Talk about sports clubs!

The food slowly disappeared between the three of you, the mountain of fries dwindling as the buzz of the food court carried on around your little table. Jamal finished first, leaning back with his drink in hand, again showing off the impressive bulge in his crotch while watching you and Justin with a lazy grin. The Black man even palmed his crotch a few times, shameless and smug.

“So, Emile,” he said suddenly, breaking a moment of quiet, “you thinkin’ of joining any sports clubs at college?” He gave you a relaxed smile and joked, “Gotta keep that fine body busy somehow, so it doesn’t get too thick.”

You tried your best to ignore his comment and display, shrugging as you picked at the last of your fries. “I don’t know… maybe swimming. I used to swim a bit back home, but…” You trailed off, suddenly aware of heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve got more body fat now. And, uh, swimming trunks don’t exactly… hide things. Especially, you know…” You glanced away, muttering, “my ass.”

Jamal barked a laugh, smacking the table with his palm. “Man, you’re worried about that? That’s the best part of it! Picture it: you strutting out in them little trunks, that thick cake of yours bouncing under the sun. Half the team wouldn’t be able to focus.”

Justin almost choked on his soda, coughing into his napkin. His face turned red as he tried to cover the smile breaking across his lips. “He’s not lying though,” he said softly. “You’d look… really good.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Stop, both of you. You’re insane.”

You looked at Justin, betrayed. “Man, weren’t you supposed to be the quiet shy one? What happened?”

Jamal quickly chimed in. “Oh, I helped little Just here open his mouth real good when you left to get us food…” He smirked. “But isn’t he more fun like this?”

Justin’s face flushed red again. What had they talked about when you left? You weren’t sure you’d ever get a straight answer.

“Insane?” Jamal leaned forward, lowering his voice so only you two could hear. “Nah. I just see the potential. And guess who else swims? Trent. Man’s a beast in the pool. If you joined, you’d be shoulder to shoulder with him. And let me tell you…” Jamal smirked wickedly, “…he loves taking on a challenge.”

You froze, unsure how to answer, your mind spinning at the thought of training alongside someone like Trent. Everything you’d heard of him today created a strange picture. Even when you met the BSA members yesterday, he was the one you overheard making a comment about your body to Jamal. And then there was that triangle—Trent, Justin, Sarah—that you still couldn’t unravel. Hearing he was on the swim team gave you a strange, conflicted feeling.

Before you could speak, Justin jumped in, his voice nervous but eager. “I, uh, I do tennis,” he blurted, almost **** to take the spotlight. “Kinda cliché, I know. Rich boy with a racket.” He gave a shy laugh.

Jamal tilted his head, eyeing him with a sly grin. “Yeah, it’s cliché. But it suits you. All neat and tidy. And you look damn good in those little polo shirts and sports shorts too.”

Justin’s ears turned crimson instantly, and Jamal leaned back, clearly satisfied at how flustered he made both of you.

“What about you?” you asked, seizing the chance to shift attention. “What sport do you do?”

“Basketball,” Jamal said simply, his chest swelling with pride. “That’s my game. Court, crowd, energy—nothing like it. And trust me, Emile, confidence on the court? It’s the same thing I’m talking about with you. People watch. They can’t help themselves. You just gotta give ‘em something to look at.”

He flexed his thick, dark-skinned bicep casually, and the look of his trained body made your heart skip a beat before you caught yourself.

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “You make everything sound like showing off.”

“That’s because it is showing off,” Jamal said, leaning in close, his dark eyes glittering. “And you, my friend, were born to turn heads. Whether it’s jeans, spandex, or swim trunks… you better get used to people staring.”

Justin sat quiet, chewing on his lip, clearly aroused by the direction of Jamal’s words. His tiny cage was biting against his sensitive skin again, though he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the table.

You swallowed hard, trying to laugh it off, but the thought of those swim trunks lingered in your mind, tight, revealing, and unavoidable if you chose to join.

Jamal stretched, crumpling his empty food container and tossing it neatly into the trash a few tables away. “Alright boys,” he said, standing with that commanding energy of his. “We’re not done yet.”

You frowned, confused. “What do you mean? We already got so many clothes today…”

He grinned wide, eyes locking on you. “Yeah, we did. But after our little talk, we have to get something important.” He leaned down, clapping a heavy hand on your shoulder. “If you’re even thinking about swimming at college, we need to get you some trunks. No excuses.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait… swimming pants? Right now?”

“Hell yeah, right now. There’s no better place than here,” Jamal said, already motioning toward the escalators. “There’s a store here that’s all swim gear—suits, goggles, everything. Perfect chance.”

Justin’s eyes widened a little, clearly remembering what had just been said at the table. His voice was soft, almost apologetic. “He’s right, Emile. There’s a shop just down the hall, by the sporting section. They’ll definitely have something in your size. At least… they had some in mine.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly self-conscious again. “I don’t know… I mean, swim trunks in a dressing room? Can you even try those on?”

Justin gave a tiny nod. “Yeah… you can. As long as you keep underwear on underneath. It’s… um… standard.”

Jamal smirked. “See? Problem solved. And don’t even start with that shy nonsense. You’ve got the kind of body that fills out trunks better than half the dudes in this mall. We’re doing this.”

He was already walking ahead, clearly expecting you and Justin to follow. You hesitated, clutching your bag, heart pounding at the thought of standing in front of the mirror in something as tight and revealing as swimwear.