So this story is VERY VERY different from other things I’ve written. Be warned! It’s just a musing on the fact that out there, in the real world, are people who suffer….just because. And for the amusement of others. They are jobbers in the real world, being dominated and humiliated. Might not be for everyone!
JOBBERS IN THE WILD
Macintosh High School Swim Practice
Varsity swimming coach Larry Johnson listened intently as his principal told him about the serious hazing accusations leveled against several members of his team.
“Spankings. Shavings. Forced insertion of foreign objects into rectums. Making freshmen wear diapers. Being exposed to girls swim team while naked. Coach, you can tell these are extremely serious accusations. The parents of the freshmen are satisfied with the cash settlement but still, if any of this ever gets to the press, it’s going to be a shitstorm.”
Johnson sat stewing in his chair. God damn it. When he’d first arrived a decade earlier he’d eliminated all hazing from the swim team. He hated it and it didn’t work. And now his fucking seniors had decided to revive the practice. One senior in particular.
“You said Miller was the main one, right?”
“That’s right. All the freshmen said Joe Miller made them do everything while the other seniors just watched and some even tried to stop Joe but he insisted and he personally carried out each spanking, shaving, and insertion.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
That day at the combined boys and girls practice, Johnson gathered both teams together, along with the girls coach, Miss Hanford.
“Seems one of you thinks you’re bigger than the team. Seems some of you think you know better than me. Seems some of you are arrogant little fucks who like picking on others.”
All the boys stood around in their team-mandated red Speedos. They all knew who he was talking about and Johnson confirmed it by staring at Joe Miller. The girls started snickering, both at Joe’s discomfort but also the memory of what he did to the freshmen. Sure, it was wrong, but it was fun seeing their little babydicks.
“Mr. Miller, step forward.”
“Coach, I’m sorry, I, I know it was wrong. I…”
“Miller, step forward.”
Miller came up to his coach, an imposing man of 6-2 who had swum at the University of Michigan and could still easily lap any of his best swimmers. He had a buzz cut and sinewy muscles and now wore a mean glare.
“You like hazing, do ya, Miller? Like beating up on weaker folks?”
“No? I heard different.”
With that Miller brought his right foot up directly into Joe’s crotch. The 17-year-old doubled over, gasping, spitting on the pool deck as his teammates jumped back.
“I’m going to show each one of you fuckers what happens to people who haze on my team. Young Mr. Miller is going to be an example.” Joe remained bent over and several members of the girls team kept staring at his ass, encased in the Speedos. Even though they were around young boys every day in Speedos, it still looked hot. And sort of funny.
They all watched as Mr. Johnson grabbed Miller by the hair and the rear of the trunks, pulled up and wedgied the Speedos and tossed the swimmer into the pool.
Still recovering from the shot to the nuts, Miller was powerless to do anything but raise his head in the pool and the second he did, coach leaned over, clutched him by the top of the head and forced him under water. He held him there for 10 seconds and then yanked the teenager up. Down and up, down and up, holding him to the point of near-drowning and then pulling him up again. A few times he reached down with his other hand and slapped the kid on his cheek. Finally he pulled all the way up and dragged the kid back onto the pool deck where the boy laid, spitting out the chlorinated water and gasping for breath. He never had a chance to fix his wedgied Speedo and now many of his teammates and the girls were outright laughing at him and this display of abuse. And none of them would think again about hazing anyone.
Johnson pulled Miller up by his hair, grasped the rear of the trunks, pulled up and marched him over to three of the freshmen who were victims of the hazing. Johnson yanked the Speedo so far up Miller’s ass it went halfway up his back and the 6-0 swimmer had to stand on his tippy toes as Johnson guided him over to the large group. “Say you’re sorry, Joey.”
“I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Now tell the girls you’re sorry for making them participate in it.”
“I’m sorry girls.”
“Good boy. Now let’s give you that spanking you deserve.”
