I haven’t always been a fan of the locker room. I haven’t always been a fan of my body either, and those two things are certainly not unconnected. These days though, I think nothing of wandering around naked after a hockey match, or casually chatting to my team-mates in the shower, even if my legs are burning and my back is sore and my cock is soft and starved of blood.
I like to take my time over getting changed, and sometimes that means I’m the last one in there. Or the first one, if my team-mates decide to prioritise food over the showers. When that happens I like to take a moment to sit back, close my eyes, and let my entire body relax. Any muscle ache is accompanied by a rush of satisfaction and pleasure; it matters (greatly) whether we’ve won, but even if we haven’t, I’m always glad that I’ve pushed my body through 70 minutes of pain.
The changing room is not an especially sinful – or sexual – environment. Girls’ nights in do not typically end in pillow fights (or so I’m led to believe) and my post-game shower has never descended into an orgy of cock and sweat and pent-up testosterone. Well, not really.
More’s the pity – that’s what I say. I’m always exhausted when I get in there, but still something about sitting naked on that bench today made me realise how often I’ve thought about sex in those minutes after a match, when my adrenaline levels are still elevated. How often I’ve wanted someone to come in and take me in their mouth, sucking my cock till it renounces solidarity and leaves the rest of my body to its limp tiredness. I’ve still never done it: post-match sex, in the locker room, with a girlfriend, fuck-buddy…or team-mate. It will happen one day, I’m sure. Till then, I’ll continue to let it distract me each week, as I slowly strip off my kit and get ready to shower with the boys…