Chapter 5
5
GERARD
H ere’s the skinny. I know when someone is checking me out. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and my body buzzes with delight.
When I walked away from Elliot at the library, the signs were all there. His eyes were on my butt the way my eyes are on a rotisserie chicken at the supermarket.
I don’t blame the dude. My butt is, without a doubt, the best and biggest on the entire campus. Oliver’s is probably the second best and biggest, but don’t tell him I said that. He’d make me clean the toilets for the rest of the semester.
Having my butt ogled doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it always makes me giggle. I’ve stared at butts myself, so I understand the appeal. And if it were any other day, I wouldn’t think twice about it.
But for some reason, as soon as I step out of the library, I know something is up.
Eyes bore into me from every direction. People on their phones stop dead in their tracks and tell whoever is on the other end that they’ll have to call them back. Students texting find their thumbs hovering over their phone screens, twitching out of reflex.
I do my best not to look anyone in the eye because this isn’t the usual “let’s gawk at Gerard because he’s a mini-celebrity on campus.” They don’t want me to acknowledge them or stop for a selfie. They want me to keep walking so they can keep gawking.
Did Elliot send out a call to stare at my butt? Did someone else do that, and Elliot was only following orders?
I hurry past the giant water fountain outside the administration building, where a gaggle of girls are soaking up the sun. When they see me, their nipples harden into tight nubs beneath their shirts. I catch a few of them whispering and giggling, their eyes locked on my backside as I stride past.
The cool breeze wafting off the fountain must have made their nipples erect, I tell myself. It’s a chilly day, after all. But a small, insistent voice in the back of my mind suggests otherwise.
Maybe the sight of me and my sublime hockey butt is what caused their bodies to react in such a way.
Typically, a thought like that would send a thrill straight to my dick. Knowing that I can turn on a group of hot co-eds without even trying? Talk about an ego boost. But right now, even with all these eyes on me, my penis remains as limp and uninterested as an overcooked noodle.
I quicken my pace, weaving between gawking students and faculty members. The back of my neck prickles with awareness, like a thousand tiny fingers stroking my skin. I know they’re all staring at my butt, but I can’t figure out why.
Did I sit in something at the library? Did I rip my shorts when I bent down to pick up my hockey stick off the bathroom floor? That reminds me…I need to give it a Silkwood shower when I get back to the Hockey House.
As I hurry towards the Hockey House, seeking refuge from the relentless ogling, fragments of hushed conversations reach my ears.
“...Ice Queen’s latest post...”
“...all about Gunnarson’s butt...”
“...I can’t believe how big it is...”
Ice Queen? A post about my butt? What the heck is going on ?
My cheeks burn with embarrassment and confusion as I pick up the pace, practically speed-running across the quad.
I need answers, and I need them now. But first, I need to find a mirror and check out this apparently newsworthy butt of mine. If it’s causing this much of a stir, it must be even more spectacular than I thought.
I scan my surroundings, and The Brew catches my eye. At this hour, it should be pretty deserted since most students—well, the ones who aren’t out here salivating over my rear—are in class.
Yanking the door open, I slip inside. The aroma of coffee beans and warm spices wraps around me in a comforting hug. I don’t get the opportunity to appreciate it, though, because the place isn’t as dead as I’d hoped it would be.
The sight that greets me is something straight out of a cartoon. Every single person in The Brew is frozen in place. Muffins are suspended halfway to mouths, mugs paused at lips, all eyes fixed on me with a mix of curiosity, amusement, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
I give them a polite smile—the kind you’d offer an elderly neighbor who just told you she’s taken up pole dancing—and beeline for the restrooms in the back.
This day keeps getting stranger, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
This level of attention on my butt is ridiculous. Did I wake up in some alternate universe where buttocks have replaced faces as the primary focus of human interaction?
I walk up to the mirror above the sink, turn around, and crane my neck to get a look at my reflection. My butt looks the same as it always does: big, round, and muscular. The tight athletic shorts I’m wearing leave little to the imagination, but there’s nothing obscene about them.
No stains, no rips, no rogue toilet paper trailing behind me.
I head to a stall for some privacy, pull out my phone, and open my social media accounts. Maybe there’s some clue there .
A notification pops up—ten new friend requests. All girls, all from BSU. That’s typical for me.
I scroll through my feed and find what I’m looking for. One of the girls from the fountain posted a status a few minutes ago:
Just saw Gerard Gunnarson’s butt IRL! Even more epic than in the pics! #HockeyButt #GunnarsonGlutes
Pics? What pics?
A gentle voice sounds from the stall next to mine when I thump my head on the stall door. “Hey, are you okay in there?”
I freeze. Fiddlesticks. How did I not check to make sure I was alone first? Some guy probably heard me groaning like a crazy person. Great, just great.
