Tagging In

 

Fuck Carter. He’s such a fucking asshole. Just because hes your older brother, he loves to just mess with you for the fun of it. Today he went too far. He went to your lacrosse tryouts, and saw you totally fail. You got hit in the balls with a teammate’s stick. How’s that for a double entendre. Instead of being supportive and helpful, what does Carter do? He laughs his fucking ass off. You can hear him from the stands. Seriously, what the actual fuck? He shoots some of his varsity bros a heads up, and motions for you to come back to the car. 

Tryouts were over. You were sweaty, you were exhausted, you were bloody. Yeah, bloody! You’re bleeding from a cut on your forehead. Where did you get it? Who fucking knows? All that matters is that you didn’t even make the B team. The only reason the coach is giving you a second chance tomorrow, is because he saw you working out every single day for months in preparation for this. I mean, you’re totally in perfect shape! You’ve built a nice athletic body, but have absolutely no coordination. Then there’s Carter. Varsity Lacrosse captain and holder of the state record. Yeah, that’s who you have to match up to. So, when you get into the car, you’re fully expecting your brother to laugh his ass off, give you a hard time, and put on some stupid ass Wiz Khalifa, shouting the lyrics like an idiot.

You open the door and sit in the car, silently buckling yourself. Carter doesn’t say anything, he just has that dopey smile he always has. He ruffles your hair, and gives you a playful punch. 

“Fuck bruh. You smell like I do after practice. Can’t say you were workin’ out there.” You look out the window, still really upset about the results. Carter, being an oblivious dope just continues on talking about absolutely nothing. “Dude, if you’re stinking this much, I’m taking my shoes off. The Nikes get rank as fuck, so I don’t take em off when people are around, but you’re so musky I don’t think it matters!” He laughs and kicks off his lime green and turquoise Nike Free Trainers, releasing his infamous footsmell. That familiar scent of cheese and butter popcorn berates you. One of the way Carter used to torture you was by putting his smelly feet in your face when you were young. By now, this is commonplace. But instead of your usual complaining, you stay silent, watching out the window.

Carter clearly notices your upset behaviour, but remains his dumb jock self. Talking about supplements, about his lifting sets, and all the hoes he was gonna bed… Typical. You pull into your garage, and you’re getting out of the car, when Carter stops you.

“Hey, bruh. I know you’re upset. I got something that will make you feel better upstairs in my room.” This is surprising, and also very suspicious. Is this another stupid prank? You follow your brother to his room. You enter, dodging clothes and equipment and gym bags all over the place. He pats his bed, and has you sit down. He runs around the room as you take your seat, looking for something. Two shotglasses. He pours two shots of Jack Daniels, and hands one to you. “Bottoms up, little bro.” You take the shot, and he sits down next to you. He does something rather strange, however, he silently sits staring at your  feet. You look at your trainers, and back at your brother. 

“What? You ask. He just stares at you with a dumb smirk, before grabbing both of your trainers and ripping them off. “Hey, what the fuck?” You protest, before he takes off his smelly Nikes. He puts one to his face and inhales, letting it out in a satisfied sigh. He grabs your damp, socked feet and shoves his shoes onto you. You confusedly stare at him, as he gets up and stands before you. He strips, tossing his under armour team shirt and shorts to the side, even tossing his nasty jockstrap. Now this is weird. Your brother stands before you completely in the nude, that damn dumb smile growing on his face. 

“You need something of mine on ya for this to work.” Before you can even say anything, he crawls atop you, pinning you down on his dirty sheets. A strange feeling starts flowing through you. A gelatinous, jiggly feeing that is foreign to you. “You being sweaty will help too.” You feel pressure and heat with this gelatinous feeling, as you can do nothing but watch while your big brother’s knees and quads sink into yours. You begin to scream, but he puts his hand over your mouth. “Mom and Dad aren’t here, and I’m supposed to be gone for the week with Derek.” You struggle and thrash but can not prevent his calves and feet entering yours. That dumb smile adorning his face the entire time, he lowers himself closer and closer to you. You close your eyes from fear. Terrified at what will happen. All you sense is that pressure and gelatinous sinking feeling, before nothing. 

Your eyes shoot open, and you get up. Only, it’s not you! You’re not doing this! Your body walks to your brothers bathroom as you see your face have the dumbass jocky smirk Carter always has. You speak, but with Carter’s voice echoing from your mouth.

“Aight little bro. This is how it’s gonna go. You’re gonna get on the team. I promise. You worked way too hard for that shit, so I’m gonna make it happen. So, when you have your JV games, I’m just gonna slip into you and kick some ass on the field. You’ll be an MVP in no time. That, and…” He pulls down your sweaty boxers. “You got one hell of a fuck stick to play around with. Might have to start factoring that time into the deal.”