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First-Time Jocks in the Campground

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks in the Campground, a new story by Happiest Ending!

Wayne stomped away from the campsite feeling like a spoiled child. He was twenty-one, but he was acting like a brat. He knew that. He just couldn’t stop himself.

Sheila had gone, and everyone else was fucking. Balls slapped against pussies and asses, and men grunted while women moaned. Almost the entire GHU football team was here, and they had all brought a girl. Now Wayne was the only single one in the whole site. He couldn’t bear to stick around, that was why he left.

It would be too humiliating to simply walk around the campground alone. He couldn’t do that. He had hated going anywhere alone ever since coming to college — back in high school, he was the most popular kid around, the star football jock and all-American handsome stud, and he always teased the kids who ate lunch alone.

But nearly everyone on his college football team had been the most popular kid in their high school. Wayne wasn’t special anymore. He wasn’t even the star quarterback, just a backup. Everyone thought the kicker Ronaldo Tironi was the sexiest player on the team, and he wasn’t even American — he looked more like an underwear model than an athlete anyway, Wayne thought.

Ah, yeah, suck it, bitch…

Sheila had gone because Wayne called her a bitch. He didn’t say it in an insulting way. A lot of other guys said that when they fucked. It was just dirty-talk, he thought. Wayne had, admittedly, said it a bit early — she was just starting to suck his dick when he said it — and he hadn’t said it in a sufficiently light-hearted manner like the others.

So now his entire team was off fucking their girls, probably trading females without him. His dick could do nothing more than painfully wither to full limpitude. It was so unfair.

He had grabbed his shower stuff simply because he wanted his teammates to think he was walking away for a purpose, not because he was a loser whose girl had dumped him. Maybe, he thought, they’d think she was going to fuck around with him in the shower. He headed towards the showerhouse simply because he had nowhere else to go.

Since no one was in there, and Wayne had everything he needed, he thought he might as well take a shower. He was going to do it eventually, and he’d rather do it now, when no one was around, instead of later, when all the drunk rednecks and fat-ass bikers who camped here would be showering. Wayne showered with his teammates a lot, but he didn’t cotton to the idea of showering with a bunch of fat old strangers.

The showerhouse was empty, which was nice. Wayne was glad to see that there was even hot water. The showering area was open to the stars, like an inner courtyard surrounded on all four sides by a square shelter with toilets, sinks and a baby-changing station.

The shower didn’t relax him. Even with no one around, the bikers whooping drunkenly and the prospect of strangers coming in any time were nerve-wracking for Wayne. He showered quickly.

Then someone did enter. Wayne’s heart skipped a beat, picturing some massive biker with a big swinging dick advancing towards him like the climax of a prison movie.

But it was a small man, skinny, weak, not a biker at all. He had an idle grin on his face as he entered. He glanced at Wayne but didn’t say anything to him.

Wayne didn’t want to look weird, so he turned around. It looked like the small man was going to brush his teeth, and Wayne intended to look the other way until he was gone.

“Hi,” said the man, startling Wayne. He turned around to face him. The other man looked up at him. “I’m Holly.”

“Oh. I’m Wayne,” Wayne said. He had never met someone new when they were both naked. It was awkward. He couldn’t look down without seeing Holly’s cock and balls. He couldn’t bring himself to look in any direction — what was the etiquette in a campground showerhouse anyway? — so his head rigidly stared forward, above Holly’s head, at the wall behind him.

“You look horny, Wayne,” Holly said with a giggle. Wayne realized only then that he was gay — he had a lilting flamboyance that strongly suggested it — and became nervous. He thought he should cover his crotch but that seemed silly, since Holly had been looking at it for some time now.

“Oh.” Wayne bit his lip.

“I can help,” Holly said softly. He really did sound like a woman, Wayne thought. He had a light voice with a singsong note to it, and he carried himself like a girl. Holly reached for Wayne’s dick. Wayne watched his hand move as though in slow motion. He told himself to leave, or just to tell Holly to fuck off.

Shower Trade: The Green Barn

Here’s the entirety of Shower Trade: The Green Barn, a new story by Bubba Marshall! If you like gay erotica about rednecks, you’ll like the bundle Gay Redneck Erotica, Vol. 2 , which features this story and five more like it!