Johnson took his player over to a chair by the side of the pool, sat himself down and brought Miller over his knee. Joe’s legs kicked helplessly. It’d been at least 10 years since he’d been spanked and he couldn’t handle the humiliation of being sprawled over his coach’s lap. Johnson took his time, delivering 20 spanks to each cheek, the whole time making sure the Speedo stayed up Joe’s tight teenage ass. The tears hit the pool deck as Johnson continued his assault. Johnson finally straightened his legs and Miller pathetically rolled off, utterly defeated and embarrassed. Johnson wordlessly got up and walked over to the bag he’d brought in with him and walked back over to Joe. The swimmer had curled into the fetal position and Johnson delivered a blow to his lower back, bringing out another cry. He reached into his bag and pulled out a…diaper. An adult diaper, like he’d made the freshmen wear during the hazing. The snickers and laughter tore into Joe’s soul when he saw the shameful garment. Johnson yanked down his charge’s Speedo and stuffed them into his star swimmer’s mouth, then delivered three more quick spanks to his ass to tame any potential wildness. Expertly, he maneuvered the diaper under Joe, flattened the smooth legs, brought it up between his groin and taped him in, before patting the front of it gently a few times and declaring him, “All set. You’re going to stay right here, by the pool, in your diaper, that Speedo in your mouth, the entire practice.” Joe’s cries could still be heard as Johnson blew his whistle and told everyone to get into the pool.
Carter Family Reunion
“Relax. It’s fine. Everyone’s going to like you.”
Missy Carter had tried calming her boyfriend Sean Wakeford the entire three-hour car ride to the big Carter family reunion, but he still acted all nervous and anxious. The two had been dating six months and Missy thought Sean really was the one. She just knew her parents and two brothers would love the former college basketball star who now worked as a freelance writer while Missy worked full-time as a nurse. Both 25, Missy and Sean were already making wedding plans, though he had yet to pop the question. But now he was meeting the entire Carter clan for the first time, and what a clan. Her parents and siblings. Missy’s grandparents on both sides and her dad’s 12 siblings and all their kids. Missy had warned Sean that her dad was a bit of a tough guy but that he was more bark than bite. “He’s a big teddy bear.”
“And he’s going to be fine with meeting the boyfriend of his only daughter?”
Sean wasn’t sure. Missy had told him other stories about her dad Joe, a fireman and big dude at 6-1, 275 pounds. Like the time he beat up a guy who was courting her mom back in the day. Or when he supposedly roughed up a teacher who had hit her brother in class. No charges were filed.
The Carters held the reunion in a large park and Missy quickly ran up to her parents and siblings and gave them huge hugs while Sean lingered in the background. They ignored him for several minutes before Missy finally introduced him all around. When he shook Missy’s dad’s hand, he couldn’t believe the strength and was put off by the way the man stared directly into his eyes the entire time.
‘You’re taking care of my girl, right?”
Everything went well. Sean met all the aunts and uncles and cousins, drank some punch and served up a delicious plate of food before taking a spot at a picnic table with Missy and her family. Then the trouble started.
“So, Sean. Freelance writer, huh? That’s what you did with your English major?”
“Dad,” Missy said but her old man kept staring at Sean while chewing his cole slaw.
Sean finished his bit of sandwich and replied, “Um, yep. Working hard.”
“So you work for free. Freelance, is that it?”
“No, sir. It just means I don’t work for any one company. A lot of people do it now, especially in writing. Gives you a lot of freedom.”
“Lot of security too?”
“Well, no, not like a full-time job.”
“And that’s what you’re going to do when you marry my daughter?”
“Hey, Missy. I’m just wondering what Shakespeare’s going to do to, you know, support his wife and kids when the time comes. I admit I don’t know much about writing so I’m just asking questions about how he’s going to make money.”
Sean tried figuring out what to say but nothing came to mind. He was usually so quick-witted; it was one of the attributes Missy always said she loved most about him.
“Shit, bud, I’m just giving you a bad time. If Missy says you make her happy, that’s good enough for me.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sean replied. Sir? When was the last time he’d called anyone that? And why had he now said it like 6 times?
The day passed harmlessly the rest of the way until the women went into a group and the men gathered at the fullcourt basketball court in the park. Sean was a good athlete and a really good basketball player. This was his area of expertise. He was looking forward to some hoops, even if he was wearing normal shorts instead of his basketball ones. It would be fairly low-key anyway and he could earn some brownie points by showing Missy’s old man that he was an athlete. Instead the game was like a wrestling match. Missy’s dad and brothers and cousins and uncles traveled, threw up bricks and fouled without consequence. It was basically an excuse for them to run into each other. Sean made a few shots but it didn’t seem to impress anyone. Finally he figured when in Rome….and elbowed Missy’s dad as he went up for a shot. It was a cheap shot but the same type of thing the other animals in the family had been doing.
