The Adventures of Mack Carmichael Ch. 03

Chip:... and you can plainly see it's not pass interference.

Rick: That's right. Looking at it in slow motion, you see the receiver hold his hands up waiting for the ball. The safety comes in from the side and sticks his arm in between the receiver's hands to knock it away. The safety never even makes contact with the receiver. But the receiver sure does do a good job of playing it up. He jerks his arm down to make it look like the safety interfered with the play. The official who threw the flag was behind the play and had his vision impeded by the bodies of both men. He didn't see a thing and only reacted to the receiver's acting job.

Chip: So then the entire officiating crew comes together to talk it through. And in a new rule adopted by the league just this season, they do a cursory replay review of the play. The ref actually goes over to the sideline, takes a quick look at the play in regular speed and in slow motion and STILL upholds the call.

Rick: It's a travesty. If any fan out there wants to know why the Houston Texans' undefeated season just went down in flames on the final game of the regular season, all you have to do is look at the result of that play. If the penalty is overturned, there are only 3 seconds left in the game and the Cardinals are on their own 30 yard line. Maybe a miracle happens and they score on the final play of the game. Maybe they don't. We'll never know. What we DO know is that penalty that wasn't a penalty allowed Arizona into field goal range and on the next play, the kicker knocked it through the uprights to give the Cardinals a 27 to 24 victory.

Chip: And that gives the Houston Texans a record of 16 and 1 for a season where they've looked practically unstoppable all year long. No one has even come close to beating them. Rick, I've got to ask you... The ref, Mack Carmichael... He's got a pretty good reputation around the league. He takes a look at this play at least a couple times on the tablet - maybe more than a couple. How do you justify him not overturning the penalty flag?

Rick (hesitating): I think all I should say here is that the wrong call was made and hopefully some things will be done by the league office in the offseason to avoid something like this happening again.

Chip: We've worked together for how many seasons now... six? Seven?

Rick: Yeah. About.

Chip: And we've known each other for maybe ten years before that from your playing days before you transitioned to the TV booth and then became a studio analyst, right?

Rick: Sure. (chuckles uncomfortably) Where are you going with this, Chip?

Chip: In all my years knowing you, I've never known you to hold back an opinion on anything... football-related or otherwise. I know you've got something more to say than just "the wrong call was made." C'mon, partner. Tell me how you really feel.

Rick: I really shouldn't. It's bad form.

Chip: Bad form nothing! It's what we both earn big bucks to do... talking about and analyze plays. Don't worry, Rick. It's just you and I here shooting the breeze... with a few million of our loyal viewers watching. What was your gut reaction when you saw that penalty and the aftermath go down?

Rick (hesitates a moment before speaking forcefully): Okay. I'll say it. Mack Carmichael is completely overrated. The guy doesn't just need contact lenses. He needs Mister Magoo glasses with Coke bottle thick lenses... and even then it still wouldn't be enough to help him make the right call on anything. The guy is a total amateur, frankly. These refs get post-season assignments on the merit of their record calling games during the regular season. Just based off of this one play alone, I think he should never be allowed to call a post-season game ever again for the rest of his life!

Chip: Wow, Rick. Tell me how you REALLY feel!

Rick (sighs as if with relief, but has a very uncomfortable look on his face): It's what I'm paid to do, buddy!

Sitting alone in his hotel room in L. A., watching the Week 18 wrap-up show special, Mack Carmichael felt his face flush and his blood boil with anger. As the voices of the two talking heads continued banter faded into background noise, he ruminated on what he'd seen on TV the past few minutes. No one likes to have someone else second guess their abilities. Mack prided himself on his ability to call a game and he always strove to make the right calls. He didn't get it right 100% of the time - no one does - but he always had the best of intentions. And that play they were talking about? Maybe the two TV "know-it-alls" didn't see what he saw on the replays on the field yesterday, but Mack knew he'd made the call he thought was correct. To be called out so publicly and in such a way that seemed geared to make a fool out of him? It was infuriating. In fact it wasn't just infuriating. It cut deep. He was starting to think that maybe he'd made a mistake.

Things had been a little topsy-turvy for the ref during the season. He'd had that early-season rendezvous with Gerry Phillips, the hungry bottom front office exec who still to this day reaches out with an occasional text every couple weeks, trying his best to get more ref dick in his ass.