I debate whether to respond. Maybe if I stay completely silent, he’ll think he imagined the noise and leave me alone. But I’m desperate for answers, and unless this guy has been living under a rock, he might know what the heck is going on. I figure I have nothing to lose at this point.
“Uh, not really.” My voice echoes slightly, and I talk softer. “This is going to sound weird, but have you noticed anything…different happening on campus today?”
There’s a pause, and for a second, I think the guy left without me noticing. But then he speaks again, realization dawning in his tone. “Wait a minute. You’re Gerard, aren’t you? The hockey player?”
I blink in surprise. “Yeah, that’s me. Do I know you?”
“No, but I know of you. Everyone does after that blog post.”
“Blog post? What blog post?” My brows knit together in confusion.
“You haven’t seen it? The one by the Ice Queen? It’s all anyone’s talking about on campus this morning.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dude. Can you fill me in?”
“Sure.” The guy clears his throat. “The Ice Queen is this anonymous student who writes a gossip blog about the BSU hockey team, and today, she posted this long, detailed entry about your…”
“Butt?”
“Yep.”
My face flushes hot with embarrassment. “The Ice Queen wrote a blog post about my butt? Why?!”
“Beats me. She went on and on about how it looks in sweatpants and jeans. She even included some pictures of it.”
“She what?! That’s why everyone’s been staring?”
“You’re the talk of BSU, man. The Ice Queen has declared your butt the finest on campus. That’s high praise coming from her.”
I let my head thump against the stall door, suddenly exhausted. “This cannot be happening. I have a game tonight! How am I supposed to focus on that when everyone is focusing on…that?”
“No idea. But look at it this way—it could always be worse.”
“How? How could it be worse?” I don’t expect the guy to answer my rhetorical question. I mean, he’s not God. He doesn’t have all the answers to life’s problems, especially not the ones concerning my booty. But to my surprise, he does respond after a brief pause.
“You could be known for having a tiny dick instead.”
I snort at that. He’s not wrong. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose being known for my ample behind is better than being known for a baby carrot between my legs.
The following silence is charged with awkward tension, and I realize he probably thinks my lack of response is because he hit the nail on the head. “I can assure you that’s not the case. The hockey gods blessed me in both departments.”
“Good to know,” he replies, a smile in his voice. “Not that I was wondering or anything.”
“Sure you weren’t.” I grin. “I appreciate you filling me in on all this Ice Queen stuff. I feel slightly less crazy now.”
“No problem. And hey, try not to let it get to you too much. People will find something else to gossip about soon enough.”
“I hope so. But knowing my luck, the Ice Queen is probably typing up a sequel as we speak. ‘101 Things I’d Like to do to Gerard Gunnarson’s Glorious Glutes’ or some crap.”
The guy laughs. “If she does, you can always come find me for a recap.”
“True. Thanks again…” Shoot. I don’t know his name.
“Matt,” he supplies. “I’m Matt.”
“Thanks, Matt. I owe you one.” I push off the stall door and unlock it, suddenly lighter than when I first barreled my way in here. Talking to Matt, even through a bathroom stall, has helped ease some of the anxiety swirling in my gut.
I exit the stall and approach the sink to splash some cool water on my heated face. I pat my skin dry with a rough paper towel, and right as I’m about to leave, Matt calls out to me. “Hey, Gerard? I think the best way to get this to blow over is to embrace it.”
“Embrace it? You mean…flaunt my butt?”
Matt chuckles. “Not necessarily flaunt it, but don’t hide it either. Own it, you know? Show everyone that their stares and giggles don’t faze you.”
I consider his words. He has a point. Running away and hiding will only add fuel to the gossip fire. But embracing it? Easier said than done.
“How exactly should I embrace my rear end?”
I spot Matt’s feet moving beneath the stall partition as he readjusts his position on the toilet. “I follow you on social media. You’re always posting pictures of your feet, and your fans go crazy over them.”
I nod slowly, figuring out where he’s going with this. “You think I should post a picture of my butt?”
“Yeah, and caption it with something that acknowledges the Ice Queen’s blog post. Show everyone that you’re cool with the post. That you’re in on the joke. ”
“Matt, you’re a genius! What would I do without you?”
“Hey, all I’m doing is helping a fellow student.”
“Seriously, Matt, I’d give you a high-five right now if you weren’t, you know, taking a dump.”
Matt’s laughter bounces off the bathroom tiles. “Tell you what, next time I see you around campus, I’ll hit you up for that high-five. Sound good?”
“You got yourself a deal, dude.” A smile forms on my face. “Thanks again for the advice.”
“No problem, Gerard. Good luck with the post. And the game tonight. I’ll be rooting for you.”
“Appreciate it. Catch you later, Matt.” With a final wave he can’t see, I exit the bathroom significantly more at ease than when I’d entered.
