The Equipment Manager – S01E01 [college, m/m, dubcon, oral]

I spent a lot of time trying to decide just how to start to tell this story. It’s always the beginning that’s the hardest part for me. I have to figure out how to grab your attention, and quickly, without giving away too much of what’s to come. I usually try to be funny, or witty, but I’m not sure that either is the appropriate tone this time.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a sad story. Looking back now, this was probably the best time of my life, even including where I am now. I need you to understand that. While my consent was certainly questionable, especially at the very beginning, I don’t, looking back, think that I was taken advantage of, nor abused. In those first two years of high college, I learned more about myself than ever before or since, and I truly believe, overall, that the entire experience was a positive one.

I was a nerdy kid back then. Hell, I’m a nerdy guy now: tall, fairly skinny, light hair, glasses. I really don’t look too far off from how I did at the time, now that I’m really thinking about it. I could probably fit into some of those old clothes. The thing is, I wasn’t just the nerdy kid; I was the shy nerdy kid who didn’t have a whole lot of friends, didn’t really care for sports or after-school activities, and mostly just showed up, sat quietly in the back, then went home. I dressed inconspicuously, kept my hair respectably short and combed, and faded into the background.

“Ben, if you don’t put yourself out there, no one is going to notice you. You’re not going to make any friends just moping around, looking at the floor and not talking.” That was my mom on my first day of eleventh grade. Oh, yeah, and my name’s Ben.

“Mom, I just…” I tried to protest, knowing it would get me nowhere. When my mom made up her mind, that was pretty much the end of any discussion.

“Don’t ‘mom’ me, Taylor. Nobody gets anywhere in life without friends, or at least acquaintances, or just… somebody they know.” Her hands flew up in the air with frustration, as she leaned her head back, looking upward as if to ask her savior for help. “Find an activity, join a random group of kids at a lunch table and strike up a conversation. Start answering questions in class just so people start to notice you exist.” This is a new beginning and a chance to remake yourself.”

I shook my head slowly. “Mom… it doesn’t just… work that way. Maybe when you were in school but like, now? You don’t just go up to people and start talking. It’s considered, I don’t know, rude, and weird. Plus, what’s wrong with how I am?”

“There is nothing weird about making friends,” she insisted, huffing a little. “You need to get ready to go anyway, right? Your first class starts in an hour, and God forbid you’re late to your first college class.” My mom always said “god” with a capitol G, you could actually hear it.

I guess there was at least some truth to what my mom had said: college was supposed to be a new beginning, a kind of reboot of yourself. It’s a chance to present a new face to the world and start over. At least, it’s supposed to be. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going away to a university, or a state college, or really going anywhere. Instead of moving away from home and discovering a little bit of independence, it was decided that I should do my first two years at the local community college, allegedly to save money. I learned much later on that, yes, money was a reason for me to stay around home, but not the only one. I guess my mom couldn’t deal with the idea of me leaving home yet, and so insisted to my dad, and then to me, that the local college was best for now. I don’t know that I really cared all that much, other than the fact that a lot of the people I went to high school with would be going there too.

I don’t really want to say that I was bullied, per se, in high school. It was more like I was… invisible, both to girls as far as a romantic option, and to other guys just to make friends. I did have a couple of friends, but not a lot of them, and none who were particularly close. That was fine for me, I didn’t care, but not for my mother. She would always push and prod and poke, not understanding that I liked being the quiet kid. It had only gotten worse over the summer, with the new “opportunities” that college could bring.

I was going over all of this during my short drive to campus, trying to figure out just how I could appease my mother without really having to put much effort into making friends I didn’t want. I figured I could lie and just tell her I met a few people who were nice, and leave it at that, but she would have questions, want to know all about them, and frankly, I’m just not that good at making up fictional characters. I needed some kind of middle ground; something legitimate I could do without having to get involved with new people.

As I pulled up in front of the building where my first class was being held, I sighed at the state of the parking lot: nearly all of the spaces occupied. It would be packed with people. This wasn’t a good start, not at all. I had to just about force myself out of my seat, and to get my feet to move. I might have a little bit of a social anxiety issue.