A couple weeks after that initial hookup, Mack had a romp with the cute Head Coach of that team from the Midwest the night before the game. Somehow, the older ref - who had an open marriage arrangement with his wife, Teresa - had let the coach get into his head and his heart. In a weak moment the next day at the stadium a few hours before the game - in an effort to purge those feelings about the coach - he let himself get seduced when a D lineman on Coach's team sought him out and started chatting him up. Mack and the 26-year old - who had muscles in all the right places and what would be an understatement to describe as a sweet ass - went to the home team locker room that both men were sure would be totally deserted for at least another hour until the rest of the team and the coaching staff started showing up. They were naked and sweaty in the Athletic Training Room... Mack had the hunky lineman on his back with his legs in the air on the training table, pounding him for all he was worth in an effort to get the previous night with Coach out of his head.

Mack felt himself ready to explode when out of the blue from behind him at full volume he heard, "What the fuck is THIS?!"

Talk about a ball-shriveling sound... Mack saw the kid's eyes go wide as he glanced at the doorway. Mack pulled out right away and tried to compose himself before he turned around. Before the kid even spoke to the third party who'd come onto the scene, Mack knew who it was that had walked in on them. It was a voice he'd gotten to know well just 12 hours earlier.

"C-coach... I, uh.... I-I..." the hunky player tried to form words as Mack hastily pulled on his underwear and uniform slacks and turned around to see the man he'd just spent several hours in bed with the night before.

"Save it, Johnson!" Coach spat. "Now get your ass out of here and into the showers so you can clean yourself up before the rest of the team shows up. I don't think you wanna have to explain to them why it is you smell like sex without a chick in sight, do ya?"

"Uh, sure Coach. But, you see, you should know that this, uh..."

Staring at the kid like he could've killed him with just a look if he wanted to, Coach said coldly, "We'll talk about this later, Johnson. Now move!"

The stud lineman gave Mack one last longing and sorrowful look before leaving the room. Coach slammed the door shut behind him. Things went sharply downhill once Mack and Coach were alone in the room. There was a lot of anger, yelling, and accusations hurled. One thing that wasn't said, though, was how Mack really felt about Coach. Neither did Coach express how Mack was fairly certain Coach felt about him. Instead, pride and hurt feelings ruled the direction that the argument went in.

Mack was barely able to make it through the game. He was a total wreck. Looking back on it, it was his worst-officiated game of the entire season and it showed, big time. On the flight back home, he promised himself that he was going to make some big changes. He and Teresa had agreed that - if either one of them was to engage in any extra curricular activities outside the marriage - it wouldn't be done in such a way that the other would find out about it. To honor that, Mack had promised himself no sex with men when he was at home and ensconced in his normal life outside of football. Maybe now it was time to put the brakes on extramarital sex altogether... at least for the time being.

For the next month, he'd been able to abide by the new rules he'd set for himself. It was a lonely and sexually-frustrating experience. Not only that, but he'd had to turn down at least two dozen players, coaches, and front office execs who'd approached him for some fun as the season continued. He'd even put off a fellow ref who - during his off week - had flown to Pittsburgh to attend the game Mack was officiating in hopes of a little post-game action. Turning that down was especially hard for Mack. The guy was everything he liked in a man... close Mack's age, closely-cropped hair, and muscles for days... definitely a muscle daddy if Mack ever knew one.

It wasn't until Thanksgiving Day that things changed and that promise Mack had made himself completely went out the window. He'd been selected to officiate the game in Detroit and he ended up meeting the man that changed everything. They'd met during the pregame media blitz that usually accompanies pro games, but is definitely a presence for a game that takes place on a holiday. There was instant chemistry there. As much as Mack tried to resist it and stay strong to the promise he'd made to himself to steer clear of situations that would get him in trouble, it was a losing battle. There was instant chemistry and the guy had a sexual aura about him that drew Mack in like a moth to a flame. The two made out for about half an hour before the game and even got in some over the clothing action. After the game, the guy sought Mack out and they found a place for a quick fuck. Better way to give thanks than scarfing down turkey, stuffing, and a piece of pumpkin pie.