Roger felt like his body was falling apart. He had gotten a job as a farmworker in the summer of 1951, just to make a little money before he headed off to college at Goldendale Hills University. Luckily he came from a rural part of eastern Mississippi were the soil was poor, which meant there was not enough demand for farmwork to attract very many of the braceros who did most of that labor outside of Mississippi. That was the only reason he and his friends had managed to get a job picking strawberries at all.

It sounded like dainty women’s work. A part of Roger knew that it wasn’t, that just because little girls loved strawberries didn’t mean little girls were capable of picking them. A part of him wanted it to be a difficult job — he had always been pudgy, and he thought a summer of hard work might help him lose the weight. He had a wrestling scholarship to Goldendale Hills University, so he needed to get in shape. He thought a summer job working hard in the fields would be a great way to get himself ready for training in the fall.

But he had no idea how arduous it would be. By the end of his first day, he was dripping with sweat. The hot Mississippi sun pounded on him like a fist, like he could really feel its rays smacking into him. It was windy, but that didn’t help, it just blew more waves of buffeting heat and humid air all over him. His shirt and his pants were caked onto his skin, like he might not ever be able to undress. His socks were soaked in sweat, which also dripped off his brow in rivulets.

He stumbled at the end of the day, unable to even walk normally. He staggered through the fields with the other workers, who talked and laughed like they did this every day — of course, they did do this every day. They were just as sweaty as Roger, but they were better able to tolerate it.

“Yee-haw! I’m going out to the bar once the old lady passes out, who’s with me?! I am gonna get sinful with whichever bar wench looks at me first!”

“It’ll be Suzie-“

“Any bar wench except Suzie!” They all laughed as though this was a hilarious joke, but Roger had the feeling they made this same joke every day. A couple of the men grabbed their crotches, outlining their cocks in the denim of their jeans, and spat on the ground — Roger didn’t know if they were expressing scorn towards Suzie or suggesting that they would, in fact, fornicate with her despite her being unappealing. He suspected it was both. He blushed. His father had always taught him that speaking ill of women, grabbing one’s lower regions, carrying-on and spitting in public were all markers of poor character. But Roger was too shy to say anything to the other workers; he wanted to be accepted just like the others, so he just nodded and went along with it. He was too tired to tell them they were committing serious sins anyway.

There were two barns that the workers split up to go to after their shift was done. There was a red barn at the north edge of the farm, in which the vast majority of the workers went to shower. Roger suspected there would be a line there. There couldn’t possibly be enough showerheads for everyone at once, and Roger didn’t want to wait.

So he decided to go to the green barn, which was a little further away, along the northeastern edge of the farm, away from the road and away from the main farmhouse. That, he thought, must be why the workers had mostly gone to the red barn, because it was closer and larger and newer. The green barn was distant, small, old-fashioned, ramshackle and it smelled permanently of goats.

It was just a small barn that had been rigged with running water for a big group shower. It wasn’t even an actual shower — the red barn had real showerheads in individual stalls, but not the green barn — it was just a powerful hose suspended over the barn floor and possessing many small holes aimed in every direction. It sprayed lukewarm water. There was a little changing area with some slabs of wood to use as benches, and next to it was a shelf lined with ratty thin towels and bars of white, unscented soap.

The green barn was primitive, but it was exactly what Roger wanted in the heat of the moment. He didn’t want hot water — he would have been happy with ice-cold water if that was an option. He didn’t want to choose a spot to shower in or wait for his preferred stall, which is what he would be doing back at the red barn. He’d have to sit there crowded by naked, hairy men older than he was, their bodies brushing against him and everyone having plenty of opportunity to see Roger’s dick. He would feel vulnerable there, not that he really felt safe and comfortable here either.

“New guy’s horny, huh?” someone shouted when they realized Roger was here. The other workers laughed.

Roger smiled. What did that mean? He wasn’t especially horny. He was too tired right now. He didn’t like ribald talk. His father taught him not to act that way. But he knew most of the men here had been in the Army until very recently, fighting in the Pacific and in Europe — they had learned rudeness and crudity there, or so Roger’s father sermonized over and over. Roger respected their service and was intimidated by their machismo; he was just a bit too young to have ever served, and he was raised as a pacifist anyway. He just hoped none of these men ever found out how easily-intimidated he was.

