Wet in the Fourth Quarter
It was the day of the big game. Offensive tackle Vince McCoy, a promising sophmore from Sycamore woke up at six in the morning in his hotel room. The night before, he was binge drinking with the rest of the team. They were celebrating the fact that their team had been undefeated in the 2009-10 season and they were about to face the top-ranked Springtown away from home. The brown gator had a hangover that clouded his mind for the rest of the morning. After taking a hot 15-minute shower, Vince wrapped the towel around his waist before walking to the kitchenette. There, he found a bag of potato chips for breakfast.
His cell phone rang on the end table by his bed. The wide-shouldered gator jogged to the phone. He answered.
"Yeah?" said Vince hazily in a deep, burly voice.
"Coach wants us to practice for an hour. He says we need to meet him down at the practice field in 15 minutes," said his teammate.
"What the fuck, Cal? It just turned seven and the game is at five-thirty. Practice can wait." Vince looked at the mirror above his bed, looked at himself and scowled.
"Coach says, 'No, we're starting early,' and we have to do this. We have to prepare, man. Come on Vince, just get your ass down here and you can do whatever the fuck you want to do afterwards."
Before Cal could say another word, Vince ended the call and threw his cell phone on the bed. Vince mumbled incoherently to himself. The gator's headache showed no signs of fading away, but he tried to ignore it. Out of his suitcase, Vince brought out his orange football gear including his shoulderpads, his hard cup and lycra shorts. The gator took some time putting on his hard cup. It had to be positioned just right so his member and sack could rest comfortably. Then he put on everything else. As soon as he got into uniform, he felt complete and the headache disappeared. Carrying his helmet, Vince walked out of the hotel room, took the elevator down to the first floor and jogged down the street until he reached the practice field about a quarter of a mile away.
Cal, a puma, ran up to Vince in uniform as the gator walked onto the field.
"Where have you been? The coach has been looking for you," said Cal.
"Gee, I don't know, fucking your sister maybe?" Vince snapped. "I'm here, so deal with it."
Cal rubbed his forehead with his paw and sighed before putting his helmet on and running to the rest of the team. Vince put on his chinstrap and helmet. The gator reluctantly followed Cal.
The team went on to practice several plays and techniques. After a rocky start, Vince understood the team chemistry and he remembered the plays. After spending a few hours outdoors, Vince felt refreshed, but concerns about the game started to arise. At the final huddle of practice, Vince looked at his teammates in a vain attempt to measure their confidence level, but he was tired. He wanted to ask the coach if he felt the team was going to do well later, but Vince didn't want to jeopardize the team's morale. By the end of practice, he felt a slight groin pull. As a result of that discovery, Vince decided to not join the team for breakfast. He walked back to his hotel room and laid on his bed while wearing his uniform. The gator felt comfortable in his gear. His cup created some satisfying friction against his cock. His scaley skin was covered in sweat, but he felt battle-hardened. He felt ready, but he wanted to stay where he was so he could focus on the big game.
Several hours had passed. The game was about to begin. After the coach's pep talk, Vince and the team ran out to the stadium field. As he ran out to the field, the gator felt his stomach grumbling. Vince winced a little. He was feeling a little uneasy about the game, but he wasn't physically stressed. Something else was bothering him, but as long as he memorized the plays, Vince felt that he could manage.
The first quarter arrived. Sycamore had posession of the ball. Vince shoulder-tackled the defense and protected Cal, the quarterback from being sacked. The next thing he could remember was lying on top of two members of the other team. He grinned, revealing his sharp teeth. His green eyes beamed as he perched himself on top of one of the opposing teammate's sweat-covered rear, which shined brightly due to the lycra protecting it. After a few seconds, Vince rolled off and went back into position. The next play pushed Sycamore into the end zone for their first touchdown.
