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Darren stepped into the cubicle, worryingly narrow sample tube in hand.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small bottle of yellow liquid and proceeded, carefully, to top up the empty container.
As instructed, he waited in the cubicle a little longer, warming the tube between his hands, ‘for authenticity’.
He lowered the lid of the seat and sat down, waiting. He thought back to the conversations with his coach...
“You want to make the professional circuit don’t you? Hell, I’ve not worked this hard on you for nothing!”
“Everyone does it. It’s not cheating, just levelling the field...”
“What do you mean you’re scared of needles? Just shut up, stick your arm out and close your eyes. Okay?”
...of course, it had helped him immensely. The regulars at the gym had all been in awe of the sheer stamina he’d shown in the weights room, and he’d shaved almost three seconds from his personal best after just a couple of months.
He thought back, before he’d had a professional coach, weekends at the track with his dad...
“Come on son, you can do it. Two more laps.”
“You’ll never win in the county trials like this.”
“Don’t you want to be the best? Come on!”
...then there was his girlfriend. Well, his ex. He smiled fondly.
“It’s okay, if you don’t want to do it just quit. I mean, it’s great that you have something you’re so good at, but if you really hate it so much.. what’s the point?”
But he hadn’t quit, he’d gone on to do his father proud, get Coach the place in the national Under 19s that the old man had missed out on in the ‘70s...
And now in a couple of minutes he’d leave the cubicle, hand over the clean sample and apologise for taking a while, and he’d be cleared for his first professional meet.
Guess Dad was right all along, A-levels were a waste of time, however many Bs he’d managed.
He stood up, moved his hand to the bolt on the cubicle door.. and paused.
“Everyone does it. It’s not cheating...”
...
“Don’t you want to be the best?”
...
...
“...if you don’t want to do it just quit.”
...
...
“You want to make the professional circuit don’t you?”
...
He emptied the tube and re-filled it, honestly.
He turned and left the cubicle. Silently handed the tube to the doctor.
Left the building, a tear slid onto his cheek.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small bottle of yellow liquid and proceeded, carefully, to top up the empty container.
As instructed, he waited in the cubicle a little longer, warming the tube between his hands, ‘for authenticity’.
He lowered the lid of the seat and sat down, waiting. He thought back to the conversations with his coach...
“You want to make the professional circuit don’t you? Hell, I’ve not worked this hard on you for nothing!”
“Everyone does it. It’s not cheating, just levelling the field...”
“What do you mean you’re scared of needles? Just shut up, stick your arm out and close your eyes. Okay?”
...of course, it had helped him immensely. The regulars at the gym had all been in awe of the sheer stamina he’d shown in the weights room, and he’d shaved almost three seconds from his personal best after just a couple of months.
He thought back, before he’d had a professional coach, weekends at the track with his dad...
“Come on son, you can do it. Two more laps.”
“You’ll never win in the county trials like this.”
“Don’t you want to be the best? Come on!”
...then there was his girlfriend. Well, his ex. He smiled fondly.
“It’s okay, if you don’t want to do it just quit. I mean, it’s great that you have something you’re so good at, but if you really hate it so much.. what’s the point?”
But he hadn’t quit, he’d gone on to do his father proud, get Coach the place in the national Under 19s that the old man had missed out on in the ‘70s...
And now in a couple of minutes he’d leave the cubicle, hand over the clean sample and apologise for taking a while, and he’d be cleared for his first professional meet.
Guess Dad was right all along, A-levels were a waste of time, however many Bs he’d managed.
He stood up, moved his hand to the bolt on the cubicle door.. and paused.
“Everyone does it. It’s not cheating...”
...
“Don’t you want to be the best?”
...
...
“...if you don’t want to do it just quit.”
...
...
“You want to make the professional circuit don’t you?”
...
He emptied the tube and re-filled it, honestly.
He turned and left the cubicle. Silently handed the tube to the doctor.
Left the building, a tear slid onto his cheek.
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Huzzah! :^)
Nice Dr Duck - my appreciation of you just rose considerably.
Good little story there :-)
Your Honour wrote:
> Any basis in truth....?
Nope, not this time. Some of the stuff I do has autobiographical inklings, but this one's all fiction.
And the rest of you - enough fapping already.
You'll go blind ¦^)
> Any basis in truth....?
Nope, not this time. Some of the stuff I do has autobiographical inklings, but this one's all fiction.
And the rest of you - enough fapping already.
You'll go blind ¦^)
Goatboy wrote:
> Is there any descriptive word better than *fap*.
>
> When coupled with "Nnnngnnnnng" it implies a red-faced,
> blur-of-motion flurry of activity.
Fap is the best adjective I've come across.
> Is there any descriptive word better than *fap*.
>
> When coupled with "Nnnngnnnnng" it implies a red-faced,
> blur-of-motion flurry of activity.
Fap is the best adjective I've come across.
Gnaahhhh
Is there any descriptive word better than *fap*.
When coupled with "Nnnngnnnnng" it implies a red-faced, blur-of-motion flurry of activity.
When coupled with "Nnnngnnnnng" it implies a red-faced, blur-of-motion flurry of activity.
Unbeliever wrote:
> Was she fit?
She ran off very athletically so I presume she must have been.
> Was she fit?
She ran off very athletically so I presume she must have been.
Good story Duck :-)
Any basis in truth....?
Any basis in truth....?
lol!!!
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