The Locker Room(7)

Dottie’s face softens with understanding. “That’s totally understandable, but you are allowed to have fun, you know. Lunch wouldn’t have killed you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I plan on having fun.” I smirk.

“You want to go to the locker room then?”

“What?” I asked confused, fork poised at my mouth. “Is that a club?”

“Uh, no,” both Lindsay and Dottie say at the same time.

Taking the lead, Dottie says, “The locker room is the actual men’s locker room.”

“Ew, why would I want to go there?” I vaguely remember Dottie and Lindsay talking about the magic of the locker room the other night but can’t quite place the details due to the amount of alcohol I consumed.

After blinking a few times, as if I’m the one who’s crazy, Dottie says, “Emory, the locker room is the most exclusive place on campus. It’s the holy grail, the mecca of all orgasms.”

“In a locker room,” I deadpan. “Where guys are sweaty and smelly? That’s the place to be?”

Lindsay rolls her eyes and sits forward, as if she’s explaining the simplest thing to me. “It’s not like other locker rooms in movies where the guys are gross and disgusting. It’s completely different. It has leather couches, brand new carpet every year—because they can afford that—wood lockers with nameplates, and mini fridges scattered throughout stocked full of electrolyte drinks.” She raises her fist to the air. “Electrolytes, damn it. That means you’ll never cramp up.”

Dottie steps in when Lindsay loses her mind over sports drinks. “They have these amazing showers where steam billows and billows to the point that you’re in this cloudy, sweaty, sex-filled wet room. It’s erotic, in high demand, and rarely offered, but when you do get a golden ticket to the locker room, it’s where dreams come true.”

Lindsay leans in even closer, her eyes crazy, her mouth twitching. “I heard once a girl orgasmed for five minutes straight up against the shower tiles while water was pouring down on her.”

“I heard that too,” Dottie confirms. “You could hear her moans from the basketball court.”

“Yes.” Lindsay gets excited. “The band heard it while practicing. They thought a stray cat was caught in the bleachers or something.”

“Okay, hold on.” I hold my hands up. “Are you telling me, girls beg and plead to be taken to the men’s locker room to have sex?”

“Not just any locker room, the baseball locker room. There’s a big difference.”

“How so?” I ask Dottie.

She holds up her hand and ticks off her finger. “Basketball is the third most successful sport on campus. They are driven and do well, but their locker room is scum compared to the baseball team.” She holds up two fingers. “Football is the second-best sport on campus and even though we do very well, that locker room is disgusting. Good guys, but their football pads will shrivel your nipples quicker than you can take off your bra.” She holds up her third finger. “Baseball is number one. Recruits come from all over the country to play for Coach Disik, because it’s almost guaranteed you’ll become a major leaguer if you train under him. We win the college world series almost every year. Brentwood is the breeding ground for baseball players, and it’s why they have the nicest locker room. It’s why it’s the sexiest place to be, because if you’re lucky enough to get an invite, that means the guy who takes you there is serious about you.”

I scoff. “Oh please. I highly doubt any girl who goes to the locker room to have sex is marriage material.”

Dottie and Lindsay exchange glances. And almost on a whisper, Dottie says, “Every girl who’s gone into the locker room has been married to that player within five years.”

“Please.” That can’t honestly be true.

“It’s true,” Lindsay says, backing up Dottie. “It’s like an unspoken rule to all players. You don’t take in one-night stands; you take someone into the locker room that you plan on keeping forever. It’s almost as if it’s a blessing to your relationship.”

“Like holy water,” Dottie adds, dipping her fingers in her water and flicking it around. “But instead of water blessed by God, it’s electrolytes provided by The Coca-Cola Company.”

Lindsay looks wistfully toward the ceiling. “I can only imagine what it’s like to be taken in there.”

“Probably full of fungus and farts.”

Lindsay points her finger at me sternly. “Don’t you dare ruin this for me. I’m going to get a ticket to that locker room, I just know it.”

“Don’t you need a guy to invite you? Someone you’re serious with?”

Smiling, Lindsay says, “Sure do, which leads me to ask, you wouldn’t mind going to the baseball loft this weekend, would you?”

Dottie rolls her eyes. “She has a thing for one of the freshmen. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into. Poor guy.”

“A freshman, really?” I couldn’t imagine dating a freshman. Straight out of the high school womb, fumbling and confused. It’s rare to find a guy who’s talented in the bedroom. Not that I’d really know that from firsthand experience. Neil had been my first, and I haven’t bothered with anyone since. Still on the scarred side. It would be nice to go into a fling, knowing there is some experience behind those greedy hands. And especially if they have a dick I can actually feel when it’s erect and inside me.