Chad woke up slumped against the corner of the locker room showers. He didn't remember leaving the field house. He had a massive headache. The water blasting him was cold. He reached up to adjust it. It was turned to the hottest setting. It was a hundred gallon boiler, it would have to go through a hundred gallons before it would be cold. How long had he been in the shower?
He shivered, and started to cough. He needed to warm up. He headed for the sauna. It was ice cold, but the electric coils heat rapidly. The locker room lights were off, but he was able to get around thanks to the dim green lightscreen from the fire exit signs. But the sauna had its own lights. Chad's skin was covered with graffiti. Damn, must be laundry marker thought Chad. Maybe his sweat would help get it off.
He finally felt warm after about 30 minutes, but it was only 15-20 minutes at max heat. He headed to the showers, hoping for warm water. He lathered up and scrubbed hard, but in the dimlight he could still make out writing on his skin. He headed to his locker and a change of clothing. The illuminated clock said 4. It was dark, so 4 in the morning. He assumed Saturday morning, until he saw the dry erase board congratulating the Swim Team on its victory in Saturday's meet. So, he'd lost a day. It must be Sunday. Still time to rest up before school tomorrow. His whole body ached. He opened his locker and retrieved his phone. He flicked on flashlight mode.
He coughed again, and his stomach rumbled. He dashed for the toilet. He vomited up mucous and worms, he thought at first. Then he realized it was cum and condoms. He got some paper towels and cleaned up his mess. Then he sat on the toilet with his head between his legs. The sound of liquid sloshing was not reassuring. He aimed his phone in the toilet. At least a dozen more condoms and white goo had come out of his ass. He flushed. Of course, condoms don't flush. So more paper towels. As he finished cleaning up, the locker room lights flickered on. Timer was set for 5:45 am, but he didn't think they would turn on Sundays.
He looked at phone. There were a bunch of messages.
Bruno sent a suggestive crotch shot asking whether the Secret Admirer was worth missing swimming.
His rents chastised him for not telling them he was spending the weekend with Rick? What was that about.
A couple messages from girls and guys about weekend plans.
Then, one from Rick.
"You're pwned!"
Then,
"Check the bottom of your feet, Woody"
Chad had already put his socks on, so he pulled one off.
"Summers," read the bottom of his left foot.
He pulled the other sock off, "Property of Rick".
Chad cursed aloud, "Damn, "Property of Rick Summers", just like I was that toy from Toy Story. Well, Rick got me good this time, but what the he'll happened?" He coughed again.
"You're here early for a Monday, Chad," Coach Sinclair said as he opened up the locker room.
"Couldn't sleep," Chad answered. His mind was racing, it wasn't Sunday. He had lost two and a half days.
The next message had video attached, but Chad wanted somewhere private to view.