Ever since then, the two had become an ongoing thing. Mack had even flown out to L. A. during an off week in early December to shack up with the guy for a few days. He'd told Teresa that he needed to be there as a possible backup to a fellow ref who was going to call a game, but had told the officiating office in New York that he was feeling under the weather and wouldn't know until game time whether or not he'd be well enough to go. He was pretty sure Teresa knew that was a lie. But as they each did during times like this, she'd kissed him on the cheek, smiled at him, and told him to have fun before he left to drive to the airport.

And now here he was in L. A. again as the final week of the regular season was coming to a close. He was a couple days away from finding out if he'd be selected to officiate a game during Wild Card Weekend. But the draw of his new guy had brought him to the west coast to await the news. This had become just the sort of situation that Mack had wanted to avoid. He wasn't looking for a sidepiece or a guy who might upset the delicate balance he and Teresa had set up for their open marriage. And now... after what he'd just watched on TV? He was five seconds away from calling the airport and booking a flight back home without saying so much as "boo" to his guy. He'd just picked up his phone when he heard the door click from someone sticking their key card in the slot. Mack steeled himself and tried to rein in the anger that was still freshly boiling within him.

Behind him, he heard the man walk in the room. "Hey, babe. I'm done and all yours for the rest of the day. You wanna go out and take in some sights? Instead, we could go down to the hotel gym and lift weights." Sitting on the couch in the living room of the suite, Mack felt the guy walk up behind him, place his strong hands on Mack's muscular shoulders, and start kneading them gently. "Or, we can stay up here and get in a good round or three of cardio... IF you know what I mean."

The man leaned down and started kissing and licking Mack's neck, causing his body to tense up. It was torture. Mack was pissed off and he didn't like that this man knew where all of his 'spots' were. As his lover kissed his way up Mack's neck, he was about to nibble on the sexy ref's ear when Mack jerked his head away. "Hey! What's wrong with you? You've been as cold as ice ever since I walked in the door." Before Mack to answer the question, his guy looked up from Mack to see the talking heads still going at it on the TV. "Oh, hey... You've been watching my show!"

Mack turned his head and glared up at the smiling face of Rick Fetterton... who seemed completely unaware of just how furious Mack was. "Oh yeah. I've been watching, alright!"

"I'm flattered," Rick said, cheerfully. He reached down from behind Mack to run his hand over Mack's fit, shirt-covered chest. "You know... if we stay up here for our cardio workout, you can tell some of your buddies who know about your exploits with men that you fucked around with a bona fide sports TV star.

Still furious about what Rick had said about him on TV and now even angrier because the man seemed totally oblivious to his feelings, Mack lost his cool. He grabbed Rick's arm and flung it off of his chest. "Oh, fuck off!"

Still obviously not picking up on Mack's mood, Rick replied jokingly. Okay, okay. Don't tell any of your buddies. I like us being secret lovers anyway."

Mack stood up and turned around, scowling at his sex buddy. "What is it about 'fuck off' that you don't understand."

Seeing the look on Mack's face finally made it register with Rick that something was out of sorts in this situation. "What's wrong with you, Mack? You're acting like I took a piss in your Corn Flakes."

"You really don't know why I'm mad?"

"How can I? I just walked in the door two minutes ago!"

Mack crossed his arms as he faced the man he'd started to consider an almost-boyfriend, feeling conflicting emotions race through him. Sure he was still angry. But he was also completely turned on. No one made him feel like Rick Fetterton did, just by walking into the room. "Let me see if I can remember what you said."

"What I said?" Rick asked, confusion still on his face. "How could I have said anything? I just got here!"

Trying to recite word for word what Rick had said about him a few minutes ago on the pre-taped show that was still playing on the TV, Mack spoke, "I think it went something like, 'Mack Carmichael is totally overrated. He doesn't just need contact lenses. He needs glasses with thick lenses... and even then it still wouldn't be enough to help him make the right call on anything.' Does that ring a bell?'

Mack saw recognition - but not guilt - wash over Rick's face. "Oh... You saw that part of the show, huh?"

"Damn right I did," Mack replied. "I shouldn't ever be allowed to call a post-season game again, should I?"

Rick stepped toward Mack, causing Mack to take a step back. "Babe, if you'd let me explain..."