“Green barn! The green barn!” They were shouting, at each other and at Roger, who had no idea what was happening or why they were so excited. Obviously there was some special significance to the green barn, something Roger didn’t know. He pretended to be just like the others, and he nodded along as though he knew why the green barn was important.

He felt small and weak in comparison to the other workers. He was the youngest by far — most of the other young men went to the red barn, it seemed. The men here were rough and tumble types, would-be cowboys and brawny bikers, men who looked like they struggled to come in to work sober every day. Now that they were getting naked, Roger could see their muscles and the military tattoos they had, reminding him yet again that he was youthful, pitiful and frightened. Some of them even had naval-type tattoos. Roger’s father said that tattoos were a sin, and that sailors were not trustworthy. Roger felt a twinge of fear as he steeled his nerves.

“Why did everybody else go to the red barn?” Roger asked Brad Hixton.

Brad was the nicest person in the green barn, at least out of the folks Roger had met so far. He was tall, broad-shouldered, easy-grinned, with a confederate flag tattoo over his heart. He had a thick mop of blond hair that was soaked with sweat even before he got under the spray of the water. Brad guffawed at Roger’s question, attracting attention from the other workers.

“Hey, this guy ain’t know about the green barn!” Brad called out. The others laughed along with him.


Brad placed one hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can still go to the red barn. Normally we don’t make it easy to change your mind, but we know you’re new. I’ll make sure the others let you go, if you can’t handle the green barn,” he said. “You see… The green barn is for men who want to… Well, it’s for men of loose morals.”

“… What?”

Brad laughed again, and the other workers who were within earshot laughed too. Roger blushed. He was down to his underwear, but most of the others were naked now, including Brad, whose massive cock put Roger to shame. It swung between his legs like a pendulum. Roger found it very distracting, which made it hard to focus on understanding Brad’s words.

“We trade sex,” Brad said with a wide grin. “Sodomy. We trade, uh… womanly acts.” He raised his hand to get attention from the other workers, who filed their hairy, sweaty, tattooed bodies into the shower. Brad addressed them. “Hey, the new guy didn’t know about the barns, guys. Let him leave, okay?”

“Uh…” Roger’s heart skipped a beat. Was this barn really meant for homosexual activity? He couldn’t believe that. Mr. Walsingham — he was the farmer who owned this land, and both barns — was a good, Christian man. He went to church where Roger’s father preached; that was how Roger got this job. Mr. Walsingham wouldn’t tolerate any kind of sodomy, would he?

“So, if you aren’t manly enough to handle this, go ahead back to the red barn. That’s a great place for small, weak men who don’t want anyone to see their manhood,” Brad said. He glanced down at Roger’s cock, which was small. It wasn’t always tiny, it got a lot bigger when it was hard, but Roger blushed just the same. “It’s okay. Only really horny horse-cocked men have a need to drain their balls like this. Don’t be embarrassed. If you don’t need to, you’re a better, more civilized man than us.” He and the other workers cheered on their own barbarism. They pounded on their own chests and smacked each other’s hairy asses, laughing at their horseplay.

But of course, Roger was embarrassed. He didn’t want to seem like half a man. So he cleared his throat and said, “No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay. I’ll… do whatever.” He looked down at his feet as Brad clapped his hands.

“Really? Wow, you did not look like the type,” Brad said. He shrugged and headed into the shower water. He closed his eyes as it ran through his thick blond hair and washed over his flesh. His muscles rippled, attracting Roger’s attention though he tried to look away. He didn’t want to look like what his father called a lavender lad.

Roger went into the water too. It did feel good. Now that he had sat down for a few minutes, he was no longer quite so exhausted as he had been. He had caught his breath But his legs still felt like jelly; they might have even felt worse now that they rested for a bit.

“Now get down on your knees,” Brad said. He wagged his dick in Roger’s direction. It was thick and soapy, fleshy, almost inviting for some reason. Roger really did want to taste it, even if the others were already teasing him for it and he hadn’t even begun.

Suck it down, rookie!

Some of the other men were already touching dicks. They laughed nervously when they did, like they were regretting choosing the green barn. Some of them grabbed each other’s cocks, others touched themselves as they watched.