Missy’s dad stopped playing and felt his lip, where blood was coming down. “You a tough guy, Sean?” He stared at Sean who suddenly regretted the elbow. “N, n..no.” “Uh-huh.” With that Missy’s dad whipped the basketball at Sean’s nuts and doubled him over as Sean moaned and all the other players laughed.
“You motherfucker!” Sean screamed. Missy heard her boyfriend yell and looked over and then ran over to the park. “Sean!” Acting on instinct Sean sprinted at Missy’s dad who easily dodged him with the skill of a Spaniard avoiding a stricken bull. “Sean! Dad! Stop it!” Missy yelled. But it was too late. The next time Sean charged Missy’s dad easily handled him and put him into a front facelock, squeezing the neck of the younger man. At this point Sean’s shirt rode up and the top of his underwear became visible.
Missy’s dad couldn’t believe what he saw. Panties. Blue, lacy, silky panties. On his daughter’s fucking boyfriend. This fucking faggot. Everyone else on the court saw it too and burst out laughing while Missy ran up and tried separating her dad and boyfriend, who could barely breathe as the strong fireman’s arms locked in on his neck. Missy saw her boyfriend’s panties and moaned. Oh god, no. It was her idea. She liked how he looked in them and had suggested he start wearing them a few months earlier. The poor guy went along because he was so eager to please her. But now……
Joe saw the panties, grabbed the waistband and yanked up. This brought cheers from all the other players while Missy finally stepped away, not believing what was happening. Sean let out a grunt and tried reaching back haplessly to cover up his shameful gear but it was worthless. “A fucking pantyboy,” Joe said. “You know, one time we had to save a guy from a fire and we found him passed out wearing panties and a bra but his weren’t as pretty as yours, Sean.” Sean was losing consciousness and his limp body finally fell to the court as Joe finally released the choke hold. But he wasn’t done with this fairy who had come into his daughter’s life.
“You let him wear panties, Missy? I told you you needed a real man.”
Now Missy had to lie. “It, it was his idea. He told me it was because he had a skin condition.” She felt awful for Sean but she also didn’t want her family to think she was some type of freak in the bedroom who liked keeping men in panties. “HAHAHAHA. Is that what he said?” Joe replied. He reached down and pulled Sean up by the hair, making the boy stand on his feet. “They feel better on your skin? On your balls? That it, faggot?” Sean could only shake his head. The betrayal from Missy hurt, but he was too worried about his physical well-being to think about it much.
Still holding the pansy by the hair, Joe slapped the boy in the face three times, drawing some blood from the boy’s lip, just like he had done earlier with the elbow. Sean swung his own limp fist and hit Joe in his broad chest but this only brought laughs from Joe’s sons, brothers and nephews, who had seen Joe beat up more than a few guys ,although never a boyfriend. By now numerous others from the family had gathered around, including Missy’s mom, several aunts and a bunch of cousins of all ages. They all crowded around the court and watched as Joe grasped Sean’s shorts and yanked them down, leaving the full-cut satin blue panties on full display. Missy’s 8-year-old cousin Alanna yelled out, “Mommy, he’s wearing panties!” Her mom briefly covered her daughter’s eyes but she burst out laughing herself at the absurdity. What the hell, she sees worse on the internet every day.
Joe could see a tiny bulge in the panties, key word being tiny. “Sean, now I get it. Now I understand why you were in panties” and with that delivered a kick to Sean’s midsection, doubling him over. With his prey bent in half, Joe showed off the strength that allowed him to carry grown men and women down ladders in fire rescues and hauled Sean up into a backbreaker. “Look at me!” he yelled to his family. “Just like Jesse the Body Venture!” Sean moaned as he felt his back breaking, his pantied crotch now on prominent display. Bent over he made eye contact with Missy, who had tears in her eyes and was slowly shaking her head back and forth. She felt so bad for Sean. She did love him. But she knew this was the end.