Community college is kind of like high school part two, especially if you load yourself with classes. Nearly every day of my week was full into the afternoon with classes, lectures, labs. I was going to be spending a lot of time on campus, which really was better than hanging around my mother, to be honest. Plus there are the same social cliques: the jocks, the nerds, the stoners, the art geeks, the drama geeks, the band geeks. Lots of geeks, come to think of it. I didn’t really fit into any of those categories, and so again, knew that I would mostly be on the outside of things.

My first couple of classes were easy enough. I managed to sit in the back, to raise my hand briefly when my name was called, and otherwise just fade into the background. I didn’t notice anybody I knew, so that was a plus as well. So far, so good.

With college classes being much longer than in high school, it was already lunch time when the second class ended. Not that there was an official “lunch time”, just that it was more or less noon by that point, and I was hungry enough to want to eat. It also meant that the halls were packed, as most classes and lectures let out around that time. Trying to navigate through the sea of bodies, inevitably, I was bumped up against a wall. The guy did apologize though, so that was nice.

As I pushed myself away from the wall, a bright yellow sheet of paper caught my attention. I didn’t know my life was about to change, and in fundamental, earth-shattering ways, and really how can anyone know that? Especially when the first sign of the new path is just paper taped to a wall?

Instead, all I saw was a way out of the mess with my mother; something that might appease her while not requiring me to actually deal with people. Printed on that yellow paper was a very simple message: football season would be starting soon, and the team was looking for an equipment manager. Anyone interested should see Coach Perry, between the hours of 2 and 4, in his office at… blah whatever the location was. My mind was rushing. I didn’t really know much of anything about football, could I fake it? What would I really need to know? Not the game itself, just like, the equipment, the stuff, the helmets and pads and whatnot. What did the equipment manager even do? Keep inventory? Wash uniforms and jock straps? Probably that and more, but nothing that needed any kind of special skills or knowledge. Not much would be expected of me socially, but it would give me an excuse to be out of the house, and to tell my mom I was making friends.

I wound up taking the flyer to lunch with me, and spent most of the next hour just staring at it, barely eating, wondering if that was my key to a little peace. Plus, to be fair, it was something to do. My last class that day ended at 2:30, which gave me plenty of time to find this Coach Perry and convince him that I was exactly who he, and his team, wanted managing their equipment.

I was a little more excited, or maybe “anxious” is the word, than I had expected, searching the athletics building for Coach Perry’s office. For some reason, the hallways and offices in athletic buildings always seemed dark to me, not that I had been in that many that often. Still, that impression carried over. The lighting just seemed off a little bit, like someone had put a 40-watt bulb in a 60-watt lamp.

After five or so minutes of searching in the dim halls, I finally found a sign reading “James Perry – Head Coach” next to a closed door. Sucking in a breath, I knocked. A surprisingly pleasant voice from inside told me to come in.

Coach Perry was not in any way what I had expected. My own image of a college football coach included a buzz cut and severe jaw line, maybe a body that was starting to go soft, but only after years of being entirely fit. I expected someone tall, imposing, maybe gruff and possibly sometimes rude. That wasn’t what I got.

The desk faced the door. From behind, a slender man looked up over gold-rimmed glasses. The hair starting to gray, and the lines creasing his face, suggested he had entered his fifties a couple of years ago. “How can I help you?” that pleasant voice asked, curiosity obvious. What could a lanky, geeky kid possibly want with the head football coach? There was no trace of rudeness though, only curiosity.

“Hi, um… my name is Ben. Ben White. I saw the flyer about needing an equipment manager, so…”

Coach Perry’s eyes lit up and a smile started. “Oh, yes, perfect, come in then,” he said, gesturing me forward. “Shut the door please.” I did, then took one of the chairs he was gesturing toward. “Have a seat.” He gave me a moment to settle in, then got right to business. “So you want to be the equipment manager, is that right?”

“Yeah… yes,” I confirmed with a nod.

“Good, we definitely need one. What kind of qualifications do you have?” At that, he reached for a yellow legal pad and a nearby pencil. I watched as he scrawled my name at the top of the blank page.

“Ah, well, um…”

“Have you been an equipment manager before? Say, back in high school?” He looked up from his pad, apparently trying to help by prodding for an answer.