Roger sunk to his knees. He was shocked at himself for agreeing to this, but he wanted desperately to fit in. Besides, he thought, he might be able to distract anyone from noticing he had a small cock — and if he got hard, they might not even see it until it had gotten bigger.

Brad had a cocky grin on his face. He slapped his cock over Roger’s face and laughed when he winced. The dickmeat was slick and sour. It still tasted like sweat even though it had been washed off by the shower spray; it still tasted of salt and body hair and sunlight and loamy soil, and it still made Roger hungry despite his distaste for it.

Then Roger choked a little as Brad fed his dick into Roger’s throat. The taste of cock filled his senses. Brad’s dick stiffened and hardened so quickly Roger could watch it swell until it was hard as rock.

“Open your mouth wider,” Brad said with a chuckle.

Make him suck it! Make him suck it, Brad!

Precum leaked down Roger’s throat. It tasted sour and salty-sweet, and it made Roger’s eyes water. He was surprised not just by how quickly Brad was getting hard but also by how hard he got — Roger was never that hard. Brad’s cock was like a crowbar in his throat, a hot rod of steel.

He was also surprised because he really didn’t mind the taste of cock or of precum. It wasn’t exactly delicious, but there was something savory and craveable about it. Roger wouldn’t have minded doing this again.

Not that he planned on doing it again, mind you. He fully intended to shower in the red barn from now on. He didn’t want to admit he had made a mistake, so he would just tell the other workers that he was no longer horny, that he had showered in the green barn today because he wanted to have sex, and after today, he will have chosen to shower in the red barn because he didn’t want to have sex. No mistake. No perversion. No sodomy.

But before he could enact that plan, he had to get through today. He was so focused on sucking cock that he didn’t hear the other workers chant.

Stick it in his ass, Brad!

Make him a whore!

Brad looked a little nervous, like he didn’t expect it to go this far. No one else was having anal sex. There was only one other pair of workers sharing oral sex — most of them just circlejerked. Normally they all circlejerked in a big circle, but today half of them watched Roger suck dick. Roger had no idea that it wasn’t commonplace to suck cock here in the green barn, but he was beginning to get suspicious because no one else had begun doing so.

“Okay, now it’s your turn to bend over,” Brad said. He drew in a deep, satisfied sigh.


“Don’t worry, it’s real easy. Just get down on all fours,” Brad said. He didn’t wait for Roger to get ready, he pushed him into position on his hands and knees. Lukewarm shower water sprayed over Roger’s back, and someone swiped slick soap on Roger’s ass to lube him up.

Then a powerful, mounting pain hit him in the backside. Roger moaned, in pain first and then pleasure as the most incredible sensation of his life hit him. There was intense pressure that he couldn’t quite handle, and he screamed.

The other men clapped and hooted. They were shooting their own loads now as they watched, circlejerking onto the floor of the green barn just a few feet from where Roger crouched.

“Hey, get off!” Brad shouted, yelping as he pushed Lawrence away — Lawrence was a greasy cowboy-type farmworker who had rammed his finger in Brad’s ass because he thought it was funny. While Brad worked his dick into Roger’s butthole, Lawrence got the other workers to watch while he slipped his pinkie finger into Brad. They all guffawed together as Brad shoved Lawrence away.

Brad grabbed ahold of Roger’s hair, and he pulled just tight enough to keep him from squirming. That placed Brad’s strapping chest muscles right against Roger’s bare back, so Roger could feel the strength and the power radiating off him. It made Roger feel weak, but he didn’t mind anymore. He was glad to be weak in front of Brad. He wanted to feel Brad’s dominance on top of him, inside him and throughout every inch of Roger’s body.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you,” Brad said as he reached around to Roger’s cock. It was hard, so it had grown considerably, but Brad still snickered. “Damn, that is one tiny cock.”

“It’s not that small!”

But arguing about it just made Roger seem defensive and drew attention to it. Soon the other workers were kneeling in front of him to see, and they all laughed, gibbering about how tiny it was.

It’s like a fingernail!

Are we sure he ain’t a female?

Cum popped off all over the place. The shower did not feel very clean, and Roger realized he now felt dirtier than he had when he first came in. If it was like this all the time, he thought, then the floor here must be covered in cum. That made him feel grimy and gross because he was on the floor now. How many stale old loads was he rubbing himself into right now?

