Here’s a new story called Latino Alpha Jocks, a hardcore tale of Hispanic locker room action!
James picked up Oscar to bring him into the office. He didn’t normally do that for his clients, but it had become clear that Oscar needed some assistance. James had already given his financial spiel to the rest of the team, but Oscar hadn’t been available at the time. It was a league requirement that all new players had to sit consult with a financial planner like James, who was dedicated to his job. He genuinely wanted these athletes to be successful in their investments.
Oscar wasn’t making it easy, however. Oscar was a professional soccer player for the Los Angeles Strikers, and he was a big enough star that he got paid big bucks. But this had all begun rather suddenly for Oscar, and James had found it difficult to connect with him. Oscar was a notorious bad boy, already being called the “bad boy” of the team — he was a tattooed cholo who looked perpetually hostile,
“Did you look into those securities?” James asked as he pulled into the Strikers’ stadium parking lot.
Oscar grunted indeterminately. He got out of the car, grabbed his workout bag and headed in, low-slung khakis dragging behind his ass. James followed him.
“Oscar? Come on, man, you gotta do something with your money. Hey-“
“Okay,” was all he said. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, then disappeared into the locker room. James hesitated. As a gay man, he loved the idea of following him into a professional soccer team’s locker room before a practice; as a financial advisor, he wasn’t sure it would be appropriate.
“Howdy,” came a familiar voice. It was Coach Bolungu, a Cameroonian-British former player turned team coach for the Los Angeles Strikers. James had a good relationship with him and advised several of his players.
James quickly explained what was going on with Oscar, and Coach Bolungu nodded. He rolled his eyes as though not surprised that Oscar was being uncooperative. Then he opened the door and motioned for James to follow him into the locker room.
The air was humid from hot showers — a lot of the players showered both before and after practice — and the echoing of Spanish-inflected laughter echoed against the tile walls. James’ heart started pounding at the sight of a trio of lanky soccer players stark naked, walking to the showers with their towels thrown over their shoulders.
“Oscar!” Coach Bolungu bellowed.
Oscar poked his head around from the side of a bank of lockers, and he blanched at the sight of James’ smiling face. He screwed up his eyes at James and came forward. He was stark-naked, the hair on his chest stuck to his tattooed skin. He murmured something in Spanish as he stepped forward that made a few teammates nearby titter with laughter.
“Go to your meeting, Oscar!” Coach Bolungu said. “You have to listen to his presentation. It’s a rule.”
Oscar laughed. He put his hands on his hips. He spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, glaring at James, who blushed and looked away.
Coach Bolungu snapped back, “This is a league requirement, Oscar. If you do not invest your money, you will lose it all. I can’t let you play if you do not do this. It is not a matter for discussion.” He turned around and walked away.
Oscar peered at James very closely, as though inspecting him for flaws. James was suddenly acutely aware of his own sexuality. He wasn’t flamboyantly gay, but he didn’t take great efforts to hide it. He knew most of the players who had been around for awhile knew, but Oscar was brand-new to the team, so he probably wasn’t aware.
We did this already, Oscar. It’s not too bad.
Yeah, just do it. Not a gran cosa.
Do it! Quit gettin’ coach mad, or he gonna make us all run!
Don’t be a patada en los huevos!
The other players mostly chorused the same sentiment, in both English and Spanish. Oscar looked crestfallen, as though he had expected his teammates to be on his own — like he was a rebellious high schooler annoyed to learn his college classmates actually took school seriously.
“Uh, okay, Oscar… Mr. Hernandez,” James said, with some satisfaction that he was going to be able to do his job today after all. He didn’t know why some of these athletes resisted it so much; it really was in their best interest to manage their money effectively. “Perhaps there is somewhere we could go? You… uh… You can put on some clothes. I can wait.”
Oscar scowled. He spoke, in thickly accented English, “Over there.” He pointed to an unused corner of the locker room. Then without putting any clothes on first, he headed in that direction. James followed, his eyes drawn inexorably to the man’s perky brown ass. His cholo tattoos extended to his waist but no farther, leaving a smooth, perfectly unblemished pair of asscheeks.
When they got to the unused corner of the locker room, James blushed. Oscar turned around quickly and saw him checking out his ass.
“You are queer, huh, gringo? I knew it…”
James nodded. He tried to clear his mind, to remind himself of what he came here to talk about — Oscar was losing money every day he failed to invest his salary. It really was important.
“I do not want to hear about money, gringo,” Oscar said. “I have plenty. But I will listen if I have to.”
“Uh, okay. This doesn’t have to be difficult,” James said. “It’s really very simple. I’m sure you’re familiar with a stock market, but let me explain some basic terminology so we can be sure we’re on the same page.” Once he got started, James felt better — he had never taught a naked man about financial responsibility, but if that’s what it took to reach Oscar, that’s what he would do.
Oscar sighed dramatically. He called out something in Spanish that James didn’t catch in time, but whatever it was, it made Oscar’s teammates burst into laughter. He got the impression Oscar complained about being horny since Oscar grabbed at his crotch when he spoke.
“Okay, when we talk about shares in a company,” James said. “That means you’ve purchased a small piece of the company. So if a business has a hundred shares available and you buy two, you own two percent of the company. If it has a million shares available, you own two millionths of the company.”
“Yo, I can’t listen to this shit,” Oscar said. “I’m too cachondo. Get to the part of this presentation where there’s strippers. Skip right to that.”
“Yeah, I’ll listen if a stripper explains this to me,” Oscar said with a cocky grin, as though he wanted to see if James would really arrange for a stripper to be his financial advisor. Then Oscar added, “A female! A female stripper, esse, don’t try to make look at a hombre.”
“Uh… Mr. Hernandez, I don’t have any strippers,” James said with a sigh.
“Then I don’t give a shit about any of this.” Oscar crossed his arms over his chest. His ropy muscles were tense, and his thick cock pulsated so close to James that he could feel its heat. Oscar frowned at him. He raised his eyebrows at James. “I’m not listening to a word until I get a blowjob, motherfucker. I’m a goddamn star!”
His heart pounding, James sunk to his knees. He didn’t really think Oscar would let him suck on that thick brown cock dangling between his legs, but James wanted to try — Oscar had specified a female stripper before, but he didn’t specify whom he wanted his blowjob from. If nothing else, James thought, this should lighten the mood.