Like I said, I managed the men’s’ lacrosse team when I was in college, and I can’t lie, it was one of the best parts of my four years there. Sure, the rumors and descriptions of lacrosse players are entirely true – assholes who more often than not have a lot of money and zero accountability. But they were also the big brothers I never had. Brothers with whom I happened to have incestuous relationships with.
Surprisingly, I only slept with three guys on a team of about forty. And the third guy came years after college, so he didn’t even really count. But I did get drunk and roll around naked with a lot of them. And none of them seemed to care about the others.
“Hey, are you with Ryan?” one guy I had hooked up with two weeks previous text me as I struggled to pull my shirt on in the dorm room of one of the freshman middies.
“Um, yeah,” I text back. “Why?”
“When you’re done boning, tell him I need my 157 text book.”
“Is he as big as me?”
“Not talking about it,” I said.
“I’ll find out at practice tomorrow anyway. Don’t forget about the text book.”