The walk back to the Hockey House is spent brainstorming photo caption ideas. By the time I’m climbing the front steps, I’ve got a pretty good one in mind.
I find the living room empty, which is a relief. The last thing I need right now is to be bombarded with questions from my teammates about why I’m suddenly the most talked-about guy on campus. I’m sure they’ve all seen the blog post by now.
Flying up the stairs, I head to my room and close the door behind me. I store my hockey stick in my closet with the rest of my gear, glad that that mystery has been solved. Now comes the hard part: taking a picture of my butt.
I position myself in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my closet door. It takes a few attempts of twisting this way and that, but eventually, I snap a few shots that showcase my butt in all its rounded perfection.
I stare at the best photo of the batch, my thumb hovering over the “post” button. Am I really about to post a picture of my butt on the internet for the whole world to see?
Before I can second-guess myself, I type out the perfect caption:
Heard y’all were talking about my booty. Well, here it is in all its glory! Shout-out to the Ice Queen for appreciating what the good Lord gave me. #HockeyButtsMatter #BlessedByTheHockeyGods #IveGotBackAndImNotAfraidToShowIt
I read over the words, a grin spreading across my face. It’s cheeky (pun intended), playful, and entirely on-brand for me. I hit the “post” button and watch as the photo and caption pop up on my feed.
Setting my phone aside, I turn back to the mirror, pull my shorts and boxers down to my ankles, and analyze my backside critically. I’ve never taken the time to study it before. Sure, I’ve caught glimpses of it while getting dressed and innocently felt it up when taking a shower, but I’ve never paid any further attention to it.
It’s big, there’s no denying that. Each cheek is round and firm, sticking out proudly. I give one a tentative squeeze, amazed at how it fills my palm. The flesh is supple yet muscular beneath my fingers.
I can see why the Ice Queen and everyone else on campus are obsessed with it. It’s a darn fine butt. Perky, plump, and practically begging to be squeezed, smacked, and worshipped.
As I continue to ogle my butt in the mirror like a narcissistic weirdo, a chuckle from the doorway startles me. I whirl around to find Oliver leaning against the now-opened door with an amused smirk.
He’s shirtless, wearing low-slung sweatpants, and has a frilly white apron tied around his waist. The “Kiss the Cook” emblazoned on the front is smudged with what appears to be flour. “Admiring the merchandise?”
Heat floods my cheeks for the millionth time today as I scramble to yank my shorts back up. I nearly trip over my own feet in the process. “Ollie! I, uh, didn’t hear you come in.”
Oliver saunters into the room and crosses his arms over his chest. The frilly apron makes him look ridiculous, but somehow, he makes it work. “Clearly. You were too busy checking out your ass.”
I rub the back of my neck, the skin growing hot with embarrassment. “I was…trying to see what all the fuss is about, you know? With the Ice Queen’s blog post and everything.”
“Ah, yes. The infamous blog post. I’ve seen it. So has the team.”
I groan and flop face-first onto my bed, burying my face in a pillow. “Fan-freaking-tastic. I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”
The mattress dips as Oliver takes a seat beside me. He pats my back sympathetically. “At least they’ll be talking about your ass and not your dick for a change.”
I lift my head to shoot him a half-hearted glare. “Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Captain.”
He chuckles. “Anytime, G. But seriously, try not to let it get to you too much. Yes, the guys will give you shit, but they’ll move on to the next thing soon enough.”
I sigh and roll onto my side, facing away from Oliver. Staring at the wall, I wonder how my day has reached this point. “I know. It’s just…weird, you know? Having everyone drooling over my butt all of a sudden.”
“Can you blame them? It’s a nice butt.” Oliver gives said butt a playful swat, making me yelp in surprise.
“Dude!” I rub the offended cheek. “Hands off the merchandise.”
Oliver holds his hands up in surrender and grins. “Sorry, sorry. Couldn’t resist. But seriously, G, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. So what if people are appreciating your ass? Own it. ”
“That’s what Matt said too,” I mutter, more to myself than to Oliver.
Oliver’s brows furrow in confusion. “Who’s Matt?”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Some guy I met in the bathroom at The Brew. He overheard me freaking out and gave me some advice.”
“Advice, huh? What kind of advice?” Oliver waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
I roll my eyes and sit up to punch him in the arm. “Not that kind of advice, you perv. He said I should embrace the attention instead of hiding from it.”
“Matt sounds like a smart guy.”
“He is,” I say with a smile. “That’s not all he suggested, either. He also said I should, uh, post a picture. Of my butt. On social media.”
Oliver’s eyes widen comically before he bursts out laughing. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. Some random dude you met in a bathroom told you to post a picture of your ass online, and you did?”