Joe finally released Sean who ended up on his stomach and started crawling. To…where? A hole in the ground in the park? Missy’s mom finally said, “Joe, that’s enough.” Joe gave a shrug. He slowly walked after the pathetic sissy trying to escape and pulled him up by the back of the panties, again into a standing position, and putting the panties into a thong. He then slapped on another chokeholed, a sleeper they’d call it in wrestling, and felt the boy losing consciousness. “There, there, little Sean. Sleep now.” Sean tried fighting it, his fingers digging into Joe’s manly arms that were grasped on his neck but he felt everything going black. His vision went away and he slowly, slowly slumped to the ground. With Sean out of it, Joe scooped him up and put him over his shoulder, his pantied rump on display. Joe gave it two almost protective pats and started walking off the court. With his free hand he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and ordered an Uber. “What’s this fag’s address?” he asked his daughter, who relayed the info. Sean’s 1 bedroom apartment she had been planning on moving into within the next month or two. That wouldn’t happen now. When the Uber arrived, the driver looked in astonishment as this older man carried a boy in blue panties into the car and deposited him in the backseat. Joe slipped him an extra 50 and told the Dominican driver to help the guy back into his apartment.
And with that, Sean was out of Missy’s life. “It’s for the better, honey,” Joe said. “Now let’s go have some dessert.”
Gymnast Learns a Lesson
Coach Melanie Adrians watched the video over and over again. The conference gymnastics meet. Her star senior gymnast, Leah Jones, competed on the floor, ready to clinch the conference title for the Mountain View High School Warriors. And then, inexplicably, at the end of her routine, Leah landed after a leap and, in full view of the entire gym, her cheering teammates and the stone-faced judges, reached back and pulled the wedgie out of her ass. That led to a deduction that cost the Warriors the title, which would have been the first for coach Adrians. The lack of discipline enraged her. The number one rule every girl gymnast learned was you never ever picked your wedgie during a routine. You left that leotard up your ass no matter how embarrassing.
God, damn it!
The Warriors had the section meet coming up and she needed to both get her girls ready and recovered from the disappointment and teach Leah a lesson. She liked Leah, even though the girl could be a bit arrogant. But each time she rewound the tape and watched the gorgeous girl’s index fingers reach back and pull the blue leotard from each side of her butt, she wanted to throw the remote. “Fuck!” she yelled in her office.
That day in practice the Warriors had a full gym. The varsity was there, as well as the JV getting some late-season work in. The coach had also invited the “Little Warriors,” the gymnasts in the school’s program for girls in 1st grade through 8th. “Okay, everyone, come here,” coach said by the uneven bars. “Now, we have a great chance at winning the section title but we have to address what happened at conference. Leah, come here.” Leah, wearing her blue leotard again, stepped nervously forward. She knew her equipment adjustment had cost the team. Some of the girls were mad at her although they sympathized with being exposed in front of a crowd when a leotard went up their ass. But you had to have discipline. “Leah, I realize I failed you,” the coach said. “I’ve said over and over again that you guys can not adjust your leos during competition but I guess I didn’t stress it enough. That was my fault. So, I’m going to correct that. With some old-fashioned coaching, discipline and embarrassment.” With dozens of gymnasts from 1st through 12th grade gathered around, the coach ordered Leah to jump up and grasp the uneven bar and hang there.
“Now,” she said, “just stay there for a bit.” Adrians stepped forward and grasped Leah’s blue leotard on both sides and pulled it up the 18-year-old’s hot ass. The older gymnasts all gasped and brought their hands to their mouth while the younger girls started giggling uproariously. Leah let out a cry but kept her hands on the bars. Seeing the vulnerable, hot gymnast dangling, Adrians felt a warmth develop in her body. Yes, this was about discipline but she was also going to enjoy this on other levels.
“Okay, Leah. For the next 90 minutes, that leotard is going to stay up your ass. You are going to do every routine, every jump, every leap, every tumble, and your ass will be on prominent display in front of all your teammates and younger girls. You will not touch that leotard. You will practice in this wedgie. You will learn discipline. Do you understand.”
The humiliated, dangling teen yelled out a “yes, coach.”
“Now, because you let down your teammates, they deserve some retribution. Girls, if you competed in the varsity meet and lost out on the chance to win a conference title, please step forward and deliver two spanks to each of Leah’s cheeks.” The girls snickered, but each followed an order and came up and walloped Leah’s ass. By the time 9 girls had delivered their spanks, Leah’s ass was totally red on both cheeks and her tears were now tumbling onto the mat.
“Okay, Leah, jump down.” When she landed back on her feet, Leah instinctively reached back to adjust the wedgie. “Tut, tut, whoa, little lady. What did I say?” Leah nodded her head and said, “Sorry.” Adrians walked back over to her star gymnast and pulled them up a bit more, and gave her own almost loving slap to Leah’s ass. “No picking, Leah. Ever.” “yes, coach.”