But he couldn’t concentrate on that. His body writhed in both pain and pleasure, precum leaking down Brad’s fingers as he stroked Roger off. Roger knew it was embarrassing to get hard with a cock in his ass, but he couldn’t help it.

Oh, wow, Li’l-Dick Rookie is into it! He loves it!

With a cock like that, I knew he was a girl!

His prostate sang and screamed as Roger reached orgasm. He grunted. He gasped. He heaved for air, writhing beneath Brad’s farm-toned muscles. Cum sprayed over the floor and Brad’s fingers.

Roger sighed. His entire body went limp and he collapsed belly-first onto the pile of steaming-hot cum he had just sprayed. Brad cheered.

“Hell yeah, I made you blow first! That makes me a champion!”

Every else clapped and laughed. About half the workers were proud of Brad and jeered at Roger, while the other half thought that Brad should be more ashamed of his sinfulness. Brad pumped his biceps and wiped his cum-dripping hands off on Roger’s back. The shower water washed away all of Roger’s load from his back, but his stomach — which had become covered in cum when he laid in his own load on the floor — was not facing the water, so most of his semen stuck to his skin there.

Then he withdrew his cock all the way from Roger’s ass. He called for silence and everyone watched as Brad very slowly pushed his entire manhood back in.

“Gonna finish now, fill you up on the inside…” Brad groaned right into Roger’s ears.

Roger squealed and yelped. He couldn’t even pretend to be in pain anymore — there was a little pain, but it was overshadowed by the mind-blowing pleasure of his prostate being stimulated. Roger moaned. His fingers tightened into claws that ripped at the loose, splintery boards of the green barn floor.

He sensed Brad’s orgasm a few seconds before it began. Brad’s chortling laughter turned into a low, grumbly groan of bliss, a cringing sound so intense it made the hair on the back of Roger’s neck stand on end.

Cum sprayed into his ass, a big, creamy load that soaked into his flesh. It dripped into the folds of his guts as he took wad after wad of hot cum. Its heat seeped into his body, and Roger could feel it in his arms and his legs, his fingers, his toes and even in his face.

Finally it was all over. Roger was limp, on the floor on his belly, both sides of him covered in cum, both his own and the other workers — they had circlejerked onto the floor, but in the confusion and cramped quarters, Roger ended up with more than a little bit all of him as well. He couldn’t tell if he should cry, fight or beg for more. He wanted to do all three.

But more than that, he wanted to lay there and bask in the aftershocks of his orgasm. They cracked through his body like earthquakes, so intense he couldn’t think about anything except the mind-blowing experience he had just had. He didn’t know how long he rested there on the floor. It felt like eons.

Eventually, however, he was done. He crawled to his feet, and sheepishly exchanged glances with the other workers who were still here. Brad had gone, as had most of the others — once they blew their wads and finished their showers, there was no reason to stick around.

One person was left, standing there naked and watching him with pity in his eyes. He was Gerry, the oldest of the farmworkers, well into his forties though with a well-muscled body that could keep up with the younger workers.

“You okay?” Gerry asked. He put one hand on Roger’s shoulders as Roger finally rinsed off all that cum. He felt clean for the first time since he had started work this morning.

Roger nodded.

Gerry smiled. He led Roger back to the changing area, where they both slowly put some clothes on. Roger was dazed and groggy.

“Next time,” Gerry said, “you should hold back. One of the rules of the green barn is that whatever you give, you gotta take too. So if you didn’t cum first, you could have made Brad bend over and take it in the ass.”


Gerry nodded. “Next time. If you’re ready, I’d be glad to fuck you next time.”

“And then I get to fuck you?”

“Well… I’m going to give you a reacharound just like Brad did,” Gerry said with a grin. He headed towards the door to the outside, and Roger followed. “If you blow your load in my hand, then you don’t get to fuck me. So enjoy it, but don’t enjoy it too much.”

“Oh, okay. I, uh, I can do that,” Roger said. He wasn’t very confident in that though. He had enjoyed himself so much he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to hold off on cumming the entire time he was fucked. If it always felt like it did today, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to delay it at all. If it was always like that, he’d never want to slow down.

He decided right then and there that he was going to shower in the green barn every day.

