Soccer Rivals
Copyright© 2025 by Golden Ghost Pen
Chapter 3
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Two straight high school soccer rivals put their own bodies on the table during a shootout on the field. Their competitive fire lights something else in them.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Reluctant Gay Fiction School Sports DomSub Humiliation Rough Spanking Analingus First Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Spitting Public Sex
Matt tossed and turned in his bed Saturday night, unable to sleep thinking about the 4AM alarm set to wake him for another confrontation with Jack. He still couldn’t believe that he’d saved Jack’s shot Friday, finding a new gear of speed from the motivation to impress his bitter rival and ‘friend’.
He’d made a subconscious decision in the moment of the handshake line as he had one arm around Matt’s strong, muscular frame. The aroma of Jack’s natural smell after 90 minutes on the pitch, the chiseled and defined jawline... ‘what the fuck was I thinking?’ He thought to himself. He’d tried to appear cocky to Jack, employing his usual flirty and confident attitude with girls to woo his counterpart, but was now lying in bed questioning his entire existence.
He’d been in a relationship ... with a girl ... for two full years and still had no explanation as to why Jack seemed to be the only guy he’d ever met who made his heart flutter. He seemed willing to throw away that relationship for the chance at ... what, exactly? The chance to seduce Jack again into some competitive and primal moment of getting off? Jack’s talent on a soccer field and the mystery behind their shared infatuation with each other made him feel alive and challenged like no one else, especially his girlfriend, could. He finally drifted off to sleep around midnight.
This time, it was Matt who arrived early, getting out of his car in the pitch black around 4:52AM. Two lowly lit light poles meant more to illuminate the area around the field for safety were the only sources providing any sense of sight in the area. Now in November, the field was wet with dew and the temperature hovered in the mid-40s, much colder than their last meeting. Matt took a deep breath and stretched, preparing to propose the next ‘game’.
Jack pulled up at 4:58, surprised to see Matt down on the field already, his blonde hair falling around his usual sweatband, pale skin ghostly under the dim light, and wearing long thermal tights down to his cleats under his athletic shorts.
“Hey,” Matt greeted him, the confident smile back on his face.
“Hey...” Jack walked towards him, hesitant now of how to act with the two of them alone after their recent meetings.
Matt met him near the top of the box and held out his arms for a hug. Jack was surprised and eyed Matt carefully. Matt knew he’d asked for a lot - the lies, the continued exploration of their sexualities, the admission that they were both still clearly interested in the other in some way beyond athletics and friendship. He filled in the space that Jack’s skepticism had kept open and pulled Jack in for a deep hug, which he lightly returned, still unsure of himself.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Matt pulled away.
“Yeah ... it’s freezing...” Jack rubbed his own shoulders.
“Yeah ... little different than last time...” Jack shuttered at Matt’s recall of ‘last time’.
“What do you want to do?” Jack asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Crossbar challenge? First to 3?” Matt suggested, wanting a quicker game this time, hoping to speed up getting to the ‘finish’.
“Yeah that works ... playing for?” Jack was careful not to jump to conclusions and wasn’t going to be the one to state the obvious.
Matt hesitated, unsure if Jack was uncomfortable or open to him again. But he came here, which meant lying to his girlfriend and taking another leap into the unknown, “same as last time? Anything?”
Jack slowly nodded, biting his lip from both nerves and a burning hunger.
They jogged to opposing corners of the penalty box as the two small light poles cast long, distorted shadows across this side of the field.
“You ready?” Matt called out, his voice echoing slightly in the morning stillness. He bounced the ball on his thigh, then on his shin, the rhythm a familiar comfort to counter his jitters, a different kind of nervous energy than the competitive drive that usually hit just before a game.
“As I’ll ever be. Maybe I’ll finally win something over you,” Jack replied, his voice a little rough but carrying a bit of humor. He adjusted his position, planting his feet firmly on the dew-slicked turf. He tried to focus on the game, on his shot mechanics, but his senses were hyper-aware of Matt. The lean strength of his legs, the casual grace in the way he held himself despite his lanky, tall figure. It was clear to both of them that this was now far past mutual competitive respect.
Matt took the first shot. He jogged a few steps, his eyes locked on the crossbar, a silhouette against the dark sky. He struck the ball with a controlled power, the satisfying THUMP ringing out. It soared upwards, a perfect arc, and struck crossbar with a metallic clang.
“One nil,” Matt fist pumped, a grin spreading across his face. He didn’t gloat this time, though. His eyes met Jack’s, searching him for some sense of his inner thoughts.
Jack stepped up to his corner and mimicked Matt’s approach, the same jog, the same focused stare. But as he struck the ball, his mind was a whirlwind. He remembered the weight of Matt’s gaze during their last encounter and the taste of ... everything. He was supposed to be straight. He had a girlfriend. Matt had a girlfriend. And yet. These meetings had clearly morphed simply into an excuse to hook up and there was no point in denying it any further.
His shot went high, sailing over the crossbar.
“One nil still,” Matt said, his smile softening. There was a warmth in it now, less competitive triumph than usual.
Jack felt a flush creep up his neck. He nudged a ball towards Matt. “Your turn.”
Matt took his second shot. This time, the ball hit the post with a hollow thud.
“Close,” Jack offered, a little too quickly. He felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Did he even want to win?
Matt chuckled and retrieved the ball, passing it to Jack who lined up for his second shot. It just barely managed to ping off the underside of the crossbar.
“One-one,” Matt declared, looking at Jack with his easy confidence and mojo back. Matt was enamored with the dark haired attacker, butterflies fluttering strong in his chest. He saw not just a rival, but someone who understood his drive in life.
Matt missed his next shot, this time badly soaring it over the net entirely.
Jack’s hands felt cold as he took the ball. He looked at the crossbar and kicked without any charge-up. BANG. Like a gun going off, the ball struck square against the bar.
“Two one...” Jack retrieved the ball, throwing it to Matt, unsure of himself even on the brink of victory.
Matt took a deep breath and stared at Jack, taking in his built frame and dark hair as it moved in the cold morning breeze. He turned on a pivot and took three steps towards the ball before rocketing it directly into the bar. Tied at two.
“Next shot wins? No ‘win by two’?” Matt suggested.
“Yeah...” Jack knew they both just wanted to get to the finish so they could use their competitiveness as the excuse they needed to do what they really came here for.
Jack lined up, knowing he could easily end the game. He could do it. He knew he could. But the thought of winning ... was it really what he wanted? He took a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs. He started his run, the familiar motion automatic. He lined himself up, the ball at his feet. He could see Matt watching him, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Jack swung his leg, but as the ball left his foot, he intentionally guided it slightly wide, sending it skittering past the goalpost, harmlessly into the empty field.
Matt’s eyebrows rose slightly. He didn’t say anything, just jogged over to retrieve the errant ball. He looked at Jack, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual. Then, he jogged back to his own end of the box, the ball now firmly in his grasp.
“My turn, then,” Matt said, his voice softer now, a hint of something questioning in it.
Jack just nodded, his throat dry. He watched as Matt set up. Matt took his run and struck the ball with precision. It flew, a perfect trajectory, and then, that unmistakable clang echoed through the quiet field.
Matt turned, a slow smile playing on his lips. He met Jack’s gaze, and there was a new understanding in his eyes, a silent acknowledgement of Jack’s deliberate miss.