At the end of the third quarter, it was 21-20 with Sycamore barely leading over Springtown. At the start of the fourth quarter, Sycamore had possession of the ball but Springtown's defense overwhelmed the offensive for five minutes. Springtown forced Sycamore to punt. As the clock started to wind down, Springtown made its way down the field with short, fierce passes down the field that put them closer and closer into Sycamore territory. At two minutes left, Springtown was stopped by Sycamore's defense at the 20-yard line, forcing Springtown to make a field goal. The score put Springtown in the lead at 23-21. The only way Sycamore could make it down the field quickly -- for that limited amount of time -- was to make a series of long passes and hope that none of the passes are intercepted.
Vince looked down at his lycra shorts, rocking back and forth while he sat on the bench. Cal ran onto the field while putting on his helmet.
"Let's go, Vince. We have to hustle," shouted Cal over the cheering crowd.
"Sure, but... dude, I have to pee pretty bad," admitted Vince as he jogged onto the field. Cal couldn't hear what Vince said.
"You have to do what now?"
Vince didn't go to the bathroom since the night before. The adrenaline that carried him throughout the day masked his primal urge to answer nature's call. The urge created a warmth around his loins. The sense of urgency was there, but so was the comfort of the warmth and the tightness around his crotch. He couldn't distinguish between those two unique sensations. All he was concerned about was the game. He was exhausted and he couldn't summon the strength to do a full dash onto the field. The large gator lowered his muzzle and charged straight to the line of scrimmage.
When he went into formation, the gator felt the urge increasing rapidly. He felt his bladder filling up. He nervously grabbed his crotch and pushed his hard cup against his cock. The pangs of urgency made Vince's leg unbuckle when he squatted down, waiting for the hike. Vince couldn't concentrate. There was no restroom in sight. The pangs quickly urged into throbs of pain. The more he thought about holding it, the more pain he received. What made matters worse, the defensive tackle facing opposite of him was looking at him, waiting for him to make one mistake. Behind Vince, Cal was set to hike. Cal looked at Vince since the play's success was contingent on the gator's ability to block the other team. The puma started the countdown.
Vince was desperate. He devised a plan. He could wet himself over time in small increments until the game was over. Nobody would notice. He could dismiss the stains as sweat. Nobody needed to know. Besides, the team would be preoccupied with the results of the game to care about his plight. Vince made eye contact with the other team. He lowered his back and grunted softly. He started to wet his hard cup. The bulging, white pouch on the outside started to turn yellow. The shock-absorbing edges started to lose its elasticity when the gator's musky piss saturated the fabric. Outside of the jockstrap, the white was lost. There was total discoloration. It had to be done, but Vince felt good as a result. He thought he could gamble a bit and wet some more since he didn't see much wetness on his lycra shorts. He wet a little more, but this time, there was more force. The piss splattered against his hard cup with a damp thud followed by a muffled hissing sound as his piss finally permeated his lycra. He was leaking onto the football field. Vince's piss splattered onto his shoes and then on the ground, creating a small puddle underneath him.
The defensive tackle opposite of Vince started to notice what was going on.
"What the fuck is your problem, freak?" said the tackle as he was clearly distracted from the play. At that moment, the play was sent into motion and Vince charged into him. Cal sidestepped behind Vince and sharply tossed the football to the wide receiver who was deep in Springtown territory at the 15-yard line. The wide receiver made the catch and made a clear break for the end zone. He made the game-winning touchdown. Including the field goal, the final score was 28-23. When the referees blew the final whistle, it was apparent that Vince's episode was a clear distraction for Springtown. The coach for Springtown yelled at the team. He threw his cap and headset down to the ground angrily.
"What happened out there?" the Springtown head coached asked as he flailed his arms.
"You wouldn't believe it, but number 45 on the team... See that guy over there? He totally just pissed his pants in front of Ryan. It was sick," said one of the players.
"I don't care if that guy pulled down his shorts and took a shit on the field. It's your job to focus on the play and you failed to do so. Back to the showers -- all of you!"
