I Used To Play Professional Football

By Willie Cici
published October 5, 2018
Summary

A football player sustains an injury and finds himself in a new line of work …

I was scrolling through a ‘Tumblr’ page and found a blog entry regarding a former news anchor in Texas who became a porn star. My curiosity was peaked. I found and read the article. To read the article, https://thegailygrind.com/2016/10/17/former-texas-news-anchor-finds-second-career-silver-fox-gay-porn-star/. The article inspired this tale.


“Dylan, can we have a talk?”, a man in a business suit and tie shouted.

Dylan Wallace, the multiple Pro-Bowl linebacker for the Iowa Tornadoes, turned around. He noticed three men in business suits on the sideline of the practice field, but he only recognized Cliff Evans, the media office director for the team. The studly footballer, wearing his practice gear and pads, walked over to the sideline and approached the three men. “Hey, Cliff. What’s up?”

“I … uh … Dylan …”, Cliff stammered.

“Say it, Cliff. What’s up?”, Dylan insisted. “Don’t waste my time.”

“Are you dating?”, Cliff asked.

“Yeah. Why?”, Dylan replied, annoyed at the intrusion into his personal life.

“Uh … do you … share selfies with your lady friend?”, Cliff asked.

“All the time. I’m on the road so much. You know how it is.”, Dylan answered.

“Uh … there’s a picture on social media of you. Little embarrassing.”, Cliff said, as he retrieved an iPad from one of the suits standing next to him and saying nothing. Cliff tapped on the iPad and held the screen up for Dylan to see.

On the screen, Dylan saw the selfie that he took for his girl, Amy. He knew that Amy was not the brightest bulb in the shack, but he had hoped that Amy would employ some discretion. Instead, Amy could not wait to share the pic and brag about her hunky football star boyfriend and his hefty cock to her girlfriends. For a moment, Dylan smirked. He remembered taking the dick pic wearing a Steelers wool winter cap. (To see Dylan’s selfie, click here). “Okay. Next time I’ll wear a Tornadoes ski cap.”

“Well, um … that’s not the …”, Cliff said.

“Cliff, what do you want me to do? Every fan, age 18 to 45 has taken a sexy selfie. Do you think that people are going to judge me unfavorably? With 13 sacks in four games, 4 strip-aways, and 4 interceptions? And, by the way, we’re 4-0.”, Dylan replied.

“Well, uh … just be careful next time.”, Cliff said. “We’ll try to get if off the Cloud somehow. The boys in IT think they can track it.”

“I’ll have Amy erase it from her phone.”, Dylan said. “That should help.”

“Okay. Thanks.”, Cliff said.

Dylan returned to the practice field. His fellow linebacker, Tommy Boyd, approached Dylan and said, “What was that all about? Media boys looked worried.”

Dylan shook his head. “Amy shared one of my selfies.”, Dylan said, as he grabbed his package.

Tommy shook his head. “Boy, you is stupid. 27 years old, money in your pocket and good looking. What the fuck do you need a girlfriend?” Dylan turned and stared at his friend. “Amy is home girl. She’s does my laundry. In every other town, Miss X fills the bill.” The two friends high-fived. “Amy sucks a mean cock, but I gotta get rid of her. She’s too fucking dumb.”

“Ladies, you wanna join the fun.”, a voice shouted out. Dylan and Tommy turned and waved to their defensive coordinator. They grabbed their helmets and joined the team in the 7-on-7 drills, already in progress.