“Oh… oh no,” I said quickly. “I’ve never…” Shit, this was already starting to go south. I took a second. “No, I haven’t been an equipment manager. I wasn’t really involved with sports and stuff at all, actually.” My confidence in my ability to bullshit my way through this interview was quickly draining.

“Ah, I see,” he said, not unkindly. “Well, you know, it’s not exactly an easy thing. The equipment manager is responsible for all of the hardware the guys wear on the field. He has to maintain it, wash it, make sure it’s still in good working condition. A lot of the equipment is for protection, so these guys are putting their health and maybe lives in your hands.” Shit. I just wanted an escape from my overbearing mother, and this guy was talking about putting lives in my hands.

“Oh… I… well I just…” I started to stammer.

“I’m not saying you can’t do it,” he interrupted, “just that, if you do want to do this, you have to realize the scope of it all, you understand?”

I nodded. “Yes… yeah I think I get it.”

“Ok, good. Tell you what. We’ve got a practice tomorrow at three. It’ll probably last until five. You come by around then and I’ll set you up with one of my guys. He’ll go over some things with you, what the equipment is, what it’s for, how you care for it, and what to look for to make sure it’s not broken. If you get all of that, and if he likes you, you’ve got the job. Not that there’s any money, but…”

“No! No that sounds great, thanks!” I was already standing and holding out my hand. Coach Perry took it in a grip that I didn’t think a man of his stature could manage.

“Alright then,” he said with a nod and a tone that indicated this was the end of our business for today. “Good luck tomorrow.”

At dinner that night, I told my parents what I had done. My mother was ecstatic. My dad was maybe a little less exuberant, but still pleased I think. I was too, I realized, although not for the same reasons. In a way, it was kind of a win-win.

Having nothing better to do after my last class, I just kind of hung around campus, deciding to head over to the football field around the time practice started. I figured showing my face and some interest would earn me points in my favor. Coach Perry noticed me at one point and dipped his head in an acknowledging nod. I returned the gesture, but otherwise kept out of the way, just watching.

I watched through the rest of practice, although I couldn’t tell you what I was looking at. A combination of time, and the fact that I knew very little about the game, kind of make that memory a little fuzzy, not to mention that what happened later was by far the more significant part of that day. I can tell you that there was a lot of yelling and manly grunting, and that it was over just around five.

As most of the guys came off the field, Coach Perry started in my direction, one of the players half a step behind him and to his right. The guy must have been six-foot-two, and while the padding significantly increased his apparent bulk, I could still tell that a good part of what I saw was muscle. As he came closer I was able to make out details of his face: a high forehead just below jet black hair, a wide but not overly-large nose, thick lips a shade of red somewhat darker than I expected, and a lantern jaw.

“Ben, this is Thomas, one of my linebackers. Thomas, Ben here wants to be our equipment manager.”

Thomas nodded, seeming to approve. “Nice, and call me Tom.” We shook.

“I need you to go over the equipment with Ben,” Coach said. “He’s… let’s say he’s a little green and could use some help getting up to speed.” Thomas didn’t move for a second, but then quickly nodded.

“Yeah, sure thing Coach,” Tom replied, and then to me, “There’s still a bunch of stuff next to the field, some padding, a couple helmets. You can help me put it away and I’ll explain what it is and does.”

And that was that. That’s how I became the equipment manager, although that title would take on much more meaning in the very near future.

“Alright I’m gonna hit the shower, then I can walk you back to your car if you want.” It hadn’t taken long to clear the field of equipment, or it wouldn’t have, except that Tom had to go over pretty much everything there was to know about each piece of equipment, because I knew nothing. He was nice enough about it though, and didn’t seem to mind, but by the time we were done it had already gotten dark, and I’d parked on nearly the other side of campus.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” I agreed with a nod. “Safety in numbers and all that.”

“You got it. Just go ahead and hang out on a bench or something. The showers are this way. I’ll come get you when I’m done.” With that, we parted ways.

Now, to really understand this next part, you’ve got to know a few things. Growing up in a house where sex is not discussed, not even really acknowledged, and usually described as being nasty, can have a peculiar effect on a growing teen. Combine that with being told that masturbation is a sin against God, and that sex is only for procreation and shouldn’t actually be enjoyed, and you get a pretty messed-up kid. Now throw in the existence of (early, at the time) smart phones and free internet porn, and you have me.

