"My naked body trembled in the cold night. The stadium was eerily quiet, but I knew they were there: the Giants. The college football team. They were watching, waiting, throbbing as they anticipated taking their turn on the terrified straight guy."

It was my college project: discreetly follow the college football team around and write an article about what they get up to on their time off. Luckily, my best friend Des was one of the Giants and he knew all about my little secret. But when I embarrassed him in front of his team mates, he demanded I make it up to him. I agreed: I'd do anything to make it better. Anything at all. That's how the games began.

Straight guys don't strip nude on the public football field. They don't allow themselves to be tied up or dragged around by the team as if they were a ball to be played with. Coach Masters made it clear: whoever brought me across the finish line first would get to do whatever they wanted to me. I know straight guys don't do that. But I couldn't wait for each of them to take a turn on me, including Coach. I couldn't wait for them to train me to fit their size. To take me in every way possible, including at the same time.

No, straight guys don't do that. But I will. And I'm going to have to beg for it.