Spitball (Patreon)

I think you guys are gonna' like this one! 

All characters are consenting adults (18+) 

Tucker would have worn a golden crown if he thought that he’d get away with it. In fact, by the end of the year, he probably would wear a golden crown, once everybody in the school cast their vote for him.

There’s no need to go into the specifics. When a guy is undoubtedly going to become the next prom king, nobody needs to hear the details about how popular he is. Hell, why wouldn’t he be popular? He had everything that anybody could ever wish for.

Six foot two, well built in all the right areas. Painfully, undeniably, ridiculously handsome. He was smooth, too, and not just smooth in the usual cocky jock way, either. He could sweet talk his way out of a murder charge, as long as he flashed his sparkling grin, and winked his pale green eyes. He had a way about him. I can’t describe it, it’s just a way.

The way he walked through the halls. The way he laughed. The way he celebrated on the football pitch. The way he shoved me out of his way every time he walked by me.

Yeah, Tucker had a way.

I’d known him for a long time, though, admittedly, that knowledge was a one way street. You see, everybody knew Tucker Benson. Everybody, so I wasn’t too upset that up until recently, he had no idea that I even existed. I mean, a guy that popular can only know so many people, right?

Of course, much like all the other girls in school, I did what I could so that he’d take notice of me, but the difference between me and the other girls in school, was that I wasn’t a girl at all. I was an eighteen year old nobody, and Tucker was an eighteen year old somebody, so the entire thing was never destined to work.

I started by simply existing in spaces that he’d frequent. The cafeteria, the crowded hallways, and one time I even sat near him in the library, and that’s when he finally took notice.

I could hear them mumbling behind me, but it was the spitball that splashed against the back of my head that made me realise that it was me who they were talking about. When a second one hit my neck, and their laughter drew the attention of the librarian, I decided to get going, but it was enough to put me on Tucker’s radar.

“Hey, Spitball” he grinned the following day, as the guys either side of him cackled. For most people, that would have been a crushing blow, but for me, I took it as a win.

Sure, he only knew me because him and his friends decided to have a laugh at my expense, but he knew me. If I had to answer to the name Spitball for a while, so be it. Tucker Benson knew me.

So, yes, I was a bit pathetic about the whole thing, but who could blame me? He was the hottest guy I’d ever laid eyes on. Hell, I was pretty damn sure that he was the hottest guy in the state! So yeah, I’d answer to Spitball if it pleased him, and I didn’t give a shit how pathetic that sounded.

The name took off after that, and within a week, half of the school had joined in. Everywhere I went, I heard the name follow, but every time I saw Tucker, and his plump lips spread into a big, devious grin, my heart soared.

“Hey Spitball!” He’d say, and unless I got out of his way before he reached me, I’d end up shoved against whatever object was next to me. I didn’t care. In fact, I began to crave it.

I went out of my way to bump into him. I’d walk around the entire school just to feel his hands shove into my chest. God, I was turning into a fucking freak, but I couldn’t help it. The guy lived in my brain, and the only rent he had to pay, was in the form of a silly nickname and a shove.

The closer it got to the end of the year, the more obsessed I became with him. I’d stand by the bleachers, just to watch him train. I’d sit across the cafeteria, just to watch him eat. On one occasion, I just happened to be in the toilets at the same time he arrived, but I bottled my chances and scurried out when his powerful flow splashed against the urinal. That had been the closest I’d come to getting a good look at Tucker, besides the shirtless celebrations on the football field.

I knew it was becoming a problem, but I also knew that unless I tried it, I’d forever regret the chance I blew. Was it insane? Of course it was. Tucker had gone through half of the pretty young women in the place, and I certainly wasn’t a pretty young woman.

Granted, I was a relatively cute guy, but something told me that Tucker wasn’t all that into guys. Perhaps I should have listened to my own brain.

It was Thursday at lunch time, and just like always the halls were packed with bustling students. There he was, across the way, laughing and joking with a group of his friends, and looking as fine as ever. Fuck, he was hot.

He wore a red, fleece football hoodie, with the school logo stitched into the front. Even through the thick fabric, his arms bulged. Around his broad shoulder hung his training bag, and in his strong hand, he gripped a water bottle. I knew he was training right after lunch, so as soon as the bell sounded, I pushed through the crowds to follow him.