The rest of the practice was the most humiliating 90 minutes of Leah’s life. she constantly wanted to reach back and adjust the wedgie as she couldn’t handle the snickers and laughter and giggles from her teammates and the younger girls. She looked on jealously as a girl would complete a vault and then pick her wedgie out, which was allowed in competition, provided it wasn’t during the event. Wedgie picking was routine in practice once events were done, but not for her, not today. She went on the vault, the floor, the bars, everything, and the leotard remained permanently lodged up her butt. All she wanted to do was reach back with her fingers and yank it out. Occasionally Adrians would call Leah over and pull the blue material a bit more up in the girl’s ass, almost daring the teen to reach back and make the adjustment. One time Leah noticed coach was looking elsewhere and she very briefly started reaching back, just for a second, just for some relief, when her teammate Tara stopped her, grabbed her hand and said, “Leah, no. Come on. You know it has to stay there.” Leah again felt like crying but she just nodded her head in agreement.
Numerous times some of the young gymnasts stood behind Leah and told her, “Leah, we can see your bu-uuuut. We can see your bu-uuuut.” Leah knew she couldn’t reply or god knew what type of punishment Adrians would come up with. At one point the boys basketball team wandered through the gymnastics area after finishing their practice and eventually they were all hitting each other in the arm and pointing out Leah’s exposed ass. Wolf whistles followed and coach Adrians did nothing to discourage it. It would impose the discipline she needed on Leah, and she enjoyed the girl’s embarrassment. The redness had gone away from her ass cheeks but her facial cheeks remained permanently blushed.
At the end of the practice Leah meekly approached the coach as everyone watched. “Good job, Leah, I’m proud of you.” “Thank you, coach Adrians.” Adrians used her finger to lift Leah’s chin up so she was looking directly into the teen’s blue eyes. “Now why don’t you reach back and pull that wedgie out. And don’t ever forget this day.” A grateful Leah then used her two fingers, like she did in the conference meet, and pulled the left and right sides of the leotard out. Her teammates cheered and she had never felt so grateful.
High School Wrestler Used as Cannon Fodder
Sixteen-year-old Brett Mullins didn’t know what the fuck he had been thinking. His parents had insisted he go out for a winter sport. “To meet some new friends and to get out of the god damn house,” they told him. Sure, friends. Why couldn’t he just play video games?
So now he stood in the high school gym, at a wrestling match, in a blue singlet, the skimpiest thing he had ever seen. He knew his tiny cock was visible through the thin material and he looked at the capacity crowd and wondered what they were all thinking. Who the hell enjoyed high school wrestling matches anyway? Two guys in spandex rolling around on the mat? Nothing ever happened except close body contact. Under the singlet he had eschewed the jockstrap that many of his teammates wore and instead sported a pair of white athletic underwear. His mom had bought them for him on a trip to Kmart. they had been standing in the aisle together, with another mom and a teenage girl standing nearby looking at tennis racquets, when his mom, oblivious, had said, “You’ll need these panties to wear under your singlet, I think, if you don’t wear a jock.” “MOM!” he’d yelled as the girl and her mom stared wide-eyed and then laughed. “They’re…” and now he whispered, “briefs.’ “Oh,” his mom said, confused. “Of course they are. But you need something to protect your genitals so these should work.”
So there he stood, waiting for his 171-pound match to begin. White briefs, blue singlet, headgear, the fear rising in his stomach. It was his first official match after two hellish weeks of practice. He was no wrestler. He knew it, the coach knew it, his parents knew it. And meeting friends? Instead all that had happened was him getting his ass kicked every day in practice.
And now he was facing Eddie Rusk, the two-time defending state champ at 171 pounds. When the matchups were announced the day before at practice, some of Brett’s teammates had sympathetically said, “Shiiit.” Brett didn’t know what they meant until he finally asked one. “Rusk is a madman,” his teammate told him. “He’s strong, and mean. He likes to dominate his opponents, not just beat him. A lot of times he’ll extend a match instead of pinning the dude, just because he can. You’re in for a long night, my man.”
