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“You have some dirt on your leg.” Jerry tilted his head over his magazine, trying to find where The Goober was referencing.
“You can just wipe it off,” Jerry said, zeroing in on the leap a college receiver did. Goob nodded, shifting from lying on his back to sitting. He wettened his thumb and swiped at some smudge on the front of Jerry’s gastrocnemius. Although, the dirt didn’t go away. Goober’s lip jutted out in frustration. A prickling poke spoke out within Jerry’s skin, maybe it was a blade of turf?
“There is a ton of dirt on your leg, on both of them!” Goober glanced at Jerry's quad, then his buddy’s left leg. Jerry settled his magazine to his nightstand. Stretching his left arm all the way to the top of his mattress. Flicking the spine further into the area of the stand. He huffed, sitting up too, and lightly working his abs.
“Where?”
“Here,” Goober pointed to the original blemish, then, “here.” Another on Jerry’s vastus.
“Those are bruises,” he corrected.
“From football?” Jerry crumpled up more, his face turned bland.
“No,” answering simply, “other stuff.” To prevent further questioning he forced himself to continue. “I get a ton of bruises, as of lately.” Looking at a purplish black bruise. “I have some on my shoulder, a lot on my thighs, and other places-” The Goober craned his neck to take a better look on Jerry’s legs.
“When I get bruises they’re usually green or yellow.”
“Cus you’re light,” Jerry muttered, staring at his inner thighs, thankful that they were covered by his shorts. How could he explain to anyone about what happened? They’d just think he was a fairy, that he desired it. He hated it, hated it to the point he fantasized about jumping that thing.