I was alone, bored, and had a few minutes to kill. I scooted my butt back along the locker room bench, leaned my shoulders against the wall, and dove in for some decent lesbian porn.

I know at some point my hand went down my pants. I was hard, rock hard, and stroking at a moderate pace. When my pants became too constrictive, I unzipped. I knew I only had a couple of minutes and would have to rub one out quickly, or else risk having to walk back to my car with Tom and a raging boner. That was not really an option.

Pants unzipped and pushed slightly down my hips, underwear moved out of the way, my cock stood almost perfectly straight. I stroked quickly, furiously, concentrating on the screen, watching a girl go down on another, sliding her tongue over smooth lips, slipping between them, flicking over the other’s hard clit… and I was done. Cum flew from my dick and splattered back onto my pants because I hadn’t given any thought to the aftermath. I couldn’t stop though, not right in the middle like that, and had to just ride it out until it was over. Finally, breathing heavily, I was able to lower my phone and assess the damage.

Except I didn’t get to. A second later, I froze, softening dick still in hand, as a voice said “Nice”. My eyes shot up, down the short isle between the locker rows, to see Tom standing, holding his own cell phone, recording me.

“Shit! Fuck! What the hell?!” I started scrambling to cover myself, yanking my pants and underwear up. I was pretty lucky to have not injured myself.

“Don’t’ bother, dude,” Tom said with obvious amusement. “I’ve already got it all right here.” He waved his phone back and forth. I grumbled, then stood, as he started toward me. He must have just come out of the shower, and planned to change in here, because all he wore was a white towel, wrapped around his waist and hanging to his knees.

I had been right, earlier, when assessing his body under the pads: Tom was built, muscular. His arms were probably as big around as my calves, and I think he could have shredded cheese with his abs. Of course, to me, all this meant was that he could beat the living hell out of me if he wanted, and with the way he was approaching, cornering me between himself and the wall, that was just what I expected.
“Tom… you’ve… you’ve got to delete that. Why would you even record that anyway? Why would you watch?” Some kind of defense mechanism in my lizard brain told me to reverse the situation on him, make Tom the one doing something odd.

“I don’t know,” he said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, “I thought it might come in handy.”

“H… Handy for what?” I asked, suddenly even more unsure of myself.

Tom shrugged. “Oh, I dunno,” he replied with a shrug. “We’ll just see what happens I guess.”

I held up my hands defensively. “Tom, you can’t… you can’t let anyone see that. If that gets back to my mom…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t want to imagine what such a thing could do to her, and then to me.

“Your mom?” Tom asked, eyebrows up. “Oh, wow that would be funny, you’re right.”

“No, no, you don’t get it. She’s… you know… religious. That would devastate her,” I protested, gesturing to his phone.

“Oh, is she? And would it? You realize that makes this all the more valuable, right?” Shit… shit.

“Look, please just… OK you got me, I owe you one I guess.” I tried to chuckle, to play this all off as nothing.

“Oh, you certainly owe me… something…” Tom said with a grin that I didn’t trust. “Tell you what, this stays on my phone, and doesn’t go anywhere else, but you’ve got to do something for me in return.”

“Sure, yeah, no problem,” I said quickly, desperate for a way out.

“You sure?” Tom asked. I nodded furiously. “Alright then. Suck my dick.” As he said that, he dropped the towel.

Now, keep in mind, while I was entirely unexperienced sexually at that point, I had still seen my share of dicks. Porn was a thing, as I said, and as much as I loved lesbian porn, I did sometimes enjoy a good hetero video. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but looking back, I tended to prefer the ones with the, uh, larger guys. That never made sense to me until a while later.

Tom, for his part, wasn’t especially large, although not small either. I would call him average. Perfectly average. His dick hung over his balls flaccidly, and I could see that he was circumcised. A thick tuft of pubic hair sat above, and covered his scrotum.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” I protested, taking a step back.

“I absolutely am not fucking kidding you,” Tom said seriously. “You’re going to sit on that bench, open your mouth, and suck my cock, or this video goes everywhere.”

“But… I’ve never… I don’t know how…” I stammered.

“You’ll figure it out,” Tom assured me, taking a step toward me again. “You just open up, take what you can, and suck.”