Brett barely heard as the school’s PA person announced the two combatants for the 171 pound match. He gingerly walked to the center of the mat, pulling down on the legs of his damned singlet. His little cock was tucked into his athletic briefs and he hoped it wasn’t too noticable to all the girls in the crowd and the cheerleaders who were sitting on the edge of the mat, six from each school. Or did he want them to notice it? What would be worse, them seeing nothing or something? He didn’t have time to contemplate as the ref finished his instructions. He looked at Rusk and shuddered. His opponent was grinning as if he was a hunter who’d just trapped a wild beast.
As they circled each other, Brett decided to follow the advice of his dad, who’d said, “Be aggressive, son. Attack!” He lunged at Rusk, hoping to surprise him but the muscular foe was way too quick on his feet. As Brett flew by Eddie actually let out a laugh. Again they gathered in the center and this time Eddie slapped Brett right on the side of the headgear, bringing out a warning from the ref. “Watch it.” Brett’s ears were ringing but he kept circling, on the defensive. But he had no hope when Eddie finally made his move and slipped behind Brett, grasped him with two fists around the stomach and lifted him off his feet and down to the mat. The crowd cheered at the feat of strength from the state champ. As he laid on the mat on his stomach, Brett felt Eddie mount him, like a dog fucking a bitch. He made eye contact with several opposing cheerleaders and saw them smirking, almost lustful, as if they were getting off on the masculine display.
Eddie rolled Brett’s face into the mat and Brett could smell the accumulated sweat that had gathered there during the meet. He wanted to vomit but finally Eddie relented and simply let Brett get up. Again, effortlessly, Eddie reached down and picked Brett up by one leg. Brett now found him bouncing on one leg like a fucking handicapped person as Eddie grinned and actually looked out at the crowd like a damned pro wrestler. Brett didn’t know how long he could maintain his balance like this and he didn’t have to wait long to find out. Finally Eddie used his own leg to sweep Brett’s out from him and the sophomore wrestler went tumbling to the mat again.
Again Eddie mounted his weak foe. This time Brett could feel…something, on his ass. Oh god. Oh no. It felt different than the last time Rusk had been on top of him. It felt hard. Eddie Rusk had a hard on and was grinding on his spandex’d ass. Now Eddie leaned into Brett’s ear and whispered, “I fucked guys like you in prison.” and laughed. Brett recognized the line from Roadhouse but he desperately tried squirming away. But he was no Patrick Swayze. No matter how much he fought, his superior foe maintained his position and earned riding points. then Eddie used his right hand and reached under Brett’s crotch, fondled his small balls a bit and yanked him onto his back. Brett found himself in a pinning position and he prayed to god it ended right there. Instead Eddie again released him.
Eddie let Brett survive the first period and at the start of the second, he again let him up from a position on the mat and they circled each other. This time Eddie decided to go for the kill. He effortlessly scooped Brett up again and they ended up tangled near the edge of the mat, near the cheerleaders for Eddie’s school. As Brett felt his legs being spread, he could see the entire group of cheerleaders burst out laughing as he heard one say, “Look at his little penis.” Oh, god, they could see. And they could see it was small. Worse humiliation awaited. Eventually Eddie spladled Brett, who found his legs spread and his head looking out helplessly at the cheerleaders and the crowd. He was like a bus on the dissecting mat, totally spread, totally helpless, and the crowd cheered. It was like he’d been struck with a poison dart because he couldn’t move. He only moved if his opponent maneuvered him himself. He was a puppet on a string, nothing more. There for the enjoyment of the girls, of his opponent, of the crowd. His ass felt so open, as if it was going to be ripped apart as Eddie applied the spladle. “Please, god,” Brett said to himself. “Let it end.”
Finally, mercifully, he heard the ref slap the mat, hard. “That’s it, it’s over,” he said. But Eddie kept the move on for a few extra seconds, just to add to the kid’s humiliation. Yeah, state championships were nice, but humiliating fairies was pretty fun too. Eddie sprang to his feet and had his arm raised while Brett laid on the ground, moaning. the ref came over and asked if he was okay. Okay? No. He should have been home in his basement, playing video games. “Get up, son, come on.” As the ref helped him to his feet, he heard one of the cheerleaders say, “Nice pantyline,” and he knew they could see the athletic briefs his mom had made him wear. That brought another fit of giggles from the cheerleaders but he didn’t care. He stumbled off the mat and was greeted by his own coach. “It’s all right, Mullins. First match of the year. There’s four more months left.”
That was the problem.