Page 15 of Total Assist (For Puck’s Sake #13)

DASAN

I’d intended to go back to Shively’s house after weights, but he said he had house chores and honestly, so do I.

I’ve put off everything since we began seeing each other more regularly.

The idea of leading him around the house in a cock collar and leash is tempting, but I know we both need time to handle business that needs to be taken care of.

Which is what finds me in my guest bathroom leaning over the side of the tub as I gently scrub my pads with a soft bristled brush, using dish soap to break through the sweat and oils from my skin and oxy detergent to get rid of the smell.

It’s a necessary chore that comes with playing hockey.

I try to give my pads a thorough washing multiple times a month—once a week, at least. Every hockey player has multiple sets, but we also have our favorite.

Whether they’re our favorite because we have a superstitious belief that we win when we wear them or they’re properly broken in or maybe something else, we all have a favorite set.

Which I find amusing since all three pairs of my gloves are identical, yet I like the ones I’m washing now best. Sometimes, I wonder if I threw them in a bucket and swished it around, could I find my favorite set on sight? When I put them on?

When I retire, I’m going to play that trick, but right now, I’m not going to take the risk of confusing them in case my favorite gloves somehow contribute to my game.

I think I can tell. I’m always conscious of the fact that I’m wearing different gloves when I switch them out for whatever reason, but that might be all mental. Because I know.

I get to my feet and turn the shower on. Releasing the removable shower head from its hook, I spray down my pads to get rid of the soap and grime I washed away. The oxy detergent also makes my pads gleaming white, so when I use it, I can see if I missed a spot.

When they’re suds free, I turn the shower off and shake the excess water from my equipment. With as many pieces in my hands as I can carry, I run through my house to the three-season porch to let them air dry, leaving a trail of droplets behind me.

It’s November in the frozen north, though it’s not frozen yet.

It is cold, but the sun is out today. While I won’t say it’s doing much to heat up this part of the world, it’s contributing a little.

The temperature is above freezing, which means I can let my pads dry in the outside air for probably the last time this season.

On my way inside, I pull my phone out and send Shively a text.

Me

Send me a pic of your dick.

It’s less than fifteen seconds later when a spinning circle appears, telling me that there’s a media message attempting to load.

Omega

*pic*

I’m not sure what he’s doing, but he’s standing and his cock is jutting away from his body like a rod. When I tap it and zoom in a bit, I can see drops of soap suds. Maybe he’s washing dishes or something.

Me

Good omega

When I got home this morning, I changed his name in my phone. He texted me while I was in the gym and told me he had a video meeting in twenty minutes so if he didn’t respond to a text, that was why and he’d let me know when he was out of the meeting.

I’d been sitting right beside Felton when “Coach Shively Myers” flashed across my screen with a text notification, making my heart race. I quickly closed out of it and looked around—casually, of course—to make sure no one saw.

And that is why I changed his contact name. Now that I have something else to call him and we’re sending pics of cocks, not faces, I think we’re safe if someone sneaks a peek. I should have done it from the beginning, even if I hadn’t had a name to call him yet.

“Omega,” I murmur, smirking as I head for the kitchen.

I’ve always had a fascination with omegaverse. There needs to be more in the world. Wait, let me clarify. There needs to be more good omegaverse in the world. I hate the ones that make all omegas innocent, na?ve, and weak. That’s fucking lame.

Equally, I hate the ones where all members of a pack, if it’s the kind of omegaverse with packs, are only romantically and physically involved with the omega.

I’m going to be the first to say that all polyamorous relationships are different and live by their own rules.

There isn’t a set of guidelines that they’re handed and need to follow.

But the way so many of these books are written with a single omega getting four or five or more alphas’ undivided attention?

Yeah, I don’t think so. It always feels forced to me.

It doesn’t feel believable, not when they have no other relationships outside the pack.

Not when the entire pack lives under one roof.

And especially not when an established pack has been waiting years for their omega.

Are you really going to tell me that a group of alphas is celibate for years while they wait for their omega? Nah, that’s stupid and stupidly unrealistic. At least, in my head it is. I don’t read those books. They get a big DNF all over them.

Or they would if I owned physical copies.

All that to say, I love omegaverse. Some more than others, of course.

But I’m fascinated with the underlying theme of the omega and their alpha/s.

While I love group dynamics in books, I’m not about it in real life for myself.

My omega is mine, and I’m not sharing that tight ass nor his plethora of orgasms.

A shiver races down my spine, knowing that Shively is naked and hard right now. Even though I just asked for a pic, I demand another. Shively complies, and I sigh, looking at it. So fucking sexy. Look at that cock.

I have a feeling I could sit here and continue to stare at his pictures all day, but that defeats the purpose of coming to my house and allowing him time to finish his chores. Besides, I need to replenish my soup and cornbread for the week.

I’m in the middle of chopping my squash when my phone rings. Curious. Why would Ren be calling me? My stomach flips, my mind immediately settling on something being wrong with Felton. I wipe my hand on the towel and hit the answer button, immediately putting him on speaker.

“Hey,” I greet.

“Hi,” Ren answers. “This a good time?”

“Yep. Chopping squash. What’s up.”

“The other day, we were talking about calling more attention to diversity within hockey. I reached out to a couple other… uh… not-white players and ran it by them, and I think I have a handful on board.”

“Weird saying ‘not white’ when you’re technically white, huh?” I ask, grinning.

Ren snorts. “It is. It’s a very strange playground I’m on. I have some white privilege because of my skin color and yet, being Asian closes a lot of doors for me. I’m white but not the right white.”

“Gotta love the supposed melting pot that America claims to be.”

“The lies we’re told as children are insanely simple yet designed to keep blinders on you. I get it now. The government wants you to be ignorant so you remain thoughtless sheep who believe everything you’re told,” Ren says.

