benches in the locker room, their eyes empty and glazed, just staring at the jeweled necklace the doctor was wearing. Standing next to him was the team’s coach–a very large, hulk of a man, but he looked like he might fall over at any moment; his arms were limp, his back slouching forward. The only part of him that held any tension was his neck, which craned his head around so he could keep looking at the jewel the doctor was wearing. It was so beautiful after all–he didn’t want to stop looking at it. He never wanted it to leave his sight for as long as he lived.

“Alright team, as you know, your coach here hired me so that I could help eliminate the culture of losing which has been the primary reason for these many, many long and grueling losses your team has suffered. Now, when I came here, I knew that a team which had lost for so long would have deep seated roots of failure throughout it. What I didn’t expect, was for so many of those roots to have a single trunk, which could be ripped out so easily. Now team, your coach and I have just had a long, serious talk, and…well, maybe it would be better for your coach to say it.”

The doctor looked over at the coach, but the man didn’t notice–his eyes were still locked on the necklace.

“Coach? Do you have something you would like to admit to your team?”

“Whaa…?” The big man said, noticing for the first time that the doctor was speaking, “Oh…uh…oh yeah, I do.” With some reluctance, the coach pulled his eyes away from the necklace and faced his senior varsity football team. “Uh…team…team, I hate to, uh, have to tell you this. But the doc and I, well, we’ve discovered that…that I’m a Loser.”

The whole room gasped. Dr. Jacobs had told them about Losers before–about how dangerous they were to a team’s chances of winning. The doctor had told them all that they were very close to becoming Losers themselves, and that was the main reason they obeyed him and did everything he asked, no matter how strange. Becoming a loser was simply too terrible a prospect to risk. But to find out that their coach was a Loser? No wonder they’d lost so many games! With a Loser coaching them, they would have been coached to lose!

“What the fuck is a Loser doing coaching us Doctor!” Simon, the team captain shouted.

“Yeah!” Vinny said, “He might have turned *woof* us all into Losers!”

The doctor held up his hands and the team settled down again. “I know, I know. It was never my intention to put you all at risk. I thought I had determined that the coach wasn’t a Loser when he hired me, but I was wrong. You see, the coach had no idea that he is a Loser–after all, Losers are very good at deceiving themselves, but now that we know this, we have both agreed that there is no way he can remain your coach, isn’t that right?”

The coach nodded, his face reddening, “I…I’m sorry boys. If…if I had known, I would have never put you in this kind of danger. But since the season has already started, I technically have to remain your coach…but for now, I’m putting all of you in the hands of the doctor. I can’t think of anyone who might help you all win more than he will.”

The coach took off his whistle and handed it to the Doctor, who placed it around his neck, being sure it didn’t get in the way of the necklace. “Alright,” the doctor said, “I think that’s enough Loser shit for now. Forget him boys! Now, Simon, go lead the team through stretches and a jog!”

“You heard the coach, team!” Simon said, “Let’s go!”

The team all charged past the two men and ran onto the field, leaving the Doctor and the Coach alone in the locker room, and the Coach looked like he was about to cry. “I…I don’t want to be a Loser, doctor! I don’t! Please, please can you help me be a winner like you?” He got down on his knees in front of the doctor, hands clasped, “Please, I’ll do anything–anything!”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, but once you become a Loser–a true Loser–there’s nothing you can do. You’re going to be a Loser for life…but…well, no, It’s a lot to ask of Loser like you, and I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“What?” the coach asked, “What is it? Please, if it can help–if it can help the team win, if it can help me, I’ll do it, I’ll do anything for you.”

The doctor smiled. “Well, alright. You see, having Losers around can be dangerous, unless they know their proper place. But you, I think you’ll fit into your proper place just fine. Come on, let’s go into my office and have a chat about what you’ll be doing from now on.”

The doctor walked towards the coach’s office, and the coach started to get up and follow him, but the doctor looked over his shoulder, “No. Crawl, you fucking Loser. Loser’s don’t walk like winners–that’s the first fucking lesson we’re going to have to get into that Loser head of yours, got it?”

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Yes sir, Loser!” the doctor shouted, “You don’t talk to me like I’m equal to you–I’m not a fucking Loser, do you understand? You address me, and the whole team, as Sir, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir! Yes sir, I understand.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to use you after all–you might be the sorriest Loser I’ve ever seen!”

“No!” the coach shouted, “Please sir, please–I’ll do anything–anything!”

The doctor stared at the now sobbing coach, on his hands and knees on the concrete floor, and smirked. “Alright, come on Loser.” The doctor stepped into his new office, and the coach crawled after him, “We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to make you the worst Loser this team has ever seen.”


They won.

In one of the biggest turnarounds the county had ever seen–the Silverside High Vipers won the district football championships. Hollering and shouting, the players streamed into the locker room, thrilled with their victory, carrying Coach Jacobs on their shoulders, and they gave their coach three cheers of thanks.

“Well done team!” Coach Jacobs said, “I honestly didn’t know if you had it in you all to be winners, but you proved me wrong!”

“Ha, we aren’t Losers coach, but we could have been. We have you to thank for that,” Simon said, and the team started hooting and shouting again, Vinny, on his hands and knees next to Simon, gave a loud howl, the team captain reaching down and giving the back of his pup’s head a long, deep scratching, Vinny rubbing his face up against his Captain, and Master’s, leg, his cock already hardening at the thought of the load of victory cum he would have the pleasure of swallowing soon.