Six months have passed –

Dylan donned his sweatshirt hoodie and walked out of the rehab facility, ‘High Impact Therapy’, located in Miami Beach on 41st. His surgeon recommended the facility because of its reputation for treating professional athletes. Luckily for Dylan, the rehab was literally down the street from his winter home in Miami Beach. Dylan unchained his bicycle and headed down 41st street, across the bridge and onto the island. Within minutes, Dylan reached his oceanfront condominium. He grabbed his bike, rode the elevator to the seventh floor, and strode into his condo. He parked the bike in the foyer of his condo, just outside the door of his condo. Dylan grabbed his right knee, his surgically repaired right knee. After five months, despite the best surgeon in the world, the best rehab and caution to the extreme, Dylan’s knee continued to ache. In one crushing moment, Dylan suffered multiple injuries: ACL, PCL, meniscus tear, patellar ligament tear. The stellar athlete, in peak physical condition, had progressed well, but after five months, Dylan feared for the worse. Dylan had planned for life after football. Unlike his meathead friends in college, Dylan actually attended class, pursued a degree and took full advantage of his four-year scholarship. Dylan soaked his university for as much learning as he could, earning a Master’s Degree in four years. If the university expected him to train in the summer, then Dylan enrolled in summer classes. Coupled with his handsome looks and award-winning smile, Dylan understood that his communications/journalism background would provide him options after football. He had hoped that he could survive the League for several years, retire in his mid-30s and start his second career.

But the fates had other plans for Dylan.

Dylan walked into his bedroom. He checked his laptop for any messages, emails, anything. No one from the team called. Dylan felt cut off from his friends, his band of brothers. Given the nature of his injury, he knew that he would remain on ‘injured reserve’ for the 2018 season. He checked his cell phone. He placed a call to Ashley, his Miami hook-up. Ashley took Amy’s place, but did not live with Dylan. Dylan had learned his lesson. Ashley ranked as a first among list of ‘fuckables’. Dylan sent Ashley a text. He tossed the cell phone onto the bed, stripped his clothes and headed for the bathroom. Dylan took advantage of the jacuzzi bathtub and decided to take a hot soaking bath.

After his bath, Dylan toweled his body. He stared at his naked frame in the mirror of the bathroom. Dylan sported a handsome frame before the injury. With a reduction in caloric intake and his rehabilitation exercise regimen, Dylan’s physique changed. From a visual perspective, it actually improved. He lost some weight, but his physique became more sculpted, cobbled and sexy. Dylan’s love life did not suffer. Within three months of the accident, Dylan resumed his regular traffic in the bedroom.

As Dylan donned some compression gear and a t-shirt, his cell phone binged. “Pills.”, he muttered. Dylan could not survive without his pain management regimen, which included many pills.

The one non-prescribed source of relief, however, Dylan learned to appreciate and enjoy. He routinely smoked marijuana, even before the injury. He made sure to refrain from smoking weed from June to September. Once he was tested, Dylan’s squeaky-clean image guaranteed that he would not be tested again until the following September, at the end of training camp. From September to June, Dylan enjoyed his weed. Now, that Dylan did not have to worry about mandatory drug testing, Dylan smoked every day. Dylan went to his stash and found the cupboard empty. Dylan grabbed his keys and walked down the hallway of his condominium to the condo apartment of his friend, Mitch Barnes, a former footballer in the 90s. He knocked on the door of Mitch’s condo. When the door opened, Mitch said, “Hey, kid! What’s up?”

“I ran out.”, Dylan said, with a smirk.

Mitch chuckled. “Come in.” Dylan walked into Mitch’s condo. The unit was the same as Dylan’s, but dated. Mitch clearly enjoyed his 90s retro décor. As Dylan entered the living room, Mitch said, “You must have read my mind. I was ready to light up myself.” Mitch walked onto the wrap-around balcony of the condo and reclined upon the lounge chairs that Mitch had arranged on the balcony. Dylan joined his friend. The two potheads basked in the strong early afternoon sun of a typical Miami Beach day. The calendar read ‘March’, but not on Miami Beach. Mitch handed Dylan the lit marijuana cigarette. As Dylan enjoyed several puffs, he handed the cigarette back to Mitch. “Good shit, ain’t it?, Mitch asked.

“Yeah. I use your guy. I thought I had some.”, Dylan said.

“Don’t worry. Anytime.”, Mitch said. He paused for a moment and said, “How’s the knee?” He handed Dylan the weed and let him take several puffs.

“It’s … okay.”, Dylan said.

