Sex and Ultimate

Get a rookie onto a Frisbee field and you'll see the same problems in all of the them. They won't be able to throw forehand. They'll miss a disc as it falls slowly out of the sky because they can't guess, like veterans can, where the wind and curve of the throw will take it. They'll try to grab a disc with one hand, like a cobra, or two hands, but won't capitalize on the surface area of their palms, grabbing at it like their fingers were fused into crab claws.

But perhaps the most frustrating, and it happens sometimes with players you've come to expect more of, is when they catch the disc close to the end-zone and make a risky throw to another teammate, even if there was no need to rush. It's always a rush. You're always rushing into it. For reasons that you couldn't really explain, but usually it's pride that makes you do it, and makes you engage in all the risky behavior teenagers are prone to engage in. It's always obvious when the disc is lying on the ground, and not in the arms of someone who has just scored a much appreciated goal, that they threw it too early, or threw it too quick, rather. You don't know why it happened, when you fully reflect on it later, and even though you don't think you should feel bad, because "sex isn't a big deal", and you were dating, you still feel like a failure.

You look across the field and face the stares of your teammates, walking in your direction to fall into their now necessary defense positions. Because of you. You let them down. They knew you weren't ready. They told you you weren't. Their yells of "slow", "chill", even a melodramatic, guttural yell of "stop", didn't mean anything to you. You weren't listening to anything but the natural impulse to score. And you know you shouldn't feel bad about it. But you still suffer, wondering if that really is disgust on their faces, or if it's only an illusion, growing from your guilt (which you still can't explain), or if they actually know exactly what you did.