It was dumb. It was stupid. It was the craziest thing I had ever considered. But I had to do it. I just had to see if there was anything there, so as soon as he got outside, and the rest of the students disappeared into non-existence back in the building, I let out a shaky, stupidly-pitched yelp, and his head spun back to me.

“Spitball?” He said, squinting as though he’d never seen me before in his life. “T’fuck are you doing out here?” He scoffed, “don’t tell me coach Vance wants you on the team”.

Why had I done this? Every alarm bell in my head began to explode as I realised how fucking moronic it was to approach Tucker Benson. The Tucker Benson. I could have picked anybody else in the world to have a painfully strong crush on, but my dumb ass had to pick him.

“N… No” I half laughed, half whimpered. “No I uh… I just um… I uh”.

He scrunched his perfect nose. Jesus fuck, why was he so good looking?

“I was just um…” I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say it. My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth and my heart felt like it was fucking vibrating.

“Spit it out, Spitball” he said, checking an imaginary watch. “I got places to be”.

“Yeah” I nodded, and then gulped, but the gulp caught in my throat, and I coughed. Then I coughed again, and no matter how much I tried to hold it in, I continued coughing and choking, and making a fucking show of myself.

When I eventually looked back up, my eyes teary and my face red, Tucker stared at me like I was some sort of bug.

“You’re a real weird kid, Spitball” he said, and turned on his heel.

“I have a crush on you” I blurted, and the entire world stopped spinning as the two of us froze.

There was nothing more I could do. The proverbial cat had just ripped through the fucking bag and shit all over the place as it jumped straight into a blender. I watched, my guts squirming in horror, as Tucker lifted his head, jerked it slightly, and very, very slowly, began to turn back around.

“I uh… I was just… I mean, I didn’t… I… It was…” I sounded like a broken radio. Words didn’t make sense anymore. Not even in my head. I just stood there, spluttering and reeling off whatever rushed through my brain, and when I saw Tucker’s face, I wanted the ground to open up and shoot me in the fucking throat.

“What did you just say?” He asked me, without a shred of humour on his handsome face.

I opened my mouth in an attempt to dig myself out of the grave that I’d just created, but when Tucker marched toward me, fists clenched and eyes filled with fury, all I could do was wince, and brace myself for the beating of a lifetime.

“Huh, Spitball?” He snarled, as I cowered, with my shoulders hunched and my body bent forward.

“I’m sorry!” I squirmed, waiting for the first punch. And then I waited a little longer. And a little longer. And after almost thirty seconds of trying not to piss my pants, I opened one eye and found him laughing. Laughing.

“You’re a funny guy, Spitball” he nodded, and slapped my shoulder, which almost dislocated it, but I didn’t mind. It was all in jest, and I stood up and tried to brush off what had just happened.

“Yeah!” I said, laughing with him. Except my laugh was a laugh of relief for not being in a coma. Humiliation for just telling the hottest, straightest guy in school that I was in love with him, and misery, because why the fuck did I ever expect somebody like Tucker to ever feel the same way about me?

“Anyway” he said, and threw his bag back over his shoulder, “I don’t swing that way, man. Sorry”.

I wasn’t sure how to react to that piece of not-so-breaking news. Now I was completely confused, because did Tucker believe me or did he think I was joking? I didn’t know whether to laugh or shrug, so I did a mixture of both, and he cocked a brow again. I needed to stop being so damn weird.

“I better get going” he said, nodding his head toward the football field.

“Yeah” I swallowed, “yeah, good luck out there!” I added, with a stupid pump of my fist. He squinted at me again.

“It’s practice” he said, a little too slowly.

“Right… Yeah, practice, I know… Good luck with practice”.

He continued to stare at me before letting out a short, sharp laugh and walking away. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back and took a deep breath.

“God, you’re a fucking loser” I said to myself, but my personal dialogue was interrupted when I heard Tucker’s voice again.

“You can suck my dick some time if you want, though” he shouted across the field, and continued jogging into the distance as my entire life flashed before my very eyes.