Respecting Coach Browne

Here’s a sample from Respecting Coach Browne, a new tale from the All-Strong League! This is hot black dilf-coach on college-jock action!


“You better be sorry, boy,” Coach Browne said. “One!”

Jamal hesitated, then did a pushup. Once he got started, he kept on doing them, grunting with each ascension.

“Two. Three. Four.” Coach Browne counted and placed one hand on Jamal’s ass to guide his lower back and keep him from arching his spine. “Five. You know what grade you getting in Fundamentals of Team Sports?”

“You give grades for that?”

“Hell yeah. And if you come to class and you remember to bring your jockstrap most of the time, you get an A,” Coach Browne said. “Six. Seven.”

“That’s like twenty. You ain’t even countin’!”

“You shut that fool mouth, boy,” he said. The more he interacted with Jamal today, the less he wanted to give him a break. One of the linebackers — Harvey — was a good thrower and had been a quarterback in high school; if push came to shove, he’d be a fine quarterback.

But Coach Browne didn’t want Harvey to be the quarterback. He would never have admitted why: because Harvey was white, and not just white, but a blond Nordic-type. He looked like a quarterback. Coach Browne didn’t want to make the only blond man on the team the quarterback. He had written a letter to ESPN last year, and got it read on-air, complaining about teams that seemed to have a rule of only putting white people in the quarterback position. It would look terrible for him to now take one of the few white men on the team and make him a quarterback.

“Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen,” he said. He was deliberately only counting every other push-up or so. He didn’t want to let Jamal finish this without a struggle.

Jamal scowled at him. He must be having trouble now, Coach Browne thought, because his arms shook and sweat beaded on his shoulders.

It looked like Jamal was about to snap when suddenly his cell phone rang in the pants he had crumpled up on the floor nearby. Jamal got up, went over to the pants and took the phone out. He smiled when he saw who was calling — it must be that redhead, Coach Browne decided.

“If you answer that, you get an F for my class.”

Jamal stopped, phone in hand. He looked at Coach Browne as though there was a chance he was kidding. Coach crossed his arms over his chest.

“You serious?”

“You are gonna show some respect, Jamal,” Coach Browne said. “That means you gotta occasionally tell a girl no. Or in this case, not tell her nothin’. Just don’t answer it. You got somethin’ more important to do, Jamal. Or maybe you don’t. I guess that’s your choice. You can walk out that door anytime, or you can get on the floor and do thirty-six more push-ups.”

Jamal took a deep breath. He looked like he wanted to punch Coach Browne, but he didn’t. He glanced at the phone screen then put it back in his pocket. He got on the ground again and did a push-up; he moved angrily now, like he could punish Coach Browne by doing push-ups quickly.

“Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen,” Coach Browne said. “Keep yo’ back straight, Jamal, I ain’t countin’ these.” He put his hand back on Jamal’s lower back until he straightened his spine. “Good. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.”

He didn’t even think about what happened next. Coach Browne acted on instinct, as he saw Jamal arching his back again. He must be frustrated and having trouble focusing, no doubt thinking of that redhead pussy, so Coach Browne thought back to how his own coach got his attention when necessary.

He slipped one hand under Jamal’s boxers, slipped a finger between his sweaty asscheeks and plunged it right into his asshole. It was hot and moist and hairy, and it was both gross to Coach Browne as well as strangely arousing. Jamal’s asshole squeezed around Coach’s finger.

“Aw, fuck!” Jamal gasped. He stopped mid-push, and his shoulders trembled nervously. He bit his lip.

“Don’t stop, boy.”

He did another push-up, slowly and tremulously, as though if he moved too fast his asshole might shatter completely. When he lifted himself back up, it forced Coach Browne’s finger in even deeper, which made Jamal shudder with pain.

“Twenty-one,” he said.

“Coach…” He winced.

“You takin’ a long time to do fifty push-ups, boy,” Coach Browne said. He wiggled his finger in Jamal’s ass, making the young man yelp and drop to his elbows and knees. “Get back up, Jamal. Do I got yo’ attention now?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You wanna walk out that door?”

Jamal bit his lip. “Kinda.”

“Well, go right ahead,” Coach Browne said. “But if you wanna be on this team, and if you wanna get a passing grade in Fundamentals of Team Sports, you stay right there and show me a little respect.”

Jamal struggled through another push-up.