“Why… why would you want me though? I’m… like, so are you into guys or something?” At this point I was just stalling for time, trying to find a way out of this.

Tom shrugged dismissively. “A mouth is a mouth. I’d never suck a dick, but I guess I don’t care what’s sucking mine.”

This was getting me nowhere. I needed more time, another angle, anything. “So… so if I do this…?”

“I don’t show anyone.”

“And it’s just this one time?”

“You going to do it or not?” Fuck. He was pushing the issue. Maybe he realized what I was doing. Shit. My mind raced. Tom had just taken a shower, so it wasn’t like he’d be all sweaty and gross. Ok, yes, it was a dick, in my mouth, but it was a clean dick, and that mattered. Oh, but what if he came?

“You can’t cum in my mouth,” I countered, trying to hold on to whatever shreds of control I still had over this situation.

“Fine,” Tom agreed, to my surprise.

“And… no making me choke. It doesn’t go in any farther than I can take it.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’ve got ten seconds to start sucking before you lose your option to not have this sent to anyone.”

“Wait… no. Tom, there has to be another…”

“Ten…”

“Come on, we can talk this out, figure out something else…”

“Nine…”

I kept protesting, Tom kept counting down. My mind whirled with thoughts and incompatible solutions. This wasn’t going to just go away, and I wasn’t coming up with an alternative, at least not in time.

“Two…”

Fuck… something… something…

“One…”

“Fine,” I mumbled.

“What was that?” Tom asked, leaning a little closer to me.

“I… I said ‘fine’,” I answered in a small voice.

“’Fine’ what?” he insisted.

“I’ll… I’ll suck your dick,” I barely said.

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you.” His smile was almost a sneer.

“I said I’ll suck your dick,” I repeated, louder, angry.

“Good choice,” Tom complimented, like a waiter commenting on what I’d selected for dinner.

“What do I…?” I started kind of looking around, at the bench, the floor… at Tom’s dick.

“Sit on the bench,” he instructed, and I did. He crossed the space between us in a step, and like that, for the first time ever, I had a dick in my face. “There. Easy. Now open your mouth, and get to it.”

I looked at his flaccid cock, having no idea what to do. “But… you’re not even hard…” I pointed out.

“That’s your job,” Tom said.

“How do I…?”

“You’ll figure it out. It’s not difficult.” There was still malice in his voice, but… less.

This was it then. In that moment I was about to go from having never sucked a dick, to having sucked a single dick. It seemed like an impossible chain of events, an incomprehensible truth, but there it was, dangling right in front of me. All I had to do was suck, get him to cum, and this would be over, no lasting effects. If I didn’t, God knew what kind of wrath my mother would bring down on me.

“Alright,” I said on a heavy exhale, leaned forward, and carefully took the head of Tom’s cock in my mouth.

I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting the warmth. That was the first thing I noticed and that really stood out. I mean, this was another person’s body; it should have been warm, and yet that felt odd. The next thing was the spongy quality of the head. It gave when I poked it with my tongue, again another thing I should have expected, having had plenty of experience touching my own member. What I didn’t feel, though, was the revulsion I had expected. No, I wasn’t suddenly enjoying this, I still hated it, but I was aware that I was not physically repulsed by the presence of the tip of Tom’s dick in my mouth. It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel altogether wrong either.

“Now take what you can,” Tom instructed, his voice having lost the edge from a minute before. At that point I was already committed to this, and figured I’d have to see it through. I did as I was told, opening my lips and allowing about half of his soft shaft into my mouth. I could feel his pulse, throbbing, quickening, intensifying, his body reacting to what I was doing. Although honestly, I wasn’t doing much at that point, beyond just breathing on him. “Hold it there, like that,” he said, and I held still. Over the course of a half a minute or so, the cock in my mouth went from entirely limp, to rigidly hard. It lengthened and thickened. Apparently, Tom was more of a grower than a shower, although even then he still was pretty much average. That shouldn’t be taken as a complaint.

Most of the blowjob scenes I had watched at that point started with the guy already erect and the girl slobbering all over him. I had never seen someone get a guy hard, although I knew the mechanics of it. Once Tom started getting hard, it was easier for me to figure out what to do. I knew I couldn’t take all of his length; that was impossible, but I figured I should try to get as much as I could and at least make the blowjob enjoyable. If I didn’t, he might still share that video with the world.

