The Fall of Troy Pt. 01

Troy: sooo...do they smell good?

Ears ringing, not knowing what to say.

Troy: cmon, I even wore em for a day and put my socks in em for you before sending.

Jesus H. Christ. I was creeped out, turned on, exposed, flattered, and totally at a loss. I needed to buy time and think.

Me: LOL that was nice of you?

Troy: cmoooon dude stop pretending. Just tell me you liked them.

Me: I'm not sure why you care what I think, I bought them, you got paid, and I left positive feedback.

There was a pause of a minute or two before he began typing again.

Troy: how come I can totally understand and be ok with why you bought them but you can't do the same for me about why I sold em?

Wow. Okay. Crank shot into the goal, 2-0 Troy.

Me: How old are you?

Troy: 25

Phew. At least I was talking to an adult. I double-checked that my chat was "off the record" anyhow.

Me: Fine. They're fucking amazing and I love wearing them. They smell great too.

Troy: HHAHAHA YEAHHHH FOOTFAG i knew it!1

Me: Glad you're amused.

Troy: nah man it's cool. kinda hot actually

Now I was starting to move from creeped out to turned on.

Me: Oh really?

There was a longer pause this time, maybe three minutes or so, and then —

Troy: gotta run

The chat window indicated he was now inactive. I thought about a "talk to you later" reply, but who was I kidding? The kid seemed to have a million potential issues, maybe gets a thrill from selling his used stuff to guys who'll buy, probably just hasn't discovered the sites where he can make bank yet - best to just leave it be and forget about it.

Did all this make fucking his sneakers more, or less hot though? I took a break from all of it and went to bed early.

- - - - - - -

Turns out it was hotter. Searching for "Troy Daniels" and "lacrosse" the next morning netted the information I was now very curious to know. He played for a smaller community college in the next state and had graduated the prior year. So he hadn't played for the big programs, but the boys in the smaller ones got just as sweaty. And this boy...his roster photo revealed fair skin, dark, slightly wavy hair long in the back (an apparent requirement for lacrosse), dark gentle eyes, full pink lips. He wasn't smiling, but he also hadn't posed with that tough-guy-athlete look on his face many of his teammates had. He just looked relaxed, natural, boyish, and almost pretty. But the photos of him in play showed an unexpectedly sturdy build, and legs that were fair, smooth, and heavily muscled like a marble statue. The action photos where he was apparently in the middle of changing directions, where it looked like his legs and feet were assaulting the turf under him, were so sexy. In one of them, he was actually wearing the cleats I now owned. I flipped back to his bio - jersey #18, height 6'0", weight 180, and I happened to know an additional statistic: shoe size 12. Back to his game photos...even underneath a bright red lacrosse helmet, his face shone. Just gorgeous.

PLING

Of course.

Troy: Hey Mark

Were we on a first name basis now?

Me: Hi.

Troy: get off with my shoes today?

Jesus Christ! Before I could type that we probably should just not chat with each other, he replied quickly.

Troy: I wanna see.

Absolutely killing me, this guy.

Me: Oh yeah the last thing I want is to end up on your insta or ticktock or whatever platform of the minute you kids are using.

Troy: kids??? how old are you grampa?

Me: 42

Troy: ooo, daddy!

He punctuated his sentence with the hearts-for-eyes emoji. Well, that was unexpected. I hadn't had my coffee and was still off my guard. Sure, I'd play along....

Me: I prefer "zaddy."

Troy: HAHAHA ok zaddy it is. I wanna see, Zaddy.

Me: I just don't get it. Why?

Troy: do I need to back it up and have you go through why you bought my cleats, and then lead you along to imagine that there might be a similar reason I was selling them?

No no no no he was actually making me like him. This was a valid point and I felt that in some sense I owed him, just a little. Maybe it was some of that guilt previously mentioned. But I managed a playful reply.

Me: Yer a smartass.

Troy: Cum laude, Engineering. Graduate school now for the same. Yes I am.

Dammit. This really wasn't happening. I honestly couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that someone might sell his personal items to derive pleasure in the same way that I was doing by buying them. I figured most just sold whatever would sell, and the ones who had a clue were just opportunists, kind of like the "gay for pay" actors in porn, willing to sell their stuff but not wanting to know what happened to it. And for fuck's sake, he was crap smart and seemed to like older guys too. Dumb fucking luck. I shook my head trying to snap out of it. Still resisting.

Me: This is crazy. I was just trying to be nice and let you know I left feedback.

Troy: You figured out the puzzle I sent you and contacted me by email, when you didn't have to. You wanted to connect with me!

Me: I was just being nice!

Typing...for a while...

Troy: what if I told you you're the only one who figured it out and got in touch with me and I was hoping for it, and now I think it's cool that we're talking? Maybe I was hoping some hot zaddy would figure it out and contact me to tell me how much he liked my shoes.

I think this was the sort of explicit permission I needed to hear, to be able to start to relax and actually believe this was happening. I waited a few moments to really think about whether I should proceed. I still thought about just blocking him - what if he was really just trolling?

Me: What do you want to see?

Troy: you jizzing on my cleats.