“Have you thought about …”, Mitch asked.

“Life after football?”, Dylan said, finishing Mitch’s thought. He took the cigarette out of Mitch’s hand, toked on the weed, and said, “For now, I’m enjoying some weed.”

“Same thing happened to me. But, I had some options.”, Mitch said.

Dylan, relaxed and under the influence, summoned the courage to ask a question. “Mitch, I don’t want to offend you, but … the rumor is that you did porn after football.”

“Yeah. That’s true. Made a lot of money. Bought this condo. Fifteen years ago. Dirt cheap. Great investment.”, Mitch bragged.

Mitch’s honesty shocked Dylan. “I don’t believe you.”

Mitch turned to face Dylan. He rose from the lounge chair and walked into the condo. He returned with a photograph. “That’s me. ‘Mitch Hardwood’.” Mitch handed the photograph to Dylan.

Dylan stared at the photograph and then looked at Mitch. He then stared at the photograph again. It was definitely Mitch, much younger, sporting a porn mustache that looked comical. (To see Mitch’s photograph, click here). “How did you …”, Dylan tried to ask.

“Opportunity arose. Beautiful women. Sex for money.”, Mitch said. He paused for a moment. “I never had problem with the morality of the sex film industry. It was pretty honest, actually. Fuck on camera. Get some dough. At the end of the day, who cares?”, Mitch said. Dylan closed his eyes and said, “I couldn’t do it.”

“Sure you could. Nothing to handle.”, Mitch said. He returned the photograph inside the condo. When Mitch returned, he opened a new baggie, filled a blunt and lit it. After taking several puffs, Mitch handed the blunt to Dylan, who also took several puffs.

“This tastes different.”, Dylan remarked.

“Columbian. Great shit.”, Mitch said. “Smoke it. I’ve got plenty.” Mitch reclined on his lounge chair next to Dylan. As Dylan smoked his weed, Mitch noticed that Dylan could barely keep his eyes open. “You feel relaxed, don’t you Dylan?”

“Yeah.”, Dylan answered, in that pothead cool vibe voice.

“Good. Just picture yourself down on the beach, watching the waves lap upon the shore. Can you see the beach?”

“Yeah.”, Dylan answered. From the wrap around, glass balcony of the condo, Dylan and Mitch enjoyed unobstructed views of the ocean. Between the pain pills and the Columbian weed, Dylan was relaxed, enjoying the stellar ocean view

“Count the waves with me.”, Mitch said.

“1 – 2 – 3 …”, Dylan said, as he counted the waves pulsing upon the shore.

“When you reach 10, we’ll count backwards. With every wave, you’ll feel calm, relaxed. You like this calm, relaxed feeling. You don’t have to worry about football or injury. You just let everything go.”

“10.”, Dylan said.

“Good. Now 9. Calm, relaxed.”

“8.”, Dylan answered.

“Good. 7. Letting everything go. No worries. Just relax.”

“6 – 5.”, Dylan said.

“Good. Just listen and do what I say. You don’t have to think. Just relax.”

“4 -3.”, Dylan said.

“When you reach 1, you’ll be completely relaxed, feeling good, no worries, no thoughts, just my voice, just my words, just my commands.”, Mitch said.

“2 – 1.”, Dylan said. He lay on the lounge chair still and calm, completely under Mitch’s entrancing control.

“Good boy. Now close your eyes and listen to me.”, Mitch said. Dylan closed his eyes. “You’re going to come here every afternoon for some weed and relaxation. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”, Dylan answered, whispering his words, his eyes closed, his body limp and relaxed.

“Good. Just listen and relax.”, Mitch said, in a calm, quiet tone. For the next hour, Dylan listened to Mitch’s soothing voice, learning his new identity, a new future, a new reality.


Dylan continued to rehab his knee and train. To the outside world, Dylan wanted to return to football. To the outside world, Dylan remained one of football’s eligible bachelors. In June, Dylan resumed his marijuana abstinence, in case he was ready to join the team, and submit to testing. When Dylan reported for training camp, the medical staff refused to clear him. “You haven’t progressed to the point of coming back.”, the doctors urged. That ended training camp 2018.