“You spent some time in China, right? You weren’t born here?”

“Yes. I’m not going to pretend we’re not also told lies, but we’re also told the ugly truth.

We know that China isn’t exactly a democracy.

We’re raised without blinders. I was old enough when I came to the US, and after being taught about foreign relationships and policies in school, to immediately identify the lies in my new American education,” Ren says.

“You didn’t think your country’s education system was designed to sway your opinion?”

“Oh, I’m sure it was. But when you look up the truth behind even the most basic things, they’re radically different from what you’re taught in school here.

I remember calling my parents, horrified by the extent of the lies they tell kids.

There are books free to borrow in the library with the truth, yet no one bothers to challenge what they’re taught. ”

I nod and push my squash aside.

“I imagine it feels worse for you. As I understand it, in your younger years—the years I lived in China—the bullshit you’re taught in school concerning what actually happened to your ancestors must be infuriating.”

“Very,” I agree. “I know this is going to be shocking, but teachers don’t appreciate being corrected, especially when you inform a bunch of eight-year-olds that your ancestors were sold into slavery, women and children were massacred, and we were all forced off our sacred lands. I was sent home for disrupting class.”

“Wow, that’s shit,” Ren says. “But we’re moving far beyond what I actually called for. I have two thoughts about how to proceed, and I want to see what you think. The first is that we propose combining our efforts with the current Gays Can Play agenda but expand it to include diversity.”

“I’m going to play devil’s advocate for a minute because I think we need to have arguments prepared going in,” I say. “The league is already very diverse. There are players from all over the world making up almost half of the league.”

“That’s true, but how many of them are distinctly white?

Black players, Hispanic, indigenous, Asian—they’re all very distinct as not the same as the majority of players.

If we look at the number of white players versus non-white players with cultures that are historically discriminated against, what is the ratio of ‘white’ to the others? ”

“I like that answer. Do you have stats to back it up?” I ask.

“The internet is conflicting. I need to do some hard math and probably look at every team individually to make my own list.”

“Okay, cool. Back to what you were saying. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine. I’d rather think of all the questions before they’re asked so we’re prepared.

My concern with proposing adding diversity onto the Gays Can Play initiative is how the members of the GCP will feel.

I don’t want them to feel like we’re taking the spotlight that they’ve been expanding on for several years already. ”

“You could run it by a few of them,” I suggest. “You do have one in your bed, Ren.”

He chuckles. “Yes, but Felton… I’ll see what I can find out regarding how they’d feel.”

“Honestly, I think they’d be okay with it.

I’m not sure how familiar you are with gay iconography, but what the community calls the progressive Pride flag expanded from the six colors to include a triangular insert with colors that represent the marginalized communities of color within the LGBTQIA+ community, transgender community, and intersex community. ”

“That’s good to know, but this isn’t just about people of color who are also part of the LGBTQIA+ community. I mean to include the straight boys like you, too,” Ren says. I’m amused by his teasing since he doesn’t do it often.

“I’m less straight than you think I am,” I return, “but I get what you’re saying. Our other option is suggesting a new initiative similar to the Gays Can Play but with an emphasis on diversity.”

“Yes,” Ren says. “I’m almost afraid to bring this one up because I don’t want to be put in charge of it.”

“Then we don’t make that an option. I admire what the league is doing for the queer community and how they’re standing up against a world trying to silence and erase them by keeping it big and bold.

I’m not sure why they haven’t already done so with diversity when we’re also people who are being targeted and erased by the same people attempting to eradicate queer people. ”

“Maybe they’re working on it,” Ren says thoughtfully.

“They saw a need as the queer community within sports grew, then acted on it in an effort to ensure that they have a safe space and to lift up the queer community as a whole. You know, as I say this out loud, the league’s time to act for their diverse players is long overdue. ”

I laugh. “Yep. I think we need a clear plan before heading to them.”

Ren sighs. “I think we need more research too. I’m going to talk to Felton and his GCP friends to see how they’d feel about sharing their club with straight, diverse athletes.”

“Their club?” I ask, raising a brow.

I can hear Ren’s amusement when he answers. “The number of times I’ve been told I’m not in their gay club could fund the yacht they rent in the summer.”

“I think they’re wrong. You’re sleeping with a man. You’re in a committed relationship with a man. I think that means you’re a member of their club.”

“They’re teasing, but yes, they call the GCP a club.

Now that I think about it… I think they’ll be happy to have diversity added to the Gays Can Play initiative.

They aren’t actually exclusive at all. I hear all the time how they’ve invited other friends who aren’t queer on their trips and to participate in their events. ”

“Good. I like the idea that we join them, but maybe we also run parallel to them. We have a joint mission of including everyone , regardless of sexuality and color, but we also call attention to our own specific fights at times.”

Ren sighs. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Of course. Thanks for not asking me to spearhead this.”

He chuckles. “Being a sounding board for what I’ve been thinking helped more than you know—not to mention the points you brought up.

I appreciate it. I don’t mind being the front man.

I’d love to see a diverse team with more diversity than just people of white nations.

The internet says that sixty percent of America identifies as white alone, and while that’s still the majority, that means forty percent identify as something other than only white.

That’s more than a hundred thirty-five million people. ”

“Not a small number,” I agree.

“We have that many people to speak to and make sure they understand that they’re seen, they’re just as important, and they can play too if they choose.” Ren pauses. “And work their asses off. That’s not to be discounted.”

I chuckle. “Absolutely.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll see what else I can come up with. See you tomorrow.”

“Later.”

As soon as the line goes quiet, I send Shively a text for a dick pic. My smile splits my face when I see it dripping. What is that man doing right now?