Dating : The Basketballer. Part 3.

h2>Dating : The Basketballer. Part 3.

Harry F. Rey
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

The cell phone vibrated and my heart leapt into my mouth, then sank to the engine when I saw it was Shayla.

Had fun tonight! Good luck with your white boy 😉

I swiped it away without another thought. I couldn’t be bothered with her anymore. My mind had one thing on it, and talking to her would do nothing for that.

Suddenly the phone vibrated again. A message, this time from an app I could use.


The profile was basic, no information except that he was one mile away, and online. The picture I found intriguing, however. A bare back in black shorts, holding a basketball to his side. Clearly it had been taken during some casual game then cropped just enough to show the outline of strong back muscles and softness of the bare white skin.

Hi. Nice pic. I wrote. It didn’t take him a second to reply.

Thanks. I can host. Free now?

I guess this is what I wanted. Better, in fact, than I might have hoped. If he was a basketballer, maybe he’d wear the kit for me. Then I could really indulge my Sam fantasy. Suddenly I felt excited. I turned the engine back on and buckled my belt.

“Fuck it. Might as well.”

Sure. Send your address. By the way, are you a basketballer?

No reply. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. My heart dropped once more, and I started to resign myself to the fact I’d probably just scared off a hot jock, full of cum and ready to take away all my angst and energy.

Yeah. 1800 Jackson Ave, W.

I saved the address in the GPS and started to mentally prepare myself to graft Sam’s thin, chiseled face onto the body of whomever this guy would be. I was just about to pull out of the deserted car park when the cell phone on my lap buzzed once more. I checked it and my mouth fell open. It was Sam.

Hey man, thanks again for coming tonight. No one ever comes to those dumb exhibition games! Anyway just wondering if you’re up. I’m only getting to my philosophy paper now, wanted to shoot a few q’s about Hume your way?

That’s a surprise. I shook any wondering out of my mind, thought. Clearly it was a coincidence. At least he was messaging me though. This was another first. Suddenly I felt bad for arranging a hook up. It oddly felt like cheating on him. I stroked my chin as the engine rolled, wondering how to best frame the message. Of course I didn’t want to just give away my help. If he wanted it, I wanted to make an opportunity of my own.

Hey bud. No problem, you played amazing tonight. Sure I can help. I’m actually out in the car so I could always swing by now if you like? I always prefer to work at night. 🙂

I spent an entire minute thinking about adding that smiley emoji.

Sure! I’m such a night owl myself too. Now is great.

No smiley back, but an invitation to come around to his place in the middle of the night. Just to work on a philosophy paper? I thought about it for a moment, suddenly becoming more concerned, more entrapped in excited wonder. We weren’t even reading Hume at the moment.

What’s your address? I wrote. The answer came in a second.

I think I just sent it 😉

Everyone inside that McDonalds heard the wheels of my car screech into life and zoom onto the road like a bat out of hell; or a horny guy on his way to be with the man of his dreams.

What do you think?

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