Funny enough, I had pictures on my phone of just that, sent to a friend (formerly with benefits, now moved away) who shared similar interests. I found one that was just the cleats, the end of my cock, and cum spattered across the silver stripes. No real identifiers, so I figured what the hell. I sent it to my email, then put it in the chat to Troy. There was no response for a minute or two, then -

Troy: WHOAAA fuck dude! Zaddyjizz right across the side! You really christened those. Nice job.

The kid was turning me on legitimately at this point. I decided to push a little.

Me: My turn. Do you like my cum on your cleats?

Troy: I do.

Me: Does it turn you on?

Troy: "I don't know how to answer that."

Me: Are you fucking making fun of me now?

Troy: HAHA yes.

Me: So, what do I get to see?

He sent me a link to his bio under the lacrosse team roster. I felt a little guilty for having already stalked him, but also flattered that he was clearly trusting me at this point. Or maybe I felt bad that he was trusting me at this point. I knew he had nothing to fear, but how did he?

Me: Seen it.

Troy: Whaaat?

Me: I googled Troy Daniels and lacrosse, it wasn't hard.

Troy: ohhh shit. Yeah I forgot my name is on here, maybe I should change that. Also yeah I bet it WAS hard after you googled!!!

Me: I'll let that one slide. Why did you change your name on the package?

Troy: you know, to keep safe from the freaks who buy my stuff.

Me: Ahem.

Troy: Nooo not you you're cool.

Me: How do you know? I bought your cleats and I smelled them and thought of you and got off, repeatedly.

Troy: whoa whoa howa dude! haha.

Me: Well...just sayin.

Troy: yeah.

I was worried I pushed too hard or I was losing him, or he was confused, any number of things. I thought about asking if he was gay, or bi, or whatever, but didn't think that would help. Text chat is difficult.

Troy: can I see you?

I considered this for a few minutes, and felt it was probably fair at this point. I also figured I'd just send a link, rather than a photo, to be safer; this was weird territory for me. I remembered I had a photo/poetry blog I used to post to regularly, but hadn't for a year or so. The photo of me in the "about" section was only a couple years old, so I sent him the link to that. It was a few minutes before he replied.

Troy: Whoa, Zaddyyyyy

Again with the hearts-for-eyes emoji.

Me: Troy, can I ask you something?

Troy: bi

Me: Haha, okay...and you dig older guys or are you just humoring me?

Troy: Hahah "dig." I think you're "swell" zaddy.

Smartass. And whip-smart.

Me: ...

Troy: Yeah when I like dudes they're generally older than me.

Me: Fair enough.

Troy: my turn. I told you what I do, what do you do?

Me: I'm a physician for a small hospital

Luckily "Mark Smith" was an outrageously ubiquitous name, and I didn't need to worry too much about things like ordering used cleats to my home.

Troy: Whoa, DOCTOR Zaddy!!!

Several emojis made an appearance.

Me: Yes and he now has to do some work, because.

Troy: noooooooooo

Me: I'm guessing we'll chat soon enough.

Troy: Wait send me your underwear.

Demanding little fucker.

Me: I'll consider the request. Now I have to go! :)

- - - - - - -

You can imagine that we chatted more, on and off. He was actually lovely to talk to, about a number of things. Maybe he was bored or looking for friends, but he frequently messaged me during the day. His mom had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and as I had a fair bit of experience with oncology patients, I was able to provide some reassurance and comfort on that front. He was in graduate school for chemical engineering and aspired to work in pharmaceuticals. He told me he traveled locally on occasion as part of his graduate program, and often made the joke, "I know where you live," and 'threatened' to visit. I told him he was welcome to visit but that a heads-up would probably be nice. It was weird to become friendly, given the circumstances under which we had met, but he became this friendly presence that would "bother" me frequently by chatting when I had my email open. Like most acquaintanceships of this kind, communication kind of peaked and then trailed off somewhat, until we just chatted sporadically.

Oh, and yes, I did eventually send him some underwear, sweated in, but "not jizzed on or anything like that," per his request.

- - - - - - -

The year was drawing on and fall was settling in. I was busy working from home on Halloween evening, shifting focus back and forth from phone calls, to the stream of adorable trick-or-treaters coming to my door. I hoped supplies would last until 8 PM, the official end of the evening's candy-gathering in my neighborhood. As fewer and fewer witches, superheroes, and toddler ghosts came to call, I thought about a nice hot bath and some creepy podcasts or YouTube stories. When the clock read 8:10, I figured it was time to close up for the evening. As I started to head towards the foyer from the living room, the doorbell rang. Never one to deny a kid candy, I detoured through the dining room, grabbed the bowl, and continued to the front door.

There behind the full-length glass of the storm door, illuminated by the house lights and the various decorations, stood a briefly terrifying sight. I blinked for a second after my heart restarted, and regarded the person who ostensibly had come late for candy. At about 6'0", this was no kid. But he was in costume, with knee pads, a white-and-red jersey with the number 18, a red helmet obscuring his face, and gloved hands...holding a lacrosse stick.

I pegged him for 180...and a size 12.