Dylan refused to accept that ending. He continued to rehab and train. His goal: return to the gridiron. Given the animosity he developed towards the team’s rehab-training staff, Dylan returned to Miami Beach and resumed his rehab at ‘High Impact Therapy’. To defray the costs of his rehab, Dylan filmed local television advertisements for the rehab complex, which included a state-of-the-art gym. The rehab and the gym’s business skyrocketed thanks to Dylan’s charming demeanor and studly good looks.

When Dylan returned to Miami, Mitch greeted his neighbor with a month’s supply of weed, the good Columbian weed. The two friends resumed their daily joint sessions, sometimes on Mitch’s balcony, sometimes on Dylan’s. Dylan enjoyed Mitch’s philosophical rants. He appreciated Mitch’s wisdom and counted on his guidance.

Training Camp 2019 closed the door on Dylan’s career. When he could not perform his duties to the level that his team expected, Dylan found himself an ex-footballer. No other team called for his services. He tried to convince his team that he could play another position, especially since his body had morphed, but his coaches would not listen. Disgusted and disgruntled, Dylan sold his home near Des Moines and moved permanently to Miami Beach. Luckily, Dylan had squirreled his lucrative income. He managed his daily expenses and lived frugally, but not miserly.

When Dylan returned to Miami Beach, his neighbor Mitch greeted him again with a fresh supply of weed. Dylan had grown to depend on the weed for its palliative effects. He abjured the dependence on pain-killers and wanted to ween himself away from the pills. The marijuana helped.

One afternoon, on a beautiful, sunny autumn Miami Beach day, Mitch knocked on Dylan’s door. When Dylan opened the door, he said, “Hey, Mitch! What’s up?”

“Pot head.”, Mitch said. Dylan stared into Mitch’s eyes and stood still. “Follow me into my condo.” Mitch led Dylan into his condo. Mitch opened the door, let Dylan walk into the living room and closed the door. “Follow me.”, Mitch ordered.

Mitch led Dylan into the spare bedroom. As they entered the bedroom, Mitch smiled and said, “Good.” Astride on the bed was a sexy naked hunk. His pale smooth skin blended with the white cotton bedding. (To see the naked hunk, click here). He turned to Dylan and said, “This is Eric. We’re going to teach you how to fuck another man.” Mitch paused for a moment. “Do you understand me, pot head?”

“Yes, Sir.”, Dylan said. His voice was stilted. His eyes were glazed. Mitch had worked long and hard to prepare his new model for the next stage of his career.

“Good. Get naked.”, Mitch ordered. Dylan removed his clothes. He stood in the middle of the bedroom naked. Mitch fondled Dylan’s cock. “Money maker.” Mitch whispered. He turned to Eric and said, “What do you think?”

“He’s hot, Daddy.”, Eric said.

“He’s going to be your new Daddy.”, Mitch said. “On camera.”

“Yeah. He’s hot.”, Eric answered. The mindless muscled twink had little upstairs. Mitch did not care. Eric had a smoking hot body and liked getting fucked on and off camera.

When Mitch felt Dylan’s cock swelling a bit, he said, “The first thing you have to do is get on top of your lover. Let him know that you’re in control, but let him feel safe, wanted, desired. Make him smell your essence. Make him feel your cock hard and pressing on his body.” Dylan followed Mitch’s instruction, placing his muscled body on top of Eric’s beautiful, sculpted frame. He pressed his semi-hard cock against Eric’s chest and groin.”

“Good, now, take his hand and let him feel the strength of your manhood. Slowly, wiggle your dick between your lover’s legs and tickle his anus and perineum, back and forth, side to side. The anticipation will drive him wild.” Dylan took Eric’s hand and placed it on his cock. He loved Eric’s warm hand on his cock. He wiggled his groin and tickled Eric’s rosebud.