With thoughts of the aftermath of a viral release, I pushed myself farther on Tom’s cock, until I couldn’t take any more. I was just over half way down his rather normal dick. More was impossible, so I pull back, now knowing my limit and what it felt like. I slid my tongue along the bottom of his shaft and gently sucked on the tip as it came out from between my lips. I heard Tom groan just a little above me, apparently enjoying my effort.

Again, I sunk down on him, this time immediately taking as much as I could. I overshot just a little, and almost gagged myself, but got control quickly enough. As I started to again slide toward the tip, Tom spoke. “The balls, Ben. Don’t forget the balls.” I nodded with an inch of his cock in my mouth, then slid back down, bringing my right hand up to cup his scrotum.

My fingers slid over the surface, through the hair. I couldn’t say that I cared for that all that much. I preferred, if that word even applied, the smoothness of his shaft, and was thankful that I didn’t have hair in my mouth. Still, I soldiered on, cupping and rolling his balls while my head slid back and forth.

I remember that blowjob as taking something like a half hour, but realistically, it couldn’t have been any more than a couple of minutes. I started noticing the signs of orgasm after licking the tip of his dick, then taking just the head in my mouth and sucking. Tom’s cock started throbbing and I felt his balls tighten in my hand. For a second, I kind of lost myself in the realization of what was about to happen, and entirely forgot that I had insisted he not cum in my mouth. Only a moment later, his cock erupted, and cum shot into my mouth. Rather than pull back, I just stayed in place, and told myself that it was so none of it got on my clothes.

Tom filled my mouth and, with nothing to do with the thick goo, I wound up swallowing it. His semen was musky, a little salty, but not unpleasant. To my utter surprise, I didn’t altogether mind what had just happened, as in, the entire encounter. As he finished, I realized that what I’d done wasn’t really so bad. I probably wouldn’t do it again, but I also didn’t hate myself for having done it.

When Tom had mostly softened, I pulled back, letting his dick flop against his balls with a wet sound. I… actually felt a little proud of myself for at least having done a good job, apparently, and looked up toward Tom to get his take on it. I couldn’t see Tom though, as his cell phone was between his face and mine.

“You… you didn’t…”

“I sure did,” Tom confirmed, turning off the phone.

“Why the hell would you…”

“Just in case,” he answered.

I watched him dress, in silence, realizing I had just been played. Tom had entirely taken advantage, had used my fear of my mother to coerce me, and then even used that coercion to gather more blackmail fodder. Shit.

“You’re not bad,” Tom said a little later, as he, true to his word, walked me across campus to my car.

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” I muttered.

“No, really,” Tom reassured me. “I’ve had worse. Much worse.”

“Yeah well… that’s not something I plan on repeating,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“Shame,” Tom said with a shake of his head. I stared at him, incredulous, for a moment.

“You know, I could make a really good claim that you raped me just now,” I threatened.

“How? I have it on video. You looked pretty content sucking my dick. Plus, if you wanted to actually accuse me of that, your mom wouldn’t only see the video of you beating your meat, but also the one of you sucking another guy off. How do you think she’ll handle that?”

He was right, and the balloon of my argument was immediately deflated. “Fine,” I grumbled after a minute. “Here, this is my car.” We stopped at the driver door and I unlocked it.

“See you tomorrow then?” Tom asked cheerfully.

“Huh?”

“Practice. Same time tomorrow. You should be there, equipment manager.” Tom was grinning ear to ear.

“Oh… yeah…”

That night I couldn’t get the thought of what had happened out of my head. I had just sucked a dick, played with a guy’s balls, let him cum in my mouth, and I hadn’t hated it. Hell, as I lay there in bed, I realized I still didn’t hate it, and that after a little bit of thinking about it, of recalling and replying the scene in my head, I had an erection.

I masturbated to the memory of giving head to a guy I had just met; a guy who had even more evidence of my perversion and didn’t seem afraid to use it. I would see him again the following afternoon. Would he want more?

If he did, was that a bad thing?

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/pi6y4m/the_equipment_manager_s01e01_college_mm_dubcon