Several minutes later, Cal, Vince and the rest of the team were jumping for joy in the locker room. There was cheering, yelling and laughing. Vince gave Cal a high-five and they bumped chests to celebrate their victory. Cal patted the gator on the back while Vince remained in uniform.
"Can you believe it? This season, we were undefeated! This blows me away, man. I don't know what happened to Springtown, but they blew their chances. I heard some guy on the team bitching, 'But coach, I saw a guy piss his pants.' They were looking for any excuse, but I gotta tell you Vince. If someone on our team actually did that, I'd hug him right now," said Cal.
Vince extended his arms and chuckled. "C'mere and give me some sugar!" Vince joked.
"Holy shit! Did you actually -- no you're kidding. No, you didn't!" Cal looked at Vince's soaked crotch. "You actually did that? We won the game because they saw you... oh man." The puma walked away in shock. The other teammates looked at Cal and then at Vince. The gator shrugged and the team continued to celebrate briefly before changing into their formal attire for the upcoming press conference.
Vince packed his gear away and went to the press conference. He sat at a corner of the conference room; away from the flashing cameras. He crossed his arms and sat on a chair, watching Cal answer questions from sports journalists around the state.
"Mr. Johnson, I -- uh, my name is Steve Gallen from KROC-TV and I wanted to ask you about a particular comment one of the Springtown players made earlier. Rumor has it that the last play of the season involved offensive tackle Vince McCoy urinating himself on the field. Can you confirm or deny that this actually happened?" asked a reporter.
Cal took a deep breath and looked at Vince with a poker face. The reporter continued before Cal could reply.
"If this is true, did this oddity, in your opinion, influence the results of the game?"
Even though he didn't look nervous, Vince knew he was in trouble. He could feel his heart beating quickly. Slowly, Vince rose from his chair and approached Cal. He walked over to the microphone and said sheepishly, "Mr. Gallen, that question got me so nervous, I almost had an accident. But seriously, um, the rumors are false. We played a good game out there. We saw Cal play a terrific first half and Gary [the wide receiver] really broke through the defense. Coach Roy pushed us hard before the game -- and that made a difference. I think we were all sweating out there, but I wasn't peeing. That wouldn't be right." The reporters chuckled and Cal looked up at Vince, smiling with a toothy grin.
"I thought that this press conference was for me," said Cal jokingly.
"Well maybe if you pissed yourself, you could get more press time." The reporters laughed.
That evening, Vince was getting ready to go to sleep in his hotel room before he heard a knock on the door. The gator rose from the bed. He wore nothing but his white briefs. His large stomach hung over his boxers; it was sloshing as he slowly walked to the door. The chubby gator dragged his long flat tail. When he opened the door, he saw Cal. Dressed in black shirt, shiny red sport shorts and brown sandals, the muscular but slender puma looked at Vince with a sinister grin on his face. Cal crossed his arms. Instinctively, Vince looked down. A wet spot started to form in the center of Cal's shorts, which would then expand rapidly and darken the fabric. Cal wet his pants so extensively that a pure, uninterrupted flow of urine slapped against the carpet outside of Vince's room. He watched in shock as his teammate wet himself shamelessly in front of him. He couldn't explain the feeling in words, but he was aroused. The gator's cock curled around his tight briefs with his veiny, thick outline going sideways -- but he didn't want Cal to see it so he turned to his side and leaned his back against the doorway. When the puma finished, Vince nodded and bit his lip.
"If I could get away with this in the major leagues, I could distract the players and they would be too freakin' scared to even tackle me. Hey, can I come in and hang for a bit?" asked Cal.
"Nope," said Vince happily. He shut the door on Cal, walked back into bed and crawled underneath the sheets. Cal slammed his fists on the door from the outside.
"I can't be seen like this!" shouted Cal.
"Good night, Cal," Vince said softly before turning off the light.