“Okay. Now, you need to apply some lube. A boy’s anus does not self-lubricate. Lube your fingers, stroke and tickle your lover’s rosebud and slowly insert your finger.” Dylan took the tube of lube from Mitch’s hand. He applied the lube to his fingers and stared playing with Eric’s ass. As he started to finger Eric’s asshole, Mitch said, “Remember, the asshole is an exit. In reverse, the pressure makes an inch feel like a foot. As your slide your fingers in his ass, make sure you stroke his cock. It’s like Pavlov. Cock play feels good. The good feeling gets transferred in your lover’s mind to your fingers in his ass.” Mitch watched Dylan slowly penetrate Eric’s ass, while stroking Eric’s cock.

“Now, here’s the trick. Don’t finger fuck him. Have your lover tighten his sphincter for as long as he can. Without realizing it, he will end up with a relaxed sphincter. When the sphincter involuntarily loosens, that’s when you penetrate him. Tickle his box with the head of your erect penis, then slowly, slowly slide the cock into his anus. Then, ask your lover to clinch his sphincter as tight as he can for as long as he can. His asshole will swallow your cock. And the feeling will be incredible for both of you.” Dylan executed each command. When he finally penetrated Eric with his rock-hard, engorged member, Mitch said, “Good. See how easy that was. Now, it’s time to fuck. Go for it.”

Dylan plowed Eric’s ass. He pounded Eric, who had remained on his back, enjoying Dylan’s foreplay. Eric wrapped his legs about Dylan, forcing Dylan to fuck him mish-style. Eric moved about and took to his knees, exposing his hole. Dylan fucked the young stud doggie-style. He could hear his dangling balls slapping Eric’s lily-white ass.

“Harder.”, Eric demanded. Dylan did not disappoint. He fucked the boy harder and faster, like the pistons of a well-oiled machine. Eric arched his back, grabbed his cock and stroked his member. Finally, Eric shouted, “Aaaaaaah!!”, as his cock erupted, cum oozing from the hard, erect shaft.

Dylan needed little time. He felt the cum churning in his balls. “I’m … cummmmmming.”, Dylan shouted, as ounces of cum blast into Eric’s ass. The cum slid out of Eric’s ass. Dylan pulled his cock out of Eric’s ass. It was white and covered in creamy goo. Eric licked Dylan’s sensitive cock, making Dylan shake and shutter.

“Next time, Dylan, you have to pull out and blast your wad on your partner’s buttocks. It’s called a ‘money shot’. Understand, pot head?”

“Yes, Sir.”, Dylan answered.

“Good boy.”, Mitch said, as he handed Dylan and Eric a towel. “Take ten minutes to cool down. Then, we’ll try it again.”


November, 2025

“Cliff, you may want to see this.”, a man in a business suit said. The man entered Cliff’s office, approached Cliff’s desk and computer and typed on the keyboard. He clicked on a news article, a website that discussed issues in the gay community. As Cliff wondered what his colleague was fussing over, Cliff’s eyes popped out of his head.

“Oh, no. This is … oh no.”, Cliff shouted.

The article outed Dylan, who had adopted a stage name, ‘Danny Yardlong’. The article discussed Dylan’s football career, his injury, and his new career, gay porn star for ‘South Beach Stars’, a porn production company started by a former footballer, Mitch Barnes. As Cliff read the article, he found portions of an interview of Danny for the production company’s website. He decided to click on the website and check out the interview.

Cliff was stunned. There was Dylan, sitting on a leather chair, naked, stroking his cock. “When injury ended my career, I knew my life would be different. To most people, football is a game. But it’s not. It’s a business. The business ate me up and spit me out. Yeah, I made some money, but I wanted to play. The business wouldn’t let me.” For a moment, he paused. He continued to say, “I’m sorry if the haters have decided that gays over a certain age are supposed to put on the board shorts, move to the suburbs and settle down in boring monogamy. I don’t plan to ever go quietly into the night.” Cliff could not believe his eyes. Dylan smiled and stared into the camera. “I used to play football in the NFL. Not anymore.”

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