"Explain what?! You've jeopardized not only my reputation as a referee, but maybe my reputation in my day job. You know you're not just sitting there in a bubble, saying things that no one else sees, right?"

"I know, but..." Rick tried to interject, but Mack kept talking.

"Important people who are in a position to make decisions about my officiating career watch your show and pay attention to things that talking heads like you and that blowhard, Chip Masterson, say. My friends, family, and co-workers back home pay attention, too. What are they going to think when they see the great Rick Fetterton with four championship rings essentially calling me incompetent. I may not be perfect at what I do, but I do a damn good job of trying my best."

"I know you do, Babe. But..." Rick once again tried to get a word in, but still so fueled by his anger, Mack wouldn't let him until he'd said everything he wanted to say.

"Do you?! That's the worst part of this whole thing, actually. Over the past month, we've gotten pretty close... closer than I've ever allowed myself to get with another man. You know everything about where I've been and where I'm coming from in this relationship. You clearly don't realize the kind of jeopardy you've put my professional credentials in. But you also don't seem to realize just how badly you've personally stabbed me in the back, here."

Momentarily speechless, Rick looked at the man he'd gotten so close to. Mack had clearly been cut deep by what Rick had said on the show. He owed the ref an explanation. Unfortunately, he picked the wrong words to start with. "Can I say things now?"

Mack turned around dismissively, "Don't do that." After a moment, he turned back to face Rick. "Don't talk to me like we're exchanging messages on social media where you can use terms like 'sus,' 'lit,' or 'I'm dead.' Let me tell you. When you first walked in the door earlier, you don't realize how close you came to 'dead' not being a social media synonym for being shocked. Talk to me like I'm a human being, not a ratings demographic you're trying to appeal to."

"You're right," Rick admitted. "You deserve a real conversation, not a deflection." He walked up to Mack and tried to put his hand on Mack's shoulder. Mack jerked away from him, then crossed the room to sit on the sofa. Rick turned to face him. "If I can't touch you, can I at least sit down next to you?"

Mack scooted to one side of the sofa and gestured to the other end. "By all means..."

Rick sat down and looked at the sexy DILF of a man he was on the verge of falling for. "Let me start off by saying you're absolutely right. I crossed a line with what I said about you on the show."

"Crossed a line? You call essentially calling for my head on national TV crossing a line?" Mack interjected.

"I let you speak. Will you give me a chance to speak too? How can I ever try to make thing right if you won't let me say my piece?"

Silently, Mack gestured toward Rick as if signaling him to continue talking. Even though he still wore his anger on his face and in the posture of his body, Rick could see Mack was starting to calm down. Maybe there was a chance to salvage this blunder he'd allowed himself to make.

"I shouldn't have said what I said. It was a shitty thing to do and whether you believe me or not I feel terrible. But what you need to understand is that it wasn't ME who said those things."

Mack snorted incredulously. "Is that what you're going with? The 'my evil twin took my place on TV' excuse?"

"No. That's not what I mean. You just said how you have a professional reputation to uphold. I have my own professional reputation. I get paid - a better salary than I actually deserve - to go on TV every week and give my opinions about things that are happening around the league and what takes place during each game. But I don't get paid to do it as myself... the sensitive, caring, respectful man that I truly am. I get paid to slip into the persona of an edgy, opinionated asshole who doesn't give a damn about whose feelings he hurts. I'm supposed to say thing that are provocative. That's who said those things about you." Rick picked up the remote on the TV and pressed pause on the DVR, the screen frozen with Rick's scowling face as he was ripping into the inept starting QB of a team in the NFC East. "Rowdy Rick from Pro Football Peanut Gallery said that stuff... not Rick Fetterton."

"So, basically it's all part of your job?" Mack asked.

"Yeah," Rick answered softly. "I know that's not what you want to hear and I know it doesn't make up for how hurt you are. But I have a job to do too. Besides, if you really watched the segment, you saw that I tried to wriggle out of it with a generic criticism. Chip wouldn't let me off the hook. If I hadn't said those things, I would've been laughed off of the set and told by all of the producers and everyone else behind the camera that I was losing my edge. *I* would've been the one putting my reputation at risk."

"So you threw me under the bus instead? Nice. Real nice..."