“But now–now we have to announce the VIP!” the coach said, and the team fell silent in anticipation. “And I’m going to go with Mick!”

One of the linebackers started jumping up and down like a girl, and ran over to the coach, giving him a deep kiss. “Oh thank you coach, thank you! I tried so hard, I tried so hard just for you!”

“And you’re a winner Mick,” Coach Jacobs said, giving the big man’s ass a rough squeeze, “Now get in that office there, so I can give you your award.”

Mick licked his lips, and hurried into the office, the Coach following behind him, and left the players’ huddle to disperse into the pairs and triples which had formed naturally over the course of the season. Darren, however, broke away from Lewis for a moment, saying, “Hold on, I gotta piss before we fuck. Hey! Loser! Where the fuck are you? I gotta take a fucking leak, you worthless piece of shit!”

“Here, sir! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m here!” Loser said, as he crawled out from where he’d stayed out of sight. He had to stay out of sight until one of the team members needed him, or else he might break their winning streak. The several months since the good doctor had outed him as a Loser had not been easy for the old coach. He’d been tasked with being the repository for all of the teams loser aspects–all of their waste, all of their abuse, all of their humiliation. It hadn’t been easy, but what else was there for a Loser like him to do? He’d lived in the locker room, wearing nothing other than the oldest, nastiest jockstrap he could find in the lost and found bin. Coach Jacobs had taken good care of him, at least–or at least given him better care than a Loser like him deserved. Still, the diet of junk food and lack of exercise hadn’t helped the Loser’s figure. He was now well past obese, like most Losers are. He also hadn’t shaven or cut his hair in all this time–or taken a shower–and he stank almost as bad as Jerry did in his unwashed uniform, his beard caked with dried bits of shit that had collected there over the many practices and games where he’d served as the entire team’s toilet.

He crawled over and wrapped his lips around Darren’s cock, and drank the young man’s piss down, not spilling a single drop, trying not to moan in pleasure. He really was such a Loser–how else could it be that he would enjoy being one so much? It just felt…so much more natural to let things fall, to drink piss, and eat shit, and stink like a truck stop…with a shiver he felt his cock unload a wad of cum into his jockstrap–he couldn’t even control that anymore, he was such a fucking Loser–but he didn’t stop drinking, and he sucked and licked the head clean before crawling away back to his hiding spot–or he would have, if Jerry hadn’t called him over.

Several members of the team had gathered around him–after all, it was time for him to take off his gear, since this had been the last game of the season. He stripped off his rank jersey and socks, and then his jock, and said to the Loser, “Yo, clean me up, Loser–I haven’t had a proper bath in months!”

Loser went to work, licking Jerry’s body clean as quickly as he could, being very careful to touch him with no part of his body other than his tongue. He couldn’t risk spreading his Loser-ness to anyone on the team after all–and when Jerry was satisfied, he grabbed the Loser’s jaw, and stuffed his months-unwashed socks into his mouth, and then the pouch of his equally filthy jock, which he secured by wrapping the waist strap around the old coaches head twice. “Enjoy it, Loser–and they’d better be clean by the time I come back to school on Monday!” he said, and the team laughed, before they fell back into their sexual bliss.

The Loser crawled off to his corner, soaking the filthy socks and jocks with his saliva, before sucking it back out, feeling his cock shoot another load unbidden into the pouch of his jock. The Coach wouldn’t be happy that he’d shot twice already–he might even put the Loser back in chastity, but that was alright. The Loser deserved it–he knew he did. But if this is what it took for his old team to become winners like they were meant to be–then Loser could be happy with that, at least a little bit.

I coach the local high school football team, and, well, our school isn’t the best in the state, or the best in the county–well, we’re basically the worst out of everywhere. A friend of mine recommended a sports psychologist to me though–a guy who specializes in getting rid of the culture of losing, or something. I think it’s a crock of bull to be honest, but I hired the guy–it can’t hurt right?

Well, he’s been meeting with the team once a week now, and I have to say, he must be doing something right. I mean, we aren’t winning every game, but the team has definitely improved–but…well…

Some of them have been acting strange. I got a call from Jerry’s parents–they’re concerned, because he hasn’t taken off his jersey, jockstrap, cleats, or gloves from last week’s game. He just tells them that it’s his lucky gear, and that if he doesn’t wear it, then the team won’t win a game ever again. I asked him to hang out after practice yesterday to talk to him about it, and when I came out…well, he had his jockstrap off, and he was…sniffing it, and he had a hard on. I don’t know what to make of it. I tried to talk some sense into him, but he just blabbered on about Dr. Jacobs this and Dr. Jacobs that…it was hopeless.

And then, the next day in the weight room, Vinny was doing his bench press, when all the sudden he glazed over, rolled off the bench onto all fours and started barking and panting like a dog. He did it for a good minute, and I had to smack him across the face to get him to stop it, and he didn’t remember doing any of it! It was so bizarre. I think I need to have a talk with Dr. Jacobs about this. I’ll schedule a meeting for tomorrow before practice, and we’ll sort this all out then. I hate to fire the guy, but if he’s doing something weird, I need to know.