I duck my head, suddenly feeling silly for taking the advice of a stranger. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But I don’t know, Ollie. It made sense at the time. If everyone’s already talking about my butt, I might as well give the people what they want, right?”
Oliver shakes his head, still chuckling. “I can’t believe you, G. You’ve got some serious balls, my friend.” He reaches for my phone, which sits on the bed between us. “Let me see this masterpiece.”
He quickly unlocks it, knowing my password by heart after years of friendship. I watch nervously as he navigates to my social media profile and finds the post.
“Holy shit, Gerard!” His eyes nearly bug out of his head as he stares at the screen. “This is…wow. I mean, I’ve seen your ass plenty of times, but damn. You sure know how to work those angles, huh? ”
I snatch my phone back from him as my entire face flushes crimson. “Shut up.” I toss the device aside. “It’s not like I make a habit of taking butt selfies.”
“Could’ve fooled me. That photo is practically professional quality. The lighting, the pose, the way your shorts cling to your cheeks? I’m impressed, G. Truly.”
I bury my face in my hands and wish the mattress would swallow me whole. “I can’t believe I posted that. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking that you have a fantastic ass, and it’s about time the world knew it,” Oliver says matter-of-factly. He pries my hands away from my face and forces me to look at him. “Seriously, Gerard. I know this whole Ice Queen thing isn’t something you need right now, but you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Your butt is great, and if people want to appreciate it, let them. It doesn’t change who you are as a person or a player.”
I search Oliver’s eyes for any hint of mockery or judgment, but all I see is sincerity, a touch of pride, and maybe lust. The dude’s as queer as a three-dollar bill, and my butt is the size of Mount Everest. Can’t say I blame him for being a tad horny.
He’s right, though. I can’t let this Ice Queen situation get to me. So what if the whole campus is suddenly obsessed with my butt? It doesn’t define me as a person or an athlete. I’m still the same Gerard Gunnarson—college hockey player and all-around good guy. Just with a little extra junk in the trunk. “Thanks, Ollie. You always know what to say to talk me off the ledge.”
Oliver claps me on the shoulder. “What are best friends for? Besides, someone’s gotta keep that big head of yours from exploding.” He stands up and adjusts his apron, which has ridden up to reveal a sliver of his toned abs. “Speaking of big heads, I better head down to the kitchen before Drew starts a fire. We have a hungry hockey team to feed.”
“Since when does Drew cook?”
“I’m punishing him for that prank he pulled on Nathan last week. ”
I chuckle at the memory of Drew replacing Nathan Paisley’s protein shake with a concoction of his own making, complete with a generous helping of laxatives. The poor guy had to sprint off the ice mid-drill to avoid crapping his pants in front of the entire team. Classic Drew. “Good luck with that.”
He pauses at the door and glances back at me, his expression turning serious. “But for real, G, you good?”
I nod and give him a thumbs-up. “I’m good, Cap. Thanks again for the pep talk.”
“Anytime, bud. Anytime.” With a final smile, Oliver disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
I flop back onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling, letting the events of the morning replay in my head. From my missing hockey stick to the stares and whispers on the quad. From my impromptu bathroom confessional with Matt to Oliver’s unexpected but much-needed words of wisdom. Man, it’s been a day already, and it’s not even noon.
In a flash of inspiration, I realize there’s one other person I need to thank for all this butt-related hullabaloo—the mastermind herself, the Ice Queen.
Grabbing my laptop, I boot it up and visit her infamous blog. It takes some scrolling past posts about locker room pranks, post-game keggers, and speculations about which players are hooking up with guys on the baseball team, but I finally find the “Contact Me” link buried at the bottom of the page.
I click it and watch as a blank email pops up on my screen. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I contemplate what to say to the mysterious blogger who’s turned my butt into the most talked-about body part on campus.
After a moment’s hesitation, I type:
From: gunnarsong@bsu.edu
To: theicequeen@blog.com
Date: October 2, 2015
Subject: This is Gerard
Dear Ice Queen,
First off, I have to say I’m flattered. When I woke up this morning, I never imagined my butt would be the subject of a viral blog post, but here we are.
I’ll admit, at first, I was freaked out by all the attention. I’m used to people staring at me, but usually, it’s because of my sick hockey skills or my dashing good looks, not because of my backside. But then I realized if I’ve got it, flaunt it, right?
So, I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you.
Thank you for the entertaining blog post that has me simultaneously laughing and blushing.
As a token of my appreciation, I’ve attached something for you. Consider it a behind-the-scenes (pun intended) peek at the booty that has launched a thousand rockets.
Keep doing you, Ice Queen. And keep talking about the finer things in life…like me!
Sincerely,
Gerard Gunnarson and his Giant Peach
I attach one of the other butt selfies to the email and hit the “send” button.
There. The Ice Queen has been thanked, and the world has been graced with another glorious image of my backside. My work here is done.