"Babe, I would never do that to you. You're going to be fine. You watch the show. How many weeks have I been saying that one head coach should be canned even though the team finished with a record over.500 and the team's going to the playoffs? The coach still has his job. It's not like I have a direct line to every team's front office to make hiring and firing decisions. Everyone knows my on-air schtick is all just an act. No one takes it seriously."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But that doesn't change how deep of a cut this is."

"Listen to me, Mack Carmichael... These last six weeks have meant more to me than you know. You've talked about not feeling like you can really ever be yourself. That's one of the first things that made me identify with you when we first started having deep conversations with each other... you know... after all the mind-blowing sex we had first."

Rick saw Mack's face soften for the first time since they'd started talking and noticed the older man's posture relax too, making the TV personality feel at least a little more comfortable. He continued pouring his heart out. "I get where you're coming from. I can't exactly go out and live me life the way I want to either. I have to be discreet too. I know we haven't really talked about things like feelings and emotions, but being with you... I've never felt so much like the man I'm supposed to be. I don't want to lose that. I want to see where it goes. I DO have a job to do, but not at the risk of ruining the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Mack sighed. The 44 year old former player had gotten to him. "Fuck!"

Rick reached out and held Mack's hand. "Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck?"

"Damn you, it's a good one!" Mack couldn't stop a smile from crossing his face. "I can't say we're back to good yet. But I might at least be on the verge of forgiving you."

"I just want to say one more thing about the topic." Rick scooted closer and brought Mack's hand up to kiss it. "I crossed a line and I don't want to show how much I respect you that I won't hurt you that way again. But I need you to also respect what I have to do for my career. Sometimes I have to say outrageous stuff. But whatever I say... It stays on that soundstage on the set. It doesn't come back here with me and it certainly doesn't mean that I think any less of you. It's just the opposite, actually. You're the best man I know."

As Rick spoke, he let Mack's hand go and then placed HIS hand on Mack's knee... slowly moving it up the DILF's inner thigh. The TV personality's ministrations didn't go unnoticed. "I know you have a job to do and I respect that," Mack admitted. "I'm sorry I went off on you like that. I had just watched your segment on me right before you walked in the door. I guess I let me anger in the moment get to me without any time to cool down. We've both got jobs that are going to bump up against each other from time to time. As we see where this thing goes, we're going to have to make sure our careers don't get in the way."

"My thoughts exactly," Rick said with a grin as he scooted even closer to the hunky ref. "And now that we've talked things over, what do you say we make up the way we're both good at making up?"

By that point, Rick's hand was already halfway up the leg of Mack's shorts. As he finished speaking, he reached all the way in and palmed the bulge contained within his man's boxer briefs. "Mmmm... Looks like you're more than ready to make up with me."

Mack bit his lip. "Guess I don't even have to say the words. My body can talk for me. Except for one thing."

Rick averted his eyes from watching his hand underneath the fabric of Mack's shorts, massaging the pouch of his underwear to look into Mack's eyes. "What's that?"

Wordlessly, the older man leaned in and planted a searing kiss on Rick Fetterton's lips. Wherever both of their hands had been prior, all hands were now gripping each other's backs as they both pulled each other firmly into the tongue-filled embrace. After a good ten minute-long make out session, the two men made their way back to the bedroom, clothes coming off along the way as they stopped to kiss more.

Although Mack was versatile, he generally usually liked to top more than he liked to bottom. Ever since he and Rick had started up, he found himself on the receiving end more often than not. And if it was the other way around, Rick usually pretended to begrudgingly give in and let Mack top him. Tonight, as an unwritten sign of atonement, there was no convincing that needed to be done. Rick gladly let his man plow him like a field being readied for harvest season. It was only right after the way Rick had figuratively fucked Mack over earlier.

The next morning, Mack woke up alone in bed, but still with a smile of contentment on his face. Even though there were still a lot of obstacles in their way and Mack was scared as hell about possibly giving himself to just one man after so long of adamantly telling himself it would be the the opposite, it felt like he and Rick were laying the groundwork... working toward something real. Not bothering to put on any clothes, he padded out to the living room, grabbed his phone, and checked the time. It was nearly 11:00 a. m. I guess a marathon fuck session'll tire a guy out like that.

