Target someone from the home team

**** to escape, you hurriedly glance in the direction of the home football team and concentrate. You aren’t particular; you just need to get away. The next thing you know, you feel disoriented and feel yourself falling. You reach out with your hands to stop your face from coming into contact with the rapidly approaching ground.

You hear laughter and feel strong hands grab you under your arms and help you up. “C’mon, Nate. If you can’t stay on your feet long enough to walk to the locker room, how in the hell are you going to last through the party?”

You get to your feet and see the strong, blond-haired football player who assisted you. You mumble a word of thanks, and he laughs and slaps you powerfully on the back, nearly sending you off your feet again, before he continues toward the athletic center.

At your feet is a box of water bottles that apparently fell when you did. You pick them up and follow the team to the building, entering through the door to the locker room.

From what you can see of yourself as you walk, it looks like you failed to transfer your consciousness into a football player. You seem to be significantly smaller than the guys around you, and you are not dressed in a football uniform. It is only when you get into the locker room and find a mirror that you see that you are a water boy. You are small-boned, wirey, with long, black hair that keeps falling in front of your eyes. And, evidently, your name is Nate.

You watched carefully as you walked into the building and saw no indication that anyone noticed anything unusual. If you can just play it cool, you might buy yourself some time to figure out what to do.

The coach enters the locker room and is in a boisterous mood. The home team must have won, because he is congratulating the guys on the game. The team members, too, are in high spirits, as they strip off their dirty uniforms and head to the showers. As they pass you, they toss their dirty clothes in your direction, and you realize it must be your job to gather all the dirty clothes and towels so they can be washed. You set to work doing that.

“Did you score enough points to be able to score with Cara tonight, T.C.?” asks one of the players.

A tall, muscular African-American answers, “She didn’t say anything about points; she just said we had to win. I’m sure she’ll be waiting for me, bags packed and ready for the cabin!”

The guys laugh, and someone asks, “What if we had lost? Would you be spending the weekend with your hand and a jar of vasoline?”

T.C. answered, “Fuck no! I’d just be over at your mamma’s house, and in 9 months, you’d be getting a new baby brother or sister!”

The retort prompted laughter and and impromptu towel-snapping tournament. You pause your duties long enough to take in the sight of these fit, young athletes, naked and covered in soap and water, playing so freely in front of you. You feel your cock responding as you discreetly try to check each one of them out.

You are startled when you hear a voice behind you. “Hey, step on it, will you? I’m almost ready to go. You are still planning on coming with me to the party, aren’t you?” You look, and you see the blond guy who helped you earlier. He is shirtless, and his hair is wet and messy, as he finishes getting dressed.

So apparently Nate has plans to go to a party with a football player. That’s curious, you think. Based on your understanding of the pecking order, jocks don’t tend to socialize that much with guys who end up being water boys for the team.

This presents some risks. If you go to this party, you are going to encounter people you don’t know, and it might be hard to cover for the fact that you don’t know them. Then again, college parties tend to be loud, drunken affairs, and you might not have any difficulty at all.