Homecoming to McRugby, Part II

The entire weekend, I didn’t want to leave McRugby’s side. Being with him just felt right. Not much else mattered to me. When I returned to my school, so manyof my peers whom I had considered to be such goodf riends had changed for the worse. They couldn’t care less that I’d traveled all this way to see them, and I couldn’t care less for their new attitudes. The rugby team, that I had help build from the ground up and put all of my blood, sweat and tears into, had become degraded into a sorority. The primary focus of the team is to party and sleep with the men’s team, and winning games is secondary, as evidenced by their record of 1-3 (and the one win was a fluke, you would have to be a deaf, dumb and blind paraplegic to lose to this team).

It made me sick to my stomach to see everything I had worked for had gone to shit. And it dawned on me thatI had moved beyond this. And even though it had been the most important and consuming part of the past yearof my life, it was over and done with. I looked out at the girls practicing and lamented that rugby had become a thing of the past and then turned to look across the field at McRugby practicing with the guys and smiled towards what appeared to be the only element of this world that seemed to have a place in my future.

And I was completely satisfied with that.

He ran over to me all sweaty after practice and despite the pools of perspiration, he never looked more adorable. We walked off together and he went to shower at a friend’s house. We then went to hang out with the three girls who managed to give a shit that Iwas visiting and had a low-key night of drinking and alittle bit of Beirut. I had always been a bit of a legendary Beirut player, but I was way out of practice. McRugby, who used to be laughable, actually carried the team. We lost, but it didn’t matter. We were going home to have some long-awaited great sex anyway.

The next day we hung around on campus while he went to class and practice and then around dinnertime, we headed into the city to meet up with Miranda and Samantha, who were very eager to meet the mythical McRugby. He had been hesitant to make the effort of going into town, but wanted to do anything he could to make my weekend as enjoyable as possible. He was being as accommodating as possible and ended up having a great time, once he got over griping about driving. Besides, he said jokingly, the exchange of sex, or the sexchange, made any small task worth it.

The ladies and I and McRugby bounced from bar to bar, all of us girls wearing shirts for fellow bar patrons to sign. McRugby’s presence resulted in me having significantly less signatures than Miranda and Samantha, but it was a sacrifice I was more than willing to make. We spent a few hours in town and had to leave early to make our train and get home before McRugby fell asleep at the wheel. I was getting tired anyway, a problem that plagued a majority of my visit, and he ordered me to take a nap on the way home because he wasn’t going to let me pull the “I’m too tired for sex” card, as if I would.

The sex had suddenly become much better. When we dated, it was sort of lackluster and never lasted long, but I didn’t mind because I really cared about him. Of course, following the ugly break-up, this fact about our sex life did not remain a secret. He learned to increase his stamina to last longer than 5 minutes and also purchased certain vibrating accessories to make the sex more interesting. For once, I didn't dread going to bed with him.