Rick seemed to be nowhere to be found. It wasn't so unusual. Mack knew he had a show to go in and tape. And even as the thought of such a thing made Mack bristle a little bit, he remembered the promise they'd made to each other yesterday in this very living room and the promise they'd doubled-down on in bed last night as Rick lay cradled in Mack's arms in the afterglow of the best fuck Mack had ever thrown anyone in his entire life. If they wanted to see where this thing was going, they had to let each other do his job.

Mack had just set his phone down on the suite coffee table when it buzzed. It was a text from Rick.

"Halfway through taping this afternoon's show. Just finished taping a segment I think you'll want to see," read the text.

"Hah! Not likely," Mack exclaimed out loud.

A moment later, a video clip showed up in their text thread. Mack wasn't sure he wanted to watch it, but against his better judgement, he enlarged the video and pressed play.

Chip: Alright, Rowd... Let's talk about the Cardinals-Texans game and that blown call that ruined the Texans' perfect, undefeated season. I know after watching the replays after the show yesterday and sitting with the ramifications of what that call did... how it screwed the Texans over, I KNOW you have a lot to say. So come on, bud. Let 'em have it. Should we all be calling for Mack Carmichael's head on a platter or just calling for him to be out of a job and erased from the league's memory?"

Briefly, Mack thought about stopping the video and deleting it. This segment seemed to be heading in the wrong direction. But Rick had sent it to him for a reason. He'd specifically told Mack he wanted him to watch it. With that in mind, he turned his attention back to the clip.

Rick: Actually, in the light of a new day, I have a different take on the play.

Chip (looking skeptically at Rick from across the desk): Really?

Rick: Absolutely. Listen, I let me emotions get the better of me yesterday. I was going off of watching the replay only a couple times and then listening to what our producers were telling us about it before we taped the segment. Last night, after I calmed down, I watched the play a few more times and I think the ref - what's his name... Carmichael? - made the right call.

Chip (laughs): The right call, huh? Okay, buddy. Where's the punchline?

Rick: No punchline. Just my opinion... straight and unfiltered. These refs have a tough time. They have to make calls in real time and even with replays to help them out, it isn't always clear cut. Looking at the replay, I can see where some might think the receiver wasn't interfered with. But from what I saw, the safety got there a split second too early. I think it was the right call. And on the replay, it was so close that if the penalty had been overturned, I can see how that would've been the right call too. Mack Carmichael is a good ref and he has a reputation for being fair. I think we should take the temperature down a few notches. No one's out here running around trying to screw anyone out of a win. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. That's life. But let's stop calling for the guy to be fired. No one deserves that. And I'm sorry for the part I played in that outcry yesterday. I mean that sincerely.

Chip: Who are you and what have you done with Rowdy Rick Fetterton?

Rick: I guess I'm just feeling a little charitable in this moment. But I can't say that feeling's gonna hold over when we talk about that bonehead play from the Titans-Jaguars game. Talk about screwing the pooch!

And the video clip ended.

Mack was bowled over. What Rick had just done... that took a lot of guts. By putting that on tape and letting it go out over the air, he was risking opening himself up to the ridicule of the largely male football fans who watched the show. He'd put his own reputation at risk for Mack. A gesture that grand couldn't go unrewarded.

He typed into his phone in the text thread: "Oh fuck! You are so getting laid tonight. Text me when you're down in the lobby. By the time you walk through the door, I'll be on my back in bed with my legs up in the air. To replay what you just did, I might have to become a permanent bottom."

A few moments later came Rick's reply. "Good thing I'm sitting at this desk. You gave me an instant hard on. I'm going to have to hold a clipboard in front of my pants as I walk off set once we're done taping to keep people from seeing that you have me ready to rip through the crotch of my pants. I can't wait to get back to you. My dick's already drooling at the thought of getting at that sweet, tight ass! Gotta go. We're about to tape another segment. See you soon, babe!"

Mack bit his lip and then set the phone down. He still had a lot of reservations about this relationship, what it meant for the rest of his life, and if he really was ready to totally give up casual sex with random coaches and players. But the way his asshole twitched at the thought of getting Rick Fetterton's cock later on today, he was willing to try and open